Javier is an ideal son. He loves his family and respects the fact that his parents came to America from Mexico in hopes of making a better life for him. Javier always recognized a big part of who he was, was created before he was born, and that part is with his family in Mexico. After doing a family tree he realized that other than his parents and himself his entire family on both sides resided in Mexico and he truly wanted to have a better understanding of not only where he came from but of the generations that came before him. His closest connection to his ancestors was his grandmother, here's abuela. She would come to visit for months at a time and the one way they connected most was in him watching her cook in the kitchen. She taught him about seasonings, she taught him about measurements, and she taught him the best way to know if it tastes good is to taste. After she passes away a box sent to him from Mexico arrives and on small to big pieces of paper are hundreds of thousands of recipes handwritten from his abuela. He can hear her voice in his head, he can see memories of her cooking in the kitchen. His mission is clear, recreate her most difficult and intricate recipe. Once dinner is served, he allows his parents to have the first taste and following their response he tastes as well. There is something quite beautiful in being able to continue someone's legacy through food and while Javier once believed his culture lived in a country or lived within the hearts of people he now realizes that his culture also lives in the food they eat and the love by which it is prepared.
Cooking For My Culture
Some people talk about identity crisis as things that happen in the midst of them living their lives. I couldn't put it into words at a young age but I realized I've been in an identity crisis for most of my life. All of my family on my mother and my father's side were born and raised in Mexico. I am the first generation of Mexican American people in my family. I understand why my parents left Mexico for America. I support the idea of the American Dream, and I knew my father was always a hard worker so being able to take care of us was going to be easy for him I felt. But there is definitely an emptiness, a letter or two is missing in every word, a sentence missing in the paragraph, instead of having a full story I only have a middle part which I'm living and I'm working towards the ending. The emptiness came with trying to piece together the beginning of my life. Because I was such an inquisitive child, I always felt like my life didn't start when I was born but rather started with the history that was being passed on to me from my family.