My Big Fat Cuban Family: A Cuban-American Blog

Cuban Food Review ... Or is it?

*The following post was written by Kikita, la hija de Marta.* 

Here in "The Bubble" (as Mami likes to call it), there is not much Cuban food to be had. That's why Mami posts recipes over on Babalú Blog. That's why we cook so much. If we want to eat out and we want to eat Cuban food, we have to take a road trip.

So, imagine my excitement when I hear that the Souplantation (which is known as Sweet Tomatoes in some states) is having a special where they will be serving Cuban Cuisine for two weeks in August!

Then I saw the menu, and I got worried. There was a whole lot of "chorizo" and nowhere did I see the word "platano."

Did I let that stop me?

Of course not!

Even though their list had me thinking that whoever planned there menu must have had Cuba confused with some other country (Spain, maybe) and that the person had never heard of the internet or how to do any kind of research (because if they had would they really have thought "Chorizo" said "Cuban Food" - nevermind that we put chorizo in boliche, that's not imporant right now), I decided I would go and give these plantation people a chance.

First up, the Havana Banana Salad.

No, the "Banana" was not platano. It was just your basic, everyday banana. And since it was a chip, it was really just acting as a tasteless crouton. Was the salad delicious? Of course. A delicious citrus blend of happiness. I daresay it tasted like summer. But it didn't taste Cuban, not even with the black beans added for effect.

Not ready to give up hope, I continued on and found this:

I'm sure there are ways to Cuban-ify potato salad, but this wasn't it. Switching out bacon for chorizo (which, again, says "Spain" before it says "Cuba", right?) and adding lime with that dash of cumin (which ARE two Cuban food staples, we just don't staple like that) only makes your potato salad taste limey. Yummy, if you're the type who likes potato salad, but not Cuban.

I held my breath as I continued on. Telling myself that there really was no way to mess up "Cuban beans and Rice." It's too traditional. It's impossible to get wrong. Impossible? Not for Souplantation!

E'CU'E ME!?!

Garbanzos?

Y que es turmeric? Isn't that an INDIAN spice?!

AGAIN WITH THE LIME?

And did they add the honey to make the beans sweet? They were the wrong color.

We call them Black Beans and White Rice for a reason. This reason must have been lost on the Sweet Tomatoes. If they were going for a Moros y Cristianos style, the were still the wrong color whether you make it with black beans or the red ones. Plus, all that lime was really pushing that "summer" taste. And if you like cold beans and rice, it was really quite delicious. An untrained palatte might even go so far as to call it "Tropical" because "Lime" really does scream "Tropical," but "Tropical" was not the scream I had bubbling up in my throat.

In a state of shock, I moved to the soups. 

They're the Souplantation, right? So maybe they'll do better with that... or not.

Ay! Again with the chorizo! And sweet potatoes? Well... I guess that's the closest thing to boñato. (Technically speaking, sweet potatoes ARE in the boñato family, they just aren't the ones most commonly used in Cubano boñato dishes.) I was not fooled for one second. I was eating chili, without the cheese and with black beans and sweet potatoes thrown in to confuse me. A delicious chili, but I didn't come for a chili cook-off. I came for Cuban food.

I was grateful when I saw the sign that told me, this time, no one was trying to pretend this food was really Cuban. Just because you put the word "Cubano" in front of Focaccia, does not make your pizza Cuban.

I knew it was trying to be "just like the classic sandwich," but putting ham and more chorizo on top of a pickle pizza just makes it a pickle pizza with ham and chorizo. (Yes, I know Focaccia is not exactly pizza, but it's flat and there was cheese on it and it tasted like a pizza with ham and chorizo and pickle - a good pizza, but not even a Cuban pizza: which DOES exist, by the way.)

 Once I got past my utter disappointment at not finding the promised Cuban food anywhere, I really did enjoy the taste sensations dancing on my taste buds.

All in all, the food was good, it just wasn't Cuban.

Thanks Souplantation & Sweet Tomatoes, if you ever think about adding a Cuban Cafecito to your menu, please call me, Kikita, first and let me teach you how to Taka Taka.

It will be more better. Te lo prometo.

I promise. 

Back-to-(Home)School

Jonathan started his sophomore year of high school today.
The beauty of homeschooling is that we can "do school" anywhere that has WI-FI, amazing food....and tiny dinosaurs. ;-)

Happy First Day of School!

The Summer House

My friend, Jana blogs over at The Summer House. It's called the Summer House because she loves the simplicity of living in a summer beach rental-type atmosphere where everything is clean, decluttered, and ready for fun.

She lives out her philosophy of simple living beautifully. And I'm always impressed and inspired by her. 

Internets, meet Jana...

I, of course, am just the opposite. My house is messy and cluttery in an artistic-A.D.D.-hyper-collector sort of way.

In spite of those differences, we are great friends and we manage to carve out a couple of hours for coffee at least once a week throughout the year and a once-a-week beach day through the summer. 

Meanwhile, back at the Summer House......

I started this post telling you about Jana, because we rent a beach house for a long, relaxing week every summer. Because of her inspiration, we have taken to calling it The Summer House. (Don't sue me, please, my friend. Thanks.) 

The house itself is bright and airy, with a big kitchen and lots of couches for lounging and a big patio that's perfect for cookouts and surfboards or in our case drying beach towels.

Our Summer House is only about an hour's drive south from us, in San Diego county. A mere 238 steps to the beach. With the best sand imaginable for sand castle building.

Or expressing ourselves artistically. This is Art.... ;-)

Even though the house is pretty roomy, and we have space for lots of people to hang out, we don't have as many comfortable sleeping surfaces. So we invited friends to come and be with us and just scheduled their visits on different days.

It worked out quite nicely for the first few days, with friends popping in for a morning or afternoon.

And the sun cooperated on some days, but not on others.

Still it was relaxing and fun to just “be” with whoever was available for the day.

I loved the quiet moments in between visitors when I could just sit and read and watch my kids playing in the sand. (Much like I did when they were little. Go figure.)

The ocean was soothing and oh, so healing. And we all were so in need of a rest and the respite that comes from serious playing.

Or just doing nothing. We did a lot of nothing. As often as possible.

Some of our young friends came to celebrate Lucy's 18th birthday, which meant there were more mouths to feed.

For breakfast:

Lunch:

And dinner:

And I appreciate that all of her and Jon's friends are fun and easy to be with.

And are always ready to cooperate with me when I have a camera in my hand, which is most of the time, but that's not important right now. ("Quick, put on these disguises!")

Our time spent in the Summer House also reminds me of my childhood summers in Cuba, which were spent in Varadero, always with a houseful of friends and family. We would get to the beach as early as possible and put off eating because of the 3-Hour Rule (that's me on the right with the mop of uber-curly hair standing behind my trusty Duck Life-saver).

I hope my kids have the same happy memories that I do of the Limited Communal Summer Living Experience (LCSLE?).

It pleases me to think that they will indeed.

 

P.S. Thanks, Jana, for the Summer House inspiration. =D 

This Girl

I fell in love with this girl the moment I first laid eyes on her. It was August 11, 1993.

Today is the 18th Anniversary of the Beginning of the Love Affair.

Her good friends, Brandon and David made the following film in her honor, with a little help from her brother, Jonathan and a few willing strangers. 

Get some popcorn.

And let the Birthday Games begin.

    

 Thanks to all of you who participated in all the cyber-fun. Lucy totally appreciated your presence at her Virtual Birthday Party. =D

 

Marta Makes Fajitas (I totally sizzled, too.)

Did I tell you we were on vacation this week?

We usually take this week off to celebrate our anniversary and Lucy's birthday (that's tomorrow) and we spend a wonderful week laying around doing nothing but eating and surfing and sunset-watching and eating some more.

It just so happens that this week I was due to participate in another Cooking Challenge. This time it was a Sabroso Grilling Challenge using one of the various World Harbors® marinades.

I chose the Mexican Style Fajita Marinade.

We're in San Diego this week and we're so close to Mexico that I was kind of inspired. My plan was to marinate some chicken breasts and grill them up and do something fun and different, but... the grill at our beach house is broken. *insert sad face here* What to do?

I did what any good Cuban would do. Time to RESOLVER!

And so I ended up making some Sizzling Fajitas and they turned out so much better than what I originally had planned (but that's not important right now). =D

Buen Provecho!

Disclosure: This post is part of a sponsored series to promote Mizkan cooking wines, vinegars and marinades. I also received samples of Mizkan’s Holland House, Nakano and World Harbor brand products and promotional material from Mizkan to assist in preparing the posts. All opinions and recipes in this series are my very own.

The Help - And the winners are...

Thank you again for your willingness to share your stories. (And for letting me share mine!)

If you must know, my very favorite character, especially in the film, was Celia Foote. I loved how she totally disarmed Minny with her innocence - or was it ignorance?

And the winners of the giveaways are:

The Dreamworks The Help Gift Pack goes to:

A copy of the book, The Help by Kathryn Stockett goes to:

Congratulations to both of you!

Please send me an email with HEY, MARTA! I WON STUFF ON YOUR BLOG! in the subject line and your snail mail address so that I can forward to Dreamworks and get this cool stuff out to you ASAP.

Thanks again to all of you who played with me. And seriously.....GO. SEE. THIS. FILM!

 

19 Years.

On August 8th, 1992, we said, “I do.” And I'm so glad “we did.”

I've been happily kissing this face ever since.

(I don't think I'll get tired of doing that any time soon, but that's not important right now.)

Happy 19th anniversary, Honey. I love you MORE.

 

The Help - A Memory and A Giveaway

When I was a small child in Cuba B.C.* my family had "Help."

(*Before Castro)

Pita (pronounced in Spanish - PEE-TAH) was the family chauffer. He was a beautiful, old mulato that took us everywhere. Well, he took my mom and us kids everywhere. My dad drove himself to work and back. It fell to Pita to take us shopping and to the movies and to the beach. As he drove he would always tell us fantastic stories of his life. I remember him being hysterically funny and I remember that he and my dad were sit-around-the-back-porch-and-smoke-together friends.

Fausta was The Cook. We in turn adored and were terrorized by her. She was a very large woman and my memory gives her credit for the very best frijoles negros (black beans) that I will ever eat in my life.

Then there was Vicky. Her real name was Emildonia, but she made us call her Vicky. Our "manejadora," or nanny. She was beautiful and patient and kind. And we loved her desperately.

We left these beloved folks when we left Cuba in early 1961. They were very much a part of our family and it hurt to say goodbye. I often think back to those people and wonder about them and their stories. You know how much I like stories...

Fast forward to present day. (I promise you this ties in.)

Did you ever read a book and want desperately for it to be made into a movie? We bibliophiles spend a lot of time loving and hating on that premise.

We love the idea that our favorite literature may be coming to the big screen. We clap at the previews but then when we finally see the film are usually (at least mildly) disappointed in the way it was done. (I'm talking to you, Peter Jackson.) Am I right?

Such was the case with the book, The Help. Set in the south in the 1960's. From the press release for the movie:

It's about three women who build an unlikely friendship around a secret writing project that breaks societal rules and puts them all at risk. From their improbable alliance a remarkable sisterhood emerges, instilling all of them with the courage to transcend the lines that define them, and the realization that sometimes those lines are made to be crossed—even if it means bringing everyone in town face-to-face with the changing times.

I was invited by Dreamworks Pictures to a pre-screening of the movie, The Help a few weeks ago and then again this last week while I was in San Diego for BlogHer 2011.

Can I just tell you how much I loved it? In fact, I loved it so much the first time that I was delighted to get a second chance to see it. (Thanks, Dreamworks!)

I was not at all disappointed. The characters came to life almost exactly as I had pictured them. The story was funny and poignant and breathtaking.

As I watched the plot unfold, I remembered our own "Help" back in Cuba. I connected most to the character of Skeeter who wanted to use her gift as a writer to help these women tell their stories.

And I definitely reached for my tissues more than once, but that's not important right now.

I am in love with this film. Seriously. And not just with the story and characters, but with the look and feel of it. The cinematography is brilliant.

So I was triply (<--Is that a word?) delighted when the generous folks at Dreamworks were gracious enough to let me offer a giveaway.

1) The prize pack from Dreamworks Pictures includes all of these:

- THE HELP t-shirt in adult female sizes of S, M, L, XL (The winner can let me know their size.)

- THE HELP pocket jotter & pen

- THE HELP fan

- THE HELP nail file/mirror

2) I also have an extra copy of the book, The Help by Kathryn Stockett. (This is my own to give away. You're very welcome.)

So, to enter this drawing, please answer one or all of the following questions:

• If you read the book, do you have a favorite character?
• Did you ever have "Help?"
  
• If you have not read the book, have you heard good things about it?
• Do you have a story to tell? Tell me.
  

Remember that if you want to enter the drawing for the Dreamworks gift pack and the book, you must leave a comment on this post and I'll choose a winner on Wednesday, August 10th, 2011 at 5 pm Pacific. (That's also the day the movie comes out in theaters, Go. See. It.)

Thanks again, Dreamworks!

Just call me Marta, La Blogona

We (Eric, Lucy, Jonathan and I) are headed down to San Diego. For the next three days I'll be up to my eyeballs in BlogHer 2011 activities.

Because I blog. So I'm attending a blog conference where I will meet other bloggers. And celebrate being a part of the blogosphere. (And I kind of like seeing my name and blog on a badge, but that's not important right now.)

But now comes the moment when I have to try to explain all of this to my mom. (Yes, the same 97 year old who understands how Google works.)

But there is no good word for "blog" in Spanish. It comes out sounding unspeakably weird. More like "el blok."

Me: "Es una conferencia para blogueras." (<--That last word sounds even weirder when it's spoken aloud.)

Luza: "Bloguera? Que palabra mas fea."

Hmm....we've reached an impasse. She finds the word, bloguera, to be ugly.

Come on! It's the best I can do to translate a made up English word! This is impossible! (<--You can tell I'm getting stressed about the conversation and the lack of a good word explaining what I do by the use of many exclamation points!!)

I try to defend myself: "Es una palabra inventada." It's a made up word, I tell her. A combination and abreviation of web+log. By the way, there's no good Spanish translation for either "web" or "log." 

I was just trying to explain why I'm going to San Diego, but now I'm caught up in an impossible conversation. I'm getting a little upset and my voice is rising. In fact, I'm practically yelling, like that's going to make the "B" word any easier to translate.

But lucky for me, my 97 year old mom still has her wits about her and has a good sense of humor.

Luza: "Entonces tu eres una BLOGONA. Yo tambien puedo inventar palabras." ("Then you are a BLOGONA. I can make up words, too.")

*sigh*

San Diego, here I come! ;-)

Do you have a better word? Let's hear it.

Cuando Sali de Cuba - Anna's story

Editor's note: One of the best things I love about blogging is hearing your stories. When I do a comment giveaway, I read each and every one of your comments. A while back I was doing a giveaway for the Mariel DVD and asked you to share your Leaving Cuba stories. I was at once astounded and deeply touched. If you're a Cuban living in the U.S., you have a story. And most likely it is an amazing one.

I'd like to start sharing your stories here on My big, fat, Cuban family. So please enjoy the first in what I hope will become a regular series here: Cuando Sali de Cuba, stories of courage and hope.

The first in this series comes from my friend, Anna Tang Norton. It's the story of how her parents met in Cuba and how they started with nothing and managed to thrive here in the U.S. Enjoy.

Cuando Salieron de Cuba...

I was born in the USA, but my parents came from Cuba in 1968 and 1970.  Their story is just as incredible as the many I’ve heard over the years, and like those stories, I am never tire of hearing it.  In fact, I’ve romanticized it in my mind; I think it’s incredible and only my parents could have experienced it.

When my parents met in Havana in the mid-60s, they both knew they did not like the government there and were looking for a way out of the country.  My father had already started working toward his goal of leaving the country, and when he learned of my mother’s similar intentions, they set toward that goal together. 

They were both sent to work in the fields - La Agricultura - for months, as punishment for declaring their desire to abandon their country.  Finally, in early 1968, my father received word that he would be leaving the country, heading to Madrid.  Quickly, he and my mother married and four months later, my father received his visa to leave Cuba for Spain in his first steps to obtain asylum in the United States. 

He went to Spain, and two months later, arrived in New York City.  They figured it would be a short period of time before my mother’s visa arrived, and she would follow the same trajectory.  However, it was two years before she reunited with my father in NYC.

The two years they were apart were difficult, to say the very least.  For years, I have been told the stories, so many times in fact, that I can recite them from memory.

Living in Brooklyn, my father spent two years doing his own laundry, which was all dyed blue, as he didn’t know to separate colors in the wash.  He also learned to walk on the street side of the sidewalk on his way home from work, to avoid hold ups.

One of my favorite stories is when he would pass a nun every morning and she would say, “Morning!”  He simply replied, “Sorry” and would continue walking.  I remember asking why he would say “Sorry” and he told me, “I didn’t know that she was saluting the day.  I had always learned to say ‘Good morning’ and I thought she was asking for ‘money.’  I felt terrible that I didn’t have any money to give her, so I would apologize everyday.”

When my mom arrived in 1970, my father picked her up at the airport and took her to a brand new apartment he had rented in Queens.  He withdrew all the money he had in the bank, took my mother to buy a coat for the winter and spent the rest on groceries. 

If it had been me, at this point, I think I would have been spent.  But for my parents, their journey was really just beginning.  With nothing to their name - no family, no money, no language - they dove right into work, trying to assimilate into this new world.

A few years later, my sister was born and a few years after that, I arrived.  By the time I came along, in 1975, they had traveled across the Hudson and settled in New Jersey.  I can’t imagine how they did it - they became citizens, they bought a home, they raised two daughters, provided the best they could for us, took us on vacations, celebrated our birthdays and holidays. 

They did it all - they did it with hard work, sweat, humility, and pride.  I am fortunate to have been raised with their example.

Years later, they have lived a full life, with joys, sadness, and everything in between that comprises a life.  A good life, overall.

They still talk about Cuba, about how it was when they were little, how it changed when the Revolution started, and how frightened they were when they left. 

They also talk about their visits back to Cuba.  In 1987, I had the privilege of traveling to Cuba with my mom for the first time.  I was 11 years old, and while my mother had been born there and I had not, it was a brand new experience for both of us.  I was able to witness my mother seeing her father for the first time in 20 years, witness the beautiful dynamic and love of family, even though they don’t know you or you them. 

Years later, I was able to travel to Cuba again, this time with both  my parents.  I was older this time, 23, and spent hours with my cousins (many which have been able to come to the United States themselves), aunts, uncles, and again, my grandfather.  I am fortunate to have parents who have continued to love their country of birth, even though that country closed the doors on them so many years ago.

But at the same time, they are American.  They have spent more than half their lives here, learning American customs.  Loving American customs. 

They taught me to be American - to have dreams and fulfill them. They opened doors for me, encouraging me to educate myself.  They always came around to my American thinking, even though sometimes it took a little more prodding and convincing than I wanted (I specifically remember my teenage years during this time - ha!). 

They encouraged me to stand up for myself, to take care of myself, and to never expect that someone would take care of me.

Now that I have my own son, I always carry the lessons they have taught me close to my heart.  For some, it’s a terrible nuisance to have immigrants for parents.  But for me, it’s their experience, their lessons, and their example that lead me to be a good daughter, wife, mother, and overall person.

I am grateful for my parents and their story on leaving Cuba - and no, I don’t roll my eyes when I hear it:  "Cuando salimos de Cuba..."

~Anna Tang Norton

{I'm collecting your stories! I would love to have you share your family's own Cuando Sali de Cuba story. Send me an email with the story and some photos. Send to mdarby at cox dot net. Please put Cuando Sali de Cuba in the subject line. Thank you!}