Have you ever wondered how it would be to work with your family in a Mexican restaurant? Abuelita, I Am Your Grandson will show you. It is a collection of autobiographical stories that hit every note on the scale, ranging from Mexican gastronomy, to business, to lessons in language and culture. Without further ado, grab an apron and wrap up. Come back behind the counter, where the planchero will draw a laugh, where the onions will make you cry, and where the Tequila will have you speaking Spanish by the end.
Have you ever wondered how it would be to work with your family in a Mexican restaurant? Abuelita, I Am Your Grandson will show you. It is a collection of autobiographical stories that hit every note on the scale, ranging from Mexican gastronomy, to business, to lessons in language and culture. Without further ado, grab an apron and wrap up. Come back behind the counter, where the planchero will draw a laugh, where the onions will make you cry, and where the Tequila will have you speaking Spanish by the end.
When I met people at parties or social gatherings, and they discovered that I worked in the family restaurant, one of the many questions they asked, if not the first, was what I did at the café. It was a fair question, because, as the owner's son, I could have done anything. I could have been another busser or runner, possibly a manager, or even the head tequila taster.
On a more serious note, I used to struggle when people asked that question. Contrary to what many might think, working in the family business isn't straightforward. I wasn't the owner or a regular employee. What I did varied. When I was younger and free of grown-up responsibility, my tasks were mostly physical and in the face of customers. As I got older, I gradually took on more administrative duties. And if I may add, administrative work is the pits of restaurant work, the pits of any job, really. More than drinking or smoking or staying out late at night, nothing will age a young soul faster than the tedium of a spreadsheet.
I yearn to be young and spreadsheet-free again. That is, for the most part, because there's one thing I don't miss about being a young owner's son, not even in the slightest. And that's the shoulds.
The staff don't get the shoulds. They have little say in how the business operates. The owner, Mom, had a say in the business, but very few individuals had the cojones to give her the shoulds treatment. As the still-young son of the owner, I was the bouncer who got all the shoulds — shoulds that should have fallen on Mom and the workers landed squarely on me.
Say a customer walks in, grabs a menu and scans it up and down, turns it around and around again, looking for something he can't find. Finally, he looks up at me, "I see chicken enchiladas, but I don't see beef enchiladas."
"We only serve chicken enchiladas and cheese enchiladas."
"No beef enchiladas?" The split on his brow deepens. "What kind of Mexican restaurant is this?"
"Sorry about that. We mostly focus on chicken dishes."
"Y'all should consider serving beef enchiladas, y'all'd make more money." And just like that, I was hit with a should and a would, a classic one-two combination like a prizefighter following his jab with a hook or a cross. One two, jab cross, should, would.
Or the lady asking about menudo. "You don't make menudo?"
"No, we only have caldo de pollo."
"Not even on the weekends?"
"Sorry."
"You should add menudo to your menu. It's hard to find a good menudo around here."
"No mezcal? You'd kill it if you added a mezcal-rita." Should.
"No crunchy tacos?" Another should.
The shoulds don't come from callousness or a place of ill intention. On the contrary, they often come from people who mean well. Which somehow made them worse. As the saying goes, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. And if I may add, a road laid with one should at a time.
From the customer's perspective, giving the shoulds to the owner's son made total sense. However, as the owner's young son, I couldn't act on the shoulds. I lacked the power and authority to execute their suggestions. That's the thing about being the owner's son. Before taking on managerial and administrative duties, the son has to put in his time learning the ropes of the business, bouncing and checking the shoulds at the door. It isn't until much later, if ever, that the owner’s kin is granted the authority to make business decisions. And again, because it begs to be stated once more: if ever.
One night after closing, I went down the street to a beer garden to meet up with some friends. After grabbing a pint at the bar, I went outside to look for them. I saw them across the patio, and I walked towards them. Halfway down, I heard someone call out my name. "Julio." I looked over. It was the young couple from two doors down. They’d just opened a cheese shop and were the newest addition to the corner. I stopped and said hello. As we chatted, one of them said, "Julio, y'all should totally…" something something. I can't remember what the should was, only that there was a should. Immediately after the should was stated, the non-should-er gently reminded the should-er how much they disliked hearing the shoulds from other people. As if to say, "Babe, you shouldn't say should."
To my surprise, these two were founders and owners of a business, yet they also got the shoulds. It wasn't just me. More than likely, Mom and Aunt Bobbie must get the shoulds, too. And back in the day, Papá must have gotten them. However, I think it's safe to assume they didn't get the same concentration of shoulds I did. I say this because as I've gotten older, the shoulds have diminished as if it were indirectly correlated with age. The older you were, the fewer shoulds you received.
I don't miss being bombarded by shoulds. I'll swap them out for the rows and columns of a spreadsheet any day. Take the señora that recently came in. She scanned the menu and asked if we served caldo de res, beef soup. "We only have caldo de pollo. It's really popular, though." She looked at the menu for just a few seconds longer. "I'm really craving caldo de res. I'll come back when I want the pollo." She returned the menu, turned around, and left.
On the surface her action seemed harsh, but not that bad either. Not for an adult, at least. Rejection seems fair and natural, leaps and bounds better than the señora dishing out a should.
Grab an apron and join Julio Lucero behind the counter to the best Latin restaurant this side of Mexico City, a place where the onions make you cry and the Tequila makes you speak Spanish (or, at least what you think is Spanish...). As darker nights approach, this is an unforgettable journey you won't want to miss out on.
Abuelita, I am Your Grandson is the autobiographic memoir of Lucero's life, growing up against the backdrop of a busy and often chaotic family-owned restaurant in Austin, Texas. From the picky clientele, to the competition of highly academic siblings, the author makes no slight about the "educación de restaurante" (or restaurant education) that shaped her CV as much as it did her personality.
Throughout this 192 page memoir, there are countless anecdotes and tales shared from the kitchen tiles, with plenty to keep readers turning every page right to the very end. A lot like the cover design, this is a book bursting with colour and flavour.
The writing style is beautiful, a perfect balance of scene setting and informality, with a tone of voice that draws readers into the storytelling experience as if you had just pulled up a stool and glass of wine with the author himself. Tales of managing a business, navigating the cultural divides that come from having dual-national parents, the fascinating tale behind this book's eye catching title, no conversational stone is left unturned when you enter Lucero's domain. The formatting in this book is also elevated by use of mini illustrations at the head of each titled chapter, giving the whole production of Abuelita, I am Your Grandson a professional look and feel.
Memoirs are never an easy genre to crack, not when so many personal stories have been told in so many ways. But Abuelita, I am Your Grandson breaks new ground with its warmth and vibrancy by turning a family-owned restaurant into the beating heart of a beautifully crafted memoir. A five star book, through and through.
AEB Reviews