Love and Lard

She planted a dozen kisses on my cheek. No, two dozen. After each one, she’d rub the rusty mark of her lipstick but she’d keep kissing so that the rubbing never caught up with the kissing and my face was a smudge of iron red. December 29th, 2006 I landed in Miami and she didn’t stop kissing me all the way from the airport to her house.

Finally the car stopepd at the gate and her 70-year old frame darted out of the car, to the lock, unlocking the lock, pushing the gate, then wondering if I’d noticed the sign. She posed in front of it: a large posterboard with the words in green marker. God bless my son, welcome to your home. She picked up the edges of an imaginary skirt, crossed one foot in front of the other and curtseyed next to the sign, smiling bigger than the sun, and opened the gate.

Pop was there waiting on the driveway. They’re not married so he came in his truck, also on the driveway, but it was puzzling that the gate was closed, I mean, pop arrived, parekd in the driveway and closed himself in? Oh, of course, mama wanted me to see the sign so she’d insisted that the gate remain closed. I get it.

I’d succeeded in rubbing off most of the lipstick by the time I got out of the car to hug and kiss pop, who stammered something and shook. His eyes turned red and watery and he almost burst into tears. I see him once a year because he hates New York. It’s too cold for his Cuban blood.

The house smelled like passion fruit, pork, and old lady. Mama had prepared buñuelos for frying and even the anis syrup was ready.

“All I have to do is heat the oil and you can have some buñuelos—you want some?” Quick tutorial: buñuelos: make a dough out of boniato, yuca, and malanga (a squash), add some flour and anis seeds, shape like figure 8's, deep fry, serve with aniseed syrup. The Colombian version are round, and pictured above...So, did I want buñuelos? Well...

Honestly, all I wanted was to sleep. I’d gotten about 3 hours and arrived dog sick. Phlegm coating my tonsils and that unbearable stinging in the throat that makes swallowing inconceivable. Still, mama had prepared a fest for lunch: a casserole of boniato sweet potato and pineapple garnished with pecans. Mama’s been getting inventive. The casserole was coated in butter, melted marshmallows and brown sugar. Mama goes all out in her inventions. Like a kid with playdoh she’s eager to blend everything she’s got together into a massive dish. The casserole was quite tasty, but it was the entree and it tasted more like dessert.

Then there were the buñuelos, fried in lard...lard that mama’d made by rendering thick slabs of home-cut bacon. The bacon pieces ended up in the beans. Mama tries to cook vegetarian food and to sneak meat into it, thinking that I’m malnourished because I eat mostly vegetarian food at home (Rey’s one, so when we cook, there’s almost never any animal, although I eat chicken and fish). Getting her to confess to the bacon and lard was easy—I just clarified that I’m NOT a vegetarian and her secret ingredient list poured out.

Everything was wonderful, but I felt like shit and everytime I said so mama declared—“You won’t get sick. Propose it to your mind and you’ll see. Take your illness stuff it in a paper bag and throw it out the window.” I laughed but she was serious, she insisted. “Just throw it away.” I spent the next two days in bed. Outside it was in the mid 80’s farenheit and so who can complain? To be sick in Miami is still better than sickness in New York City.

...More on my trip to Miami in another post....