Alcapurria Revised
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, when 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
for Christmas after so many years.
The holiday season in Puerto Rico cannot
be compared to that of any other place. Once you take your last bite of turkey
at Thanksgiving dinner, 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, my mom began
to work arduously; she had only one month to accomplish the family reunion.
Probably the most crucial part of any gathering on our island is always the
food and beverages. “Lechón con arroz con gandules” is a Puerto Rican Christmas
staple, that is the equivalent of a sweet honey 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 produce 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, one stuffed 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”, 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 were assembled, and the kitchen emitted the most
comforting and inviting aroma: the sweet smell of Christmas. We had finished
preparing most of the dishes, when my mom stopped everyone and announced that
our family had arrived, and that 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; that could not have been farther 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
expressionless, but as they took the second bite I saw their delight and
offered another one. After tasting the “alcapurria”, they tried a bit of
everything and enjoyed it all. 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.
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