Gofio

The flame was performing. One moment it would shrink down to its most vulnerable, introverted self. The next a small wind would sneak in, swirl around the walls of the cave and the flame would step out, unafraid and bold. It would take the cave on as its Salsa partner. Buried minerals would sparkle back in applause.

This trip was Benny’s first time around a live flame. He thought back to the holographic ones back home and how they were doomed to dance alone. He was envious of his Great Grandfather. Benny’s home was calculated. It had no room for chaos or error. His Great Grandfather’s had impromptu Salsa between a flame and a cave.

“Benny. Get up. We’re in charge of dinner tonight.”

Jose, his Great Grandfather, was only 13. A year older than Benny. Benny rolled his eyes but eventually stood up.

“Where is everyone?”

The cave was empty. This was unusual. Jose had 3 sisters and 6 brothers. He was older than some and younger than others. Benny never asked what number he was. He hadn’t found the time.

“They work, Benny. Mama took Maria to see Dr. Hidalgo. That’s why we are cooking.”

Jose fumbled through the pots they had laid out on the table. He found the biggest one.

“That’s why we are cooking.” Benny imitated Jose’s grown-up seriousness under his breath.

Jose didn’t notice, or at least pretended not to. He brought over a metal stand that fit perfectly over the fire. He set down the large pot on top. Benny ran over to get a closer look at this metal stand. Benny hadn’t seen anything like it.

“So— What are we making?”

Jose lugged a massive clay jug of water over to the pot. With every step, some would slosh over the side. He finally made it to the pot and tipped the jug carefully, very carefully… The water that had spilled over slowly crept towards his hand until—

“Oh- No, No—” Jose gasped.

The jug slipped. Water spilled onto the fire. It was dying down quickly. Jose caught the jug just before it would crash onto the ground. Benny ran over to grab kindling and one of Mama’s fans. He tossed the sticks on the edge where the fire was still lit and encouraged it with the fan.

“Jose—”

Jose carefully lowered the jug to the ground. He scrambled to grab a log before the kindling burned out.

“Jose…”

He found one and placed it over the kindling with enough air not to snuff out the flame.

“Jose!”

“What?!”

Benny continued fanning the flames.

“What are we making?”

Jose grabbed a cup and started ladling the water, one cup at a time, into the pot.

“Gofio.”

Benny stopped and grunted.

“Ughh— Gofio again??”

Jose snatched the fan from Benny. He didn’t want the flame to die down before the log caught.

“Yes, Benny. Gofio.”

Benny plopped down to the ground and crossed his arms.

“We had gofio this morning… And last night. And for lunch yesterday!”

The log caught. Jose tossed the fan onto the table and began ladling again.

“I can cook Gofio.”

“Nothing else?”

“No.” Jose said definitively.

Benny watched as small drops of water began to collect on the outside of the pot. One after another, the drops would slide down the side, collecting others along the way creating a different path each time. The water’s momentum gained with each droplet collected until it would fall into the open flame and disappear with a hiss.

Benny thought about pressing the button and just calling it quits. He really didn’t want that thick fishy stew again. He could go home now. He could have pizza. He loved pizza. But as he sat and watched each droplet grow large enough to make its own path, he thought he'd have wasted his chance to do the same.

“Jose.”

Jose had filled about half the pot. The cup wasn’t the most efficient method but he carried on.

“What?”

Benny jumped up. He ran over to the “pantry”. It was more of a collection of crates. He started to rummage through the crates.

“What if we made fricasé de pollo?”

Jose stopped what he was doing.

“I know how to make Gofio.”

Benny began tossing tomatoes onto the table next to him.

“But you know you want fricasé.”

Jose looked down at the pot, the water wasn’t boiling yet. He looked over at the gofio and sighed. Benny continued pulling items out of the crates. A head of garlic, a handful of potatoes and an unfamiliar looking pepper.

“Is this a pepper?”

Jose approached the table with caution. Benny had tossed out all of the ingredients into a pile. Jose caught a potato just before it rolled off.

“Yes.”

“What kind? Eh- you know what, it’ll work.”

“Benny. Have you made fricasé?”

Benny pulled out a small bag. He inspected it with a furrowed brow, opened it and took a whiff.

“Oh! Is this cumin?”

“Yes.”

Benny found everything he needed. He started to look for a bowl to start smashing tomatoes.

“Perfect. Can you get some chicken breast at the store? Oh! Do they deliver?”

“Deliver?”

Benny threw all of the tomatoes into the bowl he found. He looked around for something to crush them. He’d never seen this larger looking stick before but shrugged and started crushing. Jose jumped back away from the splashing tomato juice.

“Oh. Right. Nevermind. Do you have chicken?”

“I can prepare a chicken.”

Benny stopped the smashing.

“What do you mean prepare?”

“We have chickens outside. I’ll prepare one.”

Benny almost dropped the large stick.

“You’re going to kill the chicken?!”

Jose looked confused.

“We own them.”

Benny stared at Jose blankly for a long few seconds. Jose was unmoved.

“Ew— uh— Well, I guess— Could you do that outside?”

Jose looked even more confused than before.

“We don't prepare them inside.”

“Ok. Good. I’ll just work on the sauce. We can throw in the chicken whenever it’s uh— prepared”

Jose seemed wary about whether Benny knew what he was doing. But he went outside to find a chicken. Benny did not know what he was doing. He had seen his mom make fricasé once. He remembered it pretty well because it was out of the ordinary. They didn’t really need to cook at home, it was just a fun activity to try out. He did remember loving it.

Benny walked over to the pot on the fire and went to pick it up. He reached for the handles—

“Wait! Benny, you'll burn your hand.”

Jose was peeking in from outside the door. He was about to start working on the chicken but wanted to keep Benny under supervision for something exactly like this.

“Oh— Right.”

Benny grabbed a couple of cloths strewn about and tried again. He took the pot off and began to look around the room.

“Hey, Jose?”

“What?”

“Where do I dump this water?”

“Dump it?? Don’t dump it!”

“What?”

“That’s good water!”

Jose ran back inside. He grabbed a separate pot off to the side.

“Here— pour it out here. We’ll let it cool first, then add it back.”

Benny poured the water into the smaller pot off to the side. He then took the pot and was about to place it on the table—

“Benny! That’s hot! It’ll burn the table.”

Benny placed it forcefully on the ground.

“Go prepare the chicken. I know what I’m doing.”

Jose stood and watched as Benny dumped the bowl of crushed tomatoes into the pot. He slowly backed out through the door, keeping an eye on Benny as he cut onions.

Benny didn’t know how small to cut the onions. He thought it wouldn’t really matter that much. He liked them when they were smaller so he kept cutting. He tossed them in the pot with the tomatoes as soon as he’d finished. The potatoes were interesting. He didn’t have a peeler. He decided he’d just cut off the gross looking parts and cut them into chunks.

After Benny had made his estimations about sizes and quantities, he tossed in all of the ingredients and thought it was ready to start cooking. He grabbed his cloths and picked up the much heavier pot and dragged it over to the fire. With one big heave he placed it on top of the fire. He looked down into the pot. It didn’t look like fricasé, and it only smelled somewhat similar. But he was glad he didn’t press that button.

Jose walked inside with a fully prepared chicken. He placed it on the table and walked over to Benny, who was still admiring his work.

“I guess that kind of looks like fricasé. Good job.”

They worked together to get the chicken cut up into small chunks. They tossed the chicken chunks in. All that was left to do was wait. As they sat by the fire, Benny learned that Jose was number 7.

The family stumbled in one at a time, each more impressed than the last. They all asked the same question: who taught Jose how to cook. Mama and Maria came in last. She only had a cold, nothing to worry about. As they sat and ate together around the fire, Benny felt at home. No one complained about the mushy potatoes or the rubbery chicken. Everyone was happy it wasn’t gofio.