Alexandria Zaldivar

Ropa Vieja

Ingredients

Flank Steak (1lb per person)

Green Bell Pepper (2)

Red Bell Pepper (2)

Sweet Yellow Onions (3)

Beef Stock (2 containers)

Beef Bouillon Cube (1)

Goya Sazon (2 pouches)

Garlic (to taste)

Cumin (to taste)

Paprika (to taste)

Bay Leaves (4)

Adobo (to taste)

Diced tomatoes (1 15oz can)

Tomato paste (4 tbsp)

Instructions

I spent the night cooking. Painstakingly comparing videos, online recipes, and a recipe from my brother to recreate the dish I long associated with my mother’s hands. I couldn’t and wouldn’t request the same recipe from her. The warmth the meal once brought me would be tainted, twisted and stained if it came from her now, even in just message form. Despite the absence of her in my new sources, I see her when I look down. We share the same hands. I shake them out. Then I watch them work as they season and brown the flank steak. As they chop the onions and peppers, then throw the steak into the pot with beef broth and bouillon cube to break down. 

The best Ropa Vieja is made in the pressure cooker. Mom was made in the same one. It broke down her ethnicity, it relinquished her kindness, it disintegrated her morality, and finally melted her fight. Instead of tender chunks of self, her pieces are tough and inedible.  
Her pressure cooker tried to replicate the same recipe on me.
Today, it just makes the steak softer.

I remove the beef from the pressure cooker, place it in a bowl, and save the broth for later. As I shred the beef I picture the layers of mom that she shed and was left with. I stare down at the bowl filled with beef chunks, longing to embrace the cast-off remnants we share, hoping this version of myself would connect to them somehow. As each torn string falls into the bowl I find myself expanding, bridging the divide over the land masses she created between us. Her origin, my lineage was a bi-product she discarded, the trimmed fat, a crucial and easily forgotten ingredient, omitted, that would complete the dish. I work my hands into a frenzy. Separating, tearing, and breaking the tender chunks. 

My eyes shut as I see

strings. 

Strings of

Tattered Old clothes. Too small to fit me now.

I pull the strings and chase the threads of the clothing that no longer fit, unraveling them to use the string and create new pieces.

I open my eyes. I’m back in my kitchen. 

My Fingertips graze the bottom of the bowl. The strings I was chasing now within my grasp. 

Next, I sauté all the remaining onions, garlic, and peppers together. I add the tomato paste and diced tomatoes. I bring them together to a simmer and combine the shreds of beef, sazon packets, and a little broth to the mix. I watch as my hands grab the wooden spoon to unite the flavors. For the first time, I create the comfort and warmth I missed as a gift for my new family. 

Add the bay leaves and seasonings to taste.

Let the mixture cook on low together for at least 30 minutes stirring occasionally.

Recipe note: Ropa Vieja though shredded still makes a full meal.