Wednesday afternoon I went to my grandmother's house for once - pronounced like the number eleven in Spanish. This is the meal after dinner which takes place in th early evening at around 7, 8 or as late as 9pm. The usual fare is ham, cheese, fresh bread from the bakery, some tea/coffee and the occasional scrambled eyes and left over meats or salads from dinner (which happens at 1pm). As me and my father arrived from downtown Quillota (where I grew up and my grandmother lives) from running some errands, I was told to go into the backyard to fetch some grapes. There I was in my abuelita's broken down backyard with a pile of random items collected through the year in a tin shed. All ranging from the sign of their old shop to the bed frame I used when I was a kid. Against the walls of the backyard are enormous two to three story trees and vines with avocados, apricots, red grapes, limes and chirimoyas. As seen above, chirimoyas don't look that amazing. But I promise that when the western world catches on to its flavor, it will surpass the mango.
With a broken down ladder I climbed the side of the tin shed where the grapes were scaling. My mom came with a large colander as I reached the top to help me retrieve what we could find. Like little kids we yelped with excitement every time I peeled back a bush of leaves to discover something delicious. "There! There Carlo! Those ones!" After we filled our pot of gold we went in the house - my aunt joining us at the door and immediately commenting, with the same youthful scream, on how beautiful the grapes are this year.
My grandmother's house has that affect of you - to momentarily teleport you to that place when you were a child.
It always feels just right.
beautiful and yummy!
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