When I got to thinking about what the best meal of my life has been, Christmas came to mind. Christmas Eve dinner for my family is more of a party, it’s an all-day celebration that begins several days before as we prep Porkie for his big roast. We call it “Noche Buena” or “The Good Night”. The party culminates with midnight mass. A traditional Cuban Christmas dinner consists of a lechon (piglet), congris (black beans and rice cooked together), black beans and rice (cooked separately), yucca with mojo made of lemon, olive oil, and garlic, a nice green salad, and fried sweet plantains.
And when I think about it, sure the food was always the star of the show, but it’s the family time that made the meal the best I can remember. The smells take me back to being in the kitchen with my Abuela as she taught me for the millionth time how to make congris. Her explanation of why dry black beans taste better than canned and how good food shouldn’t be rushed for the sake of convenience. It’s watching my godmother spend the entire morning scrubbing the house top to bottom to ensure that everything was perfect for when our family arrived.
Christmas Eve meal prep continues with being told to boil the water with a lemon cut in half before adding the yucca to the pressure cooker or it will be tough. It’s slowly sweating the Cuban holy trinity (onions, green peppers, and garlic) before adding the black beans to it. This meal is more than just ingredients, it’s years of handing down recipes orally with each generation teaching the next one to come.
The last time the entire family was together for Christmas was the best one. It was the last time my grandfather remembered who I was. I was pregnant with my daughter. My boys both still believed in Santa. My oldest wanted a stuffed hippo and I was able to find one when I went out to buy more paper plates. It was such a good night.
Everyone gets dressed up, even if we are just staying in. Salsa music is cranked up loud. My sweet middle boy was 18 months old and he was out in the middle of the room clapping and shaking and dancing. It was so wonderful.
On that Christmas, Porkie was cooked with love by one of my many cousins at their bakery. We waited all day for him to be delivered. And I must confess, once he arrived and we got to eat him, it was the best lechon I had ever had. Juicy meat, crisp skin. Just delicious. The congris was dry (it’s always a bit on the dry side), but flavorful. The yucca was an incredible blend of lemon and garlic and yum.
What makes this meal stand out most though was eating it with my 92-year-old grandfather who had dementia. He was lucid and knew me. He knew my kids. We had a heartfelt conversation about life and how to be. He told me that he loved his Cherie (me) more than he thought possible. In my heart, I knew that was the last time we would have that level of conversation. He had already begun to confuse my mom and I on a regular basis.
That Christmas dinner eleven years ago was the best meal of my life. In the end, the flavor of the food is not what we remember or what makes the meal unforgettable is the people that you share the meal with. The conversation, the company, the atmosphere.
