It would take you not living in the place where you grew up — far from the daily tastes, smells, sounds you love — to truly understand the joy I get when I discover Cuban/Miami-home-style food and products in Nashville’s grocery stores.

In the morning, I ran into Publix to grab some coffee creamer and cut through the frozen food aisle. I always look in the “Hispanic foods” section for fun.  And there it was: Frozen guanabana pulp! (Passion fruit too, but I’m more a guanabana girl…) Dreams of guanabana shakes on hot summer days! Hurrah, a taste of home in the new homeland.

Then, the same day, in the evening on my way home from work (Yes, I’ll tell you about that soon…) I dropped into the little store in my tiny town and saw the word “Manteca” out the corner of my eye. Manteca! Yes, I rejoiced at seeing lard, but mainly because it was written in Spanish and found in the most un-Spanish of places.

The last time I did a Wepa dance  in a store aisle, I found dulce de leche in a squeeze bottle. You would have thought I had just seen a naked George Clooney, I was so happy.

It’s the little things.

And again, if you don’t live far from your gente, you have no idea what I’m talking about.

That’s OK…I am solid in my crazy, and in my longing for frozen tropical fruit pulps.

I doubt my eyes will be open at midnight tonight.

I know for sure I won’t be wearing yellow panties, despite the good luck they promise. (I don’t own yellow panties. Bad color for me.

But, on this New Year’s Eve of 2011, I will be mopping and throwing the dirty bucket water out the door a lo cubano, there will be 12 grapes consumed, and there likely will be some Violetas cologne splashed around the corners of the rooms to santiguar la casa un poco. Oh, and a suitcase by the door to inspire travel in 2012.

And, because we’re Southerners, you know, on January 1, 2012, we will dine on black-eyed peas and greens — a culinary wish for good fortune.

It is my guess Maria, at 8, will think me crazy, ridiculous, even. I know I thought these rituals loco when I was little. But, there is a comfort in ritual, a tie that binds you to your people, your place.

The New Year’s Eves of my past are varied — with family, in NYC clubs with friends, in restaurants, at house parties. All fun, memorable-ish. All rites of passage, maybe.

But, the way we do it now — just us, at home with maybe a quick visit to a friend’s party — is so good. Quiet, comforting, reflective.

For Maria, I’ll explain the New Year’s rituals learned from family, and I will hope she eats the black-eyed peas this year. She didn’t last year, despite my covering them with cheese and making them a creamy dip.

You know, I’m thinking she may truly get it all, remember it when she’s grown, if she’s the one who mops the floor.

Happy New Year, all. May you prosper in 2012.

…meet your future mandolin player.

She can kind of play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
And tune the thing.
Get ready.

So yes, city folk, we’re taking mandolin lessons around here. Even I grab the lovely piece and hit it some.

La Nena also is taking two other classes after school.

That’s three extra-curricular activities…There are a couple others she used to do regularly that we have not returned to because, well, five just seems like much doesn’t it? (We added two and got rid of two, basically.)

I had a rule that we’d only focus on one extra-curricular a semester.

Ha.

That lasted until last year.

There is a parental push to give, to expose, to share the world so she can take bites of it and decide what she likes.

I get it now.

I didn’t then.

Taste the whole wide world,  my girl.

It is yours to discover.

And Alison Krauss, see you at the Opry.

Jeni's Splendid Ice Creams: Queen City Cayenne and Coriander with Raspberry Sauce. Ay!

I used to know where all the hot new Nashville restaurants were. It was the double bonus of sitting near the newspaper’s food critic, gossip columnist and music writers. Those people know everything.

These days I am more suburban soccer mom than reporter-on-the-spot and I don’t get out much to places when they make the first splash. Damn, I haven’t even been to the Watermark yet and it has been around since 2005.

But this week, I dipped my toe back into hitting the good stuff early. Helloooooo, Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams and Yayo’s O.M.G. An artisan ice cream shop that just opened, and a gourmet Mexican food truck — both within 24 hours.

I am living large, I tell you. Large!

OK, first Jeni’s because even if you don’t live in Ohio, where it was founded, or in East Nashville, where the latest shop is, you can make your own amazing ice cream via the owner’s book. Seriously, people, buy the book.

We’re talking goat cheese and red cherries, or goat cheese with cognac figs; tres leches ice cream; lime and cardamom frozen yogurt and cucumber, honeydew and cayenne sorbet. (Hello, yes, tres leches ice cream, gente.) Here are some free ice cream and sorbet recipes from Jeni as published in Food & Wine.

You know, I get the porn addicts of the world a little better now.  Should I say that? I’ve gone through my book a dozen times and fantasized about what we’ll be making first. But, before we even delve into Jeni’s recipes, we have a freezer full of ice cream and paletas I already have made.

Look:

Blackberry and blueberry ice cream and mango/orange sorbet.

OK, and then after I get through Jeni’s book, I have to make the turron ice cream I found in The Perfect Scoop. And then, the leche merengada ice cream. Yes, you read those right.

I am not sure how with this current ice cream thing I have going on I am going to get beach body by 45. But, life is about joy, no?

Which brings me to Yayo’s.

Mahi Mahi Tacos

They’re new to Nashville, hailing all the way from South Florida, where they have mas food trucks. They go all over town, but park from noon to 3 p.m. each Wednesday outside of Conexion Americas on 18th Ave. South, on Music Row. And that’s where I met them. Que fab son.

I watched the continuous line from inside Conexion, an amazing non-profit I once volunteered with. People came to Yayo’s despite the horrendous heat. It was well worth it. Maria had a fancy quesadilla, but it was the choco-flan she says made the trip worth it for her. Of course.

Yayo and his wife are all sorts of awesome and they’re loving the Music City vibe and people. (They even nicely indulged my campaign for a seitan taco…I tried, vegetarians, I tried…)

The daily specials.

Yayo's cool truck.

You can read more about Nashville food trucks in this recent Tennessean story and in this Nashville Scene cover, Food Truck Frenzy.

And more about the ice cream adventures that Nashvillians can enjoy in this story, which lists places to consume helado and paletas.

Now, if you catch me posting more photos like these and hanging in long lines in front of the Grilled Cheeserie, please remind me that I never will achieve Brazil Butt by August 2012.

Temptation at Jeni's.

In the last week, I have dunked myself in the Harpeth River, taken a jon boat out on the lake at Montgomery Bell state park, and swum at the faux beach on the park’s lake.

A few nights ago, my daughter stripped off all her clothes and danced in a torrent of cool summer rain. (One more reason it’s good to live in the Boonies with no close neighbors: Naked drive-way dancing.)

Today, we are going creek stomping and barn dancing in the country, about an hour into the green pastures that surround Nashville.

I love summer in Tennessee.

The water. The open fields. The country roads. Turtles, turkeys, deer, woodpeckers.

All just outside my door.

As I sprayed my tuna-white body with SPF 50 sunscreen this week, I had a deep longing for the days of coconut and piña colada-scented SPF-nada suntan oil summers of my past. My Miami Beach and Jersey Shore years. Ah, remember those carefree, screw-skin-cancer summers? The sand, the ocean, the hot guidos y papi chulos?

And then the moment kind of passed.

I slipped into the warm lake and splashed around with my husband and daughter, listened to the birds call in the trees and felt total love and joy for the right. here.right.now.

I love the beach with red-hot passion, but I love the lazy river, lazy lake days we enjoy.

A year ago as my community was recovering from the flood, we couldn’t access the river as easily, we didn’t have time to just splash around in a lake.

What a difference a year makes. Though, if you look closely at the photo above, you will see trees knocked over. It doesn’t totally look normal yet along the river.

But, we’re gratefully back to enjoying all of what a Tennessee summer offers.

Deep sigh. Big smile.

Elsewhere

Before I go spray myself with more noxious SPF, a couple of links:

I wrote an essay over at fellow Nashvillian Jamie Reeves’ site, Blonde Mom Blog. The topic: Why I didn’t sign Maria up for a bunch of camps this summer.

And because making paletas and ice cream is such a part of our summer this year, here’s a Tiki Tiki round-up of fabulous tropical fruit paleta and ice cream recipes. You will thank me.

Frida did.

Frida likes pineapple paletas.

Have you heard the NPR series on Summer Sounds?

Lawnmowers, beans in buckets, bull frogs.

I love that series as much as I do Story Corps. Delicious.

In my back woods, the summer sound is frogs in the pond. I have no idea what kind of frogs they are, but they’ve been with us for a few months, many hatching from tadpoles.

They are loud and likely too loud for anyone who isn’t used to them, but if they weren’t there, I would miss them. They are my sound of summer.

When I take the dog out for his last walk in the evening now, the breeze is warm, the fireflies are dancing in the darkness, and the frogs are calling.

It is an instant pick-up after a long day of work and kid and rush. My few minutes of just being quiet and listening.

I know I have been gone from here too long. I know there is nary a soul checking in, but that’s been OK. It has given me the space to think about where I want this site to go. How much time I want to dedicate to it, why I should even do so when uploading a quick comment or photo to Facebook is so easy and so private.

Yes, I think Facebook killed my blog.

There is a safety there because I know those folks. I don’t know the googler from Indonesia. You know?

And Maria is halfway to 8 now. Telling stories about her, about her path to bilingualism and biculturalism was great fun when she was 3, but I am much more careful about sharing her in a blog. So, she won’t be making too many appearances here.

So what is left then if not the mommying stories?

I feel like I have some of those to share from my perspective. Like how a non-Latina friend wants me to write a parenting manual titled: “No es No es No es No! Parenting a lo Mami” or the complicated choices about schooling or the continued struggle to achieve bilingualism.

But, I also live in a wonderful city and beautiful state that I’d like to share more about. The undiscovered spots, the thick culture of music, the growing up of a city that 20-years-ago seemed so behind.

This past month marked the 20th year of my arrival. I was 23. And though cliche as it seems to say, it seems like yesterday. There are a lot of good experiences packed in there, strong friendships created and a passion for a place I thought I’d inhabit for just a couple of years.

I thought about writing more about running a business (The Pollitos) and the business of blogging (The Tiki Tiki) pero no se. There is so much good stuff out there already, that we’ll see. Maybe it’ll be more about the food we grow, new Latin-inspired vegetarian recipes, a little bit Vlogging tips. A part of me is way too fascinated with the process of aging, so don’t be shocked if you find me writing about my new gray hairs and my chicken-skin neck. Plus, I have promised myself a bikini body by 45 (that’s 13 months away), so perhaps my sweat will inspire posts. (Here’s a business of blogging post: Full-time Blogging makes you Gordita. The End.)

I guess where we go depends on who finally lands here, who returns.

When I launched Bilingual in the Boonies in 2006, it was very much about raising a bilingual kid. The readers,  mostly, came for that. (And some who just googled “Latin ass.”) I had great fun, and after more than a decade of having editors, it was like riding with no hands.

So now I am dipping my toe in again because while I write weekly at the Tiki Tiki, and work there daily, it is a space akin to a cocktail party. This is my house and there are things we say in our own house that we don’t say at the party.

And, truth is, though I have not known exactly what to say all these past months, I miss having people over.

My husband tells me on the telephone, while I am 900-miles away in New Jersey, that hey, something got in the coop and got a bird.

“Feathers everywhere,” he said.

We were down to three guineas, from the original 12, plus two babies who hatched last July. (They’ve passed on with the help of cars and unknown wildlife with fangs, plus I gave four insane ones away.)

When I got home Friday, one more was gone.

Something learned how to unlatch the pen door. That Something — probably a raccoon — has been at it for months. It was able to pull away a huge, long piece of 2×4 that I used to secure the pen. I also propped a small tree branch up against the latch and little by little the bark was scratched away as Something scratched and scratched in a futile attempt to devour my hens.

Not so futile, after all.

Saturday night, another became a midnight snack for Something.

Sunday, we had one lonely bird. My heart broke. They’re flock animals and being alone is the last thing they want.

“I gave the bird extra millet and left the coop door open,” I told my husband.

“So, you basically foie grased him?”

“Yes. Lucky, Something.”

The bird was gone in the morning.

My coop looks like a crime scene. Feathers everywhere. Fortunately, no bird bits.

I miss my birds, their loud call. Loud as a snow-blower. My husband hated them, despite their tick-eating habit. I didn’t mind how loud they were. I grew up with Cubans. They provided breathing room, a reason to walk outside even in the coldest weather, they provided fresh eggs and provided hilarity too. They were not smart, but they were fun. And beautifully odd.

Can’t say, though, that I miss trying to round them up at night,  nor do I miss pissing off the neighbor when they flocked to his lawn.

A friend asked if we’d use the coop for chickens now. No, not at the moment. Not ready to provide more all-you-can-eat midnight buffets for fanged critters.

And, as Maria pointed out, I clean up enough poop around here already.

Mojito in a Bag, $1.99!

I am not sure why I am surprised to find Spanish language goods in local stores. Maybe because when I was growing up, the Spanish seemed insulated to the Miami and North Jersey zips where I lived out a bilingual life.

I think it was two years ago that I got all sentimental in the Wal-Mart Hispanic foods section when I found the squeeze bottle of leche condensada. Maybe I am so shocked because this is Nashville, after all, and a thousand years ago when I landed here, none of the Spanish I see and hear around me was even remotely possible.

So, when I see something in Spanish that surprises me, I snap a picture. (It goes with that whole retroacculturation post I wrote recently, I guess.)

That door mat up there with “Casa” on it was in a local Lowe’s hardware store. I did a double take and cared not that people saw me taking a picture of a door mat.

I was amazed yesterday by this sign. It was at the Mall of Green Hills, an upscale mall with a Tiffany, a Betsey Johnson, a Louis Vuitton, and other places where my credit card is not allowed. A sign in Spanish — advertising a federal emergency preparedness web site — is just not what one expects in 37205. (I was there looking for a dress for my high school reunion y nada! Everything I tried on said “Trying Too Hard” or “Cougar.” But, that’s another post…)

Best Buy Gift Cards in Spanish

Best Buy Spanish Thank You Gift Card.

I guess people can continue to get angry over “Press 2 for English” but by the looks of it, the gente who sell stuff are pretty damned happy that we know what “Oprima el Uno” means.

Have you noticed all the Spanish/Latino/Hispanic stuff multiplying?

A post for Sundays in My City, an Unknown Mami regular feature. Visit her site to see other lovely spots around the globe. I love it because it encourages me to show you the wonder of Boonie Life.

There’s a park not far from our home. It is where Maria crawled around in the grass as a fat, little baby; where she took her first tricycle ride; where she likely will learn to ride without training wheels. There is a long path through a field that leads down to the river, as it gently lopes its way through our little town. In the spring and summer, the path is filled with wildflowers and birdsong.

It is, indeed, my own little nirvana. It could do with more trees, for the Tennessee sun blasts down upon the wide open fields and bakes the place to an unbearable degree.

But, we’re not really there yet.

At the moment, the early mornings and the late evenings there are magic. There are usually a bunch of children and dogs — all romping, laughing, barking. All kinds of birds whiz and swoosh past us here too. There’s often a beautiful heron down by the pond and, without fail, some energetic barn swallows — these guys in the picture — nesting under the picnic shelter in the spring and summer.

So, on Sundays this is usually where you’ll find me…just “down the road a piece” from home…as they say down here. Why hang in the city, when we’ve got this?

p.s. Boonie Blog readers, if you haven’t hung out over at the Tiki Tiki lately, let me point you to a few funnies from the last few days.

A dichos post: Mango Bajito! What happens when a Colombian and a Cuban marry…

Funny videos by the writer Nick Najera of the genius Latinologues and Latino Ahora! Today! Now! (a great spoof  TV show)

And, this one from last month: A video by Carmencita (real name Ana Margarita Menendez) from Que Pasa, USA? for the Tiki Tiki. I met her at Cuba Nostalgia and got all weepy with joy over it.

Happy 4th of July!

Be safe…

Do you know that all I want to do these days is sit near a lazy Tennessee creek with this borrowed Boxer-mix puppy? Is she not heaven?

The creek is a few miles from us and runs through the front property of a friend’s house — same friend whose house was flooded in May when this little creek turned raging river.

Our own puppy, Buddy, is currently stuck at home with a cone on his head to keep him from licking his nethers. You see, he got the snip snip this past week.

I have to admit I was way too happy to get him fixed. He is insane. Sweet and wonderful, but insane. My mother, however, left this comment on my Facebook page: “Pobrecito, no lo dejastes probar la fruta.” (Poor thing, you didn’t let him taste the fruit.”

Ay!

Buddy is doing fine and in defense of his manhood, I have to report the vet told me his parts were impressively sized for a small dog. I told her that is probably why he is such a big pain. I know how to pick them, I tell you.

I’m linking this post to the Unknown Mami’s Sundays in My City series. She’s in San Francisco and the links she gets from other bloggers are pretty awesome. Thought I would show off the glory that is my little country Tennessee town to all those big city folks. Go look.

Happy Sunday!