Mami will be turning…*ahem*… 21 on Friday, May 21st, 2010.

We will be in Miami for this momentous occasion and I’ve decided there is only one thing we can do. We must have a Big, Fat, Cuban Birthday party and EVERYONE is invited!
Where is the party, you ask?
Habana Vieja Restaurant

Come and enjoy some “Tiki Tiki time” with Marta as we celebrate her coming of age.
(Her actual age is “not important right now.”)

Please don’t feel obligated to bring gifts, the best gift is your presence.
Also, I can’t buy your dinner, but I’ll be happy to take a picture of you with Marta, so bring your camera! (And if you don’t HAVE a camera, I’ll have one and can email you the picture.)

If you have any more questions about this momentous occasion, you can email me, Kikita.
I’d be happy to give you my cell phone number so you can find us once you arrive. Just email me and ask. :-)

So, here’s the re-cap:
When:        Friday, May 21st, 2010
6:30pm
Where:      Habana Vieja Restaurant
3622 Coral Way
Miami, FL 33145
(305) 448-6660

RSVP to:   Kikita

For those of you who won’t be able to make it, but are hoping to catch Marta at Cuba Nostalgia, we will be at the Babablú Blog booth for most of Saturday, May 22, 2010.

We can’t wait to see you!

Cross posted at MBFCF.

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Un poquito mas:

1. Dimelo Cantando: The Tiki Tiki Census, 2010
2. Vlogiando Week at the Tiki Tiki

So, tell us about yourselves. Here are some questions to help you. Grab a cup of your favorite beverage and put on your thinking caps.

Okay, fine… I’ll go first. Let the Tiki Tiki begin!

(Do you guys love this stuff as much as I do??) =D

1. Two everyday things I couldn’t live without:

• My camera
• My computer

2. Two of my favorite songs:

• Maracaibo Oriental – Beny Moré
• One – U2

3. Two things I want to do before I die:

• See the pyramids
• Get season tickets to the theater

4. Two things I worry about:

• Dying young
• My kids

5. Two stores I shop at:

• Target
• Coldwater Creek

6. Two things that scare me:

• Heights
• Flying

7. Two snacks I could eat every day:

• Pastelitos de guayaba
• Lays Classic Potato Chips

8. Two people I’d be lost without:

• Eric (my husband)
• My kids (I know. Cheating.)

9. Two nicknames I’ve been given:

• Mungo
• Bubbles

10. Next two places I want to go on vacation:

• Rome
• Paris

Just number and leave your responses in the comment section. Can’t wait to see your answers!

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Un poquito mas:

1. The Best and The Worst
2. Defining: “Latina”

So, come on,  let’s start the Tiki Tiki today with a quiz. (I so love this stuff!)

Okay, fine. I’ll go first… =D

I’m Marta.

Here’s my quiz and my answers …..

The Best and the Worst:

10 questions that will help you get to know me better.

1. The age in life you’ve most enjoyed so far: 15 – I was adorable once….

2. The age in life you’ve hated most: 32 – I had just gotten divorced and found myself alone, a single parent with 2 small children and I had no money, no life and no future.  =(

3. The best day of the week: Friday – our school and work week is over and the weekend is full of possibilities.

4. The worst day of the week: Wednesday – because I feel like “gosh this week is going by so fast!”

5. Your finest cooking accomplishment:  Homemade Pastelitos de Guayaba.

6. Your worst cooking disaster: I tried to make fried chicken once when I was about 19 and it looked really pretty.  Who knew chicken took so long to actually COOK??? (can you say,”disaster?”)  LOL

7. The color that looks best on you: RED.

8. The color that looks worst on you: Yellow – does it look good on anyone??

9. Your favorite movie of all time: The Princess Bride. “Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles… “

10. The worst movie ever made: Legends of the Fall. (Brad Pitt and his butt made for a boring sub-plot to an already tedious film.)

So that’s me. What about you? Inquiring minds want to know….

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I just read a column titled “When is a Latina not a Latina?’‘  The author, part Puerto Rican and non-Spanish-speaking, details frustrating moments when she was neither white enough nor Latina enough.

I shook my head in empathy as I read it, for as an American-born woman of Cuban, Spanish, Scottish and Norwegian heritage, I have been there. And, as the column detailed, the questions and pronouncements about my particular flavor have come from both Latinos and non-Latinos. 

“You’re Cuban? How come you’re not black?” a college classmate asked.

“No chica, tu no eres cubana nada, tu eres americana,” a Cuban-born acquaintance said when I called myself “Cuban-American.”

I told the Cuban friend, that indeed, I am americana, and proudly so, and I would probably have learned to leave it at that were it not for the fact that others could not. For example, try living in a tiny, little town where you’re the only kid with a Cuban mother (Illinois, summers, 1970s and 1980s) and get away with saying you’re just “American” too. Even in Nashville, where I live, my otherness has in times past been complicated not just by my lack of 100%  ”white-breadness” but also by my lack of proper Southerness. 

Questions or sideways glances or pronouncements about me, and who I am supposed to be based on someone else’s ideas, do not upset me or pre-occupy me now. I think it has something to do with the increasing amount of gray hair I have. And come on, I’m no boba, there are real and wonderful benefits to living a bi-cultural life.

But, what I have been thinking about the most since I read that column in Latina magazine though, is that I am raising a daughter in the South. My 5-year-old is a bilingual Spanish-speaker with an Anglo father, a half-Anglo mother, a traditional Latina first name and an Anglo last name. She has Cuban relatives who got here just 50 years ago, and she has European ancestors who got here more than 200 years ago. She’s pale as a tuna too. 

How will my daughter self-identify? And how will others identify her? What kinds of questions will she field about the depth of her roots in America? Will someone question whether she truly can have a heart that beats Latin rhythms when there is so little of that sangre in her veins?

I guess it all depends on how our country changes and expands — both in heart and in flavor. Maybe my daughter will be a grown woman in a land where she will just get to be herself, without ever feeling she should be “more American” or “more Latina” based on someone else’s definition.

Because really, she is America.

Just like me. Both halves.

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Being a gringa married to a Cuban, I am often met with comments like, “Oh, like Lucy and Ricky!” or “I bet your life is like ‘I Love Lucy.’” or the most annoying, “Lucy…you got some ’splaining to do!”  

Okay.  Two things: 1) our life is nothing like that and 2), is that all you know about Cuban (or Latino) culture?

There are a number of reasons our life is nothing like “I Love Lucy.”  First of all, I’m pretty sure my husband would recognize me in a fake moustache.  My husband also is not a rumba band leader and we don’t make a general habit of putting on musical revues.  

We are musicians however — classical musicians — and pretty damned talented if I do say so myself.  We both come from musical families: I am the daughter of opera singers and my husband’s father was quite the classical and flamenco guitarist.  Alexis, mi esposo, is an incredibly talented pianist.  No, he won’t play you a tumbao, no matter how nicely you ask, but he will knock your socks off with a Rachmaninoff or Prokofiev concerto.  He also plays the best Malagueña you’ve ever heard. Ever. One of his greatest sources of pride as a Latino classical pianist is being able to play both European and Cuban classical music as well as the bomba he possesses.

I have adopted my husband’s culture con todo mi corazón.  My empanaditas de pollo are loved by our Latino and gringo friends alike, and Alexis sings the praises of my ropa vieja.  I have learned to dance salsa, picked up his Cuban accent and slang, and most of the music I listen to is in español.  I have even chosen to research Latin American classical music for my doctoral dissertation.  Ask me anything about Cuban history, Cuban music, Cuban food, anything.  I probably know the answer.  Just as I have adopted my husband’s culture, so too has Alexis adopted mine.  He enjoys hamburgers, celebrating our holidays, and living in a single family home.  He also has learned to put up with my crazy, loud family, which according to all the stereotypes, was something I was supposed to do.

It really doesn’t matter that I’m a gringa and my husband is cubanazo.  It is truly the most wonderful bonus of our relationship.  I have learned so much about a culture that I really knew nothing about before, but the most incredible thing is that despite my growing up in Idaho and his growing up in Havana, we share the same morals and values.  The things his parents and grandparents told him and his sister are identical to the lessons and tidbits my brother and I received from ours.  We both grew up in households with two working parents and both started our musical studies at around the same age.  We are both passionate and fervent in our beliefs and we are both short-tempered.  The list goes on.

The most beautiful thing?  Being able to raise our son with the best of our cultural and familial traditions.  One of our son’s first big boy foods was picadillo con papas and he loves grilled cheese sandwiches.  He also has a love for music and already understands and speaks a little Spanish and English.  Plus, he’s way cuter than Little Ricky.

Laura Feo-Fernandez is a graduate student in music performance. She lives in Memphis, TN with her husband, Alexis, and their young son. You can see Alexis perform the Malagueña by Cuban composer Ernesto Lecuona here.

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These clocks are in my kitchen. They read from left to right like this:

~ Hanalei, Hawaii – our favorite place in the islands.
~ Mission Viejo, California – where we live.
~ Habana, Cuba – where I’m from.
~ Brighton, England – where my husband’s family is from.

Not that clocks mean much to Cubans. We like the concept of “-ish.” As in, “we’ll be there around 3-ish.”

In Spanish, it’s “y pico.” “Nos vemos a las 3 y pico.”

Although I hate being late, I like the idea of a more flexible time base. It feels more abundant somehow.  There’s plenty of time!

My kids move a little bit slow in the mornings.  Because we homeschool, there are no bells to adhere to, but I still prefer that they get started earlier.  That way, our school day is over sooner.

They are in the kitchen making breakfast.  And I ask what’s up with them that they are so slow today.

“We’re running on Cuban time today, Mom.”

They know too much.

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Believe it.

My family moved to California in 1964. My oldest sister was pregnant with the first grandchild and it seemed impossible to my parents that we wouldn’t all be present for the blessed event.

So after living in Miami for the first few years in exile, we moved clear across the country.
I think there was some sort federal mandate then: If you’re Cuban, you must first spend a few years in Miami until we can release you to the rest of the world. =D (kidding!)

Anyway, for the 2nd time in my young life, we made another radical move.

One of the first things that I noticed here in California was that because we spoke Spanish, people assumed we were Mexican. That was new. I knew nothing about Mexican people or their culture or their food. And as we made friends with many Mexican families, I quickly learned that Mexican food was so NOT Cuban food.

The contrasts were many: Cuban food was flavorful with garlic, mild peppers and onion for spices. Mexican food was just spicy. Their peppers were nowhere near mild.  Our food has a more Spanish/European influence. Mexican food seemed much more Indian. I was about 12 when I grew brave enough to try a taco. Sorry, but I didn’t immediately love it.

But like anything else, tastes change and things grow on you. And I began to find that I kind of liked a little spiciness. (When I say little, I mean very little.)
It wasn’t until my 20′s that I finally developed a taste for chips and salsa. And guacamole.
After all, this is California and avocados are prized and celebrated here. Like Aztec gold.

There was a cool little hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant in Doheny/Dana Point called The Dana Villa that catered to the South Orange County surf culture (think Beach Boys, – “…down Doheny way..” - Surfin’ USA).  And they made THE VERY BEST salsa fresca. Just the right amount of flavor and spice. Not the tears-running-down-your-face-smoke-coming-out-your-ears-hot-Mexican spicy. Just tasty.

We would frequent this little place at least once a week. We compared all other salsas to theirs. None came close. I tried week after week to dissect the amazing salsa. I tried again and again to re-create it in my own kitchen.  I’m proud to say that I finally did get the right combination of ingredients.  Woohoo! It’s flavorful and mild with just enough spiciness, but more of a “no more tears” formula.

The Villa has other special memories for me. It was where Eric and I went on our first date. And it was where he took me to dinner the night he proposed.  I am happy to have preserved this recipe as part of our family favorites, because, sadly, the Villa ended up burning down about 7 years ago.  (So, so sad.)

Now my own perfected Salsa Fresca Recipe is legendary among my family and friends. “You MADE this?” They always exclaim.  “Yes,” I modestly reply.  Along with my salsa I have also perfected the eyes-downcast-shoulder-shrugging-it-was-quite-effortless-for-the-likes-of-me pose.

I say it in the same tone that I use to say, “Of course, I can salsa… I’m Cuban.”

Marta’s Salsa Fresca

6 medium ripe tomatoes (diced) with their juice
1/4 cup fresh chopped cilantro
1/2 small red onion (diced)
1 white onion ( diced)
4 cloves garlic (finely chopped)
2 tsp. lime juice (fresh squeezed is better)
1/2 small can mild green chiles
1/4 cup fresh chopped chives
salt & pepper to taste

Mix together all ingredients. If you have a food processor, process cilantro, tomatoes and onions individually.

Guacamole

3 ripe avocados
1/2 cup Marta’s Salsa Fresca
3 Tbsp. lemon juice (fresh squeezed is better)

Blend together in a food processor. Reserve one of the avocado seeds to place in the salsa. The seed along with the lemon juice keeps the guacamole from turning brown and helps it maintain freshness.

Tastes best when served with fresh, hot tortilla chips.

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Un poquito mas:

1. Shrimp and Cotija Enchiladas
2. How to Make Marta’s Homemade Churros
3. Learning my Lesson

This was how we celebrated birthdays back in Cuba. These are my sisters and me at different ages.

(If you’re really curious, just count the candles on the cakes)
There was always a big, beautiful, almost-too-perfect cake from a fabulous bakery.

We always got a fancy new dress (think linen, satin, ruffles). By the time I turned four (in the last picture) apparently giant propeller-style hair bows were over. (Proof of the existence of a merciful God. =D)

But the one thing that remained constant in our lives until the time of our exile, was Salvador.
Salvador was a professional photgrapher. And he was at every birthday party.

I use the term party loosely. Sometimes, but not always, there were other kids there. Usually siblings and cousins. Miriam, the 3rd daughter always had a big party because her birthday is in August and because we summered in Varadero, and were out of school, all the cousins were present for her birthdays.

But it was Salvador who was the fixture in all our celebrations.

To us, a party meant, “Salvador y Coca-Cola.” All other details were negotiable. My oldest sister, Ofelia is 15 years older than I am. Which means that Salvador was schlepping his camera equipment across Havana to our house for years. Sadly, I don’t know what ever happened to him. But most of our family photos are autographed by Salvador. (the last two to the left were embossed with his name. (He must have hit the big time by 1956!)

It has become a familial idiom when we’re planning a party – “Salvador y Coca-Cola” – that means party in our family.

I am indebted to him. He captured our innocence and youth. The highlights of our family’s year.

Salvador. Ever present. Of course, he’ll never know the impact he made on me personally. Salvador’s service and product was always received with such joy.

I think of him constantly. Isn’t that odd? I was so young. But I remember him so vividly.

What a great job he had. Going to parties, capturing memories, having cake and Coca-Cola, getting us to smile our best smiles. Giving us the things we value the most to this day, when we’re so far from the land of our birth.

I will consider myself successful if I can leave that kind of mark on the lives entrusted to me.
Whenever I find Coca-Cola in a bottle, I silently whisper a toast to Salvador:  “Muy agradecida.”

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Sylvia is and has always been the representation of perfect Cuban womanhood to me.  I’ve known Sylvia since I was a little Cuban girl and I have always marveled at how she manages to be consistently put together. [sigh]

She is always dressed impeccably, no matter the occasion. She has a sixth sense about how to add or subtract accessories to complement any outfit.  She can mix gold and silver jewelry without batting a perfectly lined eye.

I’ve never seen Sylvia with a hair out of place or a chipped nail.  I’ll bet she doesn’t even OWN chancletas. (Heaven forbid!) And she occasionally wears gold shoes. Gold! She  has managed to age beautifully and gracefully.

Sylvia is timeless, legendary. Her name is synonymous with Cuban femininity and perfection.

She is perfectly feminine, perfectly funny, perfectly manicured and perfectly Cuban. [sigh]
Sylvia is my inspiration when I’m wanting to be all those things (I usually fail miserably, but that’s not important right now).  So, in my quest for Sylvia-hood, I got myself some gold heels.

Me: “I just got a pedicure and I’m wearing my gold heels.”
My daughter, Amy (without missing a beat): “Ah! that is sooo Sylvia.” =D

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Floor to ceiling in our upstairs hallway, between our bedroom and our children’s, my husband and I hung up an “origins gallery”: six beautiful photographs of the places where each of us were born- Madrid, Pittsburgh, Guatemala City, Mazatenango.  It provides an anchoring sentimiento, an antidote to feeling a veces unmoored by all the borders and boundaries we’ve had to cross to come together.  And, an illustration that home can be a shifting place.

Next time someone tries to shake your claim on any of the spaces that have shaped your soul, picture your own definition of home, and break it open.  Let it become both the places you’d know with your eyes closed and the places in which you have come to find yourself.  Bienvenida to the wider sense of home you’re entitled to! 

* this piece first appeared in a different version, under a different title on Literary Mama

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Un poquito mas:

1. Déjate Llevar