Vanessa del Valle

Vanessa del Valle is an avid cook currently living and learning about her Puerto Rican heritage in Nevada City, California.

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A Silver Lining

March 2010 - It is a strange thing, colonialism. The word itself is so politically charged that nearly everyone who hears it has some immediate emotional response, whether it be anger, resentment, nostalgia…any myriad of feelings. For me, my mind always seems to conjure up images of Indian palaces full of stoic men with handlebar mustaches. They wear white, turn-the-century British Army uniforms, pith helmets slouching down below tanned brows. The sound of peacocks comes to mind, like a snippet from a montage out of “The Secret Garden” or some other English nineteenth century classic. It is exotic and undeniably romantic. I am keenly aware that my Walt Disney idea of what colonialism means is a direct result of never having experienced it whatsoever. I happily live in the United States-- itself once a colony, though hardly under a foreign rule these days. I recognize how fortunate I am to never have experienced the sometimes devastating effects of living under foreign rule in your own homeland. But as I ponder my luck I can’t help but realize how naïve I would be if I seriously believed that I, a Puerto Rican, have never experienced the products colonialism has brought to the Americas. Today, Puerto Rico is a United States commonwealth—not so different (and still influenced by) its Spanish-colonial past.

I don’t want to dwell on the negative. We Puerto Ricans have many nations to thank for who we have become today. It would be easy to argue politics, to debate historical rights and wrongs until we’re blue in the face. There is one reason I bring up such a seemingly-serious topic in this food column and that is what I like to call the “Silver Lining of Colonialism”—you guessed it. Delicious food.

No one in the world can convince me that we, the Earth, would have even a fraction of the delicious foods we have today if no culture, at one point or another, crossed a border and melded with another. Whether right or wrong, entire cuisines exist because of this phenomenon, this mixing of people. One of my favorite examples is Vietnamese food, largely influenced by French colonialism. Because of this meeting of cultures, we have banh mi—sandwiches that are the ultimate love-child of France and Vietnam’s native flavors. The entire Mediterranean is a melting pot of cuisines influencing one another. And then there is the best (and my most favorite) example of how wonderful the blending of cultures and cuisines can be—Puerto Rican food. Largely made up of flavors native to the Caribbean, Africa and Spain, Puerto Rican food as we know and enjoy it today would be utterly non-existent if those headstrong Spanish hadn’t landed on our island home several hundred years ago. We would have no onions, garlic, olives, olive oil or oregano, to say the least. Nor would we enjoy such staples as plantain, coconut or coffee if they hadn’t been thoughtfully carried over by our African brethren. The thought alone sends shivers of horror down my spine. Life without garlicky mofongo? It would be absolutely tragic.

I have to say, one of my favorite influences on Puerto Rican cooking is neither Spanish nor African. It’s actually Italian…or rather, Italian-American. The dish I’m referring to was invented in my Tio Carmelo’s kitchen. He calls it “Puerto Rican Spaghetti” and it is almost exactly what it sounds like. A native Puerto Rican, Carmelo spent many years in New York City cooking in restaurants and eating that classic Italian-American dish—spaghetti. While I don’t know the exact story, I imagine that after retiring in his native island home he must have decided he missed the ubiquitous dish. While not a die-hard fan of classic Italian food, he took it upon himself to make it more…well, Puerto Rican. I first tried this surprisingly fabulous dish on my 2005 family vacation to the island. It was love at first bite. Simple and saucy, with big chunks of tender chicken falling off the bone, I couldn’t have found a more appropriate dish to represent everything I am down to my very soul. After all, while I’m proudly half Puerto Rican, my other half is mostly Italian. I make this dish myself now, for my husband and his family. They love it and while neither Puerto Rican nor Italian, they understand how bizarre and fantastic being a “mutt” can be (whether you are human, or simply a delicious plate of food).

Today, political strife is rampant. We have entire newspapers, magazines and television shows devoted to creating feelings of isolation, separatism and fear of racial and cultural intermingling. My fellow Puerto Ricans, don’t allow them to make you forget who we are. We are many people, we are many things. We are many sights, sounds, smells and (thankfully) tastes. While we may not be able to share everything, I believe that only good can come from sharing our food, from breaking the proverbial bread with others and being open to welcoming a little of their foods into our lives as well. Call me a dreamer, but I think the table is the best place for people to discover their common ground. What could more peaceful? No, wait…what could be more delicious? Here’s hoping we can all go forth proudly and share our culture, our wonderful dishes, with everyone we meet.

While I have changed this a little, this recipe is essentially how Puerto Rican Spaghetti was prepared for me, both in 2005 and on my honeymoon last November. For you to enjoy, I give you Tio Carmelo’s Puerto Rican Spaghetti:

Ingredients:

1 chicken, cut up into pieces
1 package spaghetti noodles
2 small cans tomato sauce
1-2 chicken bouillon cubes
1 packet Sazon “Achiote y Culantro” seasoning (I sometimes use two)
A sprinkling of adobo (homemade or Goya)

Directions:

In a deep pot, brown the chicken pieces in a little (just a little!) oil. In a separate pot, bring about 5-6 cups of water to a boil and add the bouillon cubes, stirring to dissolve. Take the spaghetti noodles, snap in half and add to the chicken broth. Stir and cook for about a minute. Pour the entire pot (water and all) of noodles over the chicken pieces and add the tomato sauce and seasonings. Liquid should just barely cover chicken (if pieces stick out a little, it's ok). Cook on a medium simmer, adding water if needed, until both the chicken and spaghetti noodles are cooked through and the sauce is somewhat absorbed. The dish should be saucy and moist, but not swimming in sauce. I learned to make this by sight (as most family recipes are) without the use of measuring cups, so play with it until you find the amounts you like best. While I love this recipe, I don’t see how browning the chicken with a good helping of sofrito could hurt. Experiment and enjoy.