|Those are donuts, awaiting their hot oily fate, and Alex imparted her knowledge to me.!|
From 10:30 to 1:00, we made fried chicken.
From 3:00 to 5:00, we made donuts, overlapping with
4:00 to 5:30, we made pizza
And from 6:30 to 7:00, we made nachos.
By 9:00 everything had been consumed and Angela had decided to do all of the dishes herself. Yanetzi had given a short speech about Women’s Day, congratulating everyone on being female and terrific (with a little shout-out to God, of course, which the girls really enjoy), we had watched Million Dollar Baby (which I forgot was depressing and bummed everyone out a little,) and many of the girls had settled into the “Rec Room” for a sleepover. Apparently Andrea had passed much of the night talking in her sleep, in English, which makes me proud.
Even from an American perspective, the amount of food we had on Saturday was ridiculous. The pans of oil bubbled practically from sunup to sundown and the kitchen screen slammed open and shut constantly, every woman with an enormous grin, holding something delicious in her hand. But this is the first time, perhaps the only time, that it seemed OK. It might be OK because we each had one piece of chicken, and it might be OK because we shared five pan-sized pizzas between thirty people, and it’s probably OK because the nachos were made fresh from corn masa and the donuts were…well, the donuts were excessive. Everyone was given three and they had been glazed with condensed milk.
So here we are, Women celebrating Women, doing what women are afraid to do: eat. We didn’t talk about our bodies, we didn’t talk about anyone else’s body, and bodies in general were only occupied with frying and face stuffing. My hands rolled dough and flipped browning masses all day long, blissfully and meditatingly, thinking only about the smells of tomato sauce, cinnamon and cheese that continued to overlap.
Honduras has not escaped the insecurities of the world; girls scrimp and offload their plates daily (especially when the meals are usually beans with beans.) But on this particular evening, you would never know that “body image” was a concept.
Even though you probably missed it, Happy Women’s Day! Perhaps we can strengthen our resolve daily to only acknowledge two options: feed or feed more, in moderation and contentment, within community and embracing love, rather than the bullshit we usually consume with obesity about not being woman enough.