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One of the things my husband and my friends BEG me to cook is Ropa Vieja.  Seriously, it goes something like this:

“Where are you from?”

“I was born in PR my parents are Cuban”

“Seriously? So you can make Ropa Vieja

*sigh* of all the GREAT Cuban dishes, Ropa Vieja is at the top of the list.  I often wonder why, as I much rather have Tasajo or Lechón, but I tend to please my comensales and make Ropa Vieja.

Ropa Vieja is a dish that takes quite some work (similar to Tasajo), and I have an entirely different recipe for it when cooked the traditional way.  But some time ago Mami bought me a crockpot in the hopes that I would cook more with my limited amount of time (or some time late arrivals).  So as I set out to try my crockpot a friend told me that it was great for cooking the meat for the Ropa Vieja, and then I fount Marta.  And Marta has a recipe for Crockpot Ropa Vieja.  A recipe that *gasp* I. Tinkered. With. …to better suit my taste (and of course Alan’s) while still keeping as true as I could to traditional Cuban Ropa Vieja (not my family’s version).

So here is your list of ingredients:

  • 1.5 to 2lb of Flank Steak (I clean a bit of the fat off, but not all of it)
  • 1/2 green bell pepper sliced into strips
  • 1/2 whole medium to large yellow onion sliced into strips (halfwise)
  • 4 to 5 fat cloves of garlic smashed in a mortar
  • 2 tsp of Sea Salt
  • 2 tsp freshly ground coarse black peppercorns
  • 1/2 tsp of cumin powder
  • 1/2 cup of Cabernet Sauvignon red wine (preferably the same one you will use for dinner)

Depending on the side of your crockpot, you might have to do what I do and that is cut the meat in half across the grain like so:

Flank Steak cut in half

Next, mix all the dry ingredients – sea salt, cumin – as this will be your meat rub (Tip: for cold winters add the ground peppercorn to the rub as it will make the meat spicy, and the Ropa Vieja quite interesting!).  Make sure you rub it on both sides and across the cut.  You’ll have about half of it left to pour into the crockpot.  Set aside the Flank steak and the rub, while we prep the rest.  Slice the green bell peppers lengthwise; cut the onion in half and then slice thinly (or slice thinly and then cut in half).  It should look like this:

Onions, Peppers and Garlic ...Oh My!

Mash the garlic up nicely on a mortero or if you prefer you can mince it.  I just really like using the mortero…it is kind of therapeutic.  Ok so once you have the garlic, the onions and the peppers ready here is what you do.  Layer some of the trio on the crockpot, add one half of the meat.  Add some more of the trio, add the other half of the meat.  Finish adding what’s left of the trio.  This ensures the meat gathers all the garlic, onion and pepper taste.

Bottom of Crockpot

After you layer the meat and the rest of the garlic, onion and peppers it should look like this:

Crockpot with Flank Steak and garlic, onion and peppers

Once everything is in it is time to add the 1/2 cup of the wine, the rest of the rub and the water (to cover the meat BUT AFTER the wine).  I use Root Cabernet Sauvignon.  It’s not cheap but its not expensive (around $10) and its also the same one we drink with dinner so it matches perfectly!  Add the wine first, around the meat and softly on the meat so as not to wash the rub off.  Then add water – just enough to JUST cover the meat – and then add the rest of the rub to the liquid and blend softly.

Ready, Set and Forget it!

Set it in low for about 6 hours.  Check the meat with a fork @ 6 hours.  Usually it’s almost ready by then; if the meat separates easily then it’s time to take it out.  For the last half hour or so I just set the crockpot in warm so the meat is not over cooked.

Once done take the meat out with a slotted spoon and lay in the cutting board to cool off a bit.  While it cools, with the same slotted spoon, remove the onion, garlic and peppers, and place in a bowl.  You will need 1 – 2 cups of the beef broth so set that aside as well.  Separate the meat with a fork and your hands until is is in strands.  Be careful as it is very hot.

Shredded Meat, Beef Broth, and Trio

So what next?  Now comes the good part!  You will need the following:

  • the 2 cups of broth you removed from the crockpot
  • the onions, peppers and garlic you removed from the crockpot
  • 1 small can of unsalted tomato sauce
  • 1 small can of tomato paste
  • 1-2 tbsp of Extra Virgin Olive Oil
  • 1 tsp of oregano
  • 1/4 of a green bell pepper cut into strips
  • 1/2 yellow onion cut in strips
  • 2 fat garlic cloves
  • Salt and pepper to taste

On a deep pan, heat the olive oil over medium heat and prepare a small sofrito with the 1/2 onion, 1/4 pepper and 2 garlic cloves.  Sautee for about a minute and add the onion, garlic and peppers you removed from the crockpot and sofreir another minute.  Add the meat, and stir with a fork so the sofrito and the meat blend well together.  Add half of the tomato sauce and 1 cup of the beef broth, cover and wait until it comes to a boil.  Take the lid of, and stir.  Add half of the tomato paste can and stir well, making sure it blends.  Cover and simmer in low for about 10 minutes.  Save the other cup of broth, with the leftover tomato sauce and paste for your leftovers – you will need them to heat the meat back up so it is not dry.

Ropa Vieja almost done!

Now that you’ve labored soooooo hard over this, comes the simple part.  Serve with white rice, chatinos (a whole other post) and ENJOY!

Buen Provecho!

40?? Really??

Today is my 40th birthday and I can hardly belie it.  Where has time gone? I remember so vividly being a Senior in high school and our amazement at the fact we would be 30 when the new millenium arrived….and here we are now at 40.

I gotta admit I don’t feel any different from 30!

So as society dictates that 40 is a milestone, we are on our way to RI to celebrate with friends and family.

Raise a Ketel One Gimlet in my name today!!

Papi’s Anniversary

Papi at Antiguo Bilbao Bakery in PR

It’s hard to believe it will be 4 years.  It just doesn’t seem like it’s been that long and at the same time it feels like it’s been forever.

Four years ago today, Papi was still alive.  And at some point between today and tomorrow (we believe night time) he passed away and forever changed my life and me in the process.  There were times in the beginning were I thought I would never get past this, but I’ve learned to move forward more out of honor for his memory than anything else.

This is just something you just cannot superar.  You deal, every day.  But there are still plenty of times, when I get teary-eyed at his memory or even at the slightest thought.  Papi missed my graduation; Papi will miss being an Abuelo….but he was there for the most important day of my life – the day I married Alan.

Papi‘s death was traumatic for me in many ways, so for this anniversary,  as many of you did not know him,I will leave you with what I wrote when we got back from his funeral.   To this day nothing expresses what I felt then better than this essay:

Paz y Tranquilidad (Peace and Calm)

That was Papi’s longtime wish. “All I want is paz y tranquilidad,” he would always say. He finally got his wish. Death hits you like a ton of bricks, and there is nothing you can do about it.

Papi used to call every other Saturday – the week of the 15th and the week of the 30th. He never missed a day. Never. He never answered the phone either if you were the one calling him; but every once in a while he would, or he would call you back.

He was due to call Saturday September 30th – he didn’t. I was at a conference, so I assumed he had called Mami first, learned I was at a conference and not called. He will call next Saturday I told myself. The grind of the week swallowed me up and it was Saturday again, this time October 7th. No phone call. No one had heard from him. No one. We contacted some friends in PR to go by his apartment. The news were not good.

There in front of his door, newspapers piled up since September 23rd. A concerned neighbor came out and said he was worried; he hadn’t seen him in a while. They called the police – but the police cannot go in unless there is a family member present. So they called me.

At 6:15am my husband and I boarded a plane to San Juan. Before 11am we had called the police, and I was at Papi’s door. I stuck my nose through the hole where the peephole used to be. My heart sank and my eyes started to sting. Tears sprung out uncontrollably, but I recomposed myself.

Papi lived alone. After the divorce, my brother lived with him for a while, but then my brother moved to Miami. I always prayed to God that whatever happened, I would have time to get to PR – I did not want Papi to die alone. I rather he have a heart attack in front of me. If that was not possible, then I also told God, I wanted Papi to go in his sleep. My biggest fear was that he would have a fall, or need help, and die because there was no one around.

Not knowing what I would find, I had told my husband I did not want to go in, and asked if he would – I did not want the last memory I had of my father to be him dead. My husband didn’t even blink, and followed the police in. Papi died in his sleep of a massive heart attack. He looked peaceful, there was no expression of pain in his face. He had been dead two weeks before we found him – or so we estimated by the date of the newspapers. Two weeks there by himself. I cried in my husband’s embrace, and quickly gathered myself. Mami was on her way, and Papi’s closest friends were there. I had to be strong, look strong, always stoic.

Dying alone, in your home and without a doctor is a red tape nightmare in a country whose laws are based on the codigo civil rather than common law. At around 4pm, the funeral home was allowed to come and take him to the morgue. The next morning we were at the morgue by 8am; I cried in front of the interviewer as I pleaded with her to release my father without an autopsy. By some miracle, she complied and the funeral home was able to take back Papi.

His last wish? To be cremated and released at La Bahia de San Juan. It was Monday and we were leaving Wednesday. But the Lord moves in mysterious ways, and so it was that Wednesday morning – after a beautiful mass Tuesday afternoon with his ashes present – my husband got a local fisherman to take us out into the bay where we released his ashes and marked the site with yellow roses. The ocean looked so beautiful with the roses. Papi was finally resting; he finally had paz y tranquilidad.

Papi was an immigrant all his life. Born in Lugo, Galicia Spain he migrated as a child to Cuba where teased by his classmates he quickly dropped his Spanish accent for the Cuban accent. He worked hard all his life. At the age of 14 he worked side by side with his father, while going to school as well. He barely got 3-5 hours of sleep. At the age of 21, he had achieved his dream – to own his own business: a restaurant bar named Wall Street.

In the 60′s he left Cuba as soon as he could and moved back to Spain, where he met my mother who was also fleeing Cuba. They settled in Puerto Rico, where he worked for a while as a salesman for Kimberly Clarke. But Papi was a hard worker, and he liked to own his business. So once he had enough capital, he and three other Spaniards (family and some he befriended in the island), created a partnership of four Panaderias. Papi loved us all very much – but his Panaderia was the love of his life. The picture above was the opening day of said partnership, and that is how I want everyone to remember my father.

He was not perfect, no one really is. He had his faults, but I loved him anyway and he loved me. I was his muñequita because to him I was beautiful; his garrapata because I always clinged to him as a child, and his cacharrita which came from the song cachita. He was very proud of me and had no qualms in telling me that he loved me or in sending me kisses over the phone.

This past Father’s Day I wished him a Happy Father’s Day. His reply?

“You called me so it already is a happy day.”

I will miss you always Papi. Descansa en Paz

Cuban Home Economics

My friend Marta has two great posts on how Cuban girls get groomed to be the Perfect Cuban Wife (PCW) through intense training on Cuban Home Ec.

So, it got me thinking about my own Cuban upbringing, and how I’ve supplemented or added to it, through the years.

I graduated with HONORS from the Cooking course, but unfortunately failed miserable on the Home Management course……much to the avail of Alan, my husband.  We’ve butted heads more than once on cleaning schedule, where things should be stored, how they should be stored until I found the HOME. MANAGEMENT. BIBLE:

The Home Bible

Master Martha, as she is referred to at my home, has come to be the decider on many argument.  Like what you ask?  Ask and you shall receive.

I always keep all the cleaners under the kitchen sink.  Perfect sense right?  Not to my husband who came up with a different scheme – the linen closet.

But honey the cleaners ALWAYS go under the sink. Says who?  You and your Cuban upbringing?  That doesn’t mean it’s right or the ONLY way.  HERESY! How dare he attempt against the Cuban Home Ec.?

Alás!  Martha Stewart to the rescue.  There under Your Kitchen, and Organizing, guess where we are supposed to keep all the cleaners?  UNDER THE KITCHEN SINK!

So now, whenever my wonderful husband gets a new idea of moving something to a different place in the home, I just go ask Martha.  But don’t get smug, Martha has been on Alan’s side sometimes too.  That Martha she is one nit picker when it comes to cleaning – as is Alan – so when I won the cleaner argument, Alan won the DREADED clean as you go argument.  *blushing*

I must admit, I WAS one of those cooks that creates a big mess as she cooks, but always cleaned everything at the end.  Now Martha has me cleaning as I go, and cleaning the kitchen every single night…..with Mrs. Meyer’s All Purpose Cleaner in Basil which now is my favorite cleaner (love, LOVE, how it smells)….  And Alan is a very proud husband, and very grateful to Martha. *sigh*

So what is your Home Ec. upbringing story?

…learn to make lemonade, the saying goes.  We have it in Spanish too, except our lemons come from the sky, not from life.  Religion ties into everything in our culture, doesn’t it?

I have several posts ready to go, including the much acclaimed and requested Chicken Vaca Frita recipe (with Congri Oriental to boot!), and I’ll get to them soon enough.  First, there is something that I have been debating whether to share or not, but I will.  I will need an outlet.

It seems our long awaited plans of multiplying the Lambie clan has hit a snag, and we will have to go the assisted route in order to see our family grow.  Those of you who know us personally KNOW how much we want to have kids, so you can understand that this has us worried and excited at the same time.

We are not sad; on the contrary we are excited to be able to somehow have our own.  And yes, I’m a  bit ansy, but what else is new?  I’m facing a big unknown, and I don’t do well with unknowns.

Emotionally it will be a trying time.  I’ve already picked up cross stitching and Kundalini Yoga to help manage the stress.

Needless to say, it will be quite the year for us 2010-2011 which hopefully will bring us the long awaited news of new life.  Please, as you read the recipes, and try them out, keep us in your prayers so that the Lord will look favorably upon us and bless us with little ones.

On an entirely different note, since I am now ORGANIZED with my work, look for more blogging to ensue as we welcome my cousin’s daughter Sofia, I take you to Santiago, Chile, and yes, show you how to make a killer Chicken Vaca Frita!

Finally, I graduated

Last Saturday May 22, I was officially conferred my Doctorate by the University of Rhode Island.  Even though it’s been almost a year since I defended my dissertation, I was really looking forward to the graduation ceremony (and also to being back in RI).

Unfortunately no one in my family came.  Well, I lie.  My family did come and his name is Alan J. Lambie (you all know him as my husband!).  He was the biggest supporter I had during this 6-year adventure in RI and even more so after Papi passed.  And yes, Papi was SORELY missed on that May 22 afternoon in the Ryan Center at the University of Rhode Island.  But somehow I have a feeling Papi didn’t miss it at all.

So, with my one man entourage-video-photographer-family-supporter we set out to RI to stomp our old ground and take some much needed vacation.  Did I mention Alan earned a 4.0 average this past quarter.  Yes a 4.0.  Nerds, I know.

Our graduation weekend started with a much awaited Friday dinner with my advisor, Ruby and her husband Nik, and my Rhode Island adoptive parents, Mike and Nancy James.

Nancy, Me and Mike

I met Mike and Nancy during my last year at the PhD program (summer 2008 to be exact) as I worked as a  waitress at a local Italian restaurant called Cucina Twist.  Mike and Nancy would come every Friday for dinner and sit in my section.  Since they were early birds (5pm) they would always inquire of my progress in the PhD, and my job interviews and my dissertation.  For an entire year Mike and Nancy sat in my section and followed my progress like only parents do – to the point of even buying me a going away present.  Therefore it was only natural that they be a part of our celebration.

The Dholakia's, The James' and The Lambies'

Friday night dinner was at Spain’s of Narragansett, a Spanish restaurant where all 5 times that I’ve been I’ve always had the same thing: Paella Valenciana.  We had reservations for 6pm in order to have an enjoyable dinner and a long sobremesa.  We had a wonderful time, and went to bed quite early.  I needed my beauty sleep ;-)

Saturday May 22, I rose early to get my hair done, and even still we were sort of against the clock.  I like to arrive early to places and graduates had to be at the Ryan Center by noon, so I wanted to be there half an hour early.  Torture I know, but it relaxes me; otherwise I would be too stressed.  So once I had hair, and makeup, and earrings and everything else ready we left….but not before Alan captured the moment.

The Graduate

So with academic regalia on hand (gown, hood, and tam) we left, parked and were shuttled to the Ryan Center.  While I was in the back on a line for about an hour, Alan was searching for the best spot to take pictures.   Let’s play Where is Adriana?

The Doctoral Candidates

So after very brief speeches by various Deans and the University President (no I’m not kidding they were actually short) we were off on our way to get hooded.  Getting hooded is what makes a PhD graduation special because it is your advisor (or major professor) – the one person you’ve loved and hated at the same time – who hoods you and makes you a bonafide Dr.  So within academia it is a rite of passage.  I don’t have hooding pictures yet, Alan was taking video at the time and I cannot post video here at WordPress. (I mean I can, but I’d have to buy an upgrade and I don’t really paste that many videos).  So I give you a picture of me and my Diploma instead!

My Diploma and Me

After the ceremony, my advisor Ruby had a small cocktail at her house with friends and future PhDers.  Later that night Alan and I went to dinner, with friends – Gema and Daniel (she graduated from her MBA).  But before I took pictures with my family – Alan!

The proud and happy Hubby

Also, the traditional picture with my advisor Ruby!

Ruby and I

And then we were off to our cocktail hour with even more pictures of all of us!

The Graduates

It was a great day and one that will be in my memory forever.  I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud of myself.  Finishing the PhD took every ounce of energy and motivation I had left, in particular after Papi’s passing.  Which is why we celebrated this event every which way we could.  After all that celebrating we were dead tired but we still had to celebrate the RIGHT way.  And what is the right way you ask, well, the Perrier-Jouet way of course!  Cheers!

My favorite Champagne!

Oh and I’m sure you want to know what my graduation gift was right?  Well, stay tuned.  All I can say is he’s from Jersey and has a smile to DIE for.

Lazy Sunday

image

Nothing better on a Sunday afternoon than taking in a game of baseball. Go RedWings!

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