When we go to Starbucks today and ask for “caramel,” we know exactly what that means: some fancy, sweet, nutty thing melted to perfection, drizzled on foam, costing eight dollars and requiring a name on the cup that’s never spelled right. But when we were kids? Caramelo meant everything. “¿Quieres un caramelo?” Sí… pero that could mean anything. Here.....take a Naranjita, that little orange gummy with sugar crystals that stuck to your molars for three business days. Or a PE-TER—pronounced PE-tear—a chocolate bar that lived somewhere between a Hershey’s and a prayer. Or chicle, as in Chiclets, because to us that wasn’t a brand, that was a food group. To a non-Cuban, this language sounded like it came from another planet. But we knew. Our mothers knew. Our grandmothers invented it. Halloween was serious business. Those plastic costumes with the sharp-edged masks that cut into your face, the rubber band snapping your ears, and the smell of suffocation mixed with excitement. We went ...
¡Dar Una Vuelta! The Great Cuban-American Art of Driving Nowhere on a Sunday Ay, mi gente, let's talk about the classic Cuban family outing back in the day: paseando , or as we called it, dar una vuelta . Translation? "Taking a drive." But not just any drive—this was the budget-friendly masterpiece of entertainment when gas was cheap (like, 50 cents a gallon cheap) and money was tighter than my abuela's perm. Picture this: It's Sunday afternoon in Miami. We've just finished lunch at home—arroz con pollo, frijoles negros, platanitos maduros, you know, the usual "rice with something" that kept the grocery bill low. No need to spend on restaurants; the only expense was gas for the family chariot. My papá, Alejandro Sr., would round us up like cattle: "¡Vámonos, que vamos a dar una vuelta!" And just like that, the whole familia—mom, dad, kids, maybe even a tía or two—piled into the car. First things first: We had to dress up. It was Sunday...