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Cornbread y Caracoles en Cielo
- University of Arizona Press
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| 42 Cornbread y Caracoles en Cielo for Grandma Winnie and Grandma Deluvina The grandmothers have been cooking for decades now, preparing la fiesta última, a supper to last through eternity, blending herbs and spices from two worlds, a menu of clashing flavors— buñuelitos y biscuits, black-eyed peas and habas catalana. They will disagree, of course, over how long to simmer the salsas, how many pinches of filé or saffron, whether to slice, chop, or mince the garlic, the proper method of steaming the rice . . . braised rabbit or conejo con piñones. On some things they’ll never agree— mayonnaise versus aioli, bacon or unto to garnish, and some of this bickering 43 | will go on para siglos, with sidelong glances, raised eyebrows, little digs infantes— “no sabes ni papa de concinar”— with a spidery smile. But the sounds from the kitchen can be a kind of music— the thump of dough on floured boards, the measured grinding of garlic under a pestle, wooden spoons slapping the sides of bowls—the melting together of dos mundos, the bitter limones and the sweet, thick molasses, the Tennessee waltz of Flamenco Puro— rhythmical smells that cross and harmonize the senses. ...