The art of nutrition

I come from a land where people dry chiles, where the spicy meets the real, where the fresh is the blended.

I'm from a house where lentils were royalty, lentils with butter and tomato and onions and garlic, maybe some squash.

I come from a land full of laughter, champurrado during Christmas, the smell of anise

Maiz and beans are divine, the sustenance of the ages that keeps us connected to the earth.

Pigs in the form of sweet bread. Never too soft or too hard, better than any damn cookie dipped in milk. Anyday.

I come from a linguistic culture that is quite unique, my hometown dialect unlike either language that encompasses it, transitional in nature, yet very set in its ways.

I'm from an indigenous culture. Though my blood has not been traced historically, I only have to look into my eyes and feel my soul to know that there's something more. Thousands of years of traditions and ancestry are never erased by a simple birth.

I'm from a long line of strong and determined women, who were and are always equal to men. Sexism is a foreign concept, and we practice gender equality in our own way.

I'm from a family that lets me exist, let's me play with all my identities, knowing that our expressions are moments.

I come from a background that isn't so good at paying attention to linear time, good meals and laughs turn time into circular repeated patterns, patterns too lovely to be caught up in definitions.

I come from an upbringing that isn't about waving national pride of any one place, understanding that people from all cultures have value.

I'm from a tradition that cooks food slowly. Food that takes days to prepare, many weather changes to make. Flavors die if they are extracted too quickly or not allowed to settle properly.

I'm from the desert. The sun, the heat, the mountains. No matter where I live, or for how long I am away, the desert is my homeland, the cacti and the dust calm me like no other.

I'm from my parents, their genes. My dad's hairiness, my mom's height, the fire in my eyes encompasses all of my ancestors.

I'm from the sky, the clear moonlit night, gazing up at Orion's belt when comfort is needed, breathing in the dry air to remove dampness from my soul.

I'm from the church, the border-mexican catholic tradition I don't abide by, yet the sense of community and values I was raised to honor exist.

I'm from 2 cities, growing up on both sides of the river. I never knew the impact this experience would have on my life. One side poorer but happier, one side richer but lost. My hometown sister cities work subconsciously to create their own way of being.

I'm from the neveria, the tons of ice cream flavors, 1 or 2 scoops, maybe 3, it depended on how much money mom was willing to fork out, it depended if mom had any money to begin with.

I come from parque borunda, chilindrinas with salsa valentina drizzled over them

I'm from my siblings, each one of them taught me something new about love, each one of them made me a better parent.

I'm from hundreds, thousands, of conversations occurring in kitchens around the land. Superstitions, chismes, consejos, and pure love flowing. I've always had a healthy appetite for sitting and listening to the words of those I know are wise.

I come from those nights of sewing with my grandma. Halloween costumes, torn bags, clothes. Patience and attention to detail I was taught

I'm from a small ranch deep in la sierra. Los azules, the ranch my grandma grew up on, I didn't know that going back would only get more difficult with time.

I'm from a small mining village Santa Barbara, where our family eats smashed frijoles and tortillas with homemade cheese for breakfast. A place where the tia kills the chicken that will be dinner.

I'm from a cozy little house where step-grandma made really good beans. I'd go to the tortilleria and she'd lay all the circular pieces out to dry. The most important work of art, the art of nourishing others.

I'm from a home where illnesses were cured with hot teas and lots of love. Facilitating the discovery of your own inner healing processes is what we are good at.

There's a small cart that some folks push around, serving you cold tepache in a tall glass.

There's a person with a huge fryer, that fries intestines with lots of oil and beer until they are crunchy as chips, that's the only way you can eat them.

There are stands that serve all sorts of fresh fruit waters, tamarindo is one of my favorites.

There's about half a million flavors of soda, grapefruit, guava, apple, etc.

There's a rich market culture, from spicy to sweet, the amount and variety of foods is immense.

There is noise and haggling and chaos. Finding yourself in the puzzle is necessary.

Ever since I was little, there's been a bunch of dried chiles hanging outside the back door of my grandma's house. They are always reminding me of who I am.