By The week after my birthday. The house has returned to its regular rhythm. The extra wine glasses are packed away. The thank-you cards are written. I wrote David a long one, in Spanish, thanking him for flying up, and I included a small recipe he had asked about — the mojo criollo I had been adjusting at Sunday dinner — written out on an index card. He will put the card in his restaurant kitchen. Another recipe leaking to Brooklyn under my son's name.
I made habichuelas Tuesday. Pink beans, sofrito, calabaza, ham hock. Two hours on the stove. The Tuesday-night Delgado pot of beans. Eduardo ate two bowls. I ate one. Mami ate one Wednesday when she came over.
Mami had a moment on Wednesday. She was eating her beans. She looked up. She said, "Carmen, who is the man in the picture on the refrigerator?" She was pointing at a photo I have had on the refrigerator for two years. It is my father. My Papi. Miguel Sr. Dead since 2010. In the photo he is fifty, at a Christmas dinner in Bayamón, holding a baby — me, I think, though the photo is from the late 1960s — and he is laughing with a glass of rum in his hand.
I said, "Mami, that is Papi. That is your husband." She said, "He looks familiar." I said, "Mami, it is Miguel. Papi." She said, "Oh. Yes. Yes, that is Miguel. He is holding me." I said, "Mami, I think he is holding me. I am the baby." She looked again. She said, "Oh. Yes. You were always a fat baby." Pause. "He loved you." I said, "I know, Mami." She said, "He was not a good husband. But he loved the children." I said, "Yes, Mami." She nodded. She finished her beans. She did not bring it up again.
I sat with that for days. My mother had forgotten my father for about three minutes on a Wednesday afternoon and then remembered him and offered the truthful and painful summary. "He was not a good husband. But he loved the children." This is the eulogy Miguel Sr. will get from his widow, thirteen years after his death, delivered over a bowl of beans.
Friday I added my father to the notebook. A two-page section. Recipes my father loved. The ribs he preferred (pork, not beef). The arroz con pollo he wanted on birthdays. A particular sofrito emphasis on green pepper that he favored. "These are for Papi. He drank too much. He loved us. Both things." Mami will read it Thursday. She will correct it. That is how this continues. Wepa.
What I keep coming back to, after a week like this one, is the idea of foundations — the things kept in the pantry and written in the notebook that hold steady while everything else shifts. My habichuelas have their sofrito and their ham hock, but behind every good pot of beans is a kitchen stocked with the right building blocks. This brown gravy mix is one I make in batches and keep in a labeled jar by the stove: the kind of thing Mami once kept without writing it down anywhere. I wrote it down. That is the whole project.
Brown Gravy Mix
Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 5 minutes | Total Time: 10 minutes | Servings: 12 (1/4 cup dry mix per batch of gravy)
Ingredients
- 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
- 1/4 cup cornstarch
- 3 tablespoons beef bouillon granules
- 1 teaspoon onion powder
- 1 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
- 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
- 1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
Instructions
- Whisk the mix. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, cornstarch, beef bouillon granules, onion powder, garlic powder, black pepper, thyme, and smoked paprika until completely and evenly combined.
- Store. Transfer the dry mix to an airtight jar or sealed container. Label with the date. Store in a cool, dry pantry for up to 3 months.
- Prepare gravy. To use, whisk 1/4 cup of the dry mix into 2 cups of cold water in a small saucepan. Set over medium heat and stir constantly until the gravy thickens and just begins to bubble, about 4 to 5 minutes. Taste and adjust seasoning as needed. Serve immediately.
Nutrition (per serving, as prepared gravy)
Calories: 35 | Protein: 1g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 7g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 315mg