Fuente: https://www.instagram.com/chucheriasvenezolanas/
They’re a sweet form of nostalgia.
When I find them here in Canada, I can’t help myself.
This week I filled an entire shopping cart with them.
They’re the sweets of my childhood, back in Caracas.
And yes, I declare myself a sweet tooth.
It all started with my daughter’s cravings in her first trimester of pregnancy, which led us to lunch at the Latin Market in Calgary.
I call it the nostalgia market.
After a succulent lunch accompanied by Caribbean music
— salsa, merengue, bachata — rhythms that, despite my daughter’s inquisitive looks, are irresistible and activate every spring in my body, we went to explore the market’s isles to do some shopping.
My daughter, eager to make pabellón criollo (a typical Venezuelan dish for those unfamiliar), filled the cart with plantains, black beans, fresh cheese, flour for making arepas, and other delicacies.
For my part, still dancing through the store’s aisles to the rhythm of Juan Luis Guerra’s music in the background, I couldn’t believe my luck.
Cocosettes, Susys, Cri Cris, Torontos, Pirulines (very homy sweets), guava snacks, and the occasional savory treat like plantains and corn tamales, as well as passion fruit and soursop juice, paraded before my eyes.
Both my daughter and I satisfied our respective cravings and left the market satisfied.
I returned home to quell my nostalgia with a good “marroncito” (expresso coffee with a splash of milk)
That pain of returning to what was lost, according to the etymology of the word Nostalgia (from the Greek: nóstos, “return,” and álgos, “pain”) isn’t so painful when one can indulge and stuff oneself, from time to time, with childhood snacks and memories of the house where I grew up at the foot of Caracas’s Ávila Mountain.
I hope the nostalgias of future generations are as fun as mine, and not dry granola bars, tofu, or gluten-free cookies with green tea.
Although, as they say, it’s all a matter of taste…
