Un cafecito, por favor…

Queridos —

So…I don’t think this is just a Mexican-American thing but, for me, I have no other frame to work from so let’s just call this a Mexican-American thing.

I remember going to my grandparent’s house on Sunday morning and sitting around their big dinner table (you know…the one that seemed too big for the kitchen it was in) and eating barbacoa and/or lengua tacos. The meal was peppered with the stories of the previous week and the plans for the one that started the next day. There was some laughter, some scolding, and even some crying sometimes. All the while my grandparents and dad would be drinking coffee with their meal while I was enjoying a 20oz Big Red and my mom a diet soda…you know, to cancel out the calories in the tacos.

ANYWAY….

I could never, and still don’t, understand how they could drink a hot beverage while eating and each cup seemed to last for SO LONG! The small and slow sip of this near boiling beverage seemed to be counterproductive to me because you couldn’t get enough in your mouth to produce a bouquet of taste anywhere near the beauty of my barbacoa and Big Red. So, I just labeled it one of those “old person” things like grumpiness and driving slow. However, looking back now while being in the second half of my life, I am seeming to grow a new perspective on this particular “old person” thing. Let me explain…

Those stories that I mentioned earlier…well they went on for hours. To be more precise, they talked until the coffee was gone. Those hours of stories and moments helped me and my cousins craft memories of my grandfather’s chuckle, my grandmother’s smile, the loving way they interacted with one another, and how they showed love to their family. In between what seemed to be short painful and tongue blistering sips of coffee laid the foundation of my life — defining my past and shaping my future.

You see, I had to look past the idea of the coffee and start thinking about it as cafecito…if you’re like me things always sound better in Spanish and take on a different meaning. Cafecito to me now means memories, stories, love, my family. Those things can’t be bought at Starbucks. So, next Sunday grab some pink cake and have some cafecito time with those you love and then repeat it as long as you can.

Se cuiden…

Comments

Ahhh…Mexican Pink Cake (Cortadillos)

Bienvenidos familia! Ahhhh, pink cake! If you grew up in San Antonio, Texas or any city with a predominant influence of Mexican heritage, you know about pink cake (cortadillos). For this blogger, this delectable mound of sugar glory calls to mind childhood memories of joy and celebration while sometimes evoking memories of adulthood events that necessitated some edible comfort. In either instance there was my friend…Pink Cake. Depending on the where it was bought (and on what day) the cake part could be flaky and dry or soft and moist. I quickly found out at a young age that the softer the cake the better it was because then I didn’t have to dislocate my jaw to get a good mordida (that’s a bite for my Spanish-challenged friends). The frosting had its own qualities as well — it could be hard and crunchy or creamy and smooth. The frosting is where the magic happens, though, because it defines the overall taste. If made correctly that...

A Farewell as Sweet as Pink Cake: Honoring My Mother’s Memory with Sunset Funeral Home Northwest

In the days after my mother’s passing, Sunset Funeral Home Northwest, led by Mia and Richard, created a farewell that truly captured her spirit and the love she shared with us. The rosary gathering they organized was perfect—a heartfelt evening where every detail reflected the grace and thoughtfulness she valued. Their attention to detail during my mother’s funeral Mass was unmatched, creating a seamless, elegant tribute that honored her with warmth and dignity. Having my mother cared for in such a meaningful way meant everything to me. I had promised her that I would be there to take care of her to the very end, and Mia, Richard, and their team helped me keep that promise. Their compassion was evident in each aspect of the service, from the peaceful rosary to the beautifully arranged funeral Mass. Each moment allowed us to reflect on her life with gratitude and love. Friends and family couldn’t stop offering compliments and thanks for the way we sent her off. We heard over a...

Not All Pink Cake is the Same: Facing a New Year Without Mom’s Song

As the holidays pass and the year draws to a close, I find myself standing at the edge of a new year, burdened by an emptiness I’m only beginning to comprehend. This is my first holiday season without my mother, and her absence has turned what was once a season of joy into something far more fragile and uncertain. She wasn’t just the heartbeat of our family—she was the music of my life. Her love of music shaped me in ways I’m still discovering. Growing up, her songs filled our home and seemed to give life its rhythm and meaning. Whether it was humming along to her favorite tunes, dancing in the kitchen, or simply letting the lyrics of a song spark a conversation about life, she taught me that music was more than sound—it was a language of connection, a way to feel and to heal. But now, as I face the new year, it feels like the music has stopped. I am left to navigate the rest of my life without her song, and the silence is deafening. My mother was my sounding board, my adviser, an...

Not all Pink Cake is the Same

Search This Blog