On The Write Path

Patacones

Patacones

I watch Bryan shop. Pick up a vegetable, set it down; pick up a fruit; reject that too. He sees cooking bananas, decides on patacones for tonight.

Buy the plátano. Firm, green but mature. Take it home. Find a pan; find some oil. Light the stove. Peel the outer skin of the looks-like-a-banana revealing pale yellow flesh. Remove any blemishes. Cut into slices one inch thick.
Place them in the hot oil. Watch them turn a deeper yellow until they have softened.

I watch his curly hair, look into green eyes intent on his task. Observe his fast movements. He knows what he is doing, having done this many times before.

He says I should help, finds a plastic bag, finds another pan. He sets one yellow cube on the plastic, folds the plastic over, shows me how to smoosh the patacones with the pan. I press them one at a time. Then place them on a towel to wait.

He works quickly. Deft hands and sharp eyes. Focused on making dinner. I focus on my humble task, small help.

Now thinner medallions of gold are placed back into the oil. Cooked but not allowed to brown too much. Again they are placed on a towel to rid them of excess oil, then arranged on a plate.

He grabs the tube of red bean paste. Puts a dab on each patacón. He doesn't have the ingredients to mix the paste with garlic, onion, a bit of pepper for color. I serve them as-is to the others. They wonder what they are and I explain.

Bryan smiles having achieved his goal. Hot fresh patacones. A warm gift for all.

© Kåre Enga [17.enero.2017]