The Journey of a Food Lover free essay sample

Most businesses close during this period of time also known as siesta. This wonderful break in the middle of the day allows parents and children to talk about their days, have dinner together, work on homework together, and of course to take the famous siesta or power nap. This structure strengthens family values, keeps teenagers from trouble and drugs, and gives Mexicans a common sense of identity. In Mexico, and in many other countries, taking time to have a peaceful and not rushed dinner is absolutely necessary. The industrialization and modernization of our country drastically changed the dynamics of Mexican households, but many things remained the same. As cities became modernized more and more people moved from urban towns to cities and many immigrated to the US. Due to the high cost of living in cities women have joined the work force, altering the historical role of women in the family. It is now common that many modern Mexican women work full-time, leaving limited time for house chores and creating the need to hire maids, cooks, and nannies. Even though some modern women do not cook or clean the house, the responsibility of these chores is still attributed to them. In most cases it is the mother that holds the family together by preparing foods or by supervising the preparation of foods that nourishes her family and by making sure that all family members seat together at dinner table. My mother did a magnificent job. In just a few minutes walking around any Mexican town a foreigner can notice the abundance and importance of food. Almost in every corner of nearly every street one can find a food vendor. Many families use their patios or garages as restaurants ran by all family members guided by the mother, where one can find typical dishes that have been tweaked a little to create a unique and defining flavor†¦Ã¢â‚¬Å"Lets have lunch at Ms. Chabela†¦ Lets have dinner at the Rodriguez†. It is by purchasing my favorite foods that I met a lot of my very good friends, whose families have devoted their lives to provide delicious foods that not only satisfy hunger but that warms one’s soul as the love and care invested in preparing these foods can be easily tasted. Many Mexicans get around by referencing food vendors. So, in a way food connects us with our cities and towns, strengthening our knowledge of our land and people, and helping us to appreciate our culture and traditions†¦ Traditions connect us with our ancestors and maintain our Mexican values alive: solidarity, compassion, hard work, and hospitality among many others. â€Å"Anita this gentleman has not had a bite to eat all day, please serve him a plate of warm food† is one of many of my memories about my summer visits to my grandfatherrent’s house. My grandfather, Ranulfo, was a remarkably honest, caring, and hardworking man that firmly believed in brotherhood and in lending a helping hand. Their once modest house is located right in downtown in El Mante. A beautiful small city in the state of Tamaulipas in Mexico, where the weather is very hot, sometimes over 122  °F, and the natural resources are abundant and produce an amazing view. El Mante, just as many other cities in Mexico, is known not to be a rich city and to have many low paying jobs. My grandfather grew up in poor conditions that forced him to work since very early in his childhood, depriving him from receiving any education. He was barely literate. He was however, an incredibly smart and organized man that understood the importance of saving. His determination to save and provide his nine sons and daughters with education changed my mother’s and her sibling’s future. All of them have achieved at least a Bachelor’s degree, allowing them to provide their children with even better education. My grandfather also believed in giving back; being this the reason for having his home’s doors opened all day to anyone in need of a warm and delicious plate of food. His caring attitude made him famous and loved throughout El Mante, where my grandmother still resides by herself. But, she is not alone as all those people that my grandfather once helped are now looking after my widowed grandmother. My grandfather died on my sixth birthday. Yet, his strong presence and love have accompanied me wherever I go. I still vividly remember the day he taught how to eat ice cream. I was a very young child, maybe 3 or 4. It was a hot day. I was wearing a little white dress, white sandals, and two pigtails. My grandfather and I were walking around town, running errands. His huge hand was holding mine; at least that is how I remember it. My grandfather was actually a short man and did not have huge hands at all. I was sweating and dragging my feet, when all of a sudden I heard little bells ringing. It was the ice cream man! I was very happy to see him and even happier that with my grandfather I did not have to beg for ice cream, as I usually had to beg for extra treats with my parents. My grandfather ordered a single scoop of chocolate ice cream in a cone for me. I could not wait to eat it. Unfortunately, I dropped the ice cream before I got to taste it†¦ I cried and cried until another ice cream cone replaced it, but this time grandfather had an ice cream cone in his hand too. We sat on a bench to enjoy our ice cream. The heat was quickly melting our treat, so he told me that I had to lick faster and that the first goal, before eating the ice cream was to push it into the cone with my tongue as I licked the ice cream. So, I spent a lot of time pushing the ice cream down into the cone†¦ eventually the cone was full and I was ready to enjoy the ice cream. I was so happy. I was swinging my little legs back and forth very fast out of excitement. My ice cream was not dripping any more, as it was safely contained in the cone. I loved every single bite of that ice cream cone, so much that if I try really hard I can still taste it†¦ When I was 12 years old my father, a successful and then affluent businessman, was diagnosed with a serious disease that requires constant medical care, which is very expensive. Shortly after I turned 18 I took the hardest decision of my life, to move to the US to help pay my father’s medical treatment. I remember the day that I moved to San Francisco. I cried a lot. I was scared about moving to a country where I had no friends, no family, and worst of all, none of my mother’s food. I did not think I was not going to survive. Fortunately, I was able to find almost all the ingredients that I needed to recreate my mother’s marvels. To my surprise, I found a lot of markets and taquerias in the Mission district that looked just like places at home, and I never even have to speak English. In the Mission district I also found people just like me that miss their birth country, their culture, and their food†¦ I felt at home.