My husband Jay is always telling me that he needs to buy me a tortilla press and I always tell him no. He doesn't understand why I enjoy making them and then rolling them out one by one by hand. Growing up tortillas were a staple in our diet. I remember always waking up to the smell of fresh coffee and tortillas in the air. My grandmother would get up every morning and make homemade flour tortillas for my grandfather. In fact she would make them 3 times a day. My grandfather always had to have 3 tortillas for every meal and so we always had them cooking in our home.
So many times my grandmother would insist that I learn and I would always tell her no. Looking back I realize that I was very spoiled during my upbringing but I was so sucked into my "poor me" depression that I never saw it. I never realized just how great I had it and just how much of a brat I was. When you are raised a certain way you just don't see it any differently.
I remember sitting with my grandmother one day watching her roll out these perfect circled tortillas and in Spanish she told me that I had to learn. She said that one day I would marry a man and that my husband would expect me to make them for him all the time. I told her no it would not be that way. I reassured her that I would find a white man that way he would only expect bread. Ha the joke was on me and she was so wise because I did find my white man who by the way loves flour tortillas.
I just within the last 6 months or so have finally decided to not just learn but perfect the art of making them. Every time it is the same way as I add in the flour, salt, baking soda, shortening, and then comes the water that makes it sticky and what used to make me squeamish as a kid because I didn't like to get my hands dirty has now became so therapeutic. With each knead of the dough I think of my Mom (my grandmother) and it brings me closer to her and to my childhood memories. With each little ball I form I can remember her hands so clearly doing the same years ago. As I roll them out I remember all of the little tidbits and advice she would give me on how to roll it out into perfect round circles. Then my mind drifts and I am back in my pink cozy little house with my parents around me and I can hear their voices in my head. I can hear their laughter, I can see their smiles, and I can always hear my dads corny jokes. If I try real hard I can feel my mommas arms around me once more telling me that she loves me and just how beautiful that I am. And for a second I could swear that I can feel my dad pull at my ears as he always did.
As I lay the fresh dough on the hot pan I can start to smell them cooking and again it heightens my experience. In the half hour that it takes me to make them I am taken back to my childhood, to the place where my world was safe, to a time where there was so much love, and to an era in my life that I knew no differently than all homes were as enamored as mine. It's amazing how much a single tortilla made out of love can still bring me to happy tears.
Getting my daughters involved in the process brings back even more memories. When I was real little my momma used to let me roll out my own baby tortilla and as soon as it was done she would lather it up in butter and the taste was always incredible. Now I do the same for my girls and they absolutely appreciate it and love it as much as I did.
I realize that it really isn't the tortilla itself that brings me back home but rather all of the love that went into it and it symbolizes for me all the love and care that my parents showed me every day. It's like love rolled up in a taco and no better taco can one be given. I was always told that my aunts and uncles growing up were embarrassed by their taco lunches because they were too poor to take anything else for lunch but I think they can agree with me when I say that it is true that the poorest in money are the richest in love. Those of us who were raised by my parents are now incredible human beings with a heart so big, so full of love, and so giving to one another. They do my parents proud everyday just like I am proud of who they each are and who they have become.
No I don't want a tortilla press not now not ever. Just like my momma I want to do things all by hand all out of love and all for my family. I hope I make her proud.
