Colombian Sancocho by Nico Farias

Country of Origin: Colombia 

Sancocho is a traditional Latin American soup with many variations in different countries, including Colombia, Panama, and the Dominican Republic. This is the Colombian version, aka the best version. Sancocho's origins trace back to the Spanish colonization of Latin America. It is an Indigenous interpretation of the traditional Spanish cocido, blended with Old World ingredients. 

In Barranquilla, there is a humid layer of salty air that persists on your skin from the moment you step out of the shower. The coating is a permanent reminder of your proximity to ocean. The smell of it wafts into the kitchen window in my great-grandmother’s apartment, where my aunt is leaning over the over the counter, preparing the traditional late lunch. She is making my great-grandmother’s favorite, sancocho, an fragrant stew served with meat and vegetables. Her calloused hands dice the vegetables and meats, cooking them in a large oiled pan until they are golden. 

My great-grandmother, Tita, hasn’t been having a good year. The recent passing of her husband changed her from a stubborn woman to a ghost of who she used to be. She lives in a dissociated state, stuck in memories of her past. These days, she rarely speaks coherent sentences, her thoughts leave her as she speaks them. My mom is lounging on the couch next to her grandmother, while a fan provides relief from the summer heat. Suddenly, Tita’s coarse voice cuts the air, “Jenny, porque me dejaste, why did you leave me? Come back.” 

My mom’s eyes look wet, she has a sorrowful expression on her face, unsure of how to answer. Afterwards, my aunt transfers everything into a deep pot. She will then pour 1:1 ratio of water to chicken stock until the pot is mostly full. For authentic flavor, she puts 1 packet of sancocho powder in. To top it off, she the remaining foods, the skinned diced yuca, both plantains with skin, and the diced ñame. These will boil in the covered pot until they are soft. She gets to skinning the ears of corn and cuts the cobs into pieces, adding them into the stew. Lastly, she adds salt, pepper, and serves the stew into clay bowls. My aunt garnishes with chopped cilantro and lime juice, and serves each bowl with a side of steaming white rice and freshly sliced avocado. All the while, my grandmother colors her coloring books in senseless scribbles, and my mom pretends to read a book, when she is really observing her. My aunt yells that the food is ready, her voice muffled from the kitchen. 

My mother helps her frail grandmother up from the couch and they hobble over to the long table where we’d eat every meal. I help my aunt bring the clay bowls of steaming soup to the table. The aromatic plumes of steam condensed on my face as I held the bowls. In her seat, Tita looks agitated and asks why we we’re eating at this time. In Colombia, a “sancocho” describes a mixture or blend of many things, muddled together. This often reminds me of my grandmother’s state of mind and displaced memories. At last, my aunt sets Tita’s bowl of sancocho in front of her, wiping the sweat off her brow. Tita looks down at the swirling stew with a puzzled look on her face. She takes a cautious sip of the soup, spoon quivering in her curled fingers, and lets out a deep sigh. Everyone seems to be holding their breath, but Tita breaks the silence and says to my aunt, “Maria, the soup needs salt. And the potatoes are overcooked…” in a matter-of-fact tone.

My aunt, feigning hurt, remarks, “Better than you can do, old lady.” with a playful smile. 

My grandmother rolls her eyes, suddenly a different person. “Me respetas! Also your gray roots are showing.” she says with a smirk. 

My mother notices her quivering hand and offers to help. 

She scoffs. “Ay dios no! I can eat perfectly fine by myself, thank you. I’m still here you know.”

“I didn’t mean it like that…” my mom says quietly. A long silence falls over the group.

My great-grandmother’s face crinkles up into a smile and she says, “Jenny… thank you for visiting me. I want you to know that I am so proud of you for everything you’ve done… even if it was without me. And Maria, this is…good.” She takes a long, slow sip of her soup and suddenly everything is right. Maybe a sancocho isn’t such a bad thing.