For The Love Of Food

"Let's face it, a nice creamy chocolate cake does a lot for a lot of people; it does for me."
 - Audrey Hepburn

"Food is our common ground, a universal experience."
 - James Beard

 

I open the freezer and take stock of the contents before selecting some about a fourth of a  frozen chicken. This isn't the nicely cut and packaged chicken or beef you find at a grocery store: this is meat bought from a tiny butcher's shop or even a local street vendor, cut up, purchased fresh, and placed in plastic bags which probably aren't exactly freezer-proof.

Next, I take stock of my vegetable options. Onions, tomatoes, potatoes, and avocado are on a shelf above the counter. So many things that I grew up refrigerating are always left out in the open here in South America. This goes for eggs, most fruits, and some types of butter too.

I'm at Casa Adalia, as I am every other weekend, being the respite house-mom for girls rescued from human trafficking. It's always interesting to plan meals here. First of all, I don't buy the food, I just have to go with what is available. Second, lunch is the biggest meal of the day here, usually served with soup and fresh juice along with the meat, vegetables, and rice. Always rice. I consider making an Ecuadorian-style salad: cucumber, tomato and onion, chopped and mixed with a little lime, salt, and olive oil as the dressing. This time though I reach for a bag of green beans. I snap the ends off one by one before dropping them in a pot of water. Into another pot, I measure out a cup of rice and two cups of water. I turn on the gas, strike a match, and light the stove, the burners blazing to life. I was intimidated the first time I had to light the stove. I felt as though I were stepping back in time. Yet seeing the blue flames bursting to life, towards my quickly-removed hand, is another thing I've become used to. Now I can light a stove, make rice, and come up with an acceptable Ecuadorian meal like a pro.

I peel and slice three sweet plantains and fry them, as a little extra treat. In a large saucepan I toss the thawed chicken plus onion and tomato. The oven has been broken ever since I started staying weekends here, and since Ecuadorians mostly just use the stove-top anyway, I've learned to make a variety of meals that way too. 

I begin to peel several arbol de tomates. I blend them, strain out the seeds, and mix in water and sugar to taste. They are very strong if eaten plain, but are great as juice. Just like lemons before being made into lemonade. 

At the moment there's just one girl at the house, T, and her eight-month-old baby. T has a beautifully earnest way of saying grace, and she does so now, as we sit at the table, food steaming before us and the baby contentedly sitting on T's lap and reaching for anything she can. 

There are days like this, when it is quiet and peaceful. There have been other days with drama and conflict and tears. I wonder, for a moment, how things would be different if this house were in the States. How we might eat pre-prepared meals instead of coming up with how to use some odd pieces of chicken, and use a dishwasher instead of hand-washing everything. The green beans would be frozen, probably. None of that is bad or better, just different. There might be more programs available, more options for therapy and such. But this is what we have. This is where I am: learning to cook meals on gas stove tops and how to bargain on the streets for fresh produce. Those are the things I didn't think about learning. I was prepared for Spanish, and new ways of greeting people, and helping to deal with issues of trauma and hurt, and sharing about the redemption of Christ. Yet with all of that, I've found that food is just as important. It's been important to learn Ecuadorian recipes and traditions. It's also been important to share my own traditions, such as Mexican food and apple pie. The boys I work with especially love both those things, as long as the food isn't too spicy. I once dared them to eat a jalapeno with me. One boy did, ending up with streaming eyes, fanning his mouth and gulping down milk. However as long as I make dessert, all is forgiven. 

When I finish eating, I tell T that I can hold the baby so she can finish. She passes her over to me, because we haven't bought a high chair for the house yet. One thing at a time. For now, the most important things are grace said sincerely, talking about future dreams, listening, and other conversations and prayers. Mostly over hearty meals, prepared by hand.