Resilience and Survival

Being raised by a single mother came with its own set of complexities and struggles. Empowered by the love for her children and her ever burning Latina spirit, she had refused to settle for a life where her babies would have to walk on eggshells every day in their own home. I was nine when she bravely left my father and set out on her own. From then on, we lived every day in survival mode, but she taught me early on in life what hard work and sacrifice meant.

Struggle Meals

We may have been poor, but we never went hungry. Living paycheck to paycheck and limited to basic ingredients, my mother’s creativity gave variety to our menu of struggle meals. In my young eyes, she was the true definition of a culinary chef. Forget Lunchables and Pop-tarts. Our food was made from scratch, filled with love, and rooted from the Mexican recipes her mother had passed down before her own early passing.

One of my favorites were her flour tortillas kneaded, rolled out, and cooked to perfection on the comal, always prepared barehanded from start to finish. Everyone knows using a spatula to flip tortillas is a cardinal sin and that the power of the ancestors protects our Mexican hands from comal burns. The tortillas always tasted best fresh off the stove, slathered in butter and folded in half. One of the world’s simplest luxuries.

Breakfast usually consisted of corn tortillas torn into pieces and fried up with scrambled eggs to make migas, or chopped up hot dogs tossed and scrambled into eggs. I’d take these dishes the extra mile with ketchup and hot sauce because in my opinion, the best seasoning was always spice!

Our dinner would include sopa de fideo or sopa de conchas. If we were lucky there would be ground beef and potatoes cooked into the sopa. Rice and beans were another staple in our kitchen and could be found in the fridge any day of the week. I think I’ve seen beans in every possible form: boiled, refried, ranch-style, black, pinto, and on special occasions there would be charro beans with bacon! Any leftovers were usually stored in repurposed butter containers, their contents always a surprise.

Learning to Cook on My Own

Eventually, I was left to try my hand at cooking for my younger sister and myself while my mom was away working one of her two, sometimes three, jobs. As hard as I tried, my food never tasted as good as her kitchen creations.

Still, I did my best. Each batch of flour tortillas she made typically lasted us through the week. Hot dogs were roasted over the flame of our gas stove like a campfire and then rolled into tortillas. When we were alone, we microwaved them and hoped they didn't explode. My little sister and I would also fold cheese into tortillas and thirty seconds later be rewarded with a sad excuse for a quesadilla. Another microwave all-star included frozen bean-and-cheese burritos doused in hot sauce.

@thrivebyemily

Finding Joy Despite the Struggles

My little sister was always overjoyed whenever my mom came home from work. As a kid she never fully realized how badly we were struggling. It’s a blessing I am thankful for to this day because truthfully, we weren’t just eating “struggle meals”. We were eating creativity, love, and culture.

Now, as an adult, I have an even greater appreciation for my mom. She lost her own mother at a young age but keeps her memory alive with the Mexican dishes she continues to make and share with everyone. "My mom used to make this for us," she’ll say, with a loving and longing look in her eyes.

For me, the “struggle meals” of my childhood have become comfort food. Eating them now revives lively memories and reminds me of the care and dedication my mother poured into us to guarantee we grew to live a better life than she did.

The Power of Food

I've come to realize the power food has. It is culture, memories, and connection. It ties people together regardless of the language you speak or the size of your bank account. It carries our culture, preserves our stories, and reminds us that even in our most difficult times, we are never alone or hungry for love. It’s something to be proud of and it brings me so much joy to see others connect to my story and share their own childhood memories.

Bite-Sized Memorias

What Struggle Meals Taught Me About Survival, Love, and Culture

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