The following post is an English paper my daughter, Abby, wrote several semesters ago. The class was tasked with writing a research paper about something seemingly insignificant to most people but important to them. I love that it shows some of our family history. Enjoy!

In the year 2018, the oldest kids of my family, who were 12-19 years old, returned home from the fields, tired and hungry. The smaller children, who were 3-10 years old, were running around playing and fighting. There are eleven children altogether, plus Mom and Dad. The crop had started a few days prior and everything was in full swing; the hay was being cut and laid into rows, the rows were being raked into each other, and those rows were being made into bales of hay that got stacked under a barn.

I entered our large house through the back red door and stepped into our kitchen. The sound of chicken boiling in a pan is heard as the water bubbled. The liquid spilled over the pan making a sizzling sound as the water hit the hot unit. Mom stood over another large pot mixing together chili powder, oil, and other ingredients. Her dark skin, hair, and eyes showed that the dish she was making had been made by those of her same origin for generations. Her grandmother came from Mexico and carried with her her recipe of Mexican enchiladas. Great-Grandmother Guelita raised her daughter, my Grandmother Isa on the enchiladas; Grandmother Isa raised Mom on the enchiladas, and Mom is raising all eleven of us on the savory meal, teaching us the best food and flavors.

I listened as Mom whisked away at the enchilada sauce. The sound of the metal whisk scraping against the bottom of the metal pan has become a comforting sound to me, reminding me that Mom is there and that I am in my own home.

Mom grabbed a pair of tongs and placed the steaming chicken on a cutting board where she shredded them with two small forks. She then grabbed a corn tortilla and, in the middle, placed cheese, raw onions, and boiled chicken. She quickly and skillfully wrapped the contents up and placed the tortilla in a large baking pan. Over and over she rolled the cheese, onions, and chicken in tortillas, and placed them in the pan. When, at last, the pan was stuffed with filled tortillas, she grabbed the dark red sauce that had been simmering on the stove and poured the savory liquid over the top of the filled tortillas. My siblings and I watched as the dark mixture seeped into the cracks and sat on the bottom of the pan.

Mom sprinkled a layer of cheese on top and then baked the enchiladas in the oven until they were just right. Then came what we were all waiting for. Mom always leaves a little bit of the savory red sauce in the pan. We grabbed tortillas and ripped them into strips and crowded around the pan as we tried to dip our tortillas into the delicious sauce. We all huddled around each other, pressing up against one another, squeezing by siblings to have a chance to dip our tortilla in the pot, just far enough to drench the bottom of the tortilla in the hot chili sauce. Over and over we tore tortillas, dipped them, and hung them above our gaping mouths, catching the dripping sauce with our tongues. Sighs of pleasure escaped our filled mouths and we rubbed our tummies with delight. It’s small moments like these that add to our memory folders of “Home.”

Dad returned home from the fields shortly before lunch was ready. We all gathered around the table that sits in the dining room, lighted by three tall windows that face the west. My three youngest brothers, Gideon, Jason, and Henry, talked and played with their silverware and plates, humming, singing, and quoting. My older siblings and I talked to Dad about farm work, and Mom… she pulled the piping hot enchiladas out from the oven. The cheese was crisp and the sides were bubbling with the hot sauce. Mom placed the pan in the middle of the table, a prayer was said, and then we all dug in and enjoyed another meal together. We all sat together savoring the familiar tastes and smells of onions, cheese, chili, and tortillas that have become familiar to us. Onions, cheese, chili, and tortillas are the smells and tastes that I associate with home. Though small and simple they may be, they are important to me because they belong in my family and home.

Enchilada Ingredient Research

Enchiladas have been an important part to Mexico for centuries. In fact, according to Cappy Lawton and Chris Waters Dunn, “[t]he origin of the enchilada predates written history.” I have little doubt that enchiladas have been a big part of Mexico’s culture as well as countries prior to Mexico. Countries prior to Mexico could be the nation of the Aztecs. Lawton and Dunn called the Aztecs Mexico’s “ancestors.” This was interesting to me because my mother’s DNA suggests that her origins come from ancient Mexico, where the Aztecs and Mayans were located. Whether enchiladas were a dish of the Aztecs or not, the ingredients used in enchiladas are ancient.

Onions are an ingredient sometimes used in enchiladas. In Scientific American an article titled “The Chemistry of Garlic and Onions” by Eric Block, it mentions how pharaohs in Egypt “were entombed with clay and wood carvings of garlic and onions to ensure that meals in the afterlife would be well seasoned.” We know from this that onions were used to add flavor to meals and appetizers. Flavor was not the only thing onions were used for. Onions were also used for medicinal purposes. Block continued, “certain extracts of garlic and onions are antibacterial and antifungal. Other extracts … keep blood from clotting”. Onions may or may not have been added to enchiladas for medicinal purposes, but they add flavor nonetheless.

Maize, (or corn) tortillas are the main ingredient when it comes to enchiladas. “Maize is … the traditional staple of the Mexican diet, particularly in the form of tortillas” (Fitting). Tortillas were a source of food for hundreds of years. According to Elizabeth Fitting, in her book The Struggle for Maize: Campesinos, Workers, and Transgenic Corn in the Mexican Countryside, Maize was sometimes placed in water so that the outside of the kernel comes off, then ground, made into dough, and cooked to form a tortilla.

Perhaps just as important as tortillas is the chili sauce that covers the stuffed tortillas. “Chili peppers have been used in Mexico as food and condiment for at least the past eight centuries and are an integral part of the Mexican diet and culture” (Orellana-Escobedo). Cappy and Dunn say that “Chile seeds have been found at archeological sites in Tehuacán Valley, Mexico, that indicate people there were eating chiles 9,000 years ago” . It makes sense that Mexicans would eat tortillas with chili peppers. It also makes sense that they would find different ways of preparing chili, such as a sauce. This is important to me because without chilies I wouldn’t have the memories that come with my mother’s chili enchilada sauce, a meal that has been made and enjoyed in my family for generations. Onions, maize (corn tortillas), and chilies make up the important parts of enchiladas and make up a memorable part of my home that can easily be reflected upon every time the scent of those simple components hit my nose.

Enchilada Experience

Winnemucca, Nevada is a small town in Northern Nevada, the occupation consisting mostly of mining which is relatively easy employment. Because of this, a popular race in Winnemucca is that of Mexicans. I think that this may be the reason why the Winnemucca Walmart has in one aisle, a generous section of different chili powder and whole dried chilies in plastic bags with colorful cardboard holding the top together.

I’ve watched my mom many times pick chili powder for enchiladas or whole chilies for tamales. An image like this section of Walmart was what I was expecting when I entered the crowded store of Rexburg, Idaho. Because the Walmart in Rexburg is so much larger than the one in Winnemucca, surely, they would have the section, if not a larger section, of chili powder for enchiladas.

I entered the store and walked straight to the Hispanic food aisle, turned the corner and searched the aisle, looking for the hooks filled with chilies and chili powder. Nothing. I walked down the aisle glancing back and forth, looking for the familiar packages full of red shaded colors. I went down one aisle and then another, all the time searching and searching for the shiny packages and their spicy contents. I got to the last aisle and wondered where the chili powder could be.

After deciding that I had missed the chili powder, I returned again to the Hispanic food aisle, walking slower and searching more carefully. I got to the end of the aisle with no success. I again went down other aisles, feeling slightly anxious because I couldn’t find what I was looking for.

I cannot find the powder. I eventually stop on the spices aisle and ask an employee where the bags of chili powder and the whole dried chilies are. She flips out her phone and searches. A few items show up and she points to a picture. It is an image of a plastic container of chili powder.

“I think this is all we have.” She said.

I nod, “That’s ok.” I turn to the racks of spices. I said it was ok but it’s not. A good percentage of the population in the United States is Hispanic; it seems only logical that the most basic and go-to store should provide a few different chili powders and some whole chilies. But instead they have one plastic container for hot chili powder and one plastic container for mild chili powder. Why doesn’t this store have more than two kinds of chili powder?

I think of all the poor people that have immigrated from Mexico, not knowing much English and not being able to make a familiar meal because the biggest store in America doesn’t offer more than two kinds of chili powder. I think of all the poor children who, after having a challenging day at school want nothing more than to taste home again by a savory pan of enchiladas, but are deprived of the experience because the chili powder is not offered to them in the stores.

Perhaps the chili powder is too exotic or expensive for a Walmart in Idaho. Or perhaps there doesn’t seem to be enough Hispanics to cause the people of Idaho to think that perhaps they need more Hispanic food into their aisles. We need to recognize the diversity of ethnicities around us and acknowledge them.

Just looking at the plain plastic container of chili powder makes me think that there is no way anyone could make good enchiladas out of this powder than they could with the wide variety of selection that the Winnemucca store has.

I grabbed the plastic container of mild chili powder and looked at it, thinking of Mom. I can remember times when she would take me to the store and I’d walk behind her and watch as she selected her chili powder to make her delicious enchiladas, or her reading the labels on the chilis to be sure to grab the right ones for tamales. Looking at the chili powder makes me miss Mom and the familiar scents of home.

Home

Each one of us have an object, smell, or feel that reminds us of home. An article of clothing, the smell of pizza, the feeling of wool; for me, enchiladas is what reminds me of home. What is home? I am convinced that home is made up of the people that fill it, and what those people do.

Mom gave birth to eleven children. First, she had six girls, then the first boy, then a girl, then three more boys. Us children have fought, played, laughed, and cried together, gaining experiences and memories as we have grown and worked together building up our farm and caring for the house and for one another. Dad has worked on his farm providing for us. He built Mother a new kitchen and schoolroom, and he built Laura, Julie, Debbie, and I new bedrooms so that we were more comfortable. Over those many years we didn’t realize how many times we ate enchiladas, yet we enjoyed it so much.

There’s something so comforting about smelling enchiladas when I walk through the red door into our kitchen. I can see the bright colored tablecloth and the white plates that border the large table. I can see the golden sunlight pouring through the long windows of the dining room. I can hear the oven click with exhausted time and I can hear the muffled voices of my family in other rooms of the house.

I often think about what my home will be like when I am grown and married and have my own children. What will they think about when they are homesick? Will I have a large house like my own now that they will miss? Will they miss the many household chores that they will be required to do? Will they miss the trees that will surround the house? Will they miss the rug that will lay over the living room floor? I hope they will. And I very much hope that when my own children are grown and gone, that when they smell onions, see chili powder, or taste tortillas, they will remember the home in which they grew up in.

Works Cited

• Block, Eric. “The chemistry of garlic and onions.” Sci Am 252.3 (1985): 114-9.
• Fitting, Elizabeth. The struggle for maize: campesinos, workers, and transgenic corn in the Mexican   countryside. Duke University Press, 2011.
• Lawton, Cappy, and Chris Waters Dunn. Enchiladas: Aztec to Tex-Mex. Trinity University Press, 2015.
• Orellana-Escobedo, L., et al. “Capsaicinoids content and proximate composition of Mexican chili peppers (Capsicum spp.) cultivated in the State of Chihuahua: Contenido de capsaicinoides y composición proximal de chiles mexicanos (Capsicum spp.) cultivados en el estado de Chihuahua.” CyTA-Journal of Food 11.2 (2013): 179-184.