The Magic of the Empanada

“All you need is flour, eggs, and water,” is a funny little saying that my mother would say so loud and proud. As a child, I only worried about starting a day with a quest—typically wrapping my bed sheet around my body like a shawl with a hoodie. A quest that would start from the Sahara Desert to Amazon Jungle. Never to think, nor understand those eight little words that can be so easily missed. I was a naïve puppy looking at their owner as they talk in some embarrassing way that’s slow and dumb sounding. All the puppy was able to dow was sit there with its ears collapsed on both sides, tilting their head with a cute but confused look on their face, but yet so interested. That was evident whenever my mother would say those eight little words. I never did understand, until recently in my life, on an evening during my winter break.

My mother said it again. “All you need is flour, eggs, and water.”

This time I’m able to understand those words as she comes in with groceries bags. Meanwhile, I was playing a game called Saints Row 4 and listening to mellow music all day as the TV was muted. Out of curiosity, I paused the game to see what my mother had in store for dinner. Now, whenever my mother cooks, everyone knows it’s about to be good and it’ll have the house filled with laughter, which everyone needed, with the days being so gray outside and inside. I remember asking her what she was making. "Empanadas,” she responded.

“What is that?” I thought about wanting to say the name back, but I didn’t want to screw up the pronunciation.

“It’s something my great aunt made me.” That’s when I knew it was something she grew up on and I didn't dare to disturb her in her zone.

After everyone was served, we all went into the living room with our plates to watch a movie. It was dark and everyone was talking instead of paying attention to the movie. I was sitting on the floor with my plate in my lap. I remember picking up one of my empanadas and taking that first bite. Now, this wasn’t like an everyday meal, nor was it a once in a blue moon, but it was the first time having these.

I took my first bite, which wasn’t just a chew and a swallow, but a bite that overwhelmed me with emotions, making my heart melt. Sinking my teeth in the empanada was overwhelming, the meat and cheese spilling like a fresh glass of water after a summer day. It filled my mouth with just enough salt that the body craves. However, it really wasn't about the flavor that made this food memorable, but about the memory that was brought back to me; a memory that sent me back to when I was in eighth grade living with my grandma, or as I called her, Lala.

My Lala’s house is a three bedroom and two bathroom with woods that act as a backyard. The room that I stayed in was my great grandmother’s room, and my little brother and my little sister laid on their mattresses while I laid on mine. The room was dark, with only the moonlight shining over my head. It was just enough to see my siblings sleeping. I was up only due to the fact a train wasn't too far from the house that ran along the tracks at five in the morning. It usually acted as my alarm. As I laid there, the sun raised and filled the room with an orange and a hint of yellow light. The scent in the air was fresh, clean, and with a hint of the original “Hubba Bubba Gum.” A scent that is combined makes this peaceful image as if I was standing in the sand and looking into the ocean, like a vacation.

However, the image is faint when being brought back some, with the freshness of ground coffee in the morning. I could close my eyes just for a second to hear the birds outside singing their song and a mixture of music being played slowly getting louder, but not too loud to drown out the birds. Just enough to send its rhythm to tingle my body and grab hold of my soul; motivating me to get up and dance along to “Guantanamera” by Celia Cruz, which is one of Lala’s favorite artists. The 50 Clásicos was the collection Lala would play when it came to Spanish music. Knowing her playlist, that's when I got up to put on my purple robe with blue flowers on the back, covering my green silk pants and a black tank top. I remember walking to the kitchen table smiling, seeing my grandma singing and dancing while she made eggs. When she finally noticed me, I had made my way to the table which she always jumped because she never noticed me. Out of love, she would slap the back of my head.

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” she yelled, putting her hand on her chest.

“What? You looked at me as I sat down.” I couldn’t help but to hold the back of my head and look at her trying not to smile at the fact it was always an everyday thing. I could never get mad at her when I thought it was kind of funny.

After that, everything was fuzzy, and the rest of the memory is blurry. However, even though the rest was too blurry to remember, the air still held that warmth and peaceful vibe to it. An orange and yellow light that bled across the rest of the memory with laughter in the distance, leaving a warm feeling in the heart.

Those days were days I like to think about when I’m missing home. A memory that will always bring me joy. I learned memories are a key way to inner peace and a way to something meaningful. I want to appreciate the fact that empanadas were able to bring back the comfort of home. Something that was new just ended up bringing back something that was in the past. I’m thankful I’ve realized food isn’t just food with endings, and new beginnings are a force on which our world turns.

Food is food. It is a necessary part of life, and not much extra thought goes into that, just the need and the desire for it. Food is what keeps us going, and it is an element of survival, yet with the importance of it, it can still be easily taken for granted. However, considering it, one realizes that food isn’t just food, but sometimes a memory or the start of a new beginning. It’s interesting how our brain can trick us into taking that one bite and your thoughts are wandering down memory lane. Memories that bring joy, warmth, and maybe even sadness; everything is always different for everyone. Each person can sit down and at least name one memory that brought them back to their childhood, or maybe some point in their time that had to mean something. It has the potential to touch the soul and awaken the senses.