I find connection in the kitchen ��
Growing up, I’d hover close to my mom in the kitchen, waiting for her to tell me how I could help. I’d spread masa for tamales, drop bouillon into sopa de albóndigas (Mexican meatball soup) or sprinkle cheese on enchiladas and watch it bubble through the oven door.
When I moved away, I realized how essential these recipes she had scribbled onto scraps of paper or narrated over the phone were to my sense of identity. So I set out to master each one, whether reserved for a special occasion or casual weeknight meal.
