Las Calabazitas

Basic Recipe:

Cut up some calabaza, dice up some onion and some garlic.

Fresh corn on the cob. Cut off the kernels by hand and put them in a large fry pan.

Toast slowly, let the smell captivate you. Know that the scent of corn is an ancient one, and that entire civilizations have subsisted on this golden, or other color, kernel.

Add some butter, and the onion and garlic. It's starting to smell like home.

The sweet butter, the fried onions, the richness in simplicity. How something so simple could be tied to so much emotion is still a mystery.

Remember those days when great grandma use to cook calabazitas by the pot load. You would arrive, it was the required dish to eat. Remembering how as a child you used to say you didn't like it, then after the second bowl you just gave in.

It's like that time we all made tamales together. Practicing a century's old tradition, with each other. It was cold outside, but the corn masa spread between the corn husks could warm the most bitter of hearts when allowed.

Corn, is life. It is the single most important kernel and memory from your childhood. More than just a life giver, each bite is an ode to tradition, respect for the ancestors, hope in creating new traditions.

Add the chopped up calabaza, lower the heat. Cook on low for a good while. The best food comes from practicing patience. Like beans, like menudo, like pozole, like caldo. Having an awesome family, related or chosen, makes food taste like love [because it is]. Boiling and cooking at low heats is a reminder that the best stuff in life can sometimes take more than a quick fix. There just is no substitute for time.

Now your apartment smells like calabazitas. It smells like home. Half a world away from your family, but close to them in heart. Food helps us feel. Helps us trace and remember memories as well as create new ones. As the calabaza sweats out its natural juices, remember, we can't always choose where life takes us, but we can choose how we handle it.

Now you're ready to eat.