Violeticas by Alex Gutierrez

 

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 door to door dreaming of a bag full of caramelo… only to bring it home and watch our parents throw half of it away “por si acaso, tiene veneno.”

But the strangest caramelo of all...the most unforgettable...was the one my grandmother Lutgarda always had an endless supply of.

Violeticas.

Choward’s Violet Mints.

Ay Dios mío.

Imagine chewing a bar of soap.

Or spraying perfume directly on your gums.

That’s what it tasted like.

They were these purple tablets,gum, but not gum.that hit you all at once. Eyes watering. Nose burning. Lips tingling. And then… nausea. Real nausea.

And yet…

“Abuela… ¿me das otra?”

It was so bad it was good. I used to steal them from her purse and put three or four in my mouth at once like a lunatic.

Qué rush.

Your whole face felt like it was being baptized.

Later I learned these things had history.........medicinal roots, herbal nonsense, violet pastilles going back to the 1600s. Makes sense. Every Cuban abuela who came through the Freedom Tower in the 60s was issued a starter kit:

Government cheese.

Government peanut butter.

And a lifetime supply of Violeticas.

“Here you go, señora. Good luck in America.”

They still make them. I saw them today at Navarro.

And I swear… I felt Lutgarda smile down from heaven and whispered in my ear:

“Compra unas Violeticas, Alejandrito.”

So I did.