I’m very excited to have my good friend Jorge share a treasured recipe for his mom’s tortitas de papa on Chicano Eats today! The tortitas were so delicious, and so filling, and I hope you get to enjoy both his story and recipe as much as I did.

If you’d like to come onto Chicano Eats to share a treasured recipe with a great story and have me photograph it, feel free to send me an e-mail (esteban@chicanoeats.com)! Without further ado, I’d like to introduce you to Jorge…

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I grew up in La Villita, a Mexican neighborhood on the southwest side of Chicago. I have fond memories of my mother, Maria Canchola Valdivia, in the kitchen with her pink boom box resting on top of our Formica countertop, listening to Rocio Durcal and Vikki Carr. I’d sit on the floor of her bedroom and from there stare at her, while she cooked dinner, as I combed her wigs sometimes trying them on and playing with her lipstick. I was never scolded or told it was wrong. I was simply allowed to express myself and be me.  

My mother was an aspiring singer and songwriter but family obligations forced her to give up her dream. Still, even so, she always managed to bring her singing and songwriting into the kitchen. She’d cook and sing simultaneously, sometimes Rocio’s songs and other times her own songs. I heard them so often I eventually memorized some of the lyrics to my mothers’ songs, “Esta noche me entrego a tus brazos. Esta noche te entrego mi amor. Quiero sentirme toda tuya, sentir que me amas con loca pasión. Amemos nos.” Sometimes, I’d sing along with her and she’d turn around and smile asking, “¿Ya te sabes la letra de mi canción?” “¡Si! Ya me la aprendí,” I’d reply…of course, wearing my mother’s peluca with a big smile with smeared lipstick.

My childhood home was where everyone came. My primos, primas, tios, tias, primos of the primos, drag queens and queers, all of us in the same space. Imagine Thanksgiving dinner with your family, cousins and your two best friends: a queer Mexican and your 6 foot drag queen friend from the hood, and all of us giving grace around the dining room table and that was my home. Everyone always had a place at our table. 

Looking back, I don’t know why my mother never scolded me for playing with her pelucas and make-up. Maybe it was because she knew what it felt like to not be able to do something you wanted, which in her case was sing professionally, maybe she knew I was just playing around and being a child, or maybe a part of her always knew her son was gay and this was her way of telling me that it was okay, that I was beautiful however I chose to express myself. I’ve never asked her. When we’re struggling to find ourselves and accept who we are, sometimes these tiny gestures of love and support are what save us. Whatever her reasons, I’m grateful to her for her unconditional love.  

Among the many delicious meals my mother has made for us, one of my favorites is tortitas de papa con salsa blanca. My mother’s twist to this recipe is the salsa blanca (white gravy) and it complements the tortitas de papa deliciously. Consider them the glammed up version of the tortitas de papa you never knew you needed in your life. Is it too late for Pride Papas? You can thank that wonderful accepting mother, Maria Canchola Valdivia from La Villita, for this recipe.  Interestingly enough, my mother loves rainbows, glitter and sequins. 

If family recipes were to tell the story of said family, then the recipe I’m about to share with you would tell the story of love, acceptance and unconditional love because that’s exactly what my mother’s meals mean to me. Every bite and every morsel is a “te quiero” y “te acepto,” and very much like Thanksgiving dinners at my family’s table back home, I know there’ll always be a place for me at the table. 

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