Spanish, Food Systems, Earthquakes, and Malia Obama!

Learning from the Women of Teotitlan

This past week in Food Systems we put to the test our knowledge and understanding of cooking, as well as Spanish. We started the week off with a series of trips to Teotitlan to learn from the women of Vida Nueva. Each day began with trips to the local market to buy supplies that we were going to need, as well as plenty of pan dulces for breakfast. ¡Orale! We then watched Pastora, Isabel, Rufina, and Patrona as they prepared dishes that were rich in history. All of what they cooked had been passed down from generation to generation. There were no written recipes to be followed. Our job was to watch and record every ingredient that was used and every step that was taken to create such delicious tasting Oxacan foods, so that they can be replicated and enjoyed by all. This certainly got tricky, as we needed to fully understand the language of the kitchen in Spanish. That is hard enough in English!

The process that these women went through for hours was amazing. They used hand-kindled, open fires and comals for nearly everything, from dry-roasting chilies to heating cacao beans until they de-shelled themselves. Comals will certainly be missed when we go back to the States. You really can’t cook without them!

On Thursday we compiled all of our freshly learnt knowledge and created a masterpiece of a comida for our friends and family. We used this as an opportunity to perfect the clarity of the recipes that we had written, as well as get feedback on the results. All of the food turned out to be absolutely delicious, ¡claro! Now it is time to put them all together and make the first cookbook containing some of these recipes. We are all anxious to bring the knowledge that we have gained back to the States to cook for all of you. Start making room, there are only a few more weeks left.

Hasta siempre-

Ariel

p.d.: On Tuesday we got to experience something other than delicious food and time in the kitchen- un temblorcito! ¡Híjole!

Earthquakes and the President's Daughter, Oh my! and Spanish too!

This past week saw the end of our class with Alejandro, some earthy quaking, and the sighting of a rather note-worthy politician’s daughter. All very exciting and tear-jerking, indeed.

The beginning of our week began like any other–Alejandro’s inquisitive questions throwing us for a loop and getting our brains working again after the weekend. We learned about the Zapatista movement and the teacher’s strike in Oaxaca in 2006 and discussed the social and political conditions here in Oaxaca and its place in the world context. Tuesday, however, marked two big events: our farewells to Alejandro, easily one of my favorite Spanish teachers so far, and the earthquake. During that day, we were discussing life as usual, sipping on our coffees purchased at Café Brujúla during the break and then everything stopped.

I remember Alejandro saying something intelligent and deep (I don’t actually remember the exact words but it was likely something of the sort) and he stopped mid-sentence, looking out the window. Then a piercing sound hit our ears and I heard Alejandro mention the word “sísmico” and then it clicked: we were in the middle of earthquake. At first, it didn’t feel like anything but then I started getting this dizzy feeling (later on, others mentioned the same) and watched the tree outside shake as if there was someone taking a giant jackhammer to it’s trunk. It was after this first shake (which seemed to be very quick, contrary to other experiences) that I started freaking out. Of course, everyone else was calm as can be as I motioned a little desperately for us to move outdoors into the Zocalo, just in case there were any aftershocks. Walking down the stairs my knees were a little shaky and when we reached the square, I started looking for good places to hide in case one of the trees decided to change it’s upward ascent (i.e onto my head). But, of course everything was fine and after 10 minutes we all went back inside.

It was a few more minutes after this that the aftershock hit. I almost didn’t believe it because my limbs were still shaking and I thought I was imagining things but, nevertheless, that seismic shock alarm started it’s annoying drone. Being sufficiently shaken by the last one, I was full on freaking out at this point. As soon as I heard the alarm, I jumped from my seat, ran to the door and started hanging on for dear life and pleading with everyone else in the annoying-girl-who’s-irrationally-freaking-out whine that, in retrospect was probably hilarious to everyone else.

This action was in vain, however, since the aftershock quit after a few more seconds. It was then, I decided, that I hated earthquakes. In fact, my Facebook status later that day stated exactly that. After this incident, I spent the rest of class on the ground, my mind leading me to believe that there were more little earthquakes happening every two minutes or so. Everybody else, of course, happily resumed class, discussing the course and giving an informal review: likes, dislikes, things to change etc, etc. After goodbyes with Alejandro and Judith (our director), we all left with our first big earthquake and another great class under our belts.

The next day, considering the amount of work we were assigned (4 essays in 5 days, what!!??) we all spent the day snuggled up in a corner of Café Brujula, the unofficial (as of now) Spanish class workplace. Mickey and Natalie were rushing through their essays in order to finish before Thursday night when they would return to the beach and hang with the botany crew, many of whom decided to spend a little extra time studying plants over the weekend (I mean, what else would you do?). This left Ashley and I representing the Spanish track in Oaxaca city. Luckily, too, since the next day we came back from another morning session in Brujula to find a bunch of white men with floral shirts and black sunglasses crowding our doorway and street. Walking in

to our room (which is right next to the kitchen) we noticed a bunch of young girls chattering away with Magdalena and a translator as she explained the art of cooking. After lunch and a brief nap, Ashley and I headed back to Brujula for Round Two and asked me if I noticed that Malia Obama was sitting at our kitchen table. Of course, I didn’t believe her but she persisted. Didn’t it seem weird that there were a bunch of middle-aged white men on our block and in our house just hanging out? Or that there was a girl resembling the president’s daughter in our kitchen? Or that she was in Oaxaca with a school group? Well, sure enough, it was her. On our way back in, I sought her out (as inconspicuously as possible) and confirmed it. I waited until the group left, as a courtesy to Obama, before spouting it on Facebook.

First, we had an earthquake, then we had Malia Obama sitting in the same chairs we have breakfast in every morning. It was an exciting week, to be sure. Can’t wait to see what next week brings!

Hasta Pronto,

Sarah and the rest of the Spanish track crew!