Sunday, April 3, 2011

Queso Frito...

Growing up, the best Sunday mornings consisted of my mom blasting cumbia music while cleaning and making breakfast. The memory of waking up to the mouth-watering smell of platanos fritos (fried plantains, with salty sour cream, YUM!) , huevos estrellados (huevos rancheros to some, basically sunnyside up eggs with a homemade tomato sauce, YUM!), or queso frito (fried cheese, YUM!) remains indelibly etched in my mind.

This morning I woke up in the mood to recreate one of those mornings for Isabella. When she woke up, I picked her up out of her crib, changed her diaper and took her to the living room, while I went to rummage in my fridge. All I had in there that resembled a proper Sunday morning at my mom's was eggs and queso tropical (that's troh-pee-cahl not trop-ih-kil). Queso tropical is a fresh white cheese for frying and it ended up winning by default because I definitely CANNOT make my mom's tomato sauce for the huevos estrellados...not to mention there was no bread in the house.

So, I put on the Sonora Dinamita station on my Pandora radio while frying up some slices of cheese. As the female vocalist crooned about an old man hitting on and honking his horn at her, the oil in the pan popped and little drops landed on my arms causing sharp little bursts of pain. I yelped a small "ouch!" with each drop that sizzled on my skin but the slices of cheese browned nicely and the fantastic smell of fried cheese filled my kitchen. I was only able to fry up two slices of cheese because Isabella walked in and I didn't want any of the popping oil to burn her. So, I took my two slices of fried cheese, got a glass of juice and shuffled back to our bedroom.

My boyfriend woke up when I came in with a steaming plate and mumbled "! What are we eating?" "Queso frito!" I exclaimed, he pulled a face and retorted with a drawn out "ewwwww."  To which I replied "that's fine, I didn't make any for you! Just me and Isabella." At the mention of her name, Isabella started in with her "mum-mum-mum" babbling signaling her eagerness to dig in. I cut off a small portion of the cheese and popped it into her awaiting little mouth. She chewed for a bit almost as if she was mulling over the taste before finally deciding that she was not a fan and spitting out the chewed up bits of yummy cheese all the while pulling a face remarkably similar to her dad's. I sighed, gave her a bottle while I finished my cheese, then returned to the kitchen and got her a bowl of fruit loops, which she gobbled up.

So, maybe I haven't got Sundays at my mom's down to an exact science (what with Isabella hating the fried cheese) but I can at least create my own version. As long as it includes breakfast and some really great tunes, we'll be set! After all she did shimmy and wiggle to the sounds of El Viejo del Sombreron and why wouldn't she with lyrics as awesome as these?!

Dicen que es vino tinto
Pero es un rojo uva mi carrito

Es un último modelo

Que siempre va conmigo a donde quiera voy mi carrito

Por que el es mi compañero ese carrito es mi vida

De el nunca he tenido quejas

Cuando consigo a una chica

El me lleva a donde quiera

Cuando consigo a una chica

El me lleva a donde quiera.

¡Señorita a la orden la llevo!

No gracias estoy esperando al viejo del sombreron

Uy no me diga que tipo tan afortunado

Ay llego vera.

¡El viejo de sombreron!

Ese viejo si es rebuena

¡El viejo de sombreron!

Para conseguir mujeres

¡El viejo de sombreron!

Será que tiene secreto

¡El viejo de sombreron!

Ese viejo si la mueve.

Voy a comprarme un sombrero

Un sombreo bien jalón

Pa' hacerle la competencia

Al viejo del sombreron

Señorita de mi alma

Tengo una preocupación

¿Por que esta tan entregada al viejo del sombreron?

Lo que pasa es que una gota de agua sobre una piedra hace un orificio

Ese viejo tiene su carrito y cada vez que pasa se sonríe conmigo

Va de largo, se regresa si me encuentra parada en la puerta

Me lanza un piropo y me toca el pito

Va de largo, se regresa si me encuentra parada en la puerta

Me lanza un piropo y me toca el pito

Pipipi es a cada ratito que pasa el viejito y me toca el pito

Pipipi es a cada ratito que pasa el viejito y me toca el pito

Pipipi siempre vivo pendiente

Pipi cuando el viejo me toca

Pipipi siempre vivo pendiente pi pi cuando el viejo me toca

Pipipi ya me tiene mareada con el pi pi con el pi pi con el pi pi

Con el pi pi me toca el pito pi pi me tiene mareada con el pi pi.


Nancy said...

Although Bean isn't here yet I totally miss Sunday breakfast at home. But i do know how to make almost everything with the exception of the sause :)

"Smarty Lu" said...

Weren't they the best?! On another note, I woke Isabella up the other morning with a "come, on! it's 7:00!" I was almost tempted to pull a "waaaake-upppppppppppp, seven o'cloooooooooock!!" LOL!