"Veni Maddie, vamos a hacer empanadas," my Argentine grandmother calls from my kitchen. She was visiting for the summer and it was always tradition to cook her famous empanadas; a dough pastry filled with an array of meats, vegetables, and spices. I groaned, dragging my feet across the cold tile, thinking of every situation to avoid the grueling eight hour cook process. I tie my hair back with a bufanda as my grandmother delicately lays each ingredient on the counter. She grabs a knife and we gently shred the pollo into a bowl, "cuidado tus dedos," watch your fingers, she states. The aroma of chicken fills the room and my thoughts begin to wander to my family, especially my parents. I think of how different they are and how they came together; one, a Jewish man from Chicago and the other, a…show more content… She takes hold of one end, pinches it, then folds it over, repeating the process until finally a complete empanada is placed in the cookie sheet. My hands fumbled, attempting to copy her technique, however I am left with a 'soggy' creation. "Maddie, deja que the diga algo," let me tell you something, as my frustrated grandmother places another perfectly made empanada in the cookie sheet. "Esta es la forma de hacer una empanada," this is how you make an empanada, she describes that an empanada needs a little and equal amount of meat and vegetables, the dough holds them together so that when one ate it, the ingredients doesn't fall everywhere. This reminded me of my family, the way my parents combined their cultures--the meat and vegetables--being raised by the variety of cultures that blossomed from my parents, I am forever grateful for the values and traditions that have been passed to me which has paved the way in which I view the world around me. Now I know how to make an
