Tasting Memories the Blog — Aris Concepcion

El Rincón Cibaeño

My parents stand in El Rincon Cibaeño. We were expecting our newest addition to our family, my baby brother Antony.

The restaurant was my fathers dream in one place. He bore the scars that reflected years of cooking. The restaurant walls were made of wood that reflected when light touched its surface. It was a place my parents operated together and spent most of their time in. The tablecloths and flower bases on each table were the thoughtful touches of my mother who wanted to make the dining area feel like home. She would switch up the arrangements by seasons, inviting a new feel to the restaurant.

We celebrated many of our family birthdays at the restaurant. Big Dominican cakes were an indicator to the customers that they would be a part of the celebration. Many slices of guava or piña went around our customers, friends and family.

My 13th birthday celebration. Around my mom and dad, my little brother Anthony, my grandmother and grandfather and on the very left the face peaking in is my sister Soribel.

I remember my father never missed having his notebook and phone close in case something came up at the restaurant. He performed an endless list of tasks, one involving butchering the meat. He was very knowledgeable about the quality of meats and their particular cuts. Whenever the meat bandsaw would turn on, he would have me stand at a distance. I remember he would slow down the speed of the blade for some cuts of meat and speed it up for the harder cuts. The fibers of meat and bone spraying from the blade made me both curious and scared of the power behind the meat bandsaw.

The restaurant was the first time I was in the kitchen helping with minor tasks come time to prep. I joined my father in his gathering of ingredients in the markets and purveyors. He had a built-in sense when it came to picking good produce. It was the only time I got to spend time with him, a memory I look back to with so much joy.

My father butchering meat on the meat bandsaw

Our first stop was to the Jetro. My father would let me choose anything I wanted to bring to the house. I remember the isle of snacks, wide eyes taking in all the big boxes that most deli owners used to pile onto their carts. On each trip we couldn’t leave behind two 3-gallon ice cream tubs with three flavors to choose from; vanilla, oreo cookies, and strawberry. One tub went to the restaurant and the other to our home. I particularly remember the clinking sounds of the boxes of peach tea and kiwi strawberry Snapple bottles we would get for the restaurant. I was always drawn by the glass bottles, colors, flavors, and the snippets of facts inside each cap.

My father writes on his notebook. The restaurant tables are dressed in cloths, on top a base of flowers, all touches of my mother.

After el Jetro we would go to the different purveyors to source specific ingredients that had better market prices. This meant multiple tastings, sometimes my father would buy extra for us to snack on our way to the next stop. I would watch my father inspect each produce and hear the indicators of what was good, bad, ripe, and just right. I didn’t know then that my father cultivated various kinds of vegetables and fruits on my grandparents' land in La Vega, Dominican Republic. As a child visiting I remember the cacao tree that grew on the farm. I always thought it was filled with rich chocolate, many times I considered biting into one.

On the drive back to the restaurant, a roadside vendor sold a variety of peanuts; roasted without its shells /roasted in its shells/ raw without its shell / raw with its shell. I always chose the roasted lime flavored peanuts, my father preferred the roasted shelled peanuts. We would get them packaged in black plastic bags to go. It was the most delicious peanuts I’ve had ‘till this day, perhaps because I was eating them next to my father.

My brother Antony, my sister Soribel, my father and I at the restaurant just a year after landing in America. My mother captures this picture, our family finally reunited

El Rincon Cibaeño was my first home coming to America in 2005. I was happy to be with my father for the first time, as a family in a restaurant each one of us had part in. Seeing the customers and regulars enjoy a taste of home by the food my father cooked with so much care and love, made me really proud of the home my family made out of the restaurant. It is where my love for food was born.

Sancocho in the Pot

Since I can remember, this pot has been in the center of many family gatherings. It can feed over the 10 people. El sancocho tentalizes by releases its warm aromas.

My favorite kinds of meals are made in one pot. Un sancocho stew. Over un fogon de leña firepit using firewood, en el campo just before dusk. Mosquitos give space to the sancochos live fire. Crackles and sparks, wood fire warming the air. Stir el sancocho and you’ll find yuca cassava, yame blanca y amarilla white and yellow yam, yautia malanga, auyama squash, platanos y carne plantains and meats, in harmonious dance to the sounds of a bubbling rich broth. It feeds the sensations, giving color to formless essences of aromas traveling near and far. Laughter and chatter surrounding the pot, the earth felt underneath my naked feet. One spoonful taste and various shades of colors inside glow, reaching the intimate parts of my soul. An orchestra of mouths chewing to the beat of el sancocho in the pot.

El Sancocho de Mis Abuelos

Dominican Republic, these were one of the only images captured where my grandparents, Reina and Domingo are seen dancing.

On December 14,2024 my family grew bigger. My uncle and his family landed in the United States after 20 years in waiting for their residency. My grandparents, Reina and Domingo were ecstatic in having all of their children, my uncle, aunt and mom be under one roof after many years. The days leading up, “Tu escuchaste? mamá va hacér sancocho.” Did you hear? Grandma will be making sancocho.

Ingredients and sketches of what went into el sancocho de mis abuelos in Spanish

It was a December morning like no other, cold. I was tasked by my mom, who was in Dominican Republic at the time, to clean her apartment early morning before they all arrived later that evening. In entering the kitchen on arrival, my eyes went to the bags of raw meat; hen, rib, and beef left in the sink. My grandparents sourced the ingredients earlier in the morning. My grandmother was still in the grocery store gathering tubers; yam, yellow malanga, cassava as well as corn, plantain, squash and spices. I made a good start in what I came to do, clean but in hearing the start of prep I gravitated to the kitchen. I found my grandfather bringing out the big pot, an instrument that signified a big family meal. I thought of the pots past use with stews like mondongo/tripe and habichuela con dulce, a sweet beans dessert made traditionally on easter day.

Cooking steps of el *Sancocho*, side conversations with grandpas *batata/sweet potato ice cream,* and his joke on *auyama/squash ice cream* combinations. Grandma tricks on having broth set on the side to add over the progression of the evening as the sancocho dries due to the absorption of the tubers and plantains.

Sancocho is a stew that is rich in meats, tubers and vegetables. It is one of the national dishes of the country that when made, is meant to be shared because of its large quantity. Different regions in the Dominican Republic have adopted a different way of making sancocho by their selections of meats and vegetables. You’ll for instance find in the North East and South East of the country Sancocho de Chivo/goat. Growing up, I remember the occasions sancocho was cooked in my father’s village in La Vega, part of the Cibao region. I met many of my cousins when the cooking was happening. I was captivated by the action, the conversations that happened around the making of a family meal. My eyes always on the leña/ firewood stacked underneath the massive pot.

I mustered the courage to ask my grandmother if I could cook sancocho with them. Cleaning long forgotten, my first order of business was peeling the tubers. Cooking with my grandparents became an afternoon listening to the stories of their home growing up. My grandmothers influences of sancocho through her parents, my great grandparents. My great grandfather butchering pork, great grandmothers use of fresh vegetables sourced straight from their parcel of land. As I ate, I thought of the recipe and generational stories passed down by my grandparents in the making of our stew, our big family meal. El sancocho has never felt and tasted so complete.

Cocina, Sal y Mar, Kitchen, Salt and Sea

En la playa de Baní, República Dominicana acompaño a Henry Roa donde el nos muestra como cocina el pescado chillo con tostones y comparte sus conexiones a la cocina de su abuela.

La Cocina, Sal y Mar refleja la dedicación y amor Henry emite con su comida. Su orgullo mas grande son sus clientes quien los visitan desde la ciudad de Santo Domingo. Henry considera lo detalles del servicio completo, desde los tenedores y cuchillos envuletos en servilletas hasta emplatar con delicadeza el plato que cocinaba en el video, chillo y tostones fritos que tapa en una envolutura de plástico para evitar la evasión de la arena del mar entrar al plato .

On Baní Beach, Dominican Republic, I joined Henry Roa, who showed us how he cooked red snapper with fried plantains and shared his connection to his grandmother’s cooking.

Kitchen, Salt and Sea reflects the dedication and love Henry exudes with his food. His greatest pride are his customers, who visit all the way from Santo Domingo. Henry takes care of every detail of the entire service, from the forks and knives wrapped in napkins to the delicate plating of the dish he cooked in the video, including red snapper and fried plantains, which he covers in plastic wrap to prevent sea sand from entering the plate.

El Atelier cocktail bar, Santo Domingo

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