...charquitos al carbón

A light rain dusted the deck, disturbed the reflection of leafless trees floating in puddles. The weekend was a mass of gray skies and damp airs...the meteorological incarnation of a large manatee. For a few brief moments on Sunday afternoon, we found warmth with family and other flavors. My brother grilled homemade bison sausage, and other savory delicacies. He is a chef by training, an artist of the palate. You probably think I'm exaggerating, but the flavors he conjured were as delicate as childhood memories of the Island, as refreshing as a fleeting tropical downpour, and as syncretic as Santeria and Spanglish.

He smoked, then grilled, then glazed ribs with his homemade guava chipotle BBQ sauce. This sauce was thick and dark like tamarind syrup. Plenty of sauce remained...so, I drenched my portion of grilled meats with the enthusiasm of a piraguero serving up his last shavings of ice. We ate, and laughed, and celebrated a nephew's birthday. The raindrops marched down from the clouds...slowly, in an orderly fashion, disciplined...much like a colony of water ants. The air was still damp, and crisp. Grey skies were now dark. But that didn't bother me now. The guava flavors had long since crafted more vibrant reflections in the puddles of memory.

If you want your own serving, click here to see the leftovers.