My Personal Eating Memoir

by Makenna Medrano

“Your favorite food when you were a baby was pureed carrot and sweet potato that your dad used to make, that’s why you have such dark skin and good eyesight” my mother always used to tell me growing up. According to my mom all of the carotene was what made my skin glow and why I had flawless eyesight even though both of my parents wore glasses. I am not sure about the science behind her claims but knowing my father’s cooking now, my baby food probably tasted fantastic. I attribute my exposure to fresh, homemade foods as an infant to my love for intense flavors. I was lucky though, my grandfather Gringo Medrano, was born in the mountains of Jujuy, Argentina and I don’t know much about his life but I do know he made the best gnocchi and empanadas de carne so juicy and delicious that my heart aches for them now. Luckily, Gringo taught my father Gaston Medrano (almost) everything he knew.

My dad immigrated to the United States in 1989. He spoke little English and had no money in his pockets. He worked illegally as a horse groom in Santa, Barbara where he met my mother, Elizabeth, a small-town girl from Omaha, Nebraska. Long story short, they fell in love, got married and I came around in 1995. My dad always had a passion for cooking and quickly found his way into the kitchen. One thing led to another and he had the opportunity to own his own restaurant, Pampas. My earliest memories consist of being in Pampa’s kitchen eating freshly grilled asado de tira (argentine ribs), and sucking the salty meat off the bones until my lips hurt, or sitting in the back-parking lot slurping up fresh clams cooked in a zesty garlic, white wine broth. At the restaurant, I was fed food to keep me entertained while my parents dealt with bookkeeping, management, and personal problems of their own. At home, is where my older brother Tauan, my dad, and I would experiment in the kitchen, while my mom spectated and took really cute pictures of us like the one below.

I should have warned you sooner but my life was extremely complicated, so buckle up. My brother came to the states, from interior Brazil, the year I was born. We have different moms, but that never really occurred to me. With my dad being in the restaurant business and my mom working retail, there were many nights that my brother had to take care of me. His favorite meal to make us was chicken and rice, and when we sat down to eat, being the silly 13-year old he was, he would eat the entire meal like a dog scarfing down his food, not once using his hands. I now realize he did that to make me laugh, and also because our parents weren’t at the table to scold him. My dad took table manners very seriously, I learned how to properly use a steak knife before learning how to write, and we wouldn’t be caught dead with our elbows on the table. My brother and I grew up quick and after unfortunate circumstances, my brother was deported to Brazil months before his 18^th birthday. When things settled down my brother started culinary school in Argentina, but he was never one to deal with authority so that didn’t last long. Luckily, he was a Medrano and a third-generation chef, so he effortlessly found himself running kitchens in Brazil, then in Hamburg, Germany. I told you it was complicated. During my frequent visits with him, wherever we were, we found ourselves in the kitchen. Below is an image of our recreation of our childhood favorite, chicken and rice. Although this time, we used utensils.

Tauan and I often dreamed of one day opening our own restaurant on our dad’s land in Brazil, we dreamed of what it would be called, what we would serve and how it would be our chance to be together again. Life went on, we moved to new places, and in 2015, I left the University of Nebraska Lincoln to move to Brazil to live with my dad and brother on our land. One evening, my brother and I were walking home from the beach when we met Roberto, an Italian chef who would change my outlook on food forever. He kindly invited us to his house for a dinner party that same night, we had nothing to do and knew better than to turn down an offer for a free meal. There we met an English shaman, a Chilean hitchhiker, and Italian sailboat owner who would all become close friends of ours. We chatted over wine and fresh tuna, I was lost in a kaleidoscope of new faces, delicious food and fountains of wine I doused my tuna in red wine rather than soy sauce- it became the joke of the evening. I always appreciated flavors of food but for the first time realized the profound impact sharing a meal can connect you to people from all walks of life, the table was a place where all shame, judgment and humility were set aside. Crazy enough, the next day I set sail with the Italian chef, English shaman, Chilean hitchhiker and Italian sailboat owner. We were headed for the closest city, Salvador Bahia, to celebrate Dia de Iemanja, or the celebration of the Sea Goddess. We ate street food like tapioca, acaraje, carne do sol, xin xin, and so much more. We ate and drank until our bellies extended and we could no longer comfortably dance. We went on epic adventures in crowded markets in search for dried shrimp, specialty spices, fresh baguettes, and anchovies. Five months flew by in a blink of an eye, and I decided it was time to go home. My brother and I developed a grand plan, I would move to the states and take advantage of my access to a good education. I would go to culinary school and learn the techniques my grandfather, dad, and brother might not know, along with how to run a successful business.

Things were going according to plan until the morning of February 17^th 2016, the day before my first final exams of culinary school. The phone rang suspiciously early. I rolled over to see who woke me from my dreams, my cousin Francine whom I hadn’t spoken to in years. I sleepily ignored it. Another ring, this time my aunt Genoveva, whom didn’t call often. I knew something was wrong so I answered. “There has been an accident, Tauan is gone.” I felt my spirit leave my body, I had to have been dreaming, there was no way. My brother took his own life that morning, throwing me into a pit of despair, I grew sick and purged every bit of nourishment I had in me. My mom and grandma washed me with warm rags in the bath. Everything was a blur, like I was in a twilight zone, an eerie place between reality and my worst nightmares.

Nothing has been the same since February 17, 2016, but I can say with confidence that every obstacle my family and I have faced is what brought me here, to The Evergreen State College. I seek an education, the one my brother and I dreamed I would get. I wake up every day for Tauan, and I wish I knew what my life would be like if he was still here. Now, I take every bite of food with caution, I want to know about where it came from, the love, labor, sweat, and tears that brought the food we eat into the grocery store and onto our plates. I savor every last bite, acknowledging that I am lucky to feel full. Through food I learn to turn tragedy into survival. I want to plant seeds, watch them grow, and understand how the suns energy can turn seeds into fruit, cereals and grains into proteins. I want to travel the world, share meals with strangers and hear about their triumphs or tragedies, learn about what we have in common and what led us all here, to the same table.

There is so much more I can write about, this has been an extremely emotional assignment for me. Initially, I wanted to write about the years my dad transitioned to a raw, whole foods diet and cured his hepatitis C. Or the time I drove 3 hours just for a bowl of cooked to order chowder, the first time I speared a fish, ate the entire thing, felt sick and vowed to never spear a fish again. I wanted to write about how much joy baking fresh banana bread with my little brother brings me. Or the time I went to Africa to study abroad and my mandatory journal ended up being a documentation of everything I ate that day, for 3 weeks straight. How the countless episodes my dad, brother and I watched of Anthony Bourdain inspired me to travel the world in search of cultural experiences. Tauan is deeply embedded in each of these memories, woven into every thread in my life, and perhaps why he became the focus of this assignment.