MADE IN GURABO

Made in Gurabo. Northeast in Santiago de los Caballeros (Dominican Republic), Gurabo is the place of origin of my father's family. Rural, fertile, land of amber and tobacco, where the dreams we embody now were once imagined. My dad, his siblings and his cousins were the first generation that wasn't born in el campo.

Un cocinao – Most people don’t realize it, but time and temperature are the ingredients behind nostalgic recipes. Their careful maneuver makes us long for warmth, for stillness. A teaspoon of sugar poured into hot oil caramelizes at 338° F giving the chicken thighs and the pork chops their tanned color. The Maillard reaction develops crust, color, depth of flavor. The water deglazes the bottom, the chunks of auyama color the water, the cilantro infuses the broth, the broth thickens, the víveres soften. Then, el agrito, el picantico, el aguacatico. Even when we blow on the sancocho, we handle seconds and degrees with care. It's a good thing – our taste buds bruise when it’s too soon.

Pa’ y yo, summer ‘18 – In an effort to get closer to papi, I invited us to start a creative writing exercise via email. We would give each other prompts to produce a chain of imaginative correspondence, growing us closer. From Iowa, I proposed this: When were these taken? What do they these three have in common? What did they dream of? What were they afraid of? What’s different between them? From Brussels, he responded with what is now the lyrics of these three songs: “1977,” “1994,” and “2017." I never answered the prompt he sent me, and that was the end of the exercise. What’s your happiest moment? And what’s your saddest? I wasn’t ready then, and now I know he wasn’t either.

Tiempo y temperatura, summer ‘22 – I’m still blowing, but perhaps it's time. My response is partly in the prologue and in this song cycle. Most people don’t realize it, but nostalgia and imagination also need careful maneuver.