“I spent the first
years of my life beside the hearth in my mother’s and grandmother’s kitchens,
seeing how these wide women, upon entering those sacred places, became
priestesses, great alchemists who dealt with water, air, fire, and earth—the
four basic elements that comprise the entire universe. And the most surprising
thing is that they did in in the most humble manner…as if they weren’t
transforming the world with the purifying power of fire, as if they didn’t know
that the foods they prepared and the rest of us ate remained in our bodies for
many hours, chemically altering our organisms, nourishing our souls and our
spirits and giving us an identity, a language, a legacy.”
So begins a series of essays and stories by Laura Esquivel. Like Water for Chocolate has been a
longtime favorite, and this little book, Between
Two Fires, sat on my shelf for a long time. One of the perks of moving is
that you get to re-examine all your accumulated stuff—books you forgot to read,
music you haven’t played in years—discovering treasures you already own is a
pleasure.
After the success of Like
Water for Chocolate, Laura Esquivel was approached by Vogue to do a regular
column where a story featured a recipe. It worked for a while, but the magic of
that formula began to wear thin. The stories within this anthology are
delightful—a view into the author’s philosophy and experiences—the Mexican culture
in which she was raised comes to the forefront, alive with folklore and family
stories.
The book features several recipes, including a Oaxacan black
mole and an intriguing apple soup. In the story, an apple soup is beloved—and
made for a favorite uncle every time he visits. After learning about his dark
double life after his death, the soup never tastes the same again—as though
it’s been haunted by his ghost.
The recipe that inspired me the most was manchamanteles. Also known as “the stew
that stains the tablecloth,” it’s a rich mix of pork, chicken, plantains,
pineapple, sweet potato, and spices. Ancho chilis are the star of the show. Not
being fond of bananas, I wondered if plantains would overwhelm the flavors for
me, so I chose the greenest ones I could find. Being married into a Puerto
Rican family has taught me a bit more appreciation for plantains, and when done
well, I actually really like them.
This was not a small dish. It took the largest cast iron pot
in the house to pull this one together, and it smelled amazing as it cooked. A
search online brings up many versions of the recipe—some have just chicken,
others pork, or both. Though one of my all-time favorite cooking magazines, Saveur,
offered a recipe for manchamanteles,
the one I went with for the more complex version from the Food
Network. (Rather than a re-do with my
own spin on the recipe, I’m simply linking to it. Go forth and live
adventurously—give this stew a try!)
“Intimate Succulencies: A Philosophic Treatise on Cooking,”
takes a historical perspective. Esquivel writes passionately about women’s
roles, and an account of a woman forbidden from learning who takes her
scientific experimenting into the kitchen is moving.
Of course, Like Water
for Chocolate is mentioned several times. Esquivel explores how she
developed the relationship between Tita and her mother in the final essay,
“Mother Witch.” It’s always interesting to learn how an author creates
motivations—what drives them emotionally, be it cultural traditions or personal
ambitions—and weaves them into a story that you can fall into. Laura Esquivel
paints rich character portraits, so much so that they seem like real accounts
rather than fiction.
Her connection to culture of the kitchen is delightfully
portrayed in Between Two Fires. The sensuality, the folklore, and the
techniques developed by those who cook in those kitchens are wonderfully
described.
I rarely look for “30-minute meals” and recipes with fewer
than five ingredients for simplicity’s sake. As much as I love to watch cooking
shows, the prospect of designing and making a meal in a short amount of time is
a source of anxiety. Especially when watching something like Chopped—duck, rutabaga, fermented
anchovies, and wintergreen Altoids—what?! I’d probably stand there
crying. I like to spend time in the kitchen. It’s a meditative process, and I’m
happy to spend hours making something for family and friends to enjoy. So it’s
not a surprise that one of the quotes I related to most came from the first
essay, “At the Heath”: “The time it took
to prepare didn’t matter, because there is no such thing as wasted time in the
kitchen—rather that is where we are able to recover lost time.”