One of my favorite things to do with Patricia in Chile was cook. My host mom and I interacted primarily in the kitchen, from our first introduction to our final goodbyes. Our relationship developed around meals: in the mornings, while we both struggled to wake up, we sluggishly moved around the kitchen making toast with pan batido – a traditional Chilean bread, easily tearable and made for two – coffee, and scrambled eggs. When one was slow to wake up that day, she made breakfast for the other. From the beginning of my stay, Patricia often showed her care for me through food and worrying about my vegetarian eating habits. She was especially concerned about how much protein I ate and told me that if I ate seven almonds a day I would be okay. Where she got that statistic I have no idea, but every day for nearly four months I ate seven almonds under her watchful eye.
Our schedules didn’t allow for daily cooking too often, so what we cooked Sunday lasted us the whole week. As we cooked, we taught each other our native languages. The act of cooking in the kitchen with her was relaxing, even if we were making something as simple as toast. It was in the kitchen that we talked about our days and I received tips from Patricia: wash onions as you cut them to reduce the flow of tears, rinse pasta immediately after draining it to keep the noodles from clinging to each other, and always add extra garlic. She didn’t just leave me with cooking tips, but to prepare for a family gathering in the countryside, Patricia taught me how to make pisco sour – a typical Chilean and Peruvian cocktail. Her family is on the larger side, so we made three jugs of various pisco sours. We made a traditional mix, then added ginger to one jug, and made one with less sugar. We stayed up late the night before the gathering laughing and taste testing in the kitchen. When we reached Olmué the next day I learned that her family members were ambivalent about the pisco sour. It was actually Patricia’s favorite drink.
A bout of homesickness had me reaching for my mom’s banana bread recipe about halfway through my stay. While Patricia enjoyed the surprise treat, she was confused and asked why I was baking. For her, and many others in Chile, baking at home is not a casual activity – especially for college students. People my age were expected to spend more time outside of the house, partying or doing things with friends. She described a small fruit cake to me that she only bakes for special occasions, like for family gatherings during las fiestas patrias, a week of festivities and partying to celebrate Chilean independence. When I spoke to my friends in the program they expressed agreement that their host families also saved baking for special occasions; however, I continued to bake and noticed that Patricia became more used to it. She even gifted me with a bundt pan to use while I was there. She gave me the bundt pan a day after I had returned from a friend’s with homemade banana bread, and I took it as a message that she wished I would make more.
The first few times I baked, Patricia asked, “do you miss home?” Usually, I admitted that yes, I miss home and we would talk about how I was adjusting to Chile and my feelings of homesickness. I had photos of loved ones tacked to the wall in my bedroom there, and I talked Patricia through who everyone was. In return she showed me her photos of those important to her. Eventually, I was mostly baking for the fun of it, without the heavy feeling of missing home. Eventually, I was baking for Patricia: to witness her happy surprise when she came home to the smell of fresh banana bread and for the obvious enjoyment on her face when eating it. While baking, I often listened to a playlist my mom made and every time without fail, Patricia would always tell me that she loved it. When my mom and Patricia finally talked, she took great joy in chatting about music and letting my mom know of her approval firsthand. Their conversation went on for a long time, with Patricia referencing stories I had mentioned while chatting over pieces of banana bread. It was as if they had talked a million times before.