Gluten-Free Chicano Quiche
Michael Sedano
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He does, however, have a healthy appetite and I'm sure he, and any wheat-eater, will enjoy the Gluten-Free Chicano's Garden-fresh Quiche. Read all ingredients carefully, but in all likelihood, none of the fixings have wheat, barley, or rye products, especially when you use your own eggs and garden produce.
Heat oven to 350 degrees, use the middle shelf.
Coat an 8” pie pan or shallow casserole dish with oil.
1 cup milk
(¼ stick melted butter)
¾ cup assorted grated cheeses
(¼ cooked arroz)
(chopped salame)
chopped and sliced onions
a chopped chile huero, serrano, or jalapeño
a few leaves of fresh oregano and mint chopped
large fresh tomato
chile arbol powder
coarsely ground black peppercorns
salt
In a large mixing bowl, whip the eggs until foamy. The more you whip, the puffier the dish.
Add milk, beat well.
Season; heavy on the pepper, light on the salt.
Stir in grated cheeses –sharp cheddar, queso oaxaca or mozzarella, parmesan.
Stir in cooked arroz, sausage, other ingredients. Break up solid ingredients completely, no chunks.
Stir in the chile and herbs.
Pour into pie dish.
Arrange tomato slices on top. Tomato will sink. Sprinkle grated cheddar or thinly sliced cheese across the top.
Arrange onion rings as many as you want.
Dust generously with chile de arbol.
Bake.
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When time's up, remove and set to cool. Let cool five or ten minutes.
Once you’ve perfected your crustless quiche, start experimenting with various ingredients like fresh chopped chile, rajas of roasted chile, lean ground meat, corn kernels, chopped or sliced zucchini, radishes. As you experiment, keeping the ratio of at least two eggs to a slight cup of liquid ensures an always-right dish.
Gluten-free quiche is wonderful with a gluten-free beer or naturally gluten-free champagne.
¡Provecho! courtesy of the Gluten-Free Chicano.
On this Tuesday, July 24, 2012, the month of the birth of our Democracy, books and ideas remain banned in Arizona by the government. United we stand, just so long as Tom Horne gets to decide what "united" means.
Horne, Jan Brewer's Attorney General, resents ethnic studies and projects his hatred onto anything he touches. He voices conviction that all ethnic studies breeds resentment against Anglos like him. He filed a premature motion he be allowed to stick his nose into pending Federal desegregation findings in Tucson. Horne wants to ensure no ethnic studies materials sneak past his law. "Show me your pages," Horne demands. The Judge tells Horne no, you wait until you read the report on September 21, like anybody else.
Today’s La Bloga On-line Floricanto welcomes past La Bloga Guest Columnist Sonia Gutiérrez. I was pleased reading the poet's name on the list submitted by the moderators. Gutierrez’ poetry astounds in its mujerismo, humor, eroticism, outrage, insight. Readers will smile in wide-eyed wonderment at the poet’s bilingual artistry.
"Show me your pages" “Tú. Enséñame tus páginas” is Sonia's line, not Horne's, in Gutiérrez' The Books. The piece is in Gutiérrez upcoming collection, Spider Woman / La Mujer Araña. This version of The Books is reprinted from La Bloga On-Line Floricanto for March 12, 2012.
THE BOOKS
By Sonia Gutiérrez
After hearing the ruling,
some people say
they went hiding behind trees.
They scattered
everywhere.
Some escaped the classrooms
and ran across fields, deserts, cities, borders
looking for the place of books.
While others once caught
were stamped with green Bs
on their chests. (Those books
are lost—and nowhere
to be found.) They were taken
by officials to places unbeknownst
to readers—places where their words
were dissected
and formed into secret algorithms
and placed into memory chips
and carefully encrypted
databases.
Others wore scarlet
Cs across their breasts. These
books always walked in fear
of being booknapped.
Others, veiled and wrapped
in brown paper bags,
were singled out during routine patrols
with a, “You. Show me your pages,”
as their private parts
were publically leafed
through, and their words
were poked with accusatory
index fingers.
Startled by the news,
others tripped as their letters
fell from the pages
and lay transfixed collecting memories—
of hands grasping their scuffed edges,
of hundreds of identical books being burned,
of being trampled and kicked
on the spine and then urinated on
and stuffed in plastic bags.
And yet, these books
banned together—
found their words,
organized, and stood up
in unison shoulder to shoulder
to celebrate
the contents of their pages
as they exchanged smiles
with their ineradicable
trailing ghosts always always always
looking for the place of books.
LOS LIBROS
Traducción por Sonia Gutiérrez
Después de oír la sentencia,
algunas personas dijeron
que se fueron a esconder detrás de los árboles.
Se dispersaron
por todas partes.
Algunos se escaparon de los salones
y corrieron atravesando campos, desiertos, ciudades, fronteras
buscando el lugar de los libros.
Mientras otros una vez atrapados
los estamparon con la letra P de color verde
sobre sus pechos. (Esos libros
están perdidos—y no se han
encontrado). Fueron llevados
por oficiales a lugares desconocidos
por los lectores—a lugares donde sus palabras
fueron diseccionadas
y formadas en algoritmos secretos
y metidas a chips de memoria
y cuidadosamente codificadas
en bases de datos.
Otros llevaban puestas la C
escarlata sobre sus pechos. Estos
libros siempre caminaban con miedo
de ser librocuestrados.
Otros, cubiertos con velos y envueltos
en bolsas de papel café,
fueron señalados durante el recorrido de rutina
con un, “Tú. Enséñame tus páginas”,
mientras sus partes privadas
fueron hojeadas públicamente
y sus palabras picadas
con dedos índices acusantes.
Asustados por las noticias,
otros tropezaron mientras sus letras
caían de las páginas
y yacían paralizados coleccionando memorias—
de manos sujetando las rozaduras de sus bordes,
de cientos de libros idénticos quemados,
de ser pisoteados y pateados en sus lomos
y después orinados
y metidos en bolsas de plástico.
Y aún así, estos libros
se acuadrillaron—
encontraron sus palabras,
se organizaron, y se levantaron
al unísono hombro a hombro
para celebrar
los contenidos de sus páginas,
y ellos intercambiaron sonrisas
con sus imborrables
fantasmas siempre siempre siempre rastreando
buscando el lugar de los libros.
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| In Tucson, students and a librotraficante celebrate banned books. |
On-Line Floricanto Penultimate July Tuesday 2012
Francisco Alarcón and the moderators of the Facebook group Poetry of Resistance, Poets Responding to SB 1070, today nominate five poets, two with bilingual poems, to make seven pieces for the antepenultimate Tuesday of the seventh month: Odilia Galván Rodríguez, Federico Gomez, Harold Tzn, Jorge A. Acosta, Sonia Gutiérrez.
"¡Ban This!" by Odilia Galván Rodríguez
"No, You Can't" by Federico Gomez
"Anchor Baby" by Harold Tzn
"El llanto del guerrero / A Warrior’s Tears" by Jorge A. Acosta
"Cuidado con el río / Careful with the River" by Sonia Gutiérrez
¡BAN THIS!
by Odilia Galván Rodríguez
disgust
lurks in corners
of your mouths when you look
at our children who you don’t want
to grow
to grow
into people
strong in their soul’s searching ~
for those truths you twist into lies
our strength
our strength
is in knowing
that we were not born yours
to do with us as you will, no
we’re free
we’re free
we, descendants
of Teotihuacán ~
of Toltecs, of Chichén Itzá,
Aztlán
Aztlán
the place you fear
we might want to reclaim ~
our ancestral home, occupied
by you
by you
who erase truths
that can not be silenced
by boxing up or burning books ~
words live
words live
we remember
them, our love, our stories ~
history, cannot be erased
not banned
not banned
because their life,
their truths and beauty beat
brightly in our yoyolo, hearts
always
always ~
we a people
of hope and of struggle
we never give up, being us
living
living.
So ban our books
put out a gag order ~
yes, they charred our codices in
fire
fire
burned our tongues mute
but never our minds ~ to
envision the future, your fall
from grace
© Odilia Galván Rodríguez
This poem appears in ¡Ban This! The BSP Anthology of Xican@ Literature (Broken Sword Publication LLC 2012) edited by Santino Rivera.
"No, you can´t"
By Federico Gomez Uroz
Saying so, it feels almost un-American.
But you can’t have it both ways.
You can’t have the profit of our labor
-(The houses built with our sweat,
The meals cooked with our hands,
The gardens cared with our skills,
The crops picked with our blood)-
And not treat us like equals.
No, you can’t.
You can’t ignore and despise our heritage
-(The languages we speak,
The histories, oh so different, we have,
The customs we preserve)-
and expect our allegiance.
No, you can’t.
You can’t be a good Christian,
and not welcome the stranger.
You can’t be a nation of laws,
and not treat people with justice.
You can’t have need of my work
And try to treat me like a slave.
No, you can’t.
Anchor Baby
Harold Tzn
I'm the anchor baby who taught & tutored some of your kids,
liked & loved some of your kids,
advised & counseled some of your kids,
coached baseball, football, & soccer to some of your kids,
& without me,
your carrots, oranges would not have been plucked & packed,
the screws of your planes, refrigerators, televisions, & other major appliances would not have been designed, molded, or installed,
your potato chips, soft drinks & french fries would not have been delivered to your local convenience store & your favorite fast food locale,
your & your kids' meals would not have been unpacked, sliced, diced, cooked & served,
your cars would not have been washed, waxed, vacuumed, repaired & painted,
your elderly would not have been cared for, bathed, & fed,
your professors & lawyers would not have been counseled,
& the shirts you wear to serve us to court
would not have been ironed, sewn, or tucked in.
EL LLANTO DEL GUERRERO
por Jorge A. Acosta
Tonantzin…
Virgen Morena del color de la tierra
Madre de mis hermanos
Yo te busco y no te encuentro
y me parece todo en vano.
estoy confuso; guíame de tu mano
El gobierno nos pide la sangre de nuestros hijos
y los convierten soldados
para proteger al mundo de terroristas tiranos y villanos
Nos prometen y reiteran de sus buenas intenciones
Pero se que sus promesas son en vano
Porque dan vuelta atrás y hostigan en la frontera a mis hermanos
Y nos convierten en terrorista y villanos
Tonantzin:
quiero ser un buen ciudadano
Pero primero que nada deben verme como humano
Pero por ser del color de la tierra
Como tu Virgen Morena
Mis intentos parecen en vano
No soy un ilegal
No soy un terrorista
ni un villano…
Mucho menos un marciano
El pan de cada día me lo gano
con el sudor de mi frente, mi espalda, brazos y manos
Tú Tonantzin del mundo me has hecho ciudadano
Guíame Tonantzin..
Que la ira y la discordia no sea amos de mi alma
Para no errar y afectar el futuro a mis hijos y mis hermanos
Dame tu sabiduría para buscar la guía que tanto necesitamos
Estoy confuso; Tonantzin guíame de tu mano
Piden la sangre de mis hijos para proteger al mundo
para proteger los derechos humanos
Para que el mundo se democratice
Qué ironía que lo pidan con el fusil en la mano
Tonantzin…
Debes estar orgullosa de tus hijos
que derrochan el alma en campo de batalla
como sus antepasados en las guerras floridas
se convierten en víctimas y héroes de campaña
y lo hacen con el alma y l corazón en la mano
Tonantzin
Cuida del soldado en la batalla.
Haz que llegue pronto el día cuando los enemigos se den la mano
Hazles saber que todos somos hermanos.
Tonantzin
Que sea una gran llegada a casa del soldado.
Que le den gracias a sus dioses por haberles guiado de la mano
Pues todas las religiones nos enseñan que todos somos hermanos.
Tonantzin…
Hasta que este día llegue; cuida de mi hermano.
Tonantzin, llévalo de la mano.
Escucha Tonantzin… Escucha
El llanto del soldado
Por estar lejos de sus hijos reponiendo a su llamado de soldado
Los deja desamparados
Escucha Tonantzin… Escucha
El llanto del soldado
Que se ahoga en sus entrañas
Pues por ser hombre y muy macho no pude demostrarlo
Escucha Tonantzin Escucha
el llanto del soldado
el clamor del llanto de tus hijos
Soldados en batalla en desiertos muy lejanos
Lágrimas que lloran hacia dentro
Preciadas lágrimas que se pierden para siempre
en las arenas del desierto
Lágrimas que se lloran en silencio
Lágrimas que vierten tus guerreros
En el frente de campaña
Lejos de ahí los corazones de esposas, madres
Padres e hijos se destrozan y desgarran
por las penas que esta guerra hoy les causan
desde lejos llorando a los soldados acompañan
Lágrimas que Guerreros, Madres Padres Esposas e Hijos
vierten por la incertidumbre de un mañana
Tonantzin
Cuida del soldado en la batalla.
Haz que llegue pronto el día cuando los enemigos se den la mano
Hazles saber que todos somos hermanos.
Tonantzin
Que sea una gran llegada a casa del soldado.
Que le den gracias a sus dioses por haberles amparado
Pues todas las religiones nos enseñan que todos somos hermanos.
Tonantzin…
Hasta que este día llegue; cuida de mi hermano.
Tonantzin, llévalo de la mano.
Gracias Tonantzin
Por proteger a mí hermano.
Jorge A. Acosta Abril-2008
A WARRIOR'S TEARS
by Jorge A. Acosta
Tonantzin
Holly Virgin of Earth color skin
Mother of my brothers
I seek you and can not find you
And my efforts seams in vain
I am confused, guide me by the hand
The government ask for my children’s blood (lives)
And they turn them into soldiers
To protect the world from terrorists villains and tyrants
They reiterate their promises of good will and good intention
But I know their promises are vain and hollowed
For they denigrate and turn my brothers into criminal at the border
And they label us terrorist and villain
Tonantzin
I want to be a good citizen
But first they must see me as a human being
But for having been born dark skin like the earth
And you Holly Virgin
All of my attempts seams in vain
I am not an Illegal
I am not a terrorist
Nor a villain
Much less an alien
Our daily bread I earn and take home each day
With the sweat of my brow back, hands and arms
You Holly Virgin granted me World citizenship
Guide me Tonantzin
Don’t allow hate and discord ruled my soul
For I do not want to err and jeopardize the future of my children and bothers
Give me your wisdom to seek the guidance we (I) so much need
I am confused Tonantzin; Guide me by the hand
They (government) ask for my children’s blood (lives)
To protect human rights
To bring democracy to the world…
How ironic to ask for it with a gun in their hand
Tonantzin
You should be proud of your children!
As they eave their souls in the battle fields
Like their forefather did in the flower wars
They become victims and heroes in the battle fields
And they do it from the sould wholeheartedly
Tonantzin
Look after the soldiers in the battlefields
Let the day come soon when the enemies shake hands
Let them know and understand that we all are brothers
Tonantzin
Make the solder’s coming home be a joyous occasion
Let them thank their Gods for having guided them by the hand
For all religions teaches us that we all are brothers
Tonantzin
Until this day come; look after my brother
Tonantzin, guide him by the hand
Listen, Tonantzin … Listen
The to Sorrow of the soldier
being far away from his children having to answer his country call of duty
He has left his children unattended
Listen, Tonantzin… Listen
the sorrow of the soldier
As it drowns inwards into his heart s
nevertheless he can not demonstrate it because of his manliness
Listen, Tonantzin… Listen
To the sorrow of the soldier
Your children’s cry and sorrow
Soldiers in battle in far away deserts
Tears that are swallowed to the core
Precious tears fore ever lost
In the desert’s sands
Lonely tears cried in silence
Warriors tears Pouring
In he battle fields
Far away wives, mothers, fathers,
and children are heavyhearted and brokenhearted
For the sorrow that this war brings them
In their tear do, far way they accompany the soldiers in their sorrows
Tears that warriors, wives, mother, fathers and children cry
for not know what tomorrow will bring
Tonantzin
Look after the soldier in the battle field
Let the day come soon when the enemies will shake hands
Teach them that we are all brothers
Tonantzin
Let the soldier’ home coming be grand s
Have them praise theirs gods for having look after them
For all religions teach us that we’re all Brothers
Tonantzin
Until that they comes look alter my brother
Tonantzin take him by the hand
Thank you Tonantzin
For looking after my brother
Jorge A. Acosta April 2008
Cuidado con el río
por Sonia Gutiérrez
Para Luisa Correa y Paulino Azúcar Mendoza
No se meta con el río muchacho
porque el río crecido y pesado,
enlodado de tanta basura puerquísima—
de televisiones, mentiras y espejismos
va bramando por las calles.
Le digo muchacho que no se meta
con la furia del río porque sus brazos
hinchados van empujando, arrastrando
trajes y corbatas rojas
de rayas blancas.
¿Qué no entiende
lo que le digo muchachito
hecho de nata y promesas huecas?
No se meta con el río.
Pues éste, de tanto esperar
el agua, dejó de pedir permiso,
y ahora se desborda de impaciencia.
Va arrastrando
escaparates de telenovelas
y hasta desenraizando los pinos.
Y ahora el río, de porte valiente
y seguro, de tanto esperar—
le crecieron pies y manos.
Va con su tercer ojo
bien abierto, hambriento,
reclamando con los puños en alto,
defendiendo por lo que un día fue
y por lo que le pertenece
al río.
Careful with the River
by Sonia Gutiérrez
To Luisa Correa and Paulino Azúcar Mendoza
Don’t mess with the river young man
because the river, flooded and heavy,
muddied with much filth—
televisions, lies, and illusions,
bellows through the streets.
I tell you young man mess not
with the river’s fury because her swollen
arms push, drag
suits and white striped
red ties.
Don’t you understand
what I am telling you little man
made of cream and hollow promises?
Don’t mess with the river.
Because she, having waited
for water for too long,
stopped asking for permission,
and now floods with impatience.
Dragging
soap opera showcases
and even uprooting pines.
And now the river, of brave
and secure demeanor, from so much waiting—
grew legs and arms. With her third eye
wide open, she ravishes,
reclaims with fists held high,
defending what the river once was
and for what belongs
to her.
Bios
"¡Ban This!" by Odilia Galván Rodríguez
"No, You Can't" by Federico Gomez
"Anchor Baby" by Harold Tzn
"El llanto del guerrero / A Warrior’s Tears" by Jorge A. Acosta
"Cuidado con el río / Careful with the River" by Sonia Gutiérrez
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