Unka john and the Cure for La Cruda

The Gluten-free Chicano Cooks & Remembers
Unka John
Michael Sedano

 

My mother’s voice doesn't sing with her normal energy. 

 

“Uncle John’s sick.” 

 

She doesn't say it like usually, when her big brother is crudo, or maybe beaten up in some place like Dinuba, Fresno, or wherever Unka John is picking right now. Picking and drinking. When Unka John isn’t picking, he's drinking. Wino. Her brother's keeper.

 

tomatillo

I'm home from the Army and it's my first visit in a year and a half. What does a son say to his mother in her big brother’s last days? Who can say why he drank Drano? I don't find answers in the beam of dust motes floating in a shaft of light. Instead, I see a panoply of years when "Uncle John’s sick" had different meanings, and often the same remedy, Caldillo.

 

"My brother John’s sick", my mom reports. My Dad understands. His brother-in-law needs help, not just a check in the mail. We load up the '49 Plymouth and drive all night. In the morning fog, we cruise the alleyways of Fresno until Mom identifies the right garage door.

 

Uncle John pulls open the door and steps into light. His long black hair is greasy wild. Heavy stubble flecked with canas makes Uncle John’s lined face all the sadder. His greyish undershirt has dark spots from the caked swollen nostrils of his flattened nose. Unka John's baggy khaki pants are dark with vomit flecks and piss. He invites his sister inside.

 

My mother and father work in San Bernardino. I get dropped off at gramma's house early in the morning. We speak Spanish here, but mostly instead of tío Juan like gramma says, I say, Unka John. He's my best friend since Unka John has to spend time with me when Gramma goes to work at the packing house. Uncle John and I spend a lot of time in the grove behind the packing house because Unka John keeps a bottle under a tree there. He's not allowed to drink en la casa.

chile arbol

 

Unka John speaks English to me. I don't remember but Unka John wises me up about the world, the one that brought him to the bottle in the grove. Once, an American man steps from behind a tree. Unka John and the man chat stiffly. The man looks at the half-eaten fruit I’m holding and says eat oranges off the ground only. Unka John tells him the boy picked his orange off the ground. I chime in, "Unh uh, I picked the orange off the tree!" Unka John and the anglo man just stare at me.

 

Most mornings, Unka John is sick, crudo. Gramma makes him Caldillo to sweat the wine out of him. Chile is the secret to curing la cruda. Not Menudo. Menudo eaters dump volumes of ground chile into their caldo to bring up the pica. It's not Menudo that cures la cruda, it's chile. Naturally gluten-free Caldillo is chile soup. 

 

Caldillo for la cruda

2 cups tap water

six chile huero fresh

six tomatillo fresh, medium-size

three chile arbol, o small handful of Japones, dried

1/2 lemon, sliced thin and seeded

the other half of the lemon, seeded

1 medium white onion, sliced thin

1 bay leaf (optional)

1/2 tsp ground black pepper

2 tsp table salt

 

Everything into the pot and bring to a hot, steamy, rolling boil.

While the temperature's rising, crush the whole tomatillos into the boiling liquid. 

When the tomatillo are boiled pulpy, and the liquid has turned yellow, Caldillo is ready to serve

 

Serve steaming hot with a tortilla de maiz recien hecho a mano from the wood-burning stove. You don't have to be crudo to enjoy Gluten-free Caldillo; it's good for sore throats and the common cold.