Our Beloved Humitas & Memories of Spring in my Childhood

SPRINGTIME IN OREGON reminds me of the Springs of my childhood in Cajamarca, my hometown in the Northern Andes of Peru. I remember cool and crisp mornings, those clear and sunny skies around midday, and cool starry nights. In Peru, school started in April and continued until December: a very long time from the perspective of a child!  April brought changes to the comfortable life that I had during the three months of vacation prior to school. Daily from the 1^st day of April onward, I would rise at 7:00 am, against my will, and eat my breakfast in a hurry. Breakfast would be a cup of hot milk mixed with a little esencia de café that my mom had made, some warm bread baked by our neighborhood bakery, and a slice of fresh cheese. Enough food to keep me and my sister fueled for our 20 minute walk from home to school; though most of the times we needed to run! School started in the morning from 8 am until noon and would continue from 2pm until 5pm. We had two hours free, from noon to 2pm, which we would spend enjoying lunch with our family. At 5:00 pm, when school was out, we returned home to do our homework, to eat, and then sleep to start again the next day! That was school in those times!

BUT ONE OF the most pleasant things that those Aprils of my childhood brought to my life was the anticipation of arriving home from school to find my grandma (mamá Juana), seated next to our small kitchen table shelling choclos (fresh corn) for our beloved humitas. After shelling the choclos, my grandmother would grind the kernels in our batán y chungo, our traditional Peruvian mortar and pestle: a large round river stone rocked against a much larger and heavier block of stone situated on the ground. By rocking and one stone against the other, all manner of ingredients can be ground and prepared: peppers, corn, spices, etc.

SCENE FROM BUCKLEY’S LA VIDA ANDINA, 2021

APRIL, MAY, AND June are the harvest months for choclo in the Andes of Peru. During those months, Cajamarca has an abundance of choclo from which locals make pepián (a fresh corn stew, resembling grits or polenta), pastel de choclo, and our famous humitas, which are steamed in pancas (fresh corn husks) and are very similar to a tamale, but made with fresh rather than dried corn kernels.

ONCE MY GRANDMOTHER had finished grinding the fresh kernels, she set the corn aside and proceeded to the next essential ingredient, our sofrito de ají amarillo: into a large perol (a wide-mouthed copper pot) that sat atop our adobe stove where the leña was blazing, she placed manteca (lard), minced garlic, chopped onions, and a puree of fresh ají amarillo (Peruvian yellow pepper), stirring constantly with a wooden spoon. Every time she made the sofrito, I would be sure to stand close to her and watch! I was fascinated by the changes I saw in some of the ingredients. The opaque onions would little by little become translucent. When she invited me to taste, the onions had become sweet. The ají amarillo purée turned the whole sofrito a rich yellow, and the delicious aroma surrounded and captivated me.

MY GRANDMOTHER THEN mixed into the sofrito the freshly ground kernels until it reached a dough-like consistency, which we call masa de humita. Once the mix had become masa, she removed the perol from the stove, placed it on the kitchen table, and my turn to contribute would begin! I was in charge of cleaning the pancas, the corn husks in which we would steam the masa. She selected one panca and laid it open it on her left-hand palm, while with her right hand she scooped a small amount of the masa de humita, placing it in the center of the panca along with a piece of fresh Cajamarca cheese. Then, using both hands, she wrapped the masa inside the husk, forming what looked like the smallest package, and tying it with thin strips of husk. Once all the masa had been wrapped, she filled a large pot with a small amount of water then added a layer of raw corn husks. She and I would joyfully take turns placing the wrapped humitas on top until we filled the entire pot. The pot of humitas was covered with a lid and placed on the stove to be cooked slowly by steam. I remained sitting close to the stove, and in less than one hour (45 minutes, perhaps), I was overcome by the delicious smell coming from the pot! According to grandma the smell was a good indicator that the humitas were finally cooked! To be sure of that, she uncovered the pot and carefully took a humita, opened the husk, and inserted a knife into the masa; it came out clean!  The humitas were finally ready to be eaten!

HUMITAS IN CORN HUSKS, READY TO BE STEAMED

MY FAMILY WOULD then gather around mamá Juana at our dining table. As she unwrapped the humitas and put one on each of our plates, my mother filled our cups with té de cedrón (Peruvian verbena tea). We knew that there was no pleasure more intense and comforting than eating our humitas with a cup of this tea. I am convinced that in those moments, grandma was feeling the same sentiments as me : Proud for having made our beloved humitas with our own hands! Who in the whole world could be happier than us?

MY MAMA JUANA WITH HER GRANDSON, BABY PETER, IN 1978

NOW THAT I am getting old, and living in Oregon, I treasure those memories of my childhood and I feel lucky to be offering something inspired by them at Andina. Our humitas are genuinely made by following the Andean traditions, honoring and imitating my grandmother’s methods, and hopefully they will becoming a feature of Spring here in Portland, and live on in the memories of all of you. So please visit us to enjoy our delicious humitas! I am sure my mamá Juana (my grandma) would be smiling a big smile, seeing so many transported by the first bite of a beloved piece of history, as I myself was in those happy years of my childhood.