I discover connection within the kitchen ��

Rising up, I’d hover near my mother within the kitchen, ready for her to inform me how I might assist. I’d unfold masa for tamales, drop bouillon into sopa de albóndigas (Mexican meatball soup) or sprinkle cheese on enchiladas and watch it bubble by way of the oven door.

After I moved away, I noticed how important these recipes she had scribbled onto scraps of paper or narrated over the cellphone had been to my sense of id. So I got down to grasp each, whether or not reserved for a special day or informal weeknight meal.