There was an outdoor kitchen area set up with tables and a long cast-iron griddle. It was clearly a homemade grill where the women could do a lot of cooking at one time. They broughttheir tins of lard and bags of flour and masa, as well as salt and baking powder. Susanna watched as the group fell into an easy rhythm of mixing dough and separating out little balls to use in the press. Abuelita liked to roll her tortillas with her hands and took the little balls of dough and very quickly rolled them into a thin circle. Susanna had only ever made a pie crust on two different occasions and was certain she’d be no good at this. Still, no one seemed to mind her mistakes.
As they worked, they laughed and told stories from their childhoods and lives on the hacienda. Lia’s cousins told tales about how they would sneak off with Lia and swim in the river. Once they encountered a snake that they were certain was going to bite Lia, but her papa showed up out of nowhere and shot the beast. That was when they learned that even though they thought they were sneaking away, the adults knew what they were doing and took turns standing guard over them in case something happened.
To Susanna, it was wonderful to imagine that someone might care enough to watch over her that way. Then she had to smile. That was what God was doing. Pastor Lewis said God was always watching over them—taking care of each need for safety and protection.
Susanna preferred the press for making tortillas, but the ladies kept insisting she practice rolling the tortillas by hand. She wasn’t very good at it, and Lia’s mother teased her that if she couldn’t roll a tortilla, she would never catch a husband. For some reason, that made Susanna try all the harder until she had a nice thin circle to put on the griddle.
They spent hours making stacks and stacks of corn and flour tortillas. Lia said they did this every few days because, with all the people who lived there, the tortillas never lasted long.
“It’s no different than the mother who has to bake bread every week,” Lia said as they sampled some of their efforts. The flavor was wonderful.
Next the ladies showed Susanna how to work with the chiles. There were many different kinds, and Susanna wasn’t sure she would ever get them all straight. She paid special attention when Lia’s mother showed her the long, skinny red chiles and told her these were some of the hottest.
“You will find we use a lot of these three,” Lia said, pointing to a funny-looking collection of dried pieces. “These are ancho chiles. They are a little fruity and not very hot.”
“They look like a dried prune.”
The next ones Lia pointed out looked much the same, with their dark appearance. “These are mulato chiles. They are hotter and have a sort of smoky taste. And last, these are pasilla or chile negro. They are very much like the ancho chiles and not as hot as the mulato.”
Susanna studied them. These were longer and skinnier. “I don’t know how I’ll ever learn to tell them apart. Are they always black?”
Lia laughed. “No. If you look closer, you’ll see the ancho were red. They start out green and turn red. We grow them here in the courtyard.”
“What about the others?”
“The mulatos are black—sometimes more of a dark brown—and the pasilla are black as well. That’s why they call themchile negro—black chiles. We will soak them and steam them to make them soft again in order to cook with them. These three chiles are very popular. So much so that Abuelita had Uncle Enrico make many trips to Mexico to bring them here. Finally, Papa said we should just grow our own, and so we do. Come, I want to show you something.”
Susanna followed Lia to a part of the house she’d not yet been to. Lia opened large double doors and ushered Susanna inside. Overhead were lattices from which hundreds of bundles of chile peppers hung to dry. The room smelled glorious. Susanna looked around the large pantry. Shelves lined the wallsand were filled with homemade canned goods, rows of dried herbs, and chiles that had been ground into powder form.
“This is amazing. How wonderful to have your own store.”
“Papa even sells some of the dried and ground peppers. Not everyone has time to grow their own.” Lia smiled. “Now you know why my food is always so good. We have done it this way for generations. Even before my great-grandparents came to America.”
“It’s wonderful. I love how you all work together.” Susanna leaned back against one of the posts that held up the roof. “I have to admit I’m envious. There are so many of you all together, and you love each other. That much is clear.”
“Don’t envy. We have our problems, just like other families. When there are more people, there are just more problems. Uncle Enrico and my father fight all the time.” She smiled. “But you are right. They love each other.”
After the tortillas, John came to tell his mother that Uncle Enrico had invited him to work on the tiles.
Susanna couldn’t help but get excited. “Oh, may I watch?”
Lia giggled. “Of course. I’m sure mytíowouldn’t mind.”
They left the house and walked past the smaller houses and the barns until they came to a large building at the far north end of the complex. The large sliding doors were open, and inside was such a variety of stuff that Susanna couldn’t take it all in at once.
“Over there is where the tiles are drying,” John told Susanna and his mother. “And over here is where all the painting is done. Down there,” he pointed, “are the ovens.”
“Lia, you have brought your beautiful friend,” Uncle Enrico declared, coming from behind a tall drying rack. “I’m honored.”
“I’m sorry to impose. I just wondered if I might watch you for a while.” Susanna continued trying to see everything at once.
“We’re going to paint designs today,” John said, his voice animated. “This is my favorite thing to do with the tiles.”
“That’s because you are very good at it,” Uncle Enrico told him.
The older man led them to the place he had prepared and found a couple of stools for the women to sit on. He and John had their own special chairs and claimed these at the table.
Susanna was fascinated as Enrico showed her the templates he had made for the designs. They were carved out of thin wooden sheets. She watched as he placed a tile and template together. Once they were positioned as he wanted them, he took a sponge dabbed it in black, then touched it to the template and tile. He did it so quickly that it only took a couple of seconds and the entire tile was done. He took off the template, and the clay tile beneath was decorated with intricate patterns.
