“Grandma?”
“Yes, mija?”
“Can you teach me how to make your capirotada?”
“Yes, mija. Whenever you want.”
A few days later, Grandma came home from the store with a couple of loaves of inexpensive sliced white sandwich bread, a 5-pound bag of shredded Monterey Jack cheese, a bag of brown sugar, shelled peanuts and a box of golden raisins. That Sunday, as she leaned up against the counter for support, she walked me through how to make her Mexican bread pudding — a traditional dish to serve at Easter, to help mark the end of Lent. It’s been a family favorite for as long as I can remember.
“What does the onion do, Grams?” I asked as I placed half a large onion into the pot with the sugar and spices.
“I don’t know, mija. It’s just the way I learned. It’s good.”
My grandmother didn’t attend school, as she had to help support her family, which means she didn’t get to spend much time in the kitchen learning from her grandmother or parents how to cook. She married my grandfather at the age of 17, and they moved in with his family. She told me that the women there reluctantly taught her to cook some dishes. The rest she had to teach herself, experimenting until she could recreate the food from her childhood.
“That’s a lot of syrup, Grams.”
“Yes, yes, it’s good.” I continued layering the bread, alternating it with the cheese and ladlefuls of syrup.
“Push it down, mija, so there’s no white.” She meant the white bread. She wanted it completely saturated. So I continued until she was satisfied.
The bread pudding filled the familiar brown 4-quart Cinderella Pyrex bowl to the brim. I lifted the hefty bowl while my grandmother opened the oven for me.
“Now we wait,” she said as she shuffled to her room, her knees aching from decades of repetitive stress from her job as a seamstress, running industrial-size sewing machines. Some days, she spent all morning working in the yard, clearing foliage, chopping down tree limbs, bending and lifting, and moving 10- and 20-gallon potted plants. Other days, it took sheer will to get out of bed, with her legs and her permanently injured shoulder limiting her mobility.
The smell of my childhood was soon wafting through the house, stirring up memories of Easters past. I made my way to the kitchen, where Grandma was already bending down to check on the capirotada.
I pulled it out and pirated it away before Grams stuck a fork in it so I could snap an Instagram picture. Grandma laughed at me. She’d gotten used to my taking photos of the food I made, but still, she found it amusing.
One week later, on Palm Sunday, my grandmother suffered a stroke. Seventeen days after that, she had a second, massive stroke and died a day later. It was a little more than a month shy of her 89th birthday.
Her name was Luz, which, in Spanish, means “light.” It’s from one of the titles for the Virgin Mary, Nuestra Señora de la Luz, meaning “Our Lady of Light.” It’s a fitting name as Grandma, a devout Catholic who was fiercely committed to God and family, was indeed the brightest light in our lives.
My grandmother immigrated to the United States knowing no English and with a toddler and newborn in tow. My grandfather, who had already been living and working here in San Diego as a baker, was the only other person she knew in her adopted home. Despite these limitations and the fact that she had no formal education, she forged a life steering a growing family with fierce determination and strong faith.
She learned English by listening to the radio and working on word searches. She taught herself to read by reading Psychology Today. As a young mother thrust into a strange culture, she told me, life was difficult and lonely, the local priest her only source of social interaction.
Since she had quit school at such an early age, she was determined to have her children get the best they could. She made extra money sewing and mending so they could afford private Catholic school. Eventually, she found full-time employment as a seamstress at a local major clothing manufacturer. She persuaded my grandfather to buy a house. Then another. And another. Eventually, they’d wind up with four rental properties and a large 2-story Craftsman that became the family home.
One of her proudest moments was when she became a U.S. citizen. “That’s when I got my blue eyes,” she would tell me during our morning chats over coffee. She voted in every election.
This Easter marks three years since her painful passing. I’m so incredibly grateful that I moved in with her and my aunt in 2012. I got to hear stories of her childhood and her early years here in the States, firsthand. I got to know her cheeky, often sarcastic sense of humor that never seemed to surface during our frequent family gatherings. I got to watch her fierce determination to figure things out on her own. And I had the opportunity to learn several of her recipes that I can pass on to my sisters.
This Easter, I’ll be making her capirotada once again to share with the family. It’s my way of keeping her spirit alive for all of us.
Grandma’s capirotada, a Mexican bread pudding, is traditionally served at Easter to signify the end of lent.
(Anita L. Arambula/Confessions of a Foodie)
Grandma’s Capirotada
I tweaked Grandma’s recipe a bit, nixing the onion, and using whole spices over the ground versions to better infuse their flavors into the simple syrup. I’ve also toasted fresh bread instead of using stale. The leftover syrup makes a great topping for French toast or ice cream. It’s also a sweet addition to morning coffee (strain out the nuts and raisins first).
Makes 8 servings
FOR THE SYRUP:
6 cups water
2 cups packed dark brown sugar
1 large stick Mexican (ceylon) cinnamon
3 whole cloves
1 star anise
¾ cup roasted peanuts
2 cups raisins, preferably golden
FOR ASSEMBLY:
1-pound block Monterey Jack Cheese (or 4 cups grated, loosely packed)
5-6 bolillos (Mexican-style French bread sandwich rolls, can substitute with a 14- to 16-ounce French bread loaf), cut into ¼-inch slices
2 tablespoons butter, melted
Preheat oven to 425 degrees.
Place water, sugar, spices and peanuts in a saucepan. Bring to a boil, lower heat and simmer for 5 minutes. Add the raisins and simmer for another 5 minutes. Take off heat, remove cinnamon, cloves and star anise, then allow the syrup to cool slightly.
While the syrup is simmering, grate the cheese; set it aside. Slice the bread. Line two sheet pans with the bread slices and place in the oven to toast for 5 minutes. Remove pans, flip the bread, return to oven and toast an additional 5 minutes. Remove and let cool slightly.
Lower the oven temperature to 350 degrees. Using a pastry brush, apply melted butter to a 9-by-13-inch casserole or lasagna dish (3.5 quarts). Line the pan with a single layer of bread, breaking up some pieces to fill the spaces between slices. Spoon syrup over the bread, making sure to dig down for the raisins and peanuts. Be generous with the syrup; you want the bread saturated. Evenly spread a layer of cheese over the bread. Repeat layering the bread (using a fork to push it down to absorb the liquid), syrup and cheese, filling the dish and being sure to end with a generous layer of cheese.
Place the pan on the center oven rack and bake for 25-35 minutes, until the cheese is golden and bubbly. Carefully remove from the oven and let sit for 15 minutes before serving. Cool completely before storing, tightly covered, in the refrigerator. This dish is excellent the next day as a cold dessert.
Recipe is copyrighted by Anita L. Arambula and is reprinted by permission from Confessions of a Foodie.
Arambula is the food section art director and designer. She blogs at confessionsofafoodie.me, where the original version of this article published. Follow her on Instagram: @afotogirl. She can be reached at anita.arambula@sduniontribune.com.
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