Tata's world

Maria, get out of the kitchen! said Grandma Tata. This is how all her grandchildren called her. Actually, I did not know her real name until I was 14 years old. Tata was nervous because the pots with hot water could drop over me while I was running around the kitchen. Her kitchen was my favorite place to play. It was relatively small but full of conceivable things. Through an enormous cupboard you could see different types of dinner sets and all kinds of cooking utensils, Tupperwares of all sizes, millions of recyclable plastic containers. Next to the cupboard were shelves with little bottles full of condiments and species like cinnamon, cardamom, black and pink peppercorns, cayenne pepper, cumin, salt, achiote (it’s yellow and gives color to food), saffron, coriander, tarragon, basil and mustard seeds. Each time Tata opened these little bottles, a mix of smells floated in the air, making me feel giddy. Fresh corn excelled itself in big wooden plates. Corn is something that you will always find in Ecuadorian kitchens. Its red, yellow and black colors brightened with the little light that came through a tiny window. Big and small pans and pots hung from the walls as if it was an exposition. There were two stoves; maybe because Tata usually had to cook for so many people. One stove wasn’t enough. During weekends she invited around 25 people: her six children, her 12 grandchildren and all her sons in law. I must say her several dogs weren’t considered guests, but they were also eating with us.

This world always has produced a dizzy feeling inside me: too many people, too many things… Everything is so messy but at the same time everything has its own order. It was almost impossible to walk there. The 1940’s fridge plus a small wooden table worsened the panorama. Finding a way through the kitchen was something only my Grandma could do. You had to be careful not to drop the several pots that were on fire. That is why she was yelling at me all the time: Maria, get out of the kitchen! I had the ability to drag myself through the floor and skipped most of the obstacles. I loved to imagine myself selling all kinds of products in the Indian market, of course using my Grandma’s foodstuff. I recreated my games in one of the kitchen’s corner or under the wooden table, when Tata was mad at me. I talked alone pretending to be the best stallholder and I stole one of the many aprons in the kitchen. I took all the jars full of rice and other grains, the vegetables and fruits that were stored in the kitchen’s entry, and of course the mini bottles with spices and condiments. Sometimes, my cousins wanted to play with me. However, the place was so small, it was so intimate, so mine, that I didn’t want to share it with anyone. I didn’t like to play outside. That was when I heard it again: Maria, get out of the kitchen. Go play outside with the other kids! My grandmas’ kitchen was really old and full of things but to me, it was the coziest place ever. It was the place where my imagination took place.

A daily routine was accomplished in Tata’s kitchen. When I slept at my grandma’s house, mostly during my summer vacations, she woke up at 6 am to pick up the newspaper from the kitchen’s door. I was still between my dreams and reality. I could feel her steps and the first noises she was making in the kitchen. For sure she was beginning with her first tasks. I was always wondering what she was making. Once I was awake, the first thing I always did was to go to the kitchen. A delicious but simple breakfast was waiting for me! A hot and steaming cinnamon tisane, hot bread, fresh cheese and homemade jelly were served. Now, I think and realize that my Grandmas’ breakfasts were not the biggest feast but each thing was so well prepared that simplicity made it so tasty. Especially bread!

 Tata didn’t bake the bread. Every day at 5 pm., Grandma took out her apron, brushed her white and short hair, put her red cherry lipstick on and changed her shoes for going to the bakery. To me, this was a whole adventure. We walked together, holding hands. I always took with me a big straw bag sewed by Tata to carry the fresh bread. During our way, we met all my Grandma’s neighbors. All of them were old, like her. I hated those women because each time they saw me, they loved to pinch my cheeks and asked me tons of questions. The worst of all was they always complained about everything; and even worse than that was the fact that I never understood what they were talking about. Luckily, Tata was a woman of few words. The smell of the bread could be perceived two blocks away, and that was when I began to walk faster. The bakery seller- Cecilia Criollo- had known my grandma and most of our family for a long time. I couldn’t control my anxiety. I only wanted to tear up that hot greasy croissant and feel how the butter melted in my mouth. While Tata selected the type of bread she wanted, Cecilia gave me small bread called rose (like the flower) that is made basically of water and salt. It wasn’t the croissant I wanted so badly! That’s why breakfasts were so delicious - because it was the moment I could taste my croissants. Maria, stop eating so many croissants, this is going to be your fourth one! said Tata. I pretended not to hear her!

Grandma Tata was obsessed with her daily routine. She always wanted to complete everything at a particular hour. Currently, this can be defined under a psychologist perspective as an obsessive compulsive disorder, but at that time Tata was happy with all the housework she had to do. I always wanted to be part of her daily routine. I always wanted help her buy bread, go together to the supermarket, wait for the milk truck, cook all kinds of stuff, harvest fruits and vegetables. It was a world full of imagination. It was a parallel world away from my real school life. It was the place where the mind of a child flew away and where there was no space for boredom.