I discover connection within the kitchen ��

Rising up, I’d hover near my mother within the kitchen, ready for her to inform me how I might assist. I’d unfold masa for tamales, drop bouillon into sopa de albóndigas (Mexican meatball soup) or sprinkle cheese on enchiladas and watch it bubble via the oven door.

After I moved away, I noticed how important these recipes she had scribbled onto scraps of paper or narrated over the cellphone have been to my sense of identification. So I got down to grasp every one, whether or not reserved for a special day or informal weeknight meal.