Brown Lump of Towels

What was your first time trying one of your favorite dishes like? Can you remember what it tasted like, felt like, smelled like, what you heard when you ate it? Was there a ray of sunshine overshadowing you with a bright and blinding smile as you have that silky or melting feeling in your mouth, making it so savory that it stays in your mouth for hours? Well, let me tell you about a dish that made me exactly exactly that.

Mom has been making this dish for as long as I can remember. It’s a dish that is very common in Haiti, where my family is from. It basically looks like a brown lump with whatever filling you desire inside of it, like a Haitian Empanada. There are times where she would make it for family and sometimes at my request because I liked it so much. Everyone in the family has always enjoyed her dish and sometimes they would even invite friends from church and work whenever Mom was making them. This happened so often to the point when Mom had to have a full bag of flour, 5 to 10 lbs, to make enough for everyone. They would always talk about how they really like the way she seasons the vegetables and how she preps the filings for the dish just right. Everytime she makes it and lets people know that she’s eating it, they would always be like, “Where’s mine? You didn’t make one for me?” We know they’re joking but at the same time, you know that they actually wanted some. 

 The most memorable time that I can remember having this dish was when I was 4 years old in 2010. Many of Mom’s friends have heard how she makes this dish and that her family loves it , so she invited them all over to her house and they requested it. As I watched my mother make it and I saw her friends enjoying it so much, I wanted to be included during this moment, so I picked it up and I ate with them as well. Mom always made mine without the vegetables, since I didn’t like it at that time and I bragged about how my mother is the best at making this dish. Since I kept asking for this dish since that day, my mother decided to make it for Christmas Eve that same year after my 5th birthday. My Mom would usually go to the family house to make it but she invited the family over instead so that I can enjoy it more. Ever since I was young, I always felt like helping my mother whenever she is cooking and she knew that. Since I couldn’t help make the dish, I helped by serving it to people.

About 4 years ago, the day started regularly at home. It was the weekend, and my mother was on maternity leave after having my first little brother, so she had a lot of free time. She and I slept in as usual, and Mom went to get ready to go out to buy groceries after she woke up. I knew that she had planned to go to the store but I didn't know what she was buying. When she returned, she came to me and told me to come and learn how to make the dish. I was so excited and I leaped onto a chair and watched my mother gather her ingredients. I peered over as the waterfall of flour streamed into the bowl. 

“How much flour is that?” I asked.

“I don’t know, I don’t measure,” Mom shrugged with her familiar confused expression, forcing the salt and baking powder to move across the flour, the butter clumping onto the dry mix.

“Why don’t you measure?” I curiously asked, watching her hand digging into the mix, turning it  into wet-like sand. 

“Because I’m Haitian. We don't measure, we just know how many ingredients to put in just by thinking about the number of people eating. Unless you go to cooking school,” she answered, pushing the dough onto the surface and forming a lump of a huge rock.

“What if I can’t do it, measure by just looking?” I asked, pouting as she checked the sauna of eggs, smoked fish, and hot dogs over the stove.

“You will, it just takes time,” Mom said, with the usual ray of sunshine from her face and grabbed cabbage, bell peppers, tomatoes, onions, and hot peppers.

“Ok, will you teach me?,” I asked keenly as I watched as she shredded the cabbage and sliced the peppers and onions into strings of cheese.

"Of course I will", she contently said as she mixed the vegetables together.

She separated them into a mother bowl and baby bowl, one with the hot pepper and the other without. The eggs, fish, and hotdogs left the sauna and cooled down in the sink and were peeled and chopped into another baby bowl. The flour invaded the kitchen counter and the dough interrupted it and moved across the counter and was broken into separate pieces, rolled down flat like mini pizzas and overflowed with eggs and hotdogs or fish, vegetables, and eggs and were closed up with a clap. The dough ended up looking like lumps of light beige rolled up towels and were put into the furnacing oil and screamed for help as the oil started popping and they started to change color. 

When they were finally saved, they still looked like small rolled up towels but browner. I bounced up and down as Mom put my Towels onto my plate. The smell of oil flooded the room and as the towels were broken apart once again, the flavory smell took over my nostrils. She watched as  I took a bite, I tasted the crunchiness of it and then the softness, silkness, and flavorness of the fillings. The seasonings were very visible and recognizable to my tongue and the softness of the eggs and tenderness of the hotdogs, all warm as they flowed down my esophagus. She could tell that I was savoring this dish, the way it feels in my mouth feels like a soft texture slithering through my tongue down my throat. As I continue to chew the bitten piece, I can feel how soft and smooth it is on the inside of the dough. I can also taste how juicy the vegetables are, which made it taste so soft and silky. I think it was in this moment when I couldn't wait to learn how to make this dish.

As I turned 14, 15, 16, and 17, when Mom preps for these Brown Lump of Towels, I always fill them with the fillings of our choices and clap them closed and Mom tortures them in the oil. This happened so often that this dish became familiar to my hands and my taste buds, making me so used to the feeling of the dough stuck in my nails and sometimes the oil popping out all around the kitchen. Each time I cooked with Mom, I got better at making the dish and I stopped asking about the measurements since I knew how much to make, just like Mom.

I didn't think that I would be able to make the dish as well as Mom made it on my own, but it surprisingly tasted exactly how Mom made it. I took a bite and it was crunchy like it's supposed to be, then the softness of the egg, and silky, flavourful, shredded cabbage and the tender hotdogs. I brought extras home and she and my little brothers enjoyed it. I felt really happy that she enjoyed the dish, of course she gave me a little criticism about how the dough needed a little more salt like she usually does with my cooking but overall, she told me that I did a very good job. I love my memories of making Haitian Pate with my mother and I would very like to continue making those brown Lumps of Towels with my little brothers when they're older and my family in the future.

Directions:

1. Boil your eggs and hot dogs and start prepping for your dough and filling

2. Swift your flour onto a mixing bowl and add salt and baking powder and mix either by hand or a mixing machine

3. Add butter to the dry mix and mix until the flour feels moist

4. Add water to the dry mix and let it *rest for 15 minutes.

5. While the dough is resting, shred the cabbage and it into a mixing bowl and mince your vegetables and add seasoning and mix together and put on the side

6. By then, hot dogs should be done boiling and cut as desired 

7. By then, eggs should also be done boiling. Peel off shells and cut them in half each

8. Heat up the fryer and start having fun

9. Take a piece of the dough and roll it on a flat surface but not too thin

10. Add the filling on one side of the dough  and then cover that side with the other side.

11. Put it in the hot frying oil and flip to another side until golden brown, remove and repeat for the others

12. ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! With an Avocado