| when we sit in Elva’s kitchen on low wooden chairs we are weightless have entered timelessness. The cooking fire behind us, fed eucalyptus bark heats round black pots-- water for tea, for mot`e and fragrant smoke signatures thatched ceiling. At the table in front of us we watch eagerly two little girls in women’s bodies. Elva and a woman beaming amarillo make empanadas-- roll dough balls with a glass bottle into rounds, spoon white queso sebolla filling, fold and pleat where the dough meets waits for oil to heat her fingers flutter around soft edges she drops a plump half moon into the bubbling pan where puffing, it rises, floats high, turns golden and with great excitement, a sense of being honored we are presented with the first--a glorious treasure, steaming hot, irresistible fragrance. In the magic of drum and flutes playing, potatoes and ears of fresh corn bursting with their own music, huge papayas, immense cabbage, sweet tree tomatoes, in this magic we smile, fresh out of the sky, Maureen and I, two new sisters savoring each bite. This could be the sweetest exchange of human nature, this gift from Elva, making bridges universally-- way above the water, the mountains, Elva’s gifts sing into each cell the giving of food the giving away of recipes of the heart |
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