I Got It From My Mama

Pair this twist on a Puerto Rican favorite with a zesty disappointment in your children.

While I love making food that could pass as something you’d get at a restaurant (Do you think I grow scallions and parsley for my health? Garnish, greens, and studio lighting, Sweetie.), food that tastes like something you’d get at my mom’s house is an experience of a different psychedelic state that also happens to come with an esophageal hug.

This is inspired by the traditional Puerto Rican meal that is quite literally the most basic, staple at literally every and any Puerto Rican household. I’m pretty sure we all eat it multiple times a week. It’s what we’re known for, and it’s what we’ll continue to do better than everyone else. 

Across the board, it usually consists of 3 things: rice, beans, and chicken. Ingredients, add-ons, cooking methods, etc. usually range by household, but only to give competitive grandmothers and judge aunts something to live for at family parties. As you can see in my own version of things, I’ve adapted my mother’s recipes to a more “Eat This, Not That!” lifestyle. To leave no doubt—my mother would never ingest a fresh vegetable let alone a single quinoa. 

I’ve been missing my momma a lot lately. Let’s face it, she’s the only one who can ever truly understand and see through my emotional unavailability because she’s the one who made me that way. And I hope one day I can do the same for my kids. As fucked up as my mother and I are as individuals, at least no one can say we lack character—and I’d much rather my kids be funny than kind. You want people who've already gone through some shit when you’re bent over and exposing your ass to the world because you’re too old to wipe it on your own. I’m sorry if you saw what I did there.

Growing up, the two places I spent the most time with my mother were the couch and the kitchen (which, in retrospect, makes sense on so many other levels). We lived in the hood, so you could say that in the interest of not getting shot or told you have nice looking toes by a crackhead, we were kinda homebodies. We also lived in a one bedroom apartment, where she slept on an air mattress in the living room, and I slept on my own bed in my own bedroom (yea, I know, I wouldn’t even do that). By the time I was 7 and she was 23, I had already learned how to hunt for rich men to support me. And by that I mean I could climb cabinets in search of the leprechaun on the Lucky Charms box at breakfast. I’d silently sleuth past my sleeping mom at 11 on a Saturday morning to pour my own cereal because I knew my very hardworking, single mother deserved to sleep late. She was obviously awake because child is to silence as motherhood is to joy. 

This was not only the start of my culinary adventures, but also the reason why my children will always be a disappointment. Anyway, now since I only ever visit her for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and one other pre-agreed upon major event a year, we usually end up spending hours in the kitchen as I watch her cook, bake, and dance to trap music because she’s a (neurotic control) freak who has a hard time letting people help her. 

Healthy eating is usually not something Latinos are concerned with. Our asses are the stuff of globally celebrated thong songs and JLo shrines. So, when I told my mom about all of the ways I’ve been updating her recipes to go lighter on the empty carbs and heavier on the vitamin/protein-rich substitutions, she was understandably disgusted and not only admitted that she wondered why my ass was looking so “meh", but also told me that if I expected her to follow suit I should begin looking for a new mother.

Anyone out there got a mom looking for a better daughter? 

As you’ll see in this recipe, I’ve kept plenty of things fairly “traditional”. Though I don’t think my mom’s way of doing things was very traditional-island-scrap to begin with because she preferred canned Goya beans over dry, has apparently never used tomato paste, only liked to use chicken breast which is said to be more dry, didn’t put ham in everything, and eventually came to scrap the use of sofrito (the bunch-of-veggies-and-herbs-like-cilantro-blended-together-to-make-a-chimmichurri-like-base Puerto Ricans use for every meal that makes it well… a Puerto Rican meal) because she was too lazy to make batches herself when her aunts moved in the 876th Great Migration of New Jersyans to Florida. 

Behold… the sacred leaders of our people.

Clocking in at around 40-60 minutes, this can seem like a bit of a time investment, but make it on a Sunday and you’ll actually have quite a bit to last you a few meals (assuming you’re sticking it to the man and making your family fend for themselves). This will be a game of strategy—I think because of the potato component, the beans take the longest at about 40 minutes, so we do those first, and everything else will be made during that time. For the chicken, feel free to use breast, but you’ll have to adjust the baking temp and time. Also to note, literally no one other than Rachel Ray measures things, so just eye things as your soul feels is best, and remember you can always add, but never take away. 

No matter how much you put, it’ll be pretty freaking healthy, have all the right island flavors, and be guaranteed to make your body happily convulse in a way your husband has only seen on the porn he watches right next to you in bed because he's learned to not even bother.

Also bonus points if you just so happen to have plantain and can make tostones or maduros. I’ll have to conquer that next, but I live in a caucasian neighborhood during COVID-19 so access to ingredients is a little sparse. 

¡Buen provecho y dios de bendiga!

(Translation: Go play Bad Bunny or salsa puertorriqueña on Spotify and get cookin’!)