birthday slaughter
What's a celebration in Monterrey without fresh meat?
Summer 2001: My parents carry me at about 14 months of age. Sabrina stands in front of us at the age of 4.
The dirt road to my abuelos rancho is a bumpy one. I grip my own seatbelt in attempts to ground myself, reminiscing on visits during my childhood when I would giggle in the backseat as the potholes below us sent me flying. As we drive down the empty road, the car’s tires throw clouds of sand into the air. We drive too fast to ever watch it settle. Approaching the weak rusted iron gate of the ranch sends a flood of memories washing over me.
I was barely a year old when I first visited, gushing over the farm animals and dogs. My abuelo propped me up on the back of a horse followed by that of a young cow. As evident in the photographs, I was absolutely ecstatic over my interactions with these creatures.
I was eight years old when I encountered a mysterious woman in a flowing white gown, reminiscent of my constructed image of La Llorona. Her eerie stare urged me to run back to my parents for security.
I was eleven years old when I met a litter of puppies, hardly five weeks old, and begged my dad and abuelo to let me bring one back to the house. They approved after relentless pestering and I brought Snickers home where
My mom, Sabrina, and me with my tia Brenda (one of my dad's younger sisters).
I took care of her for the final week of my vacation.
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I was twelve when I met Snickers again on the ranch, now fully grown with her breasts full of milk and her own litter of puppies beside her.
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I was thirteen playing lotería with my family when ghost stories of a woman in white haunting the ranch were shared. My dad claims to have had a physical encounter with her one night while he and his college best friend were sleeping in the ranch home.
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I was fifteen when on my abuela's birthday, we rolled into the ranch in pursuit of the most delectable goat to feast on for her celebration.
My mom and abuelo stand beside a horse that Sabrina and I are seated upon.
Now, I stopped eating meat at the start of 2015, months before this day. As much as the consumption of animals disgusts me, I could never say no to a ranch visit. Plus, traditions run deep, and there’s nothing my family enjoys more than fresh meat. Despite not participating in the main course, carne asada days are some of my favorites. They remind me of my childhood; each holiday, minor celebration, and lazy sundays are met by the sight of my dad by his grill. While everyone else looks forward to the meal, I am simply happy to be around them.
Driving back to my abuelos’ house with a live goat in the car was an experience. I couldn’t help but stare into his eyes with guilt, knowing his short life would be ending soon for the sake of a celebration.
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When we arrived at the house, the doomed goat was tied to a tree with a makeshift leash of rope. I watched as he chewed on some grass, flicking his tail with joy in a completely oblivious state. It wasn’t long before his throat was sliced open, blood slowly trickling from the wound like a bottle of spilled red wine. The next time I walked outside, the goat’s skin hung over a chain link fence like a deformed coat. I refused to ask where the rest of his parts were, knowing deep down that certain organs would be cooked along with the meat. Paired with this truth was a disturbing visual: the unknowing eyes I stared into earlier would soon find a new home in my abuela’s stomach. I wonder how they’ll digest the view.
The festivities begin the moment the smell of burning wood and charcoal impregnates the air. Soon, dozens of cars make their way down the street. At every family event, an extended period of time is dedicated to greetings. I find myself in a flooded sea of abrazos, besitos, and loving eyes that say “Qué bonito que has regresado”. I often get lost in the mix of tia abuelas, primos primeros, segundos, y terceros, tio abuelos, y amigos convertidos en familia. Knowing how we are related doesn’t matter; all that matters is that we are family.
As the moon sits high, the evening is spent inhaling the smell of charred meat over tequila and beer as we all get on our feet, dancing for hours to the music played by a mariachi band.
Whether in Mexico or South Florida, the tradition of uniting as a family for carne asada persists. The mere thought of slow days by the grill spreads waves of warmth throughout my body, reminiscent of the feeling of Tecate settling in my stomach.
During the 2020 quarantine, my dad asked me to make a video of him making carne asada on his grill in our Weston, Florida home.
Translations:
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La Llorona - The Weeping Woman; Mexican folklore
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Lotería - Mexican game similar to Bingo
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carne asada - grilled / barbequed meat
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abrazos - hugs
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besitos - kisses
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qué bonito que has regresado - how wonderful that you've returned
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tia - aunt
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tia abuelas, primos primeros, segundos, y terceros, tio abuelos, y amigos convertidos en familia - grandaunts, first, second, and third cousins, and friends converted to family
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Tecate - a Mexican beer