The Taste of Rebuilding
Written by Tiffany Gutierrez. Posted on Monday, April 21st, 2008
Everything happened so fast.
Smoke billowed from the kitchen. Sirens screamed from the fire trucks. And a woman on the other end of the phone line nonchalantly told me not to panic.
I stood so helpless, praying to God, asking for rain, “Make it stop, make it stop!”
In less than 30 minutes the fire claimed everything. All that was left of the family café were ashes; ashes mixed with sweet memories and pain.
There was so much love, so many family memories: quincineras, baby showers, graduation parties, birthdays, anniversaries, not to mention all the family holidays. Yet, in a moment of despair, only one memory could bring a smile to my face and it was the time I made my first tortilla.
When I was about 7, I noticed my great grandmother playing with a white ball of “play dough.” I asked to have some, so she tore off a small piece, handed me a pallote (roller) and said, “Do like what I do.”
I grabbed a handful of white powder, flung it across the table just like my grandma. I grabbed my play dough, rolled it into a small ball and started flattening it, just like my grandma.
I didn’t care that my play dough was getting stuck between my fingers or that my hair and clothes were covered in white flour. I didn’t even mind that my art piece came out looking like the state of Florida and Grandma’s was a perfect large circle.
Grandma just laughed, took my Florida and gently placed it on the hot iron stove and said, “Keep going. Don’t quit.”
I patiently waited, my feet dangling off the edge of the chair, until my masterpiece was complete. It was beautiful; it had perfect little brown dots delicately decorating my tortilla. With a little butter melted on top, it tasted so delicious. That day was so unforgettably wonderful.
I smiled as I walked through the wet ashes and charcoal that day, breathing in smoke and dampness and remembering what Great Grandma said: “Keep going. Don’t quit.”
(Tiffany is from South Texas.)
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