Taco Tuesday

The small, wooden box is nestled between two large books on the bookcase. The modest in-home library came with the house and Josie has been meaning to go through the books and curate a working library, for months, and just hasn’t gotten around to it. At the very least, she’ll finish this morning’s task of dusting the books and their bookcases. The feather-duster makes quick work of this favorite part of her weekend routine. Regina Spektor blasts throughout Josie's small 2-bedroom ranch as she puts down the duster and carefully dislodges the box from its resting place on the solid oak shelves. The box opens easily, revealing its contents. Index cards. Probably close to 100, neatly organized and placed into the box for safe keeping.

She slowly runs her fingers over the top of the neatly nesting index cards, and pulls one out to examine more closely. “Recipe for Atole: ½ cup masa harina, 3 cups water, 1 cup milk, 1 teaspoon of vanilla, 1 teaspoon of cinnamon or 1 whole cinnamon stick, ¼ to ½ cup piloncillo. Mix masa harina with water or milk in a saucepan or frijolero. Add flavorings (cinnamon, vanilla), and bring to a boil. Simmer until thickened to desired consistency and serve with a sprinkle of cinnamon. Variation: Champurrado: add melted chocolate to the simmering Atole base.” Josie pulls out another index card bearing a different recipe, this one for salsa verde. She pulls another, and then another. Recipes for salsa roja, pozole, sopa de nopales, mole Poblano, and more, pepper the floor of her little home library. She smiles to herself.

This treasure trove of Mexican recipes - her favorite cuisine - has been living in her home, right under her nose since the day she’d closed on it and made it her own. Home. The word carries so much for her: nostalgia, memories, pain, and joy. Josie moved across the country, miles away from family and friends for a job offer she couldn’t refuse. She works in publishing and this job had popped up on a search a while back. She’d interviewed on a whim and fallen in love with the small imprint doing amazing work in amplifying marginalized writers. The very flexible and accessible work-from-home policy was unbeatable. And now, she has her own home. Her very own space to work, to host dinner parties… and to miss her family and friends.

The sun, now fully in place for the day, casts bright rays on Josie’s garden. She opens the French doors leading out to the quaint little back porch. The Talavera tiles in vibrant cobalt and bold saffron beckon her to take a pause before diving into her day. She ducks back into the kitchen to grab her coffee cup, and sits down to finish it. The wrought iron chair holds her sturdily as she looks out across the yard, enveloped by the comfort of the soft, tufted lime green cushion beneath her. The garden is doing really well. A few tomatoes are ready to harvest. Downing the rest of her now-cooled coffee, Josie takes the woven basket she keeps on the covered porch for harvesting, and heads out to the garden.

A few minutes later, she comes back inside with a nice haul of tomatoes, jalapenos, and several herbs: cilantro, thyme, chives, and Cuban oregano. She quickly gives the veggies and herbs a rinse in the sink and then lays them on paper towels to dry. As she gives the kitchen and living room/library a quick tidy-up, she comes back to the box of recipes. She had planned to spend her day off resting: reading, journaling, maybe even an afternoon nap; but she’s too excited about her recent find. Josie throws on a pair of light wash jeans,and a t-shirt showcasing her favorite podcast: Maintenance Phase, an anti-diet culture podcast.

At the door, she slips into her pink Havaiana flip flops, and grabs a few mesh produce bags, and her favorite grocery tote. After calling out a rushed goodbye to Kit-Kat, her calico with big orange cat energy, Josie heads out. It’s about a 15 minute walk to the bodega on the corner. The sun is shining and a gentle breeze ruffles her long, dark brown waves as she walks. She’s taken three recipes from the box. One for cactus soup, another for “soyviche,” and finally, a delicious-sounding recipe for Baja style fish tacos. Before leaving, she placed some frozen tilapia in the fridge to thaw. In Josie’s mind, tilapia is a perfect fish for tacos not only because of its relative affordability, but because of its mild taste, meaty bite, and delicate texture.

A perfect compliment to homemade corn tortillas, cabbage slaw and sliced radishes. When Josie arrives at the market, the owner is busy putting away a new shipment of goods onto shelves while simultaneously watching the checkout counter for customers. “Hi Josie!” She calls out. “Hi, Mona!” Josie calls back. Josie heads to the small produce section first. She needs about 8 cactus paddles for her soup, a few tomatillos with the husks still on, a couple of onions, some garlic, limes and lemons. She has soy crumbles at home and a good harvest of tomatoes and jalapenos. She picks up some Mexican chocolate, in case she wants to try the champurrado (chocolate atole) recipe, later. Josie shops slowly, smelling everything, considering its weight in her hands, and thanking the many people involved in the process of bringing her this bounty of ingredients from seed to market.

She whispers a silent “thanks” to them across time and space, hoping that they and their families are all making it ok. As she reaches the checkout counter, laden with her modest grocery haul, she catches a glimpse of the vibrant green cactus. “What color is that?” She wonders to herself. “It’s not veridian, that’s more on the teal side. I think sap green is a little bit darker. It’s somewhere between spring green and lime green. Slime green? That doesn’t sound appetizing, but it’s definitely how I’d characterize the color. How about vibrant cactus paddle green? These wonderful little superfoods deserve their own color.”

When Josie gets home, Kit-Kat is waiting at the door for her. Josie places the groceries on the kitchen island and bends down to greet her cat. “Did you miss me?” she asks a loudly purring Kit-Kat. “I think you did.” Kit-Kat continues to purr, until she’s had enough of this reunion and then goes to the sunniest spot she sees by the French doors and flops onto her side for a long nap. Josie feels suddenly both inspired and exhausted, so she decides to take a moment to relax on the couch for a little bit. The tilapia needs more time to thaw anyway, before she does anything with it.

She falls asleep within minutes of settling in on the couch and dreams of her birth mother. This happens sometimes, mostly in dreams, but sometimes in her journals. Josie grew up knowing that she is adopted, and that half of her biological parentage is Mexican. Her family was very open in conversations about adoption, her parents were always asking if she had any questions or things she wanted to process with them. Josie never leaned into the offers, for fear of hurting her family’s feelings or seeming ungrateful, but lately, Josie has been curious about how different her life might have been if she’d grown up with her birth family. It’s not a wish, it’s more of a pondering.

These curiosities sometimes show up in her dreams… and frequently, in the kitchen. When Josie cooks, particularly Mexican recipes, she feels the entire process in her body and soul. She loves to cook anything, but cooking Mexican cuisine is a fully embodied experience for her. She feels connected in some mystical way, to a birth family she’s never met. When she makes Mexican dishes she’s had the pleasure of trying on trips to Mexico, she wonders if there’s an abuela out there thinking of her while she makes her famous cactus salad, or breakfast chilaquiles; like Josie is thinking of them - these relatives she’s never met but somehow remembers, anyway. Josie needs to cook today, to process this gift she has found, these authentic recipes that seem to have just been waiting for her. But, there’s no way she can eat all this food herself.

Like a gift that keeps on giving, the box and its recipes invite Josie to dream a different dream: of community and friendship. Josie has a few acquaintances she met through a work friend. She’s been keeping all of them at arm’s length, for no particular reason, but she knows it’s time to risk friendship because even the scary act of making friends as an adult beats loneliness. It’s last minute, but Josie calls them up anyway. She calls Rachel, her work friend, first. When Rachel picks up, Josie launches right in.

“Hi Rachel, I’m having a dinner party tonight. I know it’s last minute but I wanted to see if you could come.”

Rachel doesn’t have plans and would be delighted to come. She offers to invite James and Devon.

“What can we bring?” Rachel asks before hanging up.

Josie asks if the group can divvy up drinks, chips, and dips. She’ll provide the rest. James is a college philosophy professor. Josie thinks he’s pretty cute. Devon is a Social Worker with the state foster care system. Rachel works in acquisitions at the same publisher where Josie works, and Hannah, a close friend of Devon’s, is a vet at a small practice near her home in a quaint little downtown square. Each of them has said “yes” to dinner tonight, so Josie gets to work. She soaks two seeded guajillo peppers and a chile de arbol in hot water to get them ready to puree for her cactus soup. While they steep, Josie places the cubed cactus paddles from the bodega (she sprung for pre-cut to make it easy on her) into a pot of water. She adds in the husks of 3 tomatillos, and half an onion and lets the cactus cubes boil for at least 20 minutes. The husks will take the gel out of the cactus, eliminating the slimy texture, but keeping the flavor intact. While the cactus simmers on the stove, Josie soaks the protein crumbles in hot water mixed with bouillon.

She dices fresh tomatoes and jalapenos from her garden along with the other half of the onion and places them into a bowl. She drains the protein crumbles and allows them to cool in the fridge while she juices limes and lemons. She pauses for a short break, and imagines her birth mother in the kitchen with her, guiding her process. Josie has weirdly known the tastes and textures of Mexican cuisine that go together, and has been making versions of recipes for Mexican dishes she has tasted on trips to Mexico and at restaurants, for years. She cobbles them together from taste memories and they always come out well. She wonders if there’s a possibility, as crazy as it sounds, that the recipes of her birth culture, the embodied knowledge of food and cooking imprinted on her when she was born and whisked to foster care, as a kind of guide from beyond to keep her tethered to her birth culture and grounded in an embodied tradition that not even the ones closest to it truly understand. Josie adds the soy crumbles to the tomato/onion/jalapeno mixture and adds the juices of the limes and lemons, salt, and pepper and mixes everything together.

She purees the chilies with a little bit of the soaking water, then strains the puree through a fine mesh sieve into a bowl. To a saucepan, she adds olive oil, diced onion, and minced garlic. As the aromatics cook down, Josie drains the cactus cubes and adds them to the pan. Finally, she adds in the vibrant vermilion chili puree and mixes everything together. Finally, she adds 6 cups of broth to the pot and turns the heat to medium. While the soup simmers, Josie seasons the tilapia with lemon juice, salt, and pepper and prepares a batter. She heats up oil in a deep skillet and cuts the tilapia into strips. She batters and fries the strips in batches, and places them on a paper towel-lined plate. She has leftover homemade corn tortillas from the other night, which she quickly warms and places in a tortilla keeper.

Her friends should be arriving any minute. Josie fries several of the tortillas into tostadas for the soyviche. She begins laying everything out on the kitchen island where everyone will serve their plates before sitting at the farmhouse table in the middle of her open kitchen. In a few minutes, slaw, sliced radishes, diced onions, chopped cilantro, and lime wedges are in bowls and ready to dress the fish tacos. The tortilla keeper sits on one end of the island and the fried tilapia is nestled next to it. Josie ladles the soup into a large serving bowl and places it in the middle of the island, and places the soyviche and tostadas at the other end of the island. There is plenty of space for the chips, dips, and drinks her friends are bringing. Friends. She supposes they are friends, after all. In a brief break in the chaos of getting all the food ready and the kitchen space ready for hosting, Josie finds a minute to breathe. Her mom is there, in her mind, telling her how proud she is of her for trying to make friends.

Her birth mother is there, admiring Josie’s handiwork and wishing she could be there to try it. The friends arrive, and they enjoy a wonderful time of eating together and talking late into the night. Josie shows them the box of recipes she found, and the group agrees that they must try the atole and the chocolate variation as well. After several offers to help clean, which Josie declines each time, her guests leave, with leftovers and plans to return next Tuesday night for tacos and another recipe tasting from the box; and James leaves with plans to meet Josie for a movie this weekend.

As Josie cleans the kitchen, a favorite post-dinner party grounding ritual for her, she takes a moment to sit on the couch and listen to the sound of the dishwasher running, before wiping down the kitchen counters and mopping the floors. That sound has always been a comforting sound to her; the whir of the water cleaning the dishes inside is a rhythmic reminder of community and friendship. Josie gets up from the couch and prepares her mopping solution. The kitchen is immediately filled with the scent of lavender Fabuloso cleaner. She sweeps the kitchen and begins to mop the floors.

“You did well, mija,” she hears her birth mother whisper to her across time and space.

“Gracias,” Josie responds. “I’ll see you next Tuesday.”

Josie turns off all the lights and heads toward her bedroom, ready for bed. Before she walks down the hall, she stops at the bookcase housing the mysterious recipe box. Picking it up, she holds it in her hands for a moment. She brings the box close to her heart, whispers “gracias” and places it back in its spot on the shelf.