During my childhood, I was surrounded by a family who loved to cook and our kitchen always smelled fragrant like a Hispanic restaurant. Our Pantry Cabinet was always filled with an abundance of food, almost too much food sometimes. There were spices and tortillas and cans of refried beans, as well as bottles and bottles of specialty Hispanic soda. Our Kitchen Pantry Storage was always filled and my parents always had it full.

When we had guests come and visit and to talk my family would make huge dishes of food that sometimes required two to carry. My mother would make her specialty dish called “arroz con pollo”. Translated to English, this means “rice with chicken”. Whether you were Spanish or not, no one didn’t like this meal. The chicken is cooked for hours in a flavored broth and then it is pieced off into freshly boiled rice. Traditional Spanish food does not have much flavor, so my parents always used to spice it up with more spices from our pantry. My parents always prepared too much food and at the end of the meal, there were almost always leftovers. I loved leftovers because the food from the day before tastes even better the second time around. My parents would pack it in little containers and I would eat it for lunch the next day.

Lunch was a great time for my mother and me, growing up. My father would be at work and my mom and I would be home alone. My mother would quickly prepare some of the most delicious lunches I had ever had. Some days she would make me a simple but delicious grilled cheese sandwich with succulent tomatoes and tomato soup. Other days my mom would make a huge meal and put together empanadas and quesadillas for me and my neighborhood friends. She would fry them up or bake them and let us drink some Spanish soda with our delicious treats. My friends all loved my mother’s cooking because many of them were not from a Spanish background and their mothers did not cook Spanish food; it was a real treat for them.

Late at night ,sometimes, when my parents had gone to their room I would sneak back into my favorite room and open our large pantry. Once I had successfully opened the door silently, I was amazed by everything that we had in it. Some of the things sitting in the pantry were things that I would never have imagined of using. I would consume a fattening, Spanish baked cookie that my mother would buy from the market and then go back to bed. Sometimes my mother would hear me and say “Bed! Now!” Then I knew that I was in big trouble and I went to my room immediately, but first I finished my cookie.

Everyone has a special place in their house, mine happened to be my family kitchen. Food has always been a big part of our family getting together and it may be yours too, but if not, your family memory is just as important as mine.