Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving is obviously a very uniquely American holiday. Which is the perfect time for us to celebrate because we're a uniquely American family. Cuban-American, that is.

I have the privilege of hosting my big, fat, Cuban family here in my home this year. It's going to be a smaller group than usual. Only about 20 of us, because not everyone will be here.

So, we're busy moving furniture (did I mention that our home is freakishly small?) and setting up tables. My sisters and I are texting, emailing, and calling each other to coordinate the menu and the details of the thing.

It's a wonderful excuse to get together and say thank you to God collectively for the many blessings we enjoy.

I'm grateful to all of you who regularly read my blog and let me (over)share the day-to-day happenings in my little world. I thank God for each and every one of you faithful readers. I'm grateful also for all of you who follow me over on my Facebook page. If you don't already, please click here and join the relajo over there.

I'll be taking the rest of this week off from blogging to feed my people and to enjoy some down-time with my family. If you're new here, feel free to look around and if you've been here for a while, check out some of the Linked Within posts at the bottom of each entry. You might just see something new.

I'll be back very soon with some fun giveaways and I'll regale you with stories of my oh-so-interesting-real-life adventures.

I sent out these invitations to my family who have already told me they were coming before they received them, but that's not important right now.

Wish you could make it! You're always welcome here. My blog-casa is your blog-casa.

Also, Japi Sanguibin! ;-)

Lechón Asado Recipe - In the Crockpot!

From the archives - for your holiday pleasure....

Martas-kitchen-logo 1

I love to tell stories. This is part of my Cuban legacy. As Val (from Babalú Blog) and I discussed before I started doing this feature, I will probably have a story to tell each time I post a recipe. Today's story has an interesting twist.

My mom (the 93 year old) likes to tell stories of her life in Cuba. And I pay attention. She recalls a peaceful and sweet pre-revolutionary life back in her small town - back in “the day.” The few families that lived in the small port all knew and cared for one another.

Her family owned a huge German Shepherd they named Lindbergh, after the famous aviator. (Of course, in 1930's Cuba they pronounced it Leem-Berr.) Everyone in her small town knew this dog. The kids in town would come over and taunt Lindbergh (I know. I know. It's so NOT a Cuban pet's name) through the picket fence. The way she describes him, Lindbergh had a reputation for being pretty ferocious, and had bitten a few kids in his day. It was kind of an adventure for the kids to get the dog to react from the safety of the other side of the fence.

There was one daring kid, Pepin, who apparently felt exceptionally brave one day. He climbed up and straddled the fence. The big dog leaped up and opportunistically took a chunk out of the kid's ummm...rear end.

My grandfather (sur-name, Perez-Puelles) felt soo bad about the dog attacking the kid, that he paid for Pepin to receive medical attention. Poor Pepin was out of commission for a few weeks recovering from the bite in the nalga.

As my mom continues telling the story, I can sense she still feels bad about the incident. She tells the story apologetically. She figures that Pepin must be an old man now, since this happened over 70 years ago. Even so, she muses, he probably still has the scar from the dog bite.

I kind of feel the family guilt over this one, too. Poor Pepin and his dog-scarred nalga.

After all these years, it was not until just yesterday that I discovered the kid's last name.

I found out that Pepin's brother lives in Miami. And I even spoke to his nephew yesterday.

How random is that??

This recipe is quick, like Lindbergh, and tasty, like Pepin's umm ....

So by way of saying that the Perez-Puelles family still feels bad about the whole dog-bite incident, today's recipe is dedicated to:

Pepin PRIETO and his family.

And... just curious... Val, does your Uncle Pepin still have the scar?

Lechon

Quick and Tasty Lechon Asado Recipe - Estilo Pepin

• 2 Tbsp. Olive oil
• 1 1/2 lbs. Pork loin chops – the big, thick ones
• 2 cups Mojo Criollo*
• 1 white onion – sliced into rings
• 1 tsp. Parsley

1) Stab each of the chops two or three times and brown them quickly in the olive oil.

2) Put them in a crockpot. Cover with the mojo and the onion slices and sprinkle with parsley.

3) Cook on high for 4-5 hours. Or on low for 6-8 hours.

4) Serve with black beans and white rice.

*Mojo Criollo

You can use the mojo that comes in a bottle, or make your own.

Here’s my recipe.

• 20 cloves garlic
• 2 tsp. Salt
• 1 tsp. Coarse-ground Pepper
• 2 tsp. Oregano
• 1 ¾ cups orange
• ¼ cup white vinegar

1) Using a mortar and pestle, mash together the garlic, salt, pepper and oregano to make a paste.

2) Stir in the orange juice and vinegar.

(Original Lechón Asado Recipe posted at Babalú Blog. March 2007)

Why the Right to Vote is A Very Big Deal to Me

I was born in Havana, Cuba. My family came to America in early the 60's to escape the communist takeover of our beloved island home.

We were called “refugees.” For our first five years in this country, we were Cuban Refugees. Sometimes we were called “Exiles.” There was never any shame attached to this. We would have stayed in Cuba if the Castros had not come to power. America opened its generous and hospitable arms to us. We were happy to be here and felt welcomed.

By the time I was 12 years old, we were able to apply to become “Permanent Residents.” In case you don't know how this process works, this is when we were issued “Green Cards.”

I carried my Green Card with me at all times as was required by law. It was quite a challenge for a tween and then teenager to be responsible enough to do this, but I was more afraid of The Wrath of Papi (who was a serious stickler for this sort of thing - duh!) than of breaking one of the laws of the land, but that's not important right now.

In 1971, 18 year olds were given the right to vote, and it was a big deal at the time, but I would not be turning 18 until 1973. Just after my 18th birthday, I began the application process to become a Naturalized American Citizen.

The process involved:

• The Application
• The Naturalization Test
• Speaking and Writing English
• The Test (American History and Government)
• Learning the Rights and Responsibilities of American Citizenship

It took months (!) for the INS to acknowledge just the receipt of my application. (Things may be different now. This was back in the mid-70's.) I had to get myself down to the local police department and get fingerprinted. And wait. And go to the INS offices in Downtown LA to sign papers on multiple occasions which made me hate bureaucracies which made me a firm believer in small government. I finally got a date in early 1974 to take my Citizenship Test. And then I had to study. A lot.

It was an intense Civics course and I was serious about this. I remember reviewing some questions with my friends who had NO IDEA what the answers were to these questions. (If you're curious as to how you would do, try this test for yourself: Naturalization Test.

I was already in love with America, but it was at that time that it started to dawn on me what a truly exceptional country this is. My mom would take ESL* classes for over a year so she could pass her test. (*English as a Second Language.) My dad and I had many review conversations that involved the branches of government, the separation of powers, the wording of the Constitution, the genius that was this great experiment in freedom and democracy.

In my family, becoming an American Citizen was an important and serious business and we treated it as such.

I finally went to my Naturalization hearing on April 17, 1974, where I received a certificate that named me, Marta Maria Verdés, a Citizen of the United States of America. The Daughters of the American Revolution had a red, white and blue cake for us and gave us each an American flag. I remember feeling so proud and sighing a great, big, emotional sigh of relief. I vowed never to take my American citizenship lightly or for granted.

I voted in my first presidential election in 1976. (The Bicentennial!) and in every election since that time. I am a registered Republican and I am very conservative in my beliefs. (If you've been reading my blog for any length of time this shouldn't come as any big revelation.)

Voting is a sacred trust and it should be treated as such. I'm a super sappy American patriot. I love this country and the amazing system of government where the government derives its powers by the consent of the governed. I cry every time I hear the Star-Spangled Banner.

I choke up when I read this part of the Declaration of Independence: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed... *sniff, sniff*

Having come from a place where there was genuine government corruption and having watched as socialism went on to destroy my homeland and so many lives, as socialism has always historically done, I believe in the beauty of our system of democracy, even with all of its flawed human representatives.

Having said all that, Happy November 6th!

Also, God Bless America. And, go Dodgers!

Is Anybody Listening?

It's barely 5:30 AM. I'm in the uber-hip offices of NPR in Los Angeles waiting to be called into the studio.

I'm cooling my heels in the lobby as I wait to be summoned into a recording studio to tape a segment about my recollections of the Cuban Missile Crisis.

October 22, 1962. I was only 7 years old and my family was living in Miami when I first heard that the world was about to come to an end. And it had something to do with Cuba. Of course.

Those days come back to my memory like grainy snapshots:

• Duck and cover drills at school where we had to hide under our desks. (Seriously, people?)
• Dinner conversations about what city might be the first to be hit. (We agreed, rather dispassionately, as I recall, that it would most likely be New York.)
• If the Russians were to start World War III from Cuba, would Cubans then be sent to camps like the Japanese during World War II?
• Nikita Kruschev (the name of the Soviet Premier at that time) was fun to say.
• President John F. Kennedy had betrayed the Cuban troops in April of 1961 at the Bay of Pigs. Could he be trusted this time when the entire world was poised for nuclear destruction?
• Would anyone be left standing?

Today marks the 50th anniversary (!) of the Cuban Missile Crisis and I was invited to share my Childhood Memories of the Cuban Missile Crisis on NPR with host Michel Martin. The segment is called Tell Me More. It will be airing today around 1:00 pm PST - click on the link at that time to listen. (I think I sound much taller on the radio, but that's not important right now.)

I remember the entire episode in a surreal and fearful manner. The world was on the brink of nuclear destruction and I would probably not live to see my 8th birthday. What a world.

Fidel Castro is on his deathbed as I write this. Wouldn't it be fitting if his life ended today? It would just be so much easier to remember the date that way.

Remembering Papi. Resolviendo - Cuban style

My dad was an Electrical Engineer. A Cuban Engineer. Which made him brilliant and innovative with just a touch of Mad Scientist to him.

When we first arrived in this country, someone had given us a very old, very used, five foot tall refrigerator. We were grateful to have it, since we arrived here with nothing. A gift of a large appliance, no matter how old or short was nothing to be sneezed at.

That refrigerator was not just old, it was quite fragile. It was for sure not a big name, like Frigedaire or Maytag. It had one of those clunky metal handles that you pull down in order to open the fridge. I still remember that it made a big "ka-chunk" sound when you opened it. There was no sneaking food from this old beast. Having six kids in the family constantly pulling on that old handle was a bit too much for the old fridge to handle, (pun intended) and so it soon broke off.

Of course, we couldn't afford a new refrigerator...

My dad, the Cuban Engineer to the rescue!

He found the largest screwdriver he could find. Seriously, it must have been at least 12 inches long. Then he attached some bolts to the bottom and attached it where the old handle had been and voila! New refrigerator handle!

We have no photos of this amazing thing. We barely have photos of ourselves during this time, but that’s not important right now.

Check out the sketch I’ve drawn from my very vivid memory of the thing. I always found it in turns amazing and hideous.

Damn Cubans!

Do you have a good "Resolviendo" story? Please share.

(original story posted on TikiTiki Blog.)

From Marta. With Love. (MBFCF Giveaway #6)

First, I want to thank you all for your extraordinary participation and engagement this past week as I celebrate my 6th year in the land of Blogging.

Today, I want to share some of my own memories of “Cuando Sali de Cuba.”

The times that I remember the most from my childhood, come to me in the form of grainy super-8 film and fading snapshots. They are mostly family and beloved objects; things that any five-year-old might keep in an old and slightly torn shoe box. They are old and oh-so-faded. Not much value outside of my own little life.

left to right: Miriam, Marta (me!), Alina. Varadero, 1957.

My most vivid memories of “aquel entonces,” which I've often written about in this space, are of our summers spent at the beach in Varadero, Cuba.

The summers in Havana, you see, were brutally hot. So we summered (<--is that a word?) in Varadero. The most beautiful beach in the world. According to my mom, Luza, it's where I took my very first steps in the summer of 1956.

We have home movies of those precious times. And photographs. I am guessing that because it was such a carefree era in our lives, there was plenty of time to stop and capture the everyday. My dad and uncle with their cameras following us little girls in our Catalina swimsuits as we splashed around in the azure surf eating mamoncillos.

The cousins would spend the summers with us. We all got to choose our “salvavidas,” (translation: “lifesavers”) which in retrospect is some sort of cruel joke. People, I had an inflatable duck that was supposed to be a life-saving device. What delicious innocence.

left to right: Alina, Ferdy, Maria-Elvira, Ileana, Miriam, Marta (me!). Varadero 1960.

I can still taste the warm salt water. I remember chasing the bright red crabs along the beach. I remember the agony of having to follow The 3-Hour Rule, which stated that you could not go swimming after eating until you had waited 3 hours for your digestion to be completed. (Cuban child abuse.)

The nostalgia of these sweet moments is vivid. My sisters and I disagree on the memories at times. We will argue, as only Cuban sisters can. They insist I was too young to remember anything. I describe something from that time that I can recall with great detail. They act surprised. It's a complicated and familiar dance we do, tripping through the recollections of what was once an idylic childhood.

I write down what I can remember here on this blog. I write about yesterday and today and my hopes for tomorrow. I share my stories. I share your stories. And I've been doing it in this space, with your encouragement, for 6 years now. (And today just happens to be the 6th. Coincidence? I think not.)

Speaking of 6 years...I celebrated my 6th birthday here in the U.S. - No more Varadero summers for us. The remembrances of holidays spent at the most beautiful beach in the world have all but faded, but they have never completely diminished.

Life was good. Then we lost everything. Then we found the good again. It's the circle of life.

**********************************

MBFCF Blogiversary Giveaway #6:  

A Varadero Sign (handpainted by yours truly)

That's right. A hand-painted-by-me (shut up. I know!) Varadero Sign. (It's wooden. About 18 inches long and suitable for hanging. I have a plan to open an Etsy shop very soon. Today is not that day, but that's not important right now.)

Painted in aqua with the name of The Most Beautiful Beach in the World: Varadero.

Please leave a comment on this post for a chance to win this beautiful hand-painted Varadero sign (by me, people!). Answer one or all of the following questions:  

• Is there a particular place that dominates your childhood memories?
• Do any of you have memories of Varadero?
• Were you forced to follow The 3 Hour Rule?
  

I'll choose a winner at the end of MBFCF Blogiversary Giveaway Week on Monday, October 8th, 2012 at 11 am.

La Virgen de La Caridad - A Personal History

September 8, 1961.

My family had been in the U.S. for seven long months. There was still a longing for anything or anyone that reminded us of "home." We eagerly waited for news that the revolution had failed and that the new regime had fallen and that we would soon be heading back to all things familiar.

The Catholic Archdiocese of Miami, which was instrumental in helping 14,000 unaccompanied minors travel to the U.S. to save them from Marxist indoctrination, was to have a mass. (My brother was one of those Pedro Pan kids. You can read about that here.)

September 8, 1961. That same day...

The image of Our Lady of Charity (La Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre) arrived from Cuba. She was first taken to the camps where the newly arrived children were interned waiting to be sent to host families in other parts of the country. Then she was to be exhibited during a mass at St. John Bosco in what is now known as Little Havana. My mother insisted we go. I think it was equal parts religious devotion and longing to be among other exiles.

The Verdés sisters minus one. Circa late 1961. I'm the little one with the curly hair.

Off we went to the participate in the mass, to see the newly-arrived-from-Cuba image of Our Lady, and to connect with other Cuban refugees. 

Picture my mother with her three youngest daughters (there are 5 of us girls) in tow. Into the throng we went. And there she spotted an Old Cuban Friend. The exchange went something like this:

Old Cuban Friend: "You! Here? What joy this brings me!"

Luza (my mom): "I can't believe it!"

They proceed to hug and cry and cling to each other like drowning children to a life preserver.

Breaking away and between the sobs, they begin to ask about the rest of the family. My mom introduces us as her three youngest. "You have THREE young girls?" The woman starts looking a bit suspicious.

Old Cuban Friend (or was she?): "Wait! What about young Arturito? And what about Zeida from down the street?"

It was at this point that both of them simultaneously realized that they did not know each other after all. But, of course, in Classic Luza Style, she said nothing. It was a case of completely mistaken identity.

She quickly grabbed us and we went into the mass.

"Mami, who was that?"

"I have no idea."

I think the emotions were genuine. We were here and we were free and there was some comfort in the familiar. The tears of grief and joy were heartfelt, even if they were grossly misplaced. And, to be honest, I've experienced that Cuban familiarity many times. My dad used to say that all of us Cubans have a map of the island on our forehead that only other Cubans can see, but that's not important right now. (Cuban Superpowers Activate!)

This happened 50 years ago and I can vividly remember the moment. I had never seen my mom cry so hard. It made such an impact on me.

September 8th is the 400th anniversary of the original finding of the statue in the rough Cuban waters in the Bay of Nipe (pronounced NEE-PEY). Here's that story.

The Archdiocese of Miami is celebrating with a mass and concert. And because the Cuban community has grown in the half century since the arrival of Our Lady, it will be held in a much, much bigger venue.

Here are the details:

Saturday September 8th 2012

American Airlines Arena, 601 Biscayne Boulevard, Miami, Florida 33132

• 4:00 PM - Doors of the AAA open to the public
  Statue of Our Lady of Charity departs by sea from the Shrine of O. L. of Charity
• 4:30 PM - Holy Rosary at the AAA
• 5:00 PM - Arrival of the statue at the AAA
• 6:00 PM - Holy Mass, presided by Archbishop Thomas Wenski
• 8:14 PM - Concert with the participation of well-known singers and musicians

*Admission is free, and there will be concession stands open throughout the event.

If you're in Miami, you should go. Maybe you'll see someone you know. Or think you know. Even if you don't know them, if they're Cuban and you're Cuban, you should hug and kiss them anyway.

It's what we do, isn't it?

Wassup En LA? A Kickstarter Project

Do you love sitcoms? Do you miss real-old-school-laugh-out-loud-funny sitcoms? Are you as tired as I am about what passes for comedy on tv sometimes?

Say hello to my little friends...

There's a group of very talented Cubans who are producing a fabulous bilingual comedy called "Wassup en LA?" And I've been following their progress for months now on Facebook. (You should too, but that's not important right now.)

They describe their effort as a family-themed comedy sitcom that follows in the footsteps of classics such as I Love Lucy, The Cosbys, Chico and the Man, and Que Pasa, USA?

Here's where you come in. Have you heard of Kickstarter? It's a way you can get involved and become a part tv history by helping to get this remarkable show on the tube. I'm proud to say we kicked in to help get this project made.You should, too.

I'm asking today for your support in this effort. They have until September 8th to reach their goal and every little bit helps. We can do this. You can kick in $5, $12, $25 or more. I encourage you to become a backer. Click on the Wassup En LA? Kickstarter Link and show them some big, fat, Cuban family love.

I fell in love with these guys the first time I saw them and I want to see this show get the recognition it deserves. It reminds me so much of the first time I saw ¿Que Pasa, USA? and my mind was blown.

I'd love for us to become a part of TV history here. Kick in a few bucks and tell them Marta sent you, and share it with everyone you know. Let's make this happen.

Or as my friend, Pitbull would say, "Dale!"

You will recognize your own Cuban family on the screen. It's awesome. Be sure to spread the word. This is a project that's worthy of our backing and our support. I want to bring back family television. How about you?

Con mucho cariño,

Marta

"What's for dinner?"

A few months ago when we had our kitchen painted, I had my painter-man do the top of the pantry door in chalk paint.
Can I just tell you how much I love this?

Sometimes we leave notes to each other, but the main function of the board is for menu planning. (And making me look über-organized when guests come over, which lately has been practically every day, but that's not important right now.)

I am that mother who gets a deer-in-the-headlights look when they asked the dreaded, "What's for dinner?" question. (When they ask is when I immediately remember that I was the one who forgot to take something out of the freezer and I then instantly feel guilty. I get over it pretty quickly, but that's not the point.)

So, I came up with the Chalkboard Menu Planner and now I am the hero again.
The best part is when one of them asks, "What's for dinner?" There's an instant response (not from me), "Just look on the board!" WIN.

Now, if I could just devise a scheme to have the laundry do itself....

Do you plan your menus? Tell me.

In case you're interested, here are some of the recipes (with pictures!) I will be using. I've shared these before in various places. Please click on the links.

Churrasco with Chimichurri

Roast Chicken

Stew - Carne con Papas

Tortilla Soup

Steak

It's Not Easy Being Green - Avocados from Mexico

Growing up Cuban meant we didn't eat many salads. And by "many," I mean, "none."

For the most part, the only time green things appeared on our plates were the tiny, diced pieces of bell pepper in our sofrito. (For the uninformed, sofrito is at the beginning of most Cuban dishes. Sauteed onion, garlic, and green bell pepper form the basis of the magic that is Cuban food, but that's not important right now.)

We add asparagus to our Arroz con Pollo and I think that pretty much ends our venture into "green" territory.

The exception being that on special occasions, we were treated to An Avocado Salad. *insert heavenly choir here*

Having grown up here in California makes me partial to the beautiful dark-skinned Avocados from Mexico (as opposed to the big, fat, smooth ones from South Florida). Don't judge me. I also make a pretty mean guacamole.

Today, Mexico is the only place in the world where avocado trees naturally bloom four times a year. Which means that we get avocados here pretty much year-round. (Thank you, God.)

But every now and then I want my Avocados from Mexico to taste, well, Cuban. And this is my go-to salad. Don't you love it when I share?

Buen Provecho!

CUBAN-STYLE AVOCADO SALAD

• 2 ripe avocados, sliced
• 1/2 large sweet red onion, sliced into rings
• Sea salt
• Fresh cilantro, chopped

Dressing:

• 1/4 cup olive oil
• Juice of 3 limes (about 1/4 cup)
• 1 red bell pepper, diced
• 1/2 packet of Sazón Goya Complete
• Salt & pepper to taste

1) Blanch the bell pepper by putting in a small bowl and microwaving on high for about 40 seconds. Let cool.

2) For the dressing, whisk together the olive oil, lime juice, Sazón Goya Complete and the cooled red bell pepper.

3) Arrange red onions on a plate, top with sliced avocados.

4) Salt the avocados.

5) Pour dressing over everything.

6) Top with fresh cilantro.

It totally feels like a special occasion, doesn't it?

Find many more avocado recipes (including mine!) on the Avocados from Mexico site.

{Disclaimer: I am being compensated by Avocados from Mexico for this campaign. Isn't that totally awesome?}