Alcapurria

It was Christmas 2005, the first time I would encounter my distant family. Since as long I can remember, the only family I had ever known were my parents and grandmothers. No siblings, cousins, or uncles that I had spoken to or seen. For me, these people were merely characters in my mother’s stories until one day, my mom received a call from one of her brothers. He wanted to arrange a family reunion. She was so excited that she could not contain her emotions, she was thrilled to see them after so many years and more so for Christmas.

The holiday season in Puerto Rico is incomparable to that of any other place. Once you take your last bite of turkey, Christmas has begun. The streets are decorated with bright lights, colorful flowers, and many garlands. Everyone forgets about their struggles and is ready to celebrate the greatest season of the year. The typical “parrandas” start, which are Christmas carolers on steroids. They knock on your door and will not take no for an answer, and after they are done singing their off-key songs, they expect to be invited in for a meal. During this time people are rarely alone. Every week is full of dinners, concerts, and reunions. The stores are so crowded that it seems as if they were giving out free merchandise instead of selling it, the same can be said for supermarkets and restaurants.

After hanging up the phone, she began to work arduously because she had only one month to accomplish this endeavor. Probably the most crucial part of any gathering in our island is always the food and drink. “Lechón con arroz con gandules” is a Puerto Rican Christmas staple that is the equivalent of a sweet ham with mashed potatoes.  “Lechón” is a spit-roasted pig. Cooked to perfection with its golden brown toasted skin, tender meat, and garlic, oregano, and cumin undertones. This is paired with “arroz con gandules,” a yellow rice with pigeons beans, which is cooked in a big pot in which lard, garlic, bay leaves, tomatoes, and onions are sautéed, simmered and reduced to produced a very pungent stock for the rice. My grandmother's secret ingredient for the rice is plantain balls, which she says gives it the flavor of the mountain. My mom pondered if she should adhere to this traditional meal or do an array of popular Puerto Rican dishes. She opted for the traditional route, but would make “alcapurrias” and “bacalaitos” which are fritters stuffed one with ground beef and the other with cod, as appetizers and a few different side dishes, to complement the meal. Finally, for dessert she would stick to a simple “tembleque” which is a creamy coconut custard topped with cinnamon and nutmeg to complement its sweetness.

Finally, the long awaited day came; we woke up at 4:00 am to start cooking. My kitchen was divided into stations, some women peeling green plantains on one side, while others made dough for the fritters. The men set up the pig “on la varita”, which is basically a thick stick which holds the pig in an open flame in order for it to cook. While all this was happening, the women sang in unison some of our traditional Christmas carols. As the hours passed, dishes began to be assembled, and the kitchen was emitting the most comforting and inviting aroma; the sweet smell of Christmas. We had finished most of the dishes, when my mom stopped everyone and announced that our family had arrived, and it was time to pick them up at the airport.

My heart was racing; I was so excited finally to meet them, but at the same time I feared the outcome. When we saw them walk down the terminal, I was disappointed. I had seen pictures of them a long time ago, but for some reason, I had thought that they would resemble me physically, but that could not have been more far from the truth. My cousins were as white as snow, with light brown hair and sparkly green eyes, while I am tanned with dark brown hair and brown eyes. As I went to greet them with a hug and a kiss, they greeted me with a cold hand and a hello in English, which was my first encounter with culture shock.

On the way back home, my uncle made us stop in McDonalds so my cousins could get dinner. I felt insulted when he did this. He had not given my cousins the opportunity to try my mom’s food. I looked at my mom, and she warned me not to say a word. We arrived at our house, and when my uncles heard the music they started singing and dancing, then we all sat down and prayed before having our meal.

The food was unbelievable! The pork was cooked flawlessly, it was juicy and tender, and the rice was fluffy and flavorful. The “tembleque” was the perfect creamy consistency and just the right temperature. We passed the food down the table so everyone could enjoy a bit of everything. I was sitting next to my cousins, and I offered them an “alcapurria”, which to my surprise they took. Looking back at it now, they probably thought it was a leftover chicken nugget from McDonald’s.

At first, their faces were a bit enigmatic, but as they took the second bite I saw their delight and offered another one. After tasting this, they tried a bit of everything and enjoyed it. Their response to our food made me grow more comfortable with them, to the point that, as the night passed, that initial coldness disappeared. At the end of the evening, we were dancing and singing as if we had known each other forever. That night I realized that no matter how we looked physically, what our upbringing was, what language we spoke and what are preferences were, we had a connection like no other: we were family.