Pizza with the Morales family

A few weeks ago, I had a day off from work after having had a training canceled. Looking for an activity for the day, I offered to help a friend of mine - Ruben - bake bread for his family's store; something he oversees everyday, managing the business and taking on the bakers role when he doesn't have class in the capital. Having fresh bread every day is one of the luxuries I enjoy here, and it's tradition for most Guatemalans in my town to have bread with coffee before dinner every night. One person told me she simply cannot eat unless she's had her sweet bread and coffee (also VERY sweet).



On that day he was planning to do it alone, so i gladly offered to help, not quite realizing what i was getting myself into. As you can see below, making bread for a store involves large quantities, not to mention muscle. Huge masses of dough with varying proportions of sugar, flour, yeast, lard, baking powder were not exactly what i had imagined upon offering to help. I imagined myself in a quaint apron, with a few strategically placed flour smears on my face smiling as I extracted perfectly browned loaves of bread from the oven, warranting a pat on the back from Ruben. This, as you can imagine, was not the case.



We started by determining how many pieces of sweet bread (Pan Dulce in Spanish, note: in no way related to the sweet bread made famous by Hannibal Lector) how many pieces of Tostado (similar to cookies), how many cubiletes (bread cupcakes, my favorite) and how many loaves of french bread. Ruben started by mixing the ingredients in what looked like a feeding trough and slapping the well mixed mass onto the bread table. He estimated that it weighed 75 pounds (I let him handle that). We kneaded each set of dough for about 15 minutes, and formed the dough into the various shapes and molds that Ruben had established as part of the bakery's daily repertoire. They were remarkably similar, just varied in certain techniques that he had researched when he decided to start the bread business. I got a little frustrated rolling consistent sized dough balls and perfectly swizzling the pretzel shaped cookies he had invented - but i did master the croissant technique and the art of the anise bread. All in all it was a great learning experience, and a hard day's work. We used a total of 125 pounds of flour throughout the different mixtures, ending up with a total of 900 pieces of bread, cookies, cubiletes and loaves of french bread.



The best part of the whole day was once we finished baking - enjoying a few pieces along the way - we were able to take advantage of the already fired-up brick oven to make homemade pizza. Pizza has become something of a tradition with Ruben's family, and we've recruited most of his siblings, nieces and nephews and even his mom to eat with us on occasion. Everyone likes to help around the preparation table to be able to enjoy the pizza when it comes out perfectly baked from the brick oven. One of the most special things about the oven they use is that their father had it built over 30 years ago in that part of the house for use in making bread, but it´s one of the few brick ovens that remain in the town. People around the neighborhood know that they continue to bake with that method and prefer the bread they bake, if not for the taste then simply for the tradition. I have friends who make a point to come over when we make plans to bake pizza in the brick oven; it's a tradition we can really get behind :)



Until next time!

Valentine's Day

Well, having spent my first Valentine's Day in Guatemala, I was a little disappointed at finding very little reference to relationships, which I had gotten pretty used to in the states. I think I was one of the few single girls who didn’t have a dangerous love-hate relationship or bipolar tendencies with the holiday. (Unlike an acquaintance - who will remain unnamed - who when I asked about her Valentine’s Day plans without a boyfriend for the first time in a while, informed me very matter of fact-ly that she intended to eat a whole roll of cookie dough). But having gotten accustomed to the ostentatious displays of flowers, gigantic boxes of chocolate and risqué lingerie sales, I found Valentine’s Day in Guatemala pretty bare-bones. I'd even heard Valentines Day in Guatemala referred to as "The Day of Friendship" which is basically the opposite of its meaning in the states – unless you plan to seduce and shower your friends with unnecessary presents. But, regardless - I found a way to celebrate American style with friends from around the country, at a small get together at my house. And by small, I mean a conservative 17 people :)

But, in all seriousness, on the topic of Valentines Day, I wanted to bring up something I’ve noticed over the past few months in my quaint little town, which is a disheartening lack of affection between married couples. (Although, I can report no lack of affection between younger couples) At first I noticed it between my host parents, and thinking it might be something unique to them I waited and continued to observe other families around town, even in other villages. Having observed for several months now, as far as I can tell husbands and wives do not address each other with terms of endearment, kiss (let alone hug) or even really spend much time together. Believing very strongly in the institution of marriage, and having grown up around affectionate, loving couples (which is not to say perfect) to be honest, this made me a little sad.

Now, be warned, this could be an unfair generalization; I’m speaking only from my own experience in a short few months. The only reference I had was the husbands and wives with whom I’d grown up. But identifying the difference between the couples there and the couples whom I’d come to know in Guatemala, I felt the tiniest hint of pride in the US – something that I don’t experience very frequently here, unfortunately. Despite all the problems that exist in the states, and there are a lot – not to mention the high divorce rate – at least we had some couples who were happily married, who had mastered the art of coexisting with another and the ability to be faithful to and care for their spouse. This, however little it may be, was something to be proud of and something that on a deeper level reminded me of the underlying good in Americans. I realize that not all couples in the States are particularly affectionate either – not by a long shot. But I always like to see married couples holding hands, or showing some sort of small signs of affection that discreetly whisper to onlookers that even after years of being together, their little flame still burns. Small observances like that always reassure my faith in the institution of marriage and the possibility of finding that one person for whom you were meant – your other half, we could say. Maybe this is naïve and idealistic, but so be it.

Thinking about this often, reflecting on what it could mean about the state of marriages in Guatemala, one day I worked up the audacity to ask someone about it. I mentioned it to two friends, without citing specific examples (afraid to offend anyone) and asked why that was the case. I was relieved to find that neither seemed offended. On the contrary – they both confirmed my observation. They pointed out to me that many people in the towns I frequented, and partners in the marriages I had been observing had suffered greatly during the internal conflict in Guatemala - which ended in 1996 - and thus were probably very hesitant to show affection or be open at all with their feelings. They had learned through decades of hiding and secrecy that it was at times unnecessary and even unsafe to display affection - or show any emotion for that matter - in public. I hadn't thought about it before, but I guess it makes sense, keeping in mind recent factors and the current context. But, my two friends also brought to my attention that many husbands and wives may have other ways of showing affection that I might not immediately notice, not being from here; bearing and raising children, cooking, cleaning, earning money for the family are all ways, they reminded me, to demonstrate your love for the other person.

I am happy to report that of those things, there is no noticeable lack. In fact, I'd even go as far as saying that if that's the case, there is an excess of love between married couples in my town.

I should have recognized the subtlety in this before, having heard the Spanish equivalent of one’s “other half.” They call that person your "media naranja," or the other half of the orange. Well, I guess if I were to meet my other half (of the orange that is) in Guatemala, he might expect these things from me (and, heaven forbid, tortillas). But I'll have to break it to him that I plan to express myself the old fashioned way: Good old tender loving care.

Until next time...