Casados con Refrescos

Day dragged into night as Paolo relaxed in the television room with his family. The room was small and cozy. Comfortable chairs crowded around a small television. The television was packed into a bookshelf, along with a boom box and some books. The family often gathered here to watch football matches or telenovellas (Latin American soap operas).
Today, they watched a smorgasbord of things – a little of this and a little of that. The women watched a romantic movie. When the men had their turn, they watched motorcycle racing. Eventually, the laziness of afternoon gave way to the business of evening.
“Since Pilar and I bought fresh fruit and vegetables at the market, I thought we could enjoy a big meal,” announced mother.
“Sounds good to me,” said Papi.
“Me, too,” added Paolo.
“Good, because everyone will help fix dinner tonight.”
“Me?” asked father.
“I have a job for everyone.”
“What are we having?” asked father.
“Casados,” replied mother.
“I thought men didn’t fix casados,” said father.
“Just because you’re a married man doesn’t mean that I’m going to wait on you like a servant. Those are old ways. Today, we are cooking my way.”
The word casados meant ‘married-one’ in Spanish. According to old Costa Rican customs, men had not fix casados. When fishermen went to restaurants, they’d ask for a meal ‘like casados would eat.’ That meal was usually big and hearty, like a holiday feast. The plate was loaded with a little bit of rice, beans, and salad. These side dishes accompanied a large chunk of pork, beef, fish, or chicken.
“What do I need to do?” asked father.
“You can gut the fish,” said mother.
“Fair enough,” said father.
He went into the kitchen and searched through the kitchen cabinets.
“Has anyone seen my filleting knife?”
“It’s right here,” said Pilar as she handed him the knife.
He inspected it for a moment, carefully running the blade across the back of his thumbnail. It barely made a scratch.
“It needs sharpened,” he said.
Sr. Vasquez dug through the kitchen drawers until he found his sharpening stone and oil. He squirted oil on his stone and carefully sharpened his stone. He started with the tip, rubbing the knife against the stone in tiny circles. Afterwards, he drew the body of the blade against the stone, sharpening the length of the blade.
What’s my job?” asked Paolo.
“You and Caprina are working together,” said mother, “I want you to prepare the fruit and vegetables.”
“I’ll get the yuca, you can get the plantains,” Paolo ordered his sister.
“Sounds good to me.”
Paolo and Caprina stood on stepstools next to the sink. It was a two-step process. Paolo washed the food while Caprina wiped it dry with a towel. After they finished, Paolo sat down with a peeler and cleaned the yucca. Caprina, on the other hand, simply peeled the plantains by hand.
“What now?” asked Paolo.
“I want you to cut them into bite-size pieces,” said his mother.
Paolo quickly sliced the plantains into cubes and set them aside. Then, he started chopping the yuca. Meanwhile, Caprina mixed a batch of pancake batter. She then began dipping bananas in the batter and placing them in the frying pan.
“What are you doing?” asked Pilar.
“One for the skillet and one for the cook,” replied Caprina. Every other banana bite went into Caprina’s mouth.
“You’ll ruin your appetite,” said Paolo.
“It’s just a few bites.”
“You’re not the only one who likes fried bananas,” said Paolo.
“I want you to stop arguing and go find your seats at the table,” interrupted mother.
After Caprina and Paolo were dealt with, Pilar and Sra. Vasquez did their part, cooking the fruits and vegetables while the rice boiled.
When they finished, it was Papi’s turn. Sr. Vasquez cleaned tilapia, removing their guts before frying. Everything else, including the head and fins, remained intact.
Sr. Vasquez rubbed paprika and cayenne powder on both sides of the fish. As he placed each fish in the skillet, the oil popped and sizzled. He fried the tilapia until the skin turned as black as charcoal.
“It smells so good,” said Paolo.
“It looks good, too,” added Caprina.
The family joined hands while Sr. Vasquez led them in prayer. As always, he was also the one to fill everyone’s plates.
After the prayer, everyone began eating, only to find something was wrong.
“Someone forgot the refrescos!” said father.
“I know, I know,” replied mother. She hurriedly pulled and ice tray from the freezer and dumped the ice into a tall pitcher. She poured a cup of milk over the ice and then added half the basket of raspberries. She smashed the berries until it created a purple milk-juice. She gave it a taste.
“Needs sugar.”
Like all refrescos, sugar was one of the main ingredients. This syrupy sweet drink even came pre-packaged, but Sra. Vasquez preferred making it herself.
She filled five glasses and served it to her husband and children.
“Better?” she said.
Everyone nodded.
Paolo went to work on his casados. He washed them down with the fruity milkshake.
“Paolo, have you made up your mind about Tortuguero?” asked father.
“I’m still not sure,” replied Paolo.
“How can you refuse such an opportunity?” said Sr. Vasquez.
“Papi, leave him alone,” said mother.
“He gets his pet, plus he gets to learn one of the most important of Costa Rica’s resources – her natural parks. He also gets a chance to learn a job. What can be better than that?”
“Remember that he’s just a boy.”
Paolo remained quiet as he finished his meal. His father gave him a lot to think about. After dinner, he went out and laid on top of the half-moon Petrosphere, looking at the moon.
“What are you doing out here?” asked Sra. Tagubase.
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“My papi wants me to work with him at Tortuguero.”
“That sounds fun,” said Sra. Tagubase.
“I guess so.”
On one hand, he thought working at the Nature Reserve might be fun. On the other hand, he knew it might be hard work, too. He would miss out on beach football with his friends.
“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained’?”
Paolo nodded.
“You can always give it a try. The worst thing that happens is that you discover you don’t like it.”
“What if I disappoint Papi?”
“You’re his son. There is nothing you can do that would disappoint him. Just give it a try.”
Sra. Tagubase rubbed Paolo’s hair and then returned inside. Paolo looked at the moon just a while longer before making his decision.
Everyone sat in the television room. The girls were watching a late-night telenovella. Sra. Vasquez knitted a shawl. Sra. Vasquez sat in his chair, reading the newspaper.
“Papi?”
“Yes, son?”
“I’ve made a decision. I’m going to give it a try.”
Sr. Vasquez sat his newspaper on the coffee table and got up from his chair. He hugged his son tightly and whispered in his ear.
“My son, that is all I ask.”Paolo smiled brightly. He went to bed with a clear mind. Soon, he would be a zookeeper, too.