RITUAL
“This time around, we’re looking for work on the theme of RITUAL. With this one, we want to explore all the facets of the rituals that exist around cooking, eating, and sharing food. From the way you eat your Kit Kat to the cultural differences in cutlery, we want to create a collection of work that celebrates these inbuilt and often forgotten rituals.”
finding myself in a bowl of soup
Whenever I’m feeling homesick, I make Sopa Azteca.
Well, my version of it— the version that changes every time. Sometimes vegetarian, sometimes chicken, more spice, less rice. This particular prescription of tortilla soup I find bizarre, mostly because I am not Latinx and don’t have a family history related to Latinx culture. On top of that, the recipe is based on a memory from a meal I had a few times while I was studying in Costa Rica- nearly a decade ago. Every time I have the sniffles, or find myself in the state of missing, there are the tomatoes, onions and peppers, ready for their dip in the deep pot— self soothing through caring for myself, and somehow finding a space of home through the familiarity of making this comforting dish, regardless of its origins.
February 2014 was the first time I made this medicine for myself. I had recently returned from my semester abroad and was totally feeling out of place. How could I just go back to a cold lecture hall in the dead of Massachusetts winter after spending three months surrounded by colour, flavour, and curiosity? The internet turned up many different treatments of my beloved Sopa Azteca, but the first few passes of following others’ recipes fell flat. This initial attempt at comfort via manifestation of a memory coincided with the very first time I realised that 1) I would be graduating in a short year’s time and 2) I had very little understanding of what that really meant for me. That moment triggered an unconscious-recently-made-conscious path; I threw my entire body and mind into teaching myself how to cook, starting with Sopa Azteca and figuring out how to tap into that feeling of stability and comfort as the future loomed.
Seven years later, I still have no idea how to properly make Sopa Azteca, but it always soothes my nerves to chop the tomatoes, sweat the onions and peppers, and pour the rust-coloured broth over rice. This dish continues to be a hug from the inside as someone who has just recently dipped a toe into exploring their own food culture history— a mixed Black person who grew up without much exposure to African-American foodways (my grandma used to call grits and collards “slave food”). Learning more about myself through the discovery of my roots and the routes that came before me, I’m leaning into creating my own rituals in how I nourish myself. My identity as a mixed Black American now four years into living abroad in Europe is nourished by the celebration of others’ cuisines— tasting many flavours borne from resistance, curiosity and togetherness. The meals shared with new friends turned family, the recipes lovingly shared with me, and the flavours that connect the dots between yesterday, today and tomorrow become the foundation of the travelling home within me; adorned with memories of ancestral strength and wisdom.
Whenever I make Sopa Azteca, although it wasn’t passed down to me, I come home to myself and the feeling of belonging, wherever I am.
