Leftover Turkey, Ham and a Small Piece of Pastel

The large family gatherings on Christmas and Boxing Day gave way to more intimate visits to friends and family in the week between Christmas and New Years.  The frenzied cleaning that leads up to Christmas was over, and Trinis could entertain in homes with fresh paint, new curtains and holiday table cloths.  Because Christmas fell on a Sunday, we had both Monday and Tuesday off to facilitate these visits.  Wednesday and Thursday were slow work days, and everyone I know “run away” from work on Friday, causing my favorite radio station to call the new Kerwin Du Bois/Bunji Garlin song of the same name the official Friday anthem.

I took the opportunity to visit childhood neighbors, high school friends and some of my mother’s friends that I grew up calling aunty.  At every home, the ritual was the same.  “Compliments of the season,” accompanied warm hugs and kisses.  “What you drinking?  Hard or Soft?  We have sorrel, ginger beer, punch-a-creme.”  Then out came the food that is in every Trini kitchen for Christmas:  black cake, pastels, ham with a little chow chow, and those sugar cookies from the round tin.  The delicious treats were complimented by conversations that floated easily between reminiscing about old times, catching up on life’s recent ups and downs and sage advice from the aunties.

The eating continued at home with lots of leftovers and the little goodie bags of cake that I brought home from my visits.  I had ham omelets for breakfast, turkey salad for lunch, and ham and turkey sandwiches as a snack.  I also have pastels in the freezer, but now that I know how they are made, I am rationing them like some rare delicacy.  Ironically, when I am in the United States, I place my pastel order by September each year.  This year, I am on the ground and clean forgot about pastels until it was too late.  The pastel lady was booked solid, so I decided to make pastels myself.  This was my first and last time.

It took my cousin and me almost five hours to make a batch of about 50.  First, we had to cook the ground meat, with my cousin adding olives and pimentos until she got the flavor just right.  Then, we had to make the corn meal shell but you have to stir it with special skill to get the right consistency.  I was relegated to adding the pimento flavored water, while my cousin folded it into the cornmeal.  I was also in charge of preparing the banana leaves; cleaning them, scorching them in boiling water and cutting them into little squares.  Then we rolled the corn meal into balls and flattened them using an iron press.  We added meat, folded the cornmeal into its rectangle shape, and wrapped it in banana leaves before steaming.  When it was my turn to press the pastels, somehow mine kept coming out like mini squares.  My cousin explained that, even after I used the press, I had flatten the edges some more with my fingers.  Every time I find one of those deformed pastels in the freezer, I eat it even more slowly because I know it probably has a little of my sweat and tears.

I have newfound respect for the women who make pastels every Christmas, and bake, and cook, and clean, and buy presents; all to make sure their families can enjoy the traditions we have come to know and love.  (I also understand why the pastel lady prices so hot).  Growing up, I would often get upset with my mother for tiring herself out with Christmas preparations.  As the Christmas season officially ends, I realize that the food and bustle do help to create a palpable sense of family, community and goodwill.  I could feel it as I waved Merry Christmas to neighbors I don’t know, chatted with people in the long lines at the supermarket, exchanged stories at my get-togethers with family and friends, and sang carols in overflowing churches in Santa Rosa on Christmas Eve and Petit Valley on Old Years night.

I could also feel it as I brought in the New Year at an intimate lime with friends underneath the explosion of fireworks that blanketed West Trinidad.  One friend recalled his grandmother saying that however you bring in the New Year is how you would spend the year.  I look forward to more of my year in Trinidad surrounded by the love and fellowship of friends and family.

Happy New Year.

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