Las Christmas by Esmeralda Santiago

toss.
    Makes
8
servings

Jicama, Pomegranate,
and
Watercress Salad
    There are many traditional Mexican
ensaladas de Navidad,
but we love to make this one because the dark-green watercress and the bright-red pomegranate seeds reflect the colors of the season. The jicama adds a nicely refreshing crunch. Pico de Gallo is a Mexican seasoning available in many supermarkets. The ingredients are salt and an exquisite blend of powdered chiles. This hot, red powder can be sprinkled over everything from mangos to corn on the cob. But be careful! It can be
muy picante
!

    In a bowl, squeeze the lime juice over the jicama, then sprinkle on the Pico de Gallo and toss well. In a separate bowl, toss the watercress with a little olive oil. Arrange the dressed watercress on a serving dish, pile the jicama in the middle. Then working over the dish, so that juice drips down into the salad, scoop the pomegranate seeds out of their shell with a spoon, and drop them onto the watercress in little mounds.

Esmeralda Santiago
    Esmeralda Santiago is the author of two memoirs,
When I Was Puerto Rican
(available in English and in Spanish from Vintage) and
Almost a Woman
,
and a novel,
América’s Dream.
She lives in Westchester County, New York.
    A BABY DOLL LIKE MY COUSIN JENNY’S

    I WAS EIGHT and I wanted a baby doll like my cousin Jenny’s, with pink skin and thick-lashed blue eyes that shut when we lay her down to sleep. The doll had no hair, but its plastic skull was traced with curved lines that ended in a curl on her forehead, painted chestnut. It was the size of a small baby, its chubby arms and legs slightly bent, its tiny fingers open to reveal a hand with deep furrows and mounds. I loved the way it smelled, rubbery sweet, and its round little body with a tiny, perfectly formed navel above its belly fold. The baby doll had no penis, but there was a little hole in her bottom, at the end of the crease on her back that defined her tiny flat buttocks.
    Christmas was coming. I could tell because the songs on the radio were about how much the singer needed a drink, or about how his woman had left him alone and miserable through the holidays. There were other songs, about the
parrandas
who went from house to house playing music in exchange for a piece of roasted pork or a
pastel
wrapped in a banana leaf or a shot of
ron cañita.
The neighbors tied red crepe paper around hibiscus and gardenia bushes, hung crocheted snowflakes along the eaves of their tin roofs, displayed flaming poinsettias on their porches. The smells of Christmas floated from every kitchen: ginger and cloves, cinnamon and coconut, oregano, rosemary, garlic. Thick, gray smoke curled from the backyards, where pigs roasted, their skin crackling and sizzling to the scratching of
güiros,
the strumming of
cuatros,
the plaintive
aguinaldos
about the birth of Jesus on Nochebuena.

    While Nochebuena was the adult’s holiday, El Día de los Tres Reyes Magos was for children, the day we’d wake to find the presents they delivered after traveling thousands of miles by camel. Papi helped me compose a letter, which I worked on for days, laboriously copying it over and over until there were no spelling errors and my request was clear. “Dear Three Magi: I have been good this year. You can ask Mami and Papi if you don’t believe me. I would like a baby doll like my cousin Jenny’s, with blue eyes that close. I hope you like the water I left and the grass for the camels. Have a good journey. Sincerely, Esmeralda Santiago (Negi).”
    Papi gave me a sheet of paper from the ones he used to write his letters and poems and let me borrow his pen, which meant I couldn’t make mistakes because the ink could not be erased. My sister Delsa asked me to write a letter for her.
    â€œAsk them,” she said, “for a baby doll like the one Jenny has.”
    â€œBut that’s what I want,” I said.
    â€œWe can both get one and pretend they’re