The kitchen

The kitchen, as I have found, is the heart of the home. It is not only a place to prepare the day’s meals, but also a place to foster relationships. My humble Spanish kitchen has been a cultural eye-opener in ways I could have never imagined.

Simply put, there is never a shortage of food in the house. The pantry closets are overflowing, the refrigerator is so full sometimes the door cannot close, and the five-burner stove is hidden underneath the mess of pots and pans. On the counter sits the ornate pitcher filled with olive oil, which we refill every day from one of our four 5-liter jugs of olive oil in the pantry. As seasonal fruits come and go, our bottomless basket of fruit always displays an array of colors. From the typical apples and bananas to the exotic cherimoya and ever-present mandarins, fruit is a large portion of the culture of Spanish food. Another integral piece of the food puzzle in Malaga is the presence of seafood. Whether fried or in paella, the fruits of the sea are never missing from any meal. Lastly, we cannot forget the wine, which my host mother pours, in what seems like exorbitant amounts, over any dish before she pops it in the over, declaring that as a “good Catholic woman” she must baptize her food. All of these aspects, in addition to fresh ingredients and warm spirit of an eager cook, combine to make a unique kitchen atmosphere. Needless to say, in terms of the culture of food in Spain, their metaphoric cup runneth over.

In the richness of this culture of food, the problem that I face is that I cannot replicate the individual dishes or the sentiment they carry, when I return to the United States. My host mother does not own a single recipe and has never in her life used one. I fear that no matter how many hours I spent watching her bustle around the kitchen, I will never be able to recreate these Spanish dishes nor the passion and love she puts into them. I often stand in the kitchen watching her cook and listening as she rambles on about the neighbors or what happened in Mercadona this morning. Though I entered the kitchen with a book in hand, it takes only a few minutes before I realized that I would not be reading a word of it here. With a wooden spoon in hand stirring the rice, my host mother and I stood over the stove, deep in conversation, yet again.

Most importantly, I have learned that the kitchen is a place for conversation. As you can imagine, with the amount of food and the propensity of the Spanish to talk, the meals themselves last for hours; bring up religion and politics, and you’ve just guaranteed yourself at least another hour at the table. It is through this conversation that you will learn about the hearts and minds of those that surround you. When given this wonderful opportunity, sit and enjoy the conversation, and sometimes debate, that commences during the “sobre mesa.” However, if your schedule confines you to bocadillo on-the-go or a mere hour-long lunch, just stand in the kitchen for a while, quietly sipping your tea, and you will be amazed at what you can learn. Every dish has a story, whether it is the dish served for a Spanish ambassador or the time the oven caught fire, and there is a cook out there who would love to share this with you.

So go to the kitchen. Sit with your family, Spanish, American or otherwise, and talk. You never know what you can learn about a person or culture until you stay for a while in the heart of the home. As they say, “home is where the heart is,” and in Spain the heart resides in the kitchen.

- Marlena