Generations of Heart to Hand Connection

I come from a line of women where their knack for cooking came first from necessity and somewhere along their journey turned into a work of heart. On my mother’s side, we have recipes passed down from my great grandmother, my great aunts, and my Nana. These foods now live forever in the memories of those who had the privilege of sharing a meal with them. My mother came from a large Americanized Mexican family, her Mother was a second generation American, and her father immigrated from Mexico at the age of nineteen. Together they lived out the American dream; 61 years together, five sons, one daughter, many meals, and so much love. The most coveted of recipes passed down in my family is my Nana Lola’s Beans & Rice. My Nana lived 94 years on this earth and spent many of them cooking for those she loved.

One of my earliest memories of my Nana’s cooking comes from a time I went to stay with them for the week over Spring Break. She tucked me into the bed that all ten of my cousins and my sister had at one point I’m sure, felt it belonged solely to them. I fell asleep to the sound of the TV playing in the background when no more than a few hours later in the middle of the night I was woken up by the sound of a loud fit of laughter. I got up and slowly cracked open the door, where I was was met with the sound of many voices engaging in a joyful conversation. The smell of rice and beans bubbling on the stove filled my grandparent’s home. I made my way into the kitchen finding my grandparents sharing a midnight meal with many others. I looked around at faces unfamiliar to me filling seats at their table spilling into their living room. My Nana spotted me and told me, “Ali, these are our cousins from Mexico!’ I looked around the kitchen to many warm smiling faces ooing and awing while my Nana fixed me a bean tostada brimming with lettuce, tomato, and cheese. I found a place at the table and even at a young age I remember the joy, the love and the warmth of that room being so palpable. This memory tucked itself away feeling like a dream until many years later it came up again and my Mother and I remised on the hearth of homemaking my Nana was.

Despite enjoying my Nana’s beans and rice on many occasions throughout her life, my mom believes she still has yet to recreate the recipe exactly to how she remembers her mother’s beans and rice. In my opinion, she has made them her own therefore they’re even better. Just this past week she made a pot of beans and asked me to try them, and as I tasted them they reminded me so much of what I remember about my Nana’s cooking, but there in them I also found layers of memory, of love, of trial and error, of Christmas, of Easter, the memory of my Nana teaching her young daughter how to cook for her new husband, my Nana sitting at the table sharing a meal with her sisters, brother and parents, it is so much more than just a pot of beans. I think of this as I continue on my own journey of cooking, there is so much to learn and I seek to never stop. I am overwhelmed by the beauty of taking an art that spans cultures and generations and making it my own and sharing it with those I love. What I love most about cooking is, it’s the best way to communicate love without saying it at all. I hope that ripple of love never ends, as the I love you’s of my family before me live on, and the ripple of my own I love you’s still has so many years to span.