Las Christmas (11 page)
Orange
and
Cilantro Salad
This salad is a refreshing foil for the spicier dishes on our menu.
Toss oranges, onion, and cilantro in a salad bowl. Whisk together remaining ingredients. Pour dressing over salad and toss.
Makes
8
servings
Jicama, Pomegranate,
and
Watercress Salad
There are many traditional Mexican
ensaladas de Navidad,
but we love to make this one because the dark-green watercress and the bright-red pomegranate seeds reflect the colors of the season. The jicama adds a nicely refreshing crunch. Pico de Gallo is a Mexican seasoning available in many supermarkets. The ingredients are salt and an exquisite blend of powdered chiles. This hot, red powder can be sprinkled over everything from mangos to corn on the cob. But be careful! It can be
muy picante
!
In a bowl, squeeze the lime juice over the jicama, then sprinkle on the Pico de Gallo and toss well. In a separate bowl, toss the watercress with a little olive oil. Arrange the dressed watercress on a serving dish, pile the jicama in the middle. Then working over the dish, so that juice drips down into the salad, scoop the pomegranate seeds out of their shell with a spoon, and drop them onto the watercress in little mounds.
Esmeralda Santiago
Esmeralda Santiago is the author of two memoirs,
When I Was Puerto Rican
(available in English and in Spanish from Vintage) and
Almost a Woman
,
and a novel,
América's Dream.
She lives in Westchester County, New York.
A BABY DOLL LIKE MY COUSIN JENNY'S
I WAS EIGHT and I wanted a baby doll like my cousin Jenny's, with pink skin and thick-lashed blue eyes that shut when we lay her down to sleep. The doll had no hair, but its plastic skull was traced with curved lines that ended in a curl on her forehead, painted chestnut. It was the size of a small baby, its chubby arms and legs slightly bent, its tiny fingers open to reveal a hand with deep furrows and mounds. I loved the way it smelled, rubbery sweet, and its round little body with a tiny, perfectly formed navel above its belly fold. The baby doll had no penis, but there was a little hole in her bottom, at the end of the crease on her back that defined her tiny flat buttocks.
Christmas was coming. I could tell because the songs on the radio were about how much the singer needed a drink, or about how his woman had left him alone and miserable through the holidays. There were other songs, about the
parrandas
who went from house to house playing music in exchange for a piece of roasted pork or a
pastel
wrapped in a banana leaf or a shot of
ron cañita.
The neighbors tied red crepe paper around hibiscus and gardenia bushes, hung crocheted snowflakes along the eaves of their tin roofs, displayed flaming poinsettias on their porches. The smells of Christmas floated from every kitchen: ginger and cloves, cinnamon and coconut, oregano, rosemary, garlic. Thick, gray smoke curled from the backyards, where pigs roasted, their skin crackling and sizzling to the scratching of
güiros,
the strumming of
cuatros,
the plaintive
aguinaldos
about the birth of Jesus on Nochebuena.
While Nochebuena was the adult's holiday, El DÃa de los Tres Reyes Magos was for children, the day we'd wake to find the presents they delivered after traveling thousands of miles by camel. Papi helped me compose a letter, which I worked on for days, laboriously copying it over and over until there were no spelling errors and my request was clear. “Dear Three Magi: I have been good this year. You can ask Mami and Papi if you don't believe me. I would like a baby doll like my cousin Jenny's, with blue eyes that close. I hope you like the water I left and the grass for the camels. Have a good journey. Sincerely, Esmeralda Santiago (Negi).”
Papi gave me a sheet of paper from the ones he used to write his letters and poems and let me borrow his pen, which meant I couldn't make mistakes because the ink could not be erased. My sister Delsa asked me to write a letter for her.
“Ask them,” she said, “for a baby doll like the one Jenny has.”
“But that's what I want,” I said.
“We can both get one and pretend they're sisters.”
But I didn't want Delsa to have a doll like mine, so in Delsa's letter, I wrote: “Dear Three Magi: I have been a good girl this year. I would like a doll, but not like the one you're giving Negi, so that we won't get confused. Sincerely, Delsa Santiago.” I didn't ask Papi to check the spelling, and I wrote her letter on a piece of notebook paper. When Delsa complained, I told her the Three Magi would know she hadn't written it if the letter looked too fancy, since they knew she was only six years old and couldn't write very well.
The days between Nochebuena and El DÃa de los Reyes were the longest two weeks of the year. Right in the middle, we celebrated New Year's with noisemakers and songs that no longer despaired of lonely holidays but hoped for better days ahead. Mami and Papi gave us cloth pouches filled with nuts and raisins, and we were allowed a sip from the
coquito
Mami made, which tasted sweet and coconutty and made our heads spin if we sneaked more when our parents weren't looking.
The night before the Three Magi were to come, my sisters and brother and I searched for the freshest, most tender blades of grass to leave in our shoes for the Magi's camels. We placed the shoes under our beds, the toes sticking out so that the Magi would see them. We cleaned out empty tomato-sauce cans and filled them with water from the drums at the corners of the house. Then we lined them up by the door, my letter in front of my can, and Delsa's in front of hers. The other kids complained that we had an advantage because we could write, but Mami convinced them the Three Magi knew what each of us liked, even without a letter.
I woke up while it was still dark. Two shadows moved around the room carrying bundles in their hands. I closed my eyes quickly. It must be two of the Magi, I thought, while the third stays outside with the camels. Next time I woke it was daylight, and Delsa was squealing in my ear. “Look Negi, look! I got a baby doll just like Jenny's!”
I scrambled out of bed, looked under it, found a flat rectangular package under my shoes. It didn't look wide enough to hold a baby doll. It was a box with a colorful painting of a racetrack divided into squares and stiff horses in various positions around it. Papi saw my disappointment, and asked, “Don't you like it?” His face looked worried, and Mami came and stood next to him and looked at me sadly.
“I wanted a doll,” I cried, “like that one.” I grabbed the doll from Delsa's arms, and she grabbed it back and ran to a corner of the room.
Mami and Papi looked at each other. Mami knelt and hugged me. “You're a big girl. This game is for a big girl. Dolls are for little kids.”
“But I want a doll,” I sobbed. She looked at Papi, who took my hand and walked me to the yard. Across the room, Delsa undid the baby doll's dress, its pale pink skin glowing under her brown fingers.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I couldn't afford two dolls, and she's younger . . .”
“What?”
“I'll get you a doll for your birthday.”
“What happened to the Three Magi?”
Papi looked at me, his eyes startled, his lips pursed into a tight O. “I'm sorry,” he said and hugged me.
Forty years later, as I prepare for my American Christmas, I remember that embrace, the soft, moist feel of a just-shaved cheek, Papi's slumped shoulders. I search aisles of toy stores, looking for the perfect baby doll for my daughter, who doesn't like dolls, telling myself all little girls want one. Knowing this little girl still does.
Arroz
con
Coco
PUERTO RICAN RICE PUDDING
When Esmeralda's mother, Ramona Santiago, makes this dessert, also known as
arroz con dulce,
she mixes the cinnamon sticks and some of the cloves from the spice infusion with the rest of the ingredients. Those of us lucky enough to get a piece of cinnamon or a clove in our portion of
arroz con dulce
prolong the pleasure of Christmas by sucking on the spice.
Combine ginger, cinnamon, cloves, and water in a saucepan. Bring to a boil, lower heat and simmer for 30 minutes. Remove chunks of ginger, cinnamon and cloves. Soak rice in water to cover for 30 minutes. Drain and add to the spice infusion. Simmer, covered, for 10 minutes. Add coconut milk and sugar. Simmer, covered, for 10 more minutes, stirring frequently. Add raisins and cook 5 minutes more, continuing to stir. Stir in coconut flakes and cook 5 minutes more.
Spread mixture evenly in a rectangular (9 Ã 13-inch) glass mold. Allow to cool. Sprinkle powdered cinnamon to taste. Refrigerate. Serve cold.