La Americana: Two cultures. Two languages. One home.

THE GRINCH WHO STOLE CHRISTMAS

3:40 PM La Americana 0 Comments Category :

A few days ago when I pulled up to the house after rounding up kids from school, there were noticeable changes on our front porch. Santa mats had been placed inside and out the front door, a cranberry red wreath hung on its hook and several poinsettias had been placed all around the entrance way, which was spot clean. Opening the door, I smelled the divine fir needles before I saw the Christmas tree, upright in its stand, set in the far corner of our living room.

Someone was in a festive mood.

That someone being Luis, my husband, who wasn't allowed to celebrate Christmas growing up and has never showed much enthusiasm about the holiday until recently. Having all three kids under one roof has a way of inspiring a guy.

There are a lot of bizarre, random rules in Cuba, but criminalizing Christmas sits near the top of the list for me.

This has always been a fun holiday in my house. I remember my brother and I getting up at 4:00 in the morning to see what Santa had left for us, checking that he had eaten his cookies and finished his milk, and then passing back out, sprawled among G.I Joe's and Hello Kitty's, so that our parents could find us like a staged Toys-R-Us setting.

To the contrary, Fidel Castro outlawed Christmas, as well as all other religious activity and holidays, completely when he took over in 1959, naming Cuba an atheist state. Christmas also got in the way of the country's sugar harvest festival so poof, it was gone.

Suddenly no trees, no decorations or outward signs of celebration were allowed, except in tourist hot spots, though Christmas had existed on the island for 450 years. Initiated by Christopher Columbus, who is known as Cristóbal Colón in Spanish-speaking countries, when he landed in Cuba in 1492, European traditions and customs, including Navidad, were born on the island.

Until Castro's take over, Christmas Eve or La Noche Buena was a highly festive event with music and a feast, full of Cuban favorites – roasted pork, drenched in their seasoning of choice, mojo, with sides of yuca, congri (a rice and black bean mix), plantains, sidra (Spanish apple cider) and wine. Desserts were flan, rice pudding or turrones de almendra (almonds) or coco (coconut), the latter of which should be named Heaven. Creamy, shredded coconut squished with condensed milk, orange zest and vanilla, and today, enshrouded in dark chocolate and chilled. I could swim in the stuff.

There used to be midnight mass and Christmas Day was spent visiting family members, though by the time Luis came into the world this was simply something of the past.

I am told, however, it was treasured in secret by many. One Cuban friend said that growing up she had a neighbor who was a pilot and he had a Christmas tree in his living room. It was a 'big deal' and everyone did their best to catch a glimpse of it.

While Pope John Paul II coaxed Castro into restoring Christmas celebrations in 1998, today it is still not encouraged or looked highly upon by the government.

So tonight in Cuba there will be private get-togethers countrywide, as well in homes like ours across the U.S. Luis has changed the menu up and bought lobster, which he will grill, open-faced, and then bury into a large pan of vegetables on the stove and steam into some deliriously good thing. There's a pretty bottle of Amarone, gifted to him this past weekend, which I look forward to opening as well.

Tomorrow, it's my turn. For mid-morning brunch I am going to cook a leek and Gruyère frittata, turkey bacon and chocolate chip pancakes for the kids (OK, and me).

A couple of days later we are headed to Cuba and for the first time in five years we are going to ring in the new year in Havana, with my mother-in-law, Ana, who will meet her 18-month-old granddaughter for the first time. Marcos, who will be seven in May, and I haven't been in five years.

With Christmas nixed, New Year's is an all-out affair, festivities in the street and beyond.

I am super excited and and hope to have lots to report when we are back. If able, I will blog from Havana, but don't know the odds of that yet.

Happy holidays to you all and see you in 2014!

I'll close it out with a traditional Christmas, salsa style. Tito Puente and Cuban Queen of Salsa, Celia Cruz, sing about looking for a tree in the forest on Christmas Eve: Arbolito

A RECIPE: ROASTED CHICKEN, SESAME PANCAKES AND RED MISO HOISIN SAUCE

1:51 PM La Americana 0 Comments Category : Gwyneth Paltrow , hoisin sauce , roasted chicken , sesame pancake

ZAPATOS AT THE DOOR PLEASE

8:19 AM La Americana 0 Comments Category : Culture , Sambal , southeast asia

Nervous about letting people into my world with the start of this blog in August, my husband, Luis, told me a wise thing: “Mel, you’re going to learn more about other people writing this blog than they will about you.”

I didn’t know exactly what he meant until I started receiving responses from not only friends, but acquaintances. They have shared their own stories, both funny and touching. Some are highly personal. Many, especially those who are here from other countries, have told me they cried. Not my intention, but I am happy something resonated that deeply.

As a result, old friendships have been rekindled and new ones have begun.

To that end, last Saturday night Luis and I packed all three of the kids in the car to go eat dinner at the home of someone I knew only professionally before the launch of my blog, though since then we have become friends.

She and her husband are from Southeast Asia, a place I have never explored.

If I had not been surrounded by swirling young children I would have read a bit about their part of the world, their culture, traditions and if there’s anything completely off limits, just as I would before traveling to a foreign country. But my head spinning, that didn’t happen and I was going to have to wing it, though I was confronted with my lack of knowledge when I swung by Fresh Market to pick up a gift for them. Do they drink wine? Is that in poor taste to take? I know she likes coffee. Dark chocolate is a natural partner so I took a chance and grabbed an organic, espresso blend and a good-looking European sweet. Later, at the suggestion of Luis, did pair a nice red wine from the house and a bowl of black beans he had just cooked, which I know she enjoys.

Just before taking off to meet them I got an email:

Thought it's good to let you know we remove our shoes in the house, and shamelessly ask all our guests to do the same, so you can come mentally prepared. I promise no other "special" cultural behavior:))

My first thought, vain as it may be: thank god I had just gotten a pedicure and bought brand new socks for the kids that day.

Secondly, I welcomed an evening of the unexpected and shared the news with my crew, to which my six-year-old scrunched his face and said in typical dramatic flair, “Whaaaat?”

I explained that people do different things in different parts of the world. Bringing it to his level, this keeps dirt and worms and mud out of the house, I said, so you stay healthy.

“OK, Mommy, but it’s kinda funny.”

When we arrived, I saw a row of shoes lined vertically along the wall just outside the front door and could see a sweet, young face peering at us from the living room window.

The door opened and the family of four welcomed us in. I grew up in a group of bear huggers and Cubans are highly affectionate, typically dousing people with kisses upon entering and leaving a home. I didn’t know what we were supposed to do, but their warmth shines and I hugged them both, though I only offered a simple 'hi' to two shy, little ones who hid behind their dad’s legs.

As I turned the corner, an older woman appeared and was introduced as the grandmother who was visiting from Asia for a few months.

I felt a slight wave of panic as I didn’t know how to greet her. Do I hug her, shake hands or simply nod? Instincts told me it was the latter and so I think I awkwardly just said hello, though I’m not even sure. When my nerves get the best of me I forget everything.

Moving on and into the house we were put at ease immediately. In a nice gesture, Cuban music was playing, charcuterie, salsa and chips were on the table and a bottle of red wine was already open. Phew! I comfortably handed our gifts off to them.

It was quickly apparent that we all had more in common than not. We laughed – a lot – touching on the very topic I wrote about last with loads of stories about language mishaps, misunderstandings and funny nicknames bestowed on them as they tried to take on a new culture since their arrival nearly 20 years ago.

The conversation later moved to Southeast Asia, its languages in the house versus on the street, the way people bargain at outdoor markets, the complexity of getting visas for visiting relatives, Green Cards and the tug and pull of whether or not to become a U.S. citizen. I sat quietly as Luis and our new friends discussed what that means not only logistically, but emotionally. Everyone born here should be privy to such a conversation.

All the while the kids played beautifully, scooting and screaming around the house while we ate delicious Ecuadorian-inspired seafood stew, a cauliflower dish with turmeric and cumin and Sambal, a spicy chili pepper-based blend, which was the lone salute to Southeast Asia at the table. I was proud of our little Marcos for trying the new plates, even if he defaulted to black beans and rice by the end.

Luis whispered to me at some point that they’re so much like us, including the grandmother, who reminded us of Luis’ mom. Her energy, her stature, something about her seemed so familiar. So that would probably explain why at evening’s close I walked into the kitchen and let reservations go, giving her a big hug and thank you. It’s also why, I suspect, Luis had not thought twice about gently touching her head while telling a story about how respectful Cubans are toward 'gray hair.'

It wasn’t until the next day that I emailed our hostess, thanked her for such a good time and asked if we had done any irrevocable damage to her mom.

Turns out the hugs were not the most appropriate, as someone her age typically nods from a healthy distance. Overall, people in that part of the world are not very touchy-feely, my friend told me, though it’s not uncommon for younger generations to shake hands today.

I sat at the computer, hand over mouth, horrified, even though she said her mother was not offended. But what about the affectionate story telling by Luis?

“LOL!” she wrote. She did not see that, but wished she had. I cringed, laughed, hoped and prayed, in just that order, that her mother was able to take it all in stride.

And then she made a good point:

“I think you’ll find people behave differently when interacting with another culture, no? Did you find yourself kissing people a couple of times on the cheek in Europe while not doing it here in the United States?”

Yes and yes.

And as for the shoes at the door, I wanted to educate myself, too. Historically, I found, Asian life was centered around the floor, from sleeping to eating. Today, this is not the case, but the tradition continues, not only making a case for cleanliness, but for holiness. To trample through a Buddhist or Hindu temple would be disrespectful, as feet aren’t holy. Amen to that. We should all take our shoes off.

Beyond that, she told me that the tradition is so deeply engrained in her family that they couldn’t manage any other way. They don’t eat or cook near the floor, but it’s common for them to sit and hang there. As a result, you will see them both physically cringe with when they see shoes on interior floors, carpets, beds or sofas.

Obviously, I should have read this before visiting their home.

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THE GRINCH WHO STOLE CHRISTMAS

A RECIPE: ROASTED CHICKEN, SESAME PANCAKES AND RED MISO HOISIN SAUCE

ZAPATOS AT THE DOOR PLEASE

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