CONTRIBUTOR SPOTLIGHT: INTERVIEW WITH
CARIDAD MORO

The Nonfiction Editors, Rappahannock Review: How did food figure into your relationship with your abuela? How does food figure into your relations with your family at large?

Caridad Moro: There is an old adage that runs fast and true within the landscape of my family: “People aren’t what they say, they are what they do.” Perhaps that saying, instilled upon me by my father, was born as a result of his having been reared by my Abuela, a difficult woman, who was not the kind to dole out hugs, praise or I love yous. No, she was critical and stern, and few who spent time with her escaped the deflation of self that inevitably occurred in the face of her sharp tongue. Yet, despite what she said, what mattered was what she did, and what she did was show her love through food.

It couldn’t have been easy, but somehow she managed to make us lavish meals with ingredients she sought out in particular LA markets that sold Cuban staples during the 1970s, far before the supermarkets of Culver City thought to devote an aisle to “ethnic foods.” Mind you, she did this without the benefit of a car, which meant several bus rides and lugging bags stuffed with yuca and beans and 10 lb bags of rice on the long walk home. What she did was rise at 5:00 am to ensure that the flan (my favorite) would set in time for her family’s arrival. What she did was provide an immaculate space where the table was always set with freshly starched linens and the air lingered with the waft of our heritage, the aroma of beans and garlic and pork and cafe firmly hard-wired onto my olfactory memory due to her delicious largess.

Her food was an emblem of her love, and what she could not say to my face, she put on my plate. In the act of swallowing every morsel, I swallowed the evidence of her devotion and as such, it/she became a permanent part of me.

As a result, food still plays center stage in my family’s relations: We are the sort to hash out our differences at the dinner table; We are the sort to plan where we will eat and what we will order while mapping out our vacation itineraries; We are the sort who draft dinner menus before guest lists, giddy with the prospect of delighting you with our culinary prowess; We are the sort who make way too much food and push it upon those we love for fear they leave still hungry; We are the sort who love each other with and through and over food–just the way we were taught to do by our Abuela.

RR: If you could make any dish and write about it, what would you choose? Why?

CM: I would have to say my Thanksgiving dinner (you didn’t think I would be able to narrow it down to one dish, did you?) is the winner. Growing up, my parents went bonkers over Christmas Eve dinner, but my mother was never quite sure what to do with a turkey. My father’s disdain for the traditional holiday bird meant that our Thanksgiving dinners were sketchy at best, and we, more often than not, begged that she make lechon or chicken or even order a pizza rather than have to choke down the bland, dry bird my mother never cared to master. I vowed then that when I grew up and manned the helm of my own kitchen, I would make a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. And I do.

Every year I make the same meal: My special mojo marinated turkey, homemade-make-the corn-bread myself-stuffing, corn souffle, sweet potato casserole, potatoes Au gratin, brussel sprouts, green beans and pumpkin pie for dessert. And while pork still rules the roost at Christmas, my home has become the place to go for Thanksgiving, just as I had once hoped so many years ago.

True, I inject my turkey with enough garlic to scare off Nosferatu, and there is always cafe Cubano to serve alongside the pie that is joined by my version of Abuela’s flan, but perhaps that’s why I chose this meal to write about, because more than anything else it is a representation of me: a hybrid of cultures, an amalgam of self, an heirloom I will hand down to my son, who just happens to think it is “the best meal” he’s ever had.

RR: Who is your favorite food writer? Why?

CM: I absolutely love anything written by Chef Gabrielle Hamilton. Not only does she write witty, down-to earth essays about her food-centered excursions and experiences, but her memoir Blood, Bones and Butter is a beautifully rendered meditation on food and family. Her memoir opened up my culinary curiosity via its virtuoso descriptions of dishes I’d never heard of, let alone tried and her prose was as delicious as the food she described. Her writing is hypnotic, funny and poignant, and every chapter left me hungry for more of her words, her stories, her recipes, her. I was sad when I turned the last page knowing my time with the chef had come to the end, but isn’t that the goal of all writers, to create something so singular and resounding that the reader will find herself missing the voice she came to by benefit of the page? Yes, in my opinion, a resounding yes.

RR: How was writing your book, Visionware, different from sending your pieces to journals?

CM: Aside from the drastically elevated postage costs incurred by sending out a manuscript during the pre “we only take on-line submission days,” I’d say that the biggest difference was having to look at my work with a detached critical eye in order to be able to create a cohesive unit from individual pieces that may or may not have played well with one another.

I equate the process to that of a choir director assembling a chorus: despite the beauty of any singular voice that may come to the audition, in order to create a stellar ensemble, each chosen voice has to contribute as much to the group as whole as it does on its own. The savvy choir director knows that singularity matters less than cohesion, thus I had to face the task of weighing the merits of each and every eligible poem and eventually I had to cut some poems I really loved in order to produce the most harmonious manuscript I could muster.

RR: What are you currently working on?

CM: I currently have two projects in the works: A full-length book of poetry that examines culture, sexuality, gender and the expectations placed upon Hispanic women as seen through the lens of my experience as a first generation Cuban-American; And a chapbook that centers around education related poems based on my experiences as a high-school English teacher in Miami for more than 20 years.

Caridad Moro’s poetry has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies including The Comstock Review, The Crab Orchard Review, MiPoesias, The Seattle Review, Slipstream, Spillway, CALYX, The Pedestal, Fifth Wednesday Review, The Lavender Review, As/Us: Women of the World Journal and others. She is the recipient of a Florida Individual Artist Fellowship in poetry, and twice nominated for a Pushcart prize. Her award winning chapbook Visionware is available from Finishing Line Press (WWW.Finishinglinepress.com). She resides in Miami, FL.