![]() ![]() However, at that point, I had never in my life consumed pastelón. “You’ve had pastelón before,” he confidently assured me. And, after about a dozen stories about his childhood, he casually mentioned a dish that he must have had 100 times: pastelón. ![]() I began by badgering my father (by and-large my only tie to my Puerto Rican heritage) with questions about his upbringing on the island. I decided that I needed to confront it head-on once and for all. While the intricacies of why this occurred are extensive, I eventually understood what a crisis of self I’d been subconsciously experiencing all my life. Suddenly, it registered that I could barely speak Spanish, I hadn’t tried dozens of classic recipes, I hadn’t experienced community with people who looked like me, and I barely had any contact with the Puerto Rican side of my family. It wasn’t until I became an adult that I started to process what was missing. Growing up, it never quite registered what a tragedy the loss and assimilation of my culture was. Though I am half-Boriqua by blood, I was born and raised in Florida and largely severed from my cultural ties throughout my childhood. ![]() I was about 7 years old the first and last time I was in Puerto Rico. I can almost hear our audible “grrrrrs” as BACK IN THE DAY - Seen here is a photo of my father and I in myĬhildhood home proudly displaying our strength and valor. ![]()
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