Tastes like home

Tastes like home 故乡的味道

Anna Lee Mraz Bartra. Peninsula 360 Press

It's no surprise that one of the seven deadly sins is gluttony. There are few things in life as delicious as the sensations generated by a good meal. 

The sound of cork, popwhich lets out the acidic aroma of wood and earth, anticipates what's to come: glu glu sounds the reddish liquid that honors the name of its color when it escapes from the bottle to crash into the limits of the glass. It rises, falls and bubbles. The aroma, formerly subtle, envelops you. The first drink always generates an explosion of emotions from the palate. The burst runs through your body. 

What do you feel first? It can be quiet, your lungs fill up with air as if the first bite, the first drink, gives you permission to do so after a day's work. It can be relief when your body cries out to fill that hole in your stomach, and you find yourself with something pleasant that surprises you favorably. You may feel a complete repulsion that, in front of others, you hide in a friendly smile. The possibilities are endless with an unknown dish in front of you. It is an adventure. 

Almost every sound, aroma, colour and flavour from the kitchen links to the past, builds on the present or produces dreams of the future. 

Recently, one morning in a rush to work, I walked into a breakfast and donut restaurant on Veterans Boulevard called Homeskillet. I waited patiently for my turn and while I was doing so, I heard the kitchen talking to each other in Spanish: "Ponlele queso cheddarthe order carries souvenir"I had spoken English with the person who was taking the order, but when I heard this I went over to ask in Spanish "What is the sandwich shown in the picture?" I pointed to the picture. A woman with a genuine smile and an epicanthal fold in her eyes kindly answered me in English.

The kitchen would be nothing without that clash and syncretism of cultures. The potatoes, which originally came from Peru, saved Europe from famine in the early 20th century. And that morning they accompanied my Omelette sandwich, avocado, bacon and cheese that I was spilling on the edges of the Sourdough bread, proudly produced in the San Francisco Bay Area.

About this, and more, I will write my column periodically. 

I will write about the flavors that can be found in the Peninsula and who creates those flavors, I will write about the food that we migrants miss and what we do to reproduce it here, far from our land. Restaurants in the area, are under notice, here we will taste and scrutinize their dishes. 

I am Anna Lee Mraz Bartra, a sociologist by training, a feminist by principle and a cook by love. 

Cooking is an act of love.