Looking for Mama

12 February, 14

Anytime I have traveled, whether it was across town or across the globe, I have always looked for a Mama. This does not arise from sappy sentimentality or from fear of the dark. It is cold-blooded pragmatism. Mama means food.

All the girls I dated in high school, all both of them, only had sisters. This presented a magnificent opportunity for me. The first thing I did, the first time I walked into my girlfriend's house, was to raid the refrigerator. In no time at all, the mama's had added me to their grocery shopping list. If you want to win a Mama's heart, start eating.

Not all women are Mama's. This designation is reserved for those women who enjoy feeding others. They are the ones that bring the most food to the church potluck. They are the ones who all the kids in the neighborhood run to for snacktime. They just keep shoveling food onto your plate, until you cry "Uncle". Fortunately for me, I was blessed with an incredibly high metabolism, allowing me to ingest twice my body weight at every sitting.

One of my highest aspirations regarding world travel is to be invited into somebody's home to eat. I firmly believe that you cannot truly know somebody until you have broken bread together. Plenty of people have opened their homes to us here in La Alberca, and we have enjoyed some great food and fellowship. What I really wanted, however, was to be invited by a family that had no connection to Julio or his extensive family tree.

Last Sunday I hit the mother lode, or maybe I should say Mama Lode. Sorry. Couldn't resist. Vicky and Pedro are friends of Katherine and Elizabeth, respectively. Elizabeth hangs out at the park with Pedro and a cadre of other teenagers. Katherine plays futbol with Vicky, who is very competitive. One day she came to practice wearing a shark tooth necklace, similar to what you might find at Eagle's in Myrtle Beach. I started calling her tiburona, which means shark. Every time she makes a good shot or pass, I yell out "Tiburona!" Her parents started doing it too. They were very friendly towards us and always made an effort to speak during the games, which is not typical.

Over the summer, I would escort Katherine to practice and try to take a different route home, as a means of learning the town. One one particular day, I stumbled into Plaza Victoria and walked into the restaurant in the middle of the plaza, named Restaurante Victoria. Very creative. I was surprised to find Vicky's mother, Antonia, working there. It was months later before I understood enough Spanish to realize that her family owned the restaurant, and her mother's name is Victoria. Susan and I have visited this restaurant several times now and really love the food.  It is obvious that both Victoria and Pedro, the owners, love what they do.

Last Sunday we got invited to eat at Victoria and Pedro's house. I thought it was going to be our family, and a four or five other people. It was more like a family reunion. The first thing I did was to find the kitchen. I was not disappointed. There was an old kitchen table in the center of the room with food piled up on it. Homemade salchicha, fresh vegetables drizzled in olive oil, salt-cured dorado, and a big bottle of vino. Standing around the table were a handful of septuagenarians, scarfing down the appetizers, like the apocalypse was approaching. I bellied right up and commenced to munching. And Mama was happy, happy, happy. Victoria kept bringing food out to the kitchen table, but I knew this was just appetizers.

After about an hour of eating in the kitchen, we retired to the dining room for the meal. I actually got a little nervous, because I wanted to leave room for the main course. Their dining room table seated about 25 people. That was the most raucous group of folks I have ever encountered. The jubilates, or retired people, were whupping up on the young punks, questioning their manhood. One of the jubilates made all the salchicha. I told him I wanted to help the next time he was making some. That started a whole litany against the youngsters, because they never asked to help.

All the while Mama was beaming. She would have cooked all night long, if we had let her.