Everything is better through Mnium’s eyes. I don’t know who’ll be happier about this piece of writing, Gran, papa, or Mnium. But I am glad the three of you have something so wholesome to bond over, admire, and enjoy! 😋
Very nice essay. I only got into growing my own veggies once I moved to Pennsylvania from Venezuela, got married, and had my kids. But I still had access to fresh veggies, green beans included, while growing up.
Caracas, my home city, was a growing metropolis in the 1060s, divided into relatively small neighborhoods with unique characteristics and peculiarities. For example, ours had a "vegetable truck" (for lack of a better-translated name) that came around our area once a week. Inside and around the medium-sized truck was a colorful array of every fruit and vegetable you could imagine, collected daily from farms many miles away and brought to our doorstep. That truck, together with the fresh bread delivery (a guy in a huge Harley with a sidecar filled with loaves of bread of all styles), the milk truck (delivering milk to our doorstep), and a few other odd suppliers of "essentials" such as ice cream, sugarcane juice, cold "chicha" (rice-based sweet drink), and the knife sharpener on his bicycle-powered sharpening stone, were icons of my childhood and purveyors of fresh, wholesome foods and services.
My mom didn't cook us green beans for us much. Instead, our preferred beans were small, black beans cooked to perfection to accompany our national dish, called "pabellón" (which means "national flag"). The Venezuelan flag has four colors, a band of yellow (represented in the dish by fried plantains), blue (black beans have a bluish shine before they are cooked), red (shredded beef), with a row of eight white stars (represented by the white rice).
I look forward to tasting Gran's green beans someday.
Everything is better through Mnium’s eyes. I don’t know who’ll be happier about this piece of writing, Gran, papa, or Mnium. But I am glad the three of you have something so wholesome to bond over, admire, and enjoy! 😋
Very nice essay. I only got into growing my own veggies once I moved to Pennsylvania from Venezuela, got married, and had my kids. But I still had access to fresh veggies, green beans included, while growing up.
Caracas, my home city, was a growing metropolis in the 1060s, divided into relatively small neighborhoods with unique characteristics and peculiarities. For example, ours had a "vegetable truck" (for lack of a better-translated name) that came around our area once a week. Inside and around the medium-sized truck was a colorful array of every fruit and vegetable you could imagine, collected daily from farms many miles away and brought to our doorstep. That truck, together with the fresh bread delivery (a guy in a huge Harley with a sidecar filled with loaves of bread of all styles), the milk truck (delivering milk to our doorstep), and a few other odd suppliers of "essentials" such as ice cream, sugarcane juice, cold "chicha" (rice-based sweet drink), and the knife sharpener on his bicycle-powered sharpening stone, were icons of my childhood and purveyors of fresh, wholesome foods and services.
My mom didn't cook us green beans for us much. Instead, our preferred beans were small, black beans cooked to perfection to accompany our national dish, called "pabellón" (which means "national flag"). The Venezuelan flag has four colors, a band of yellow (represented in the dish by fried plantains), blue (black beans have a bluish shine before they are cooked), red (shredded beef), with a row of eight white stars (represented by the white rice).
I look forward to tasting Gran's green beans someday.
I clearly meant 1960s, no 1060s. I'm old, but not THAT old...