Family Fiesta, True Tico Style

Melvin stops by on his motorcycle and asks if we’d like to go to la casa of his ma-ma’ and pa-pa’ to have dinner with the family. We say yes and he tells us to meet him at his house in 20 minutes, just enough time for us to quickly ready a salad and some chocolates.

We follow Melvin a little ways down the road and turn into a steep grassy lane we hadn’t noticed before. We hug the side of the steep slope, a wall of clay soil on one side and assorted tropical trees on the other, and soon come to a colorful house with children and adults spilling out of it. Ma-ma’ is a lovely woman, mother of seven adult children and 14 grandchildren. She wears a flowered apron over her flowered dress, hair pulled back, eyes bright, and has a warm, engaging personality that immediately includes a big hug and a kiss on my cheek. She is busy in her kitchen, surrounded by several of her daughters and granddaughters who bustle around preparing the rice, beans, assorted salads and boiled yucca roots. To get to this kitchen, we turn at the back wall of the house and step up into an extremely narrow tiled passageway about six feet in length. To the right is the entrance to the house where one steps up into the main kitchen and to the left is Ma-ma’’s outdoor kitchen. This is an open air room with a sink (colorfully tiled, of course) and a small wood cookstove smoking away. The sink extends out, going all the way through the exterior wall. I love it.

Next, Melvin hustles us back outside on a narrow path alongside the shed leaning behind the house. We step into a roofed corral that is partly sided, roofed in tin and connected to the shed, and there is Pa-pa’. Clearly master of the house and brood, with a long wooden paddle he is stirring a huge iron cauldron that rests on a stand over a roaring fire. Pa-pa’ has a well-worn face and a broad smile. He is high energy, dancing around his fire and wielding the paddle. He wears an alligator sports shirt, nylon shorts and a nautical cap and gives us a hearty welcome. His legs are skinny and he is barefoot. The cauldron is filled with huge hunks of meat that boil and turn in the oil. I recognize pieces of meat, bones and long strips of intestines as they simmer past the surface. It smells delicious. Hanging from a low rafter, not too far from our heads, are the entrails of some animal. I ask if we are having cow, la vaca? No. Sheep? Baaaa? Everyone laughs. No. Is it goat, I baaah again? No. Finally I say, porco? And yes, it is pork, although they have another name for it.

Someone brings us two plates loaded with rice, yucca roots and red beans. Pa-pa’ pulls out big pieces of pork with his paddle, pressing first on the inside of the kettle to drain the oil before dropping the meat on our plates. A bowl of cabbage salad is placed between us as we sit on a uneven heap of lumber and logs and attempt conversing with Pa-pa’ and the family members who come in and out. We are given pieces of oranges and acido, a citrus fruit somewhat like an orange and lime combination, to squeeze over our dinner. Everything is utterly divine. This is a feast beyond compare – the smoky pork, seasoned beans, fresh yucca, tangy salad, fresh citrus. Pecos is given a beer and I opt for water.

Pa-pa’ talks to us nonstop, not minding at all that we can barely keep up or understand. He demonstrates how he butchers and the best way to cook large quantities such as this. To keep the oil temperature constant, from time to time he has one of his sons help lift the heavy cauldron from its stand to rest briefly on the dirt floor before being returned to the fire. The relatives interrupt at times to ask us questions: do we like the meal, why do many Americans choose to be vegetarians (note: the fact that we do eat meat puts us in good stead with this family), how do we like the village, why did we choose Costa Rica.

Pa-pa’ shows us the expanse of his farm and pulls onions from his garden for us. He is pleased to hear that I have a large garden back home. This farm, one of two that they own, extends nearly a mile in breadth and is filled with coffee trees and many types kinds of fruit. The view of the valley far below is breathtaking. Ma-ma’ invites me in to visit with the women. Ma-ma’’s older sister and her husband have also come to dinner. Ages range from newborn baby to quite elderly. This home is simple yet bursting with love from these parents who so obviously enjoy having all of their children, grandchildren, extended family members and a few Americans come to the holiday Sunday dinner.

When the meat was all cooked, the men helped Pa-pa’ pull out every last piece from his cauldron. This remaining batch of about 30 pounds of cooked meat was then carried into the house in large pots and pans. Pa-pa’ then peeled fresh plantains and cut them lengthwise on a plank. He dropped them into the hot oil and we soon ate them on paper napkins – soft and steaming sweet inside and pork-crisp on the outside. This bright orange fruit, much like a cross between a sweet potato and a banana, is my favorite Central American food. We were regaled with a few stories of The Kid, who apparently has also enjoyed this warm hospitality. As we were leaving, Ma-ma’ pulled homemade tamales wrapped in large green leaves from the fridge and insisted that we bring home a bowlful. We had a wonderful time. 