MunaLina
One of the chalanges of moving to another country is the longing for the food we grew up with. Living here in Canada, I've never found that same flavours and I knew I wouldn't find anything that compared to what I ate at my aunts' house and at my grandma's. After a long search for something similar, I gave up. Nothing came close to the delights I grew up with.
I decided to take a risk. I knew I would never truly recreate the taste I remembered but I started. I'm not much of a cook, but I longed for the flavours from my childhood. After moving from Brazil I had to quench my senses and calm my soul with the tastes that populate my memories and that make my life richer.
Munira, nicknamed Muna, my aunt- my father's sister. She had a radiant personality that impacted everyone around her. On Sundays, she cooked for the whole big, really big family. It was memorable. It was the best part of childhood - playing with the cousins and eating her food. The stuffed grape leaves, my favorite. Pure Passion.
Carolina, nicknamed Lina, my grandmother- mother of my mother. The Matriarch. Strong. Unique. She was more about making handmade rugs (big and incredible) than about cooking, but it left an impression on anyone who tried her dishes. The Christmas couscous, the cooked polenta, the mayonnaise salad, the stracciatella still echo in my mind, tattooed on my soul. What I experienced with my grandmother is here, sustaining me.
