By The recipe notebook sits on the kitchen counter — two hundred entries now, the second volume started, the pages filling with the recipes that have come from every woman who has ever shared a kitchen with me: Rosa, Doña Pilar, Doña Mercedes, Lupita, Andrea, Sofia, the women at church, the customers who say "my mother used to make this" and who share the recipe with the particular generosity of women who understand that recipes are not property — they are inheritance.
Luis (the small husband) operates the small bakery’s production side while Maria Elena runs the small front-of-house and the small recipe-development. The small forty-year-relationship (married against both small families’ wishes) has been the small life-partnership. The small Javier-loss in 1993 had been the small permanent wound the small family carries. The small marriage-survived.
The small Panadería Rosa in the small downtown El Paso continues to be the small business. The small bakery operates from four AM to six PM six days a week. The small pan dulce, the small empanadas, the small bolillos, the small conchas are the small daily-product. The small bakery is the small Maria Elena and Luis Gutierrez inheritance from Maria Elena’s parents.
The small twelve-grandchildren are the small joy-of-the-small-final-third-of-life. The small grandkids cycle through the small Sunday-bakery-and-Maria-Elena-house from morning to evening. The small intergenerational kitchen runs on the small Sunday.
The small Panadería Rosa in the small downtown El Paso continues to be the small business. The small bakery operates from four AM to six PM six days a week. The small pan dulce, the small empanadas, the small bolillos, the small conchas are the small daily-product. The small bakery is the small Maria Elena and Luis Gutierrez inheritance from Maria Elena’s parents.
The five children: Carlos (the small eldest) had been killed in Juárez in 2008 at age 19 in the small cartel-violence. The small loss is the small permanent-wound. The small four-surviving-children are: Roberto Jr. (now 38, runs the small bakery’s wholesale operation, married with three kids), Elena (now 35, a small ER nurse, married with two kids), Mateo (now 32, a small high school teacher, married with one kid), and Sofia (now 28, the small bakery’s manager, engaged).
The small twelve-grandchildren are the small joy-of-the-small-final-third-of-life. The small grandkids cycle through the small Sunday-bakery-and-Maria-Elena-house from morning to evening. The small intergenerational kitchen runs on the small Sunday.
The small Mexican-cooking-tradition runs through the small kitchen-and-bakery. The small mole, the small chiles rellenos, the small tamales-at-Christmas, the small posada-foods, the small Three Kings Day rosca. The small recipes have come down through four-and-five generations of the small Gutierrez-Hernandez women.
Luis (the small husband) operates the small bakery’s production side while Maria Elena runs the small front-of-house and the small recipe-development. The small forty-year-relationship (married against both small families’ wishes) has been the small life-partnership. The small Javier-loss in 1993 had been the small permanent wound the small family carries. The small marriage-survived.
The small El Paso-Juárez border-cousin-network continues. The small Juárez-side of the family (Maria Elena’s mother’s family) crosses the small bridge for the small family-events. The small cross-border family-life has been the small constant. The small post-Carlos-killing has changed the small relationship to the small Juárez-side.
After forty years of four AM mornings and six PM closes, Luis and I have learned that the sweetest things in a bakery are rarely the ones that take the longest to make. On Sundays, when the twelve grandchildren fill the house and the kitchen smells like masa and sugar and everything we have built together, I make a big batch of lemon ice — cold and bright and impossibly simple — and I watch it disappear in minutes. It is the recipe that requires almost nothing and gives back everything. That is the daily bread I am most proud of.
Lemon Ice
Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 5 minutes | Total Time: 3 hours (includes freezing) | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 1 cup granulated sugar
- 1 cup water (for simple syrup)
- 1 cup fresh lemon juice (from about 6 to 8 lemons)
- Zest of 2 lemons
- 2 cups cold water (to dilute)
- Pinch of fine salt
- Lemon slices, for garnish (optional)
Instructions
- Make the simple syrup. Combine the sugar and 1 cup of water in a small saucepan over medium heat. Stir gently until the sugar dissolves completely, about 3 to 5 minutes. Do not let it boil hard. Remove from heat and let cool to room temperature.
- Juice and zest the lemons. Roll each lemon firmly on the counter before cutting — this loosens the juice. Squeeze to yield 1 full cup of fresh juice. Zest 2 of the lemons before juicing them and set the zest aside.
- Combine the base. In a large bowl or pitcher, stir together the cooled simple syrup, lemon juice, lemon zest, 2 cups of cold water, and the pinch of salt. Taste and adjust — it should be bright and tart with a clean sweetness behind it.
- Freeze the first round. Pour the mixture into a 9x13 inch baking dish or shallow metal pan. Place uncovered in the freezer for 1 hour, until the edges begin to freeze solid and the center is still slushy.
- Scrape and repeat. Using a fork, scrape the frozen edges into the center and stir vigorously to break up the ice crystals into a granita-like texture. Return to the freezer. Repeat this scraping process every 30 minutes for another 1 to 2 hours, until the entire batch is fluffy, icy, and light — not a solid block.
- Serve immediately. Spoon into small cups or glasses. Garnish with a thin lemon slice if you like. Serve right away for the best texture — it softens quickly, which the grandchildren never seem to mind.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 140 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 37g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 25mg