Marta here. I started this series, Cuando Sali de Cuba, Stories of Courage and Hope on my own blog, My big, fat, Cuban family in order to celebrate Hispanic Heritage Month: Cuban-Style. I asked my readers to send me their stories about how their families left Cuba and how they ended up here in the U.S.

As the stories began pouring in, I realized that this needed to be an ongoing series. The stories are still coming in. Some are written as tributes by descendants of Cuban refugees who were born here in the U.S. and some, like this one, written from the perspective of someone who lived and survived the first years of the revolution and helped others escape.

I asked my friend, Joey Lay, of the Dos Cubanos Pig Roasts to send me his story. He did one better. He sent me his father's.

I'm honored to offer you Luis Felipe's story. It is absolutely fascinating because of the position he held in the national bank system at the time of the revolution. It will in turn make you angry and break your heart.

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CUANDO SALI DE CUBA – 14 de Octubre 1960

WHEN I FLED CUBA - October 14^th. 1960

Every Cuban that left their homeland in the aftermath of the communist takeover treason from the beginning of the 60’s decade through this date, half a century after, has a story to be told and a vivid and stressful one.

This is my story. I hope you share the sense of hope when I survived and the sense of mourning when somebody else you never knew did not make it.

The world needs to know.

It is our great responsibility to speak on their behalf, as so many innocent people were swallowed by the horrors of cruel and despotic criminals that had no control of their appetite for power and civil compulsion. They have demonstrated this over five long decades and three generations immersed in tremendous devastation as they struggle for life and freedom, the two most precious gifts from God.

It was October 14^th, 1960, at dawn, fifty years ago now, the telephone at my parents home rang very loud and clear at that early hour. It was still dark and it felt like the surroundings were matching the situation that all were experiencing in Cuba at the time.  My cousin was calling to advise me to leave right away.

I was already planning ahead of what was coming to protect my wife and 2 ½  year old baby daughter because it had been announced that the banking system was being taken over by the Communist Government. I was affiliated with the Bank that was in charge of  the Dollar Currency, known as divisas, donated by the people for a supposedly more democratic government that was to be put into place during the first year of the Revolution.

This, of course, never took place because Castro and his comrades deceived the people of Cuba making them believe that they were going to establish a just and democratic country with rights for all their citizens where peace and prosperity were going to flourish. History shows they had no intention of doing this. Instead they brought violence, terror, and misery. Desolation has prevailed for over half a century without the most needed rectification of direction to improve the conditions and liberty of  the people of Cuba.

The fact that I represented the bank employees as a delegate of the national banking syndicate, jeopardized my security and the control of my actions and movements because I refused to follow the orders and instructions of the newly formed revolutionary government.

This "new" government was increasingly influenced by the communist party and the atheist platform. Their plan was to attack the church and religious entities and take over the press and all communications media as well as the different sectors of the business world.

The situation in the country escalated at an alarming rate. The oppression was at full force and the threats were constant. They menaced by means of telephone calls and the sudden presence of armed people that looked more like gangsters than soldiers.

This was the contribution of the errantly named Cuban revolution. A revolution that did not exist because it was stolen from the people and given to the elite of international communism.  The Red Menace took over our island with absolute cruelty and disregard for the human condition and absolutely no sensitivity to their citizens. Private property was rapidly stolen and given to cement the absolute control of the state, and the state was Castro.

El Che Guevara and all the other abusers of power aligned with world elements of the Communist International Group, funded and supported by the Soviet Union and their enslaved satellites. Since I was considered a leader with a Christian philosophy and democratic principles and surrounded by people like me, I was a target for pressure and threats and next in line to either be sent to prison arbitrarily or shot to death like many others were on a daily basis at La Cabaña and other military fortresses.

The new regime had thousands arrested  and also sent to the death squadrons each morning at dawn, without due process of justice or a day in court  since the purpose was to eliminate people that loved freedom and because the justice system was eradicated when these hordes took the country by surprise. They took advantage of a corrupted and weak military dictatorship that was governing by force, too, and had displaced the constitutional government of an elected president and congress eight years before.

I had to leave Cuba that morning of October 14^th, 1960 if I wanted to survive with my family in a country of freedom where I could be of help to my countrymen and to restore our civil life and patriotic values, as well as the religious profession of the people that were not respected by the usurpers. My choice was obvious but the mission almost impossible because of the scrutiny on me.

It was difficult to get out of the country and the permits were unattainable, but I had a plan, and, I put it into effect, carefully and with elaborate disguising.

It worked only because we had God’s protection to such a risky departure. All elements were against me. The banks were invaded by the government militarily with machine guns and all; just like an assault.

And the leader of the syndicate had already left to fight the revolutionary army from the Mountains of Escambray, in Central Cuba, just five days before.

I was the second in command and everybody was looking for me because I did not show up at the bank that day. They went to my house to get me, but I had already vanished. They went to my parents' house searching for me, but I had already left with my father, my wife and baby daughter. We were on our way to the International Airport where there was a big event that particular day.

At first it seemed it would be much more dangerous to be heading to the airport with a military presence there, but instead it turned out to for my benefit. The confusion was what helped me escape.

I arrived at the airport while the armed groups were looking for me. I was the only bank associate that did not show up while the takeover, or so-called nationalization, of the commercial and private banks, in addition to all the retirement funds was happening.

There was a big confusion generated by the coming of the Minister of  Exterior Relations accompanied by the President of Ghana (pseudo-communist) from the United Nations. It happened to coincide with the time of my departure and called for a concentration of all the militias from different fields and sectors of the country, including the bank militias that were at the airport.

All of this perfectly coincided with the time I was there trying to board the airplane. The militia from the banking sector belonging to different institutions thought that I was there for the celebration and had no idea I was really there to escape from my persecutors.

After being stripped and thoroughly checked, we had to walk quite a long way on the tarmac in order to step up the ladder to climb into the aircraft. We were on hold for nearly 45 minutes while we could see the Foreign Minister's aircraft with the President of Ghana (the African country).

Twice the armed soldiers boarded our plane and two men were removed, one at a time.  Our little baby girl was crying, trying to drink a bottle of milk in that terrible heat and the loud noise from the propellers.

Finally, the airplane took off.

Up into the air we went and the blue sky could be seen all around us coming from heaven into the horizon.

Everyone on the airplane, from the passengers to the crew were happily clapping and relieved that we had succeeded in our dangerous plan to escape communism and oppression after so much turmoil. The happiness reflected in the passengers faces was undeniable. There was singing and laughing, smiles and hugs. We all felt united in our euphoria and relief.

When I arrived with my wife and tiny daughter at the old Miami Airport, the Pan American Terminal on 36^th Street was full of people waiting for one of the first groups coming from the chaotic island of Cuba. Once the Pearl of the Antilles and now immersed in tears, hate, guns and distress.

Of course, with empty pockets but a clean heart, we gave thanks to God for his enduring protection that saved our lives.

I called my family that could not come with me to let them know we had arrived safely.  I told my Father and my Mother that I was safe and that I would start helping others to escape the horrors of communism. Our Lord helped me not only to be a bridge between the Cubans and Americans in this country but also allowed me to be an instrument to help bring to freedom hundreds of families and nearly 5,000 people who were being persecuted in Cuba because of their religious beliefs or democratic ideals. Except my grandmother, who knew that she would never see me or the rest of the family again. She was in her 90's when she died a few years later.

I'm sad to say, however, that 51 years after the day I left Cuba for the last time, the conditions there are much, much worse. We lost our homeland. And now three more generations of young people have been deprived of the right to live according to God’s plan for humanity.

The same oppressors that killed our friends and citizens just because they did not follow their ignominies continue to rule the country with a cruel and miserable tyranny. We knew many who served more than 20 years in jail, many of them dying in prison. The devastation has been horrendous in all spheres of society. Such a thing as this had not even been seen before colonial times.

My wife, Miriam and I were married in Miami at Gesu Catholic Church the same day that the revolutionary forces entered in La Habana, January 3^rd, 1959.

Our oldest daughter, Myriam Cristina was born in Cuba, and five more children were born to us here in the U.S.A., Luis Felipe Jr., Dennis Albert, Joseph Edward, Rose Marie and  Robert Anthony.

They are all married and we now have 12 Grandchildren. We live in peace and prosperity in the freedom offered to us here in the U.S.A.

~Luis Felipe Lay

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I'm so very grateful to Joey and his father for sharing this amazing story. Gracias, my friend. I'm proud to know you.

If you're Cuban American, your family has a story to tell. Please allow me the privilege of sharing it. Even if you were born here in the U.S. and you want to pay tribute to those who bravely left Cuba for a better life here, please do. Send me an email with "Cuando Sali de Cuba" in the subject line. Also, please send some family photos. My email is mdarby(at)cox(dot)net.

It's my honor to pay tribute to your courageous families. As Luis Felipe so eloquently put it:

The world needs to know.

(cross-posted at My big, fat, Cuban family)

I live in Southern California and I'm constantly amazed at the number of people who have no idea why there are so many Cuban Americans here in the U.S.

I've concluded that they just don't know our stories. And I know for a fact that if you're of Cuban heritage and are not living on the island, you have a story about coming to America.

I often get asked by my local newspaper to share something for Hispanic Heritage Month (September 15 - October 15) about my "coming to America story."

This year I'd like to do something a little different. I'd like to share your stories on my own blog, My big, fat, Cuban family. Or your parents' story if you were very young. Or your grandparents' story. You get what I mean....

Here's an example: Cuando Sali de Cuba - Anna's Story.

I was very encouraged when I saw Jay Alvarez act out his parents' dramatic escape from Cuba in his one man show, "Be Careful! The Sharks Will Eat You!" and I realized that we all have a story and too many people are ignorant about what actually happened to the Cuban people as a result of the revolution.

So, I'm asking you to please share. Send me an email with your story and some photos (Under 600 words would be ideal). Send to mdarby at cox dot net. Please put Cuando Sali de Cuba in the subject line.

It's time for the stories of our common, everyday courage to get told. Thank you.

You would think I'd be used to it by now because it happens everywhere I go. But I'm not. (Used to it, that is.)

Here's how the scene usually plays out:

Me: “You're from Cuba? So am I.”

Cuban Person I Just Met: “I'm from *insert town in Cuba* and I know your *mother, father, sibling, dog's cat*”

Me: “Shut. Up.”

So a few weeks ago, my daughter Amy Kikita and I went to see Jay Alvarez in his amazing one-man show called, “Be careful! The Sharks Will Eat You!” at the Hollywood Fringe Theater of Note.

In this incredible one-man show, Jay reenacts the story of his family's harrowing escape from Cuba by boat in 1964. He introduces each of the characters in his remarkable true family drama and makes you feel you know each one.

The show gets it's name from the terrifying/hilarious moment when 4 1/2 year old Jay is throwing up over the side of the boat as his family is escaping Cuba and gets this wonderfully Cuban admonition from one of the adults in the boat. As he laughingly points out, “Who says this to a child?”

His gift is his ability to connect with the quintessential Cubaness of it all and to tell his story with both comedy and poignancy.

Jay very accurately took us through the history of Cuba from the late 50's through the beginnings of the revolution and wove these historical facts into his family's personal drama.

We laughed. We cried. We collectively held our breath. Our hearts broke. We sighed in relief. Jay has taken the Cuban gift for storytelling to a phenomenal level. This show is a MUST SEE.

We waited to meet him after the show and stood outside with other fellow show-goers to congratulate him. Obviously most of us were Cuban, and we commented to one another about how incredible the story was and how talented Jay is.

When he came out to greet us on the sidewalk outside the theater, we applauded once again. Did I mention that this show is a MUST SEE?

One sweet little lady stopped him immediately and began questioning him about his parents, which he mentions in the show: Humberto and Chiqui.

Sweet Cuban Lady: “I'm from Matanzas, too. Was Chiqui, your mother, also known as 'Chiquitica?' She was raised in my home.”

This revelation happened as the show had unfolded and she was checking to see if it was true. Sure enough. This smart actor's mother had been raised in the Sweet Cuban Lady's home in Matanzas. And here they were, 3,000 miles and 60+ years later connecting in a little theater in Hollywood. Shut. Up. That just doesn't happen in real life.

She exchanged information with this talented actor and one of the younger gals with her was about to take a photo of her with Jay. It was too dark on the street, so Amy offered to take it with her flash and email to her. (Yay, Smart Phones!)

So, in case you haven't been paying attention, let me recap: This lady's sister was best friends with this actor's mother back in Cuban in the 50's. Got that?

There's more...

Amy finished taking the photo for them and asked for an email address to send it to. The younger gal in that group said, “Just send it to my mom. Here's her email address.” And she starts rattling off letters as she spells her mom's name while Amy dutifully punches these into her phone.

This is when I peek over Amy's shoulder to read the email address on the phone, because somehow that name sounded familiar.....

Me: “Manduley? Is your family from Holguin?” (Town in Cuba.)

Her (with a surprised look on her face): “Yes!”

Me: “What's your name?”

Her: “Margarita Manduley.”

Me: “Then Mario Manduley was your father?” (You see where this is going, don't you?)

Me again: “Your grandmother and my grandmother.......were sisters.”

*collective gasp*

Internets, meet my long, lost cousin, Margarita Manduley. Our grandmothers were sisters. (Her father and my mother were first cousins, but that's not important right now.) I know. Shut. UP!

We took the party out to Studio City to an amazing tapas bar called Bokado, located at: 12345 Ventura Blvd., CA 91604, (shameless plug) which is conveniently owned by Margarita's husband, Frank Leon and so celebrated our new-found family with fabulous tapas and toasted with mojitos.

Thanks, Jay Alvarez, for the gift of your phenomenal storytelling and for managing to reunite two families in one unforgettable evening.

Like I always say: It's a small (Cuban) world after all.

Lucky for us, Jay will be back in Los Angeles this week, July 28th, 29th, and 30th at the ArtWorks Theater at 8PM and July 31st at 2PM.

You can get tickets by clicking on this link.

DO. NOT. MISS. THIS. SHOW!

For performance information, follow Jay and "Be Careful! The Sharks Will Eat You!" on Facebook.

(previously posted on My big, fat, Cuban family)

I have spent the last three days thinking about what I want to say about our experience in San Antonio and Cooking With the Troops.

My family has talked and talked and rehashed almost every detail of our weekend, multiple times. And I'm still at a loss for words to describe all that we experienced. I'm just going to post lots of photos and try to give you a feel for what we experienced.

When I first received the invitation to join Cooking With the Troops in Texas in July, I didn't hesitate before I agreed. I can think of no higher honor than doing what I do best to say thank you to those who have sacrificed everything for my personal freedom.

I don't have photos of the troops we served because so many of those that we met over the weekend gave up their limbs and a normal life so we could continue to enjoy the freedoms that we do. Many were waiting for prosthetics. The Warrior and Family Support Center is a beautiful home-like healing facility with an air conditioned kitchen (Thank you, God!). I was grateful that we could be there to do this one act of charity for these, our best and bravest.

They are absolutely heroes and it was our great pleasure to serve them. What an honor!

But let me tell you about the Amazing Volunteers (or Team Cubanaso):

The first thing I want you to know about these people, (including my own family) is that when asked if they were interested in doing this, (San Antonio, Texas in July, people!) not one of them hesitated. "Of course. What can I do?" And that was the attitude that carried through the entire weekend.

The guys from Dos Cubanos Pig Roasts (Texas, you are sooo lucky!) brought their expertise, four pigs, and their families. (Yay! More Cubans!) I think that might just have to be a separate post altogether. (Go "like" them on Facebook right now, please.)

Pig Roasting is their specialty, but Joey Lay and Jorge Carmona were able and willing to help in the kitchen as well. (Yes, that's Jonathan working on his professional photo-bombing skills, but that's not important right now.)

Of course, Val from Babalú was there knee deep in Cajas Chinas and pig fixins.

Because this was a service to the military, they named him Point Man on the Pigs. He proved more than capable in his role (thank you, Val and Caja China people)! They started preparing the coals at 5 am.

By 9:00 am, it was time for the Pig Flip.

The pigs were done by 10:30. And the aroma went out in a cartoon-like-smoke-with-a-beckoning-hand and by 11:00 the guys were gathering around to get their first taste of the lechón asado, Cuban-style.

Once the pigs were done, Val came in to help my sons, Adam and Jon cut (more!) onions & garlic for the mojo for the yuca.

Our menu? A typical Nochebuena feast:

We spent all of Thursday and most of Friday morning prepping for our Friday lunch. Which meant cutting pounds and pounds of onion, garlic, and peppers for the Sofrito Que Se Le Perdio a Santa Barbara (as my mom would say).

We had 3 vats (VATS!) of Black Beans that turned out delicious thanks to the hard work by Val and Amy Kikita and the generosity of Conchita Foods. At this point, the aroma from the sofrito, the beans and the pigs had people wandering hungrily into the kitchen, which was great.

There was a lot of fun and camaraderie happening in the kitchen, along with a lot of hard work. (We Cubans would call it "relajo." =D)

Chef Ellen Adams of Red Hot Dish was responsible for dinner that night (couscous!) and Heather Solos of Home-Ec 101 was everywhere you wanted her to be. Both of these amazing women were so willing to lend a helping hand, and always with a smile. (When I grow up, they are who I want to be.)

Here's Jonathan helping with Ellen's fabulous couscous.

My family fell in love with these guys (yes, even you, Mike Russo!) and I'm pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

I can't stress enough how every one of these volunteers pitched in wherever they were needed. We worked hard and long and shoulder to shoulder. And we bonded. We bonded in that gosh-that-was-exhausting-work-and-more-fun-than-it-should-be way. Every single person had that "What can I do?" attitude.

Let me just take a moment to talk about my kids.

Thing one: I was so happy they were all able to go on this trip. And I had all four of them with me all weekend - win!

Thing two: They all surprised and amazed me with how willing they were to step up and do whatever was required. What began as helping-mom-do-her-thing became a labor of love for them individually. I loved that they took ownership of the preparations themselves.

Thing three: No way would I have been able to prepare my share of the food without my family. I am completely at a loss. They went way above and beyond any expectations I had and I'm completely grateful and oh, so proud of them all.

Let me introduce you to Jorge, who managed the beautiful Warriors & Family Support Center at Fort Sam Houston. He is Puerto Rican and provided us with our music while we worked (and managed to locate some espresso for us Cubans). In fact, it was a little emotional prepping all this Cuban food with support from Celia, Beny, and Willy. Thank you, Jorge! (He was still gushing about the amazing food we provided as we were saying our goodbyes.)

I was quite proud that I managed (with lots of help) to prepare 300 of my famous Homemade Pastelitos de Guayaba.

Although the volume was obviously much, much greater than anything I ever make, I felt like I was feeding my own family. I know it sounds corny, but with every dish we felt that same way. Like we were feeding family. (Maybe that's why everything tasted so great?)

But then there was the fiasco with the rice, because really, could everything go perfectly smoothly when you're making lunch for these many people?

I confess that I had no clue how to make rice for 250 people (300 was the final count.). So Adam and I winged it and we got some rice that was cooked on top but hard on the bottom. We also managed to burn some. At 10:30, with the 12:00 deadline looming, the rice was a mess and I was close to having a breakdown.

Jorge Carmona's family to the rescue! They had done congris before at a pig roast event and had encountered the same problems. "Just take small batches, add water, and cook in the microwave." Without hesitation, they stepped up and did just that and rescued the rice. I don't think I could be more grateful. What's better than having a Cuban cook in the kitchen? LOTS of Cuban cooks in the kitchen.

Amazingly, we Cubans managed to get the food out and on the tables at 12:00 military time. This is quite a feat when you usually run on Cuban time. =D

The warriors and their families came through the line and even though the food was foreign for many of them, they ooh-ed and aah-ed and came back for seconds and dove right into the yuca con mojo and the plantains (Thanks, Goya Foods!) without a second thought.

I was most pleased when the guys with the Hispanic surnames came through. They recognized the music. They recognized the food. "Is that guava??" And they were grateful for this "little piece of home."

Much gratitude to the CEO of Cooking With the Troops, Blake Powers of Blackfive who pulled us all together for this amazing experience and gave us the opportunity to serve. Thank you, Blake and cwtt.org. We have all been forever changed by this experience.

And to Mr. Bob Miller, Chief Cook and Bottle Washer and All Around Classy Guy.

I thank you all for the privilege of serving side-by-side with you.

I don't have words to express the gratitude and admiration I feel for the volunteers, the warriors and their families. Thank you all for your service.

Let it be known that we Cubans are very proud Americans.

Making Cuban coffee is more art than science.

I think I learned how to make Cuban coffee when I was about 8 years old and able to maneuver in the kitchen without hurting anything. It wasn't just a matter of making the coffee itself, there had to be a frothy topping to that café and just the right amount of sweetness. Of course, like anything else, some people can make it happen with apparently less effort than others. Hence the artistry.

My dad always smelled of a pleasant mix of Vitalis, puros, and Bustelo. If Cuban music is the soundtrack of my life, the aroma of freshly brewed espresso is the fragrance.

Obviously, you can use a fancy espresso machine to get your café made for you at the press of a button. Or if you're in Miami, you are probably within walking distance of your afternoon coladito. We who are here in the exilio-del-exilio have to make our own.

I'm from the old espresso-maker-on-the-stovetop school of Cuban coffee making.

Why?

Because of the ESPUMA.  That's what we call the frothy stuff on top. (I would say "espumita," but the stuff I'm talking about is much more powerful than the diminutive suggests.) Killer Espuma - I should trademark that! - is a matter of personal pride in our family. Today, my daughter, Amy Kikita, who is The Official Family Killer Espuma^® Maker will share her secret for the Perfect Cuban Espresso with Killer Espuma^®. 

(By the way, she doesn't really talk like that, but that's not important right now.)

In keeping with today's theme of All Things Coffee, I am grateful for the generous folks at IMUSA^® for providing today's fabulous giveaway gifts.

Thing 1) An old-school (of course!) Aluminum Espresso CoffeeMaker in RED. (It's the same as the beautiful red one in the video.) Along with a set of four RED espresso cups & saucers.

Thing 2) A nine piece Stainless Steel Espresso Set. Beautiful, no?

They also have a wonderful and varied line of espresso related items. Check that out right here.

So, for a chance to win one of the two featured prizes above, please click over to My Big, Fat, Cuban Family and leave a comment on this post over there. (I love capitalism! *sigh*)

Happy Monday!

(cross-posted at My big, fat, Cuban family)

I'm often amazed at how little people here seem to know about the waves of Cuban immigrants refugees to this country.

The older folks remember that in the early 60's there were some displaced Cuban children that needed homes. This they only know if one of the children ended up in their neighborhood. I'm referring, of course, to the Pedro Pan Flights, where 14,000 unaccompanied minors were sent to the U.S. by their terrified parents, hoping to save them from communism. They did. At great personal sacrifice. Read that story here.

But there are other stories. Some very dramatic, some that end tragically, some with happy endings. As I start thinking about it, I realize that just about every Cuban has a "Cuando Sali de Cuba" story to tell.

The beautiful dvd Voices from Mariel tells the stories of those that left Cuba on the Mariel Boat Lift in 1980. That exodus of those 125,000 Cubans made the world sit up, take notice and hold its collective breath.

By the way, just because someone came to the U.S. via Mariel doesn't make them a felon. (If you believe that, you've watched Scarface a few too many times, but that's not important right now!)

I have an amazing DVD to give away that tells that story. It's called Voices from Mariel and it's just beautiful and oh so honest.

To enter the drawing, please click over to My Big, Fat Cuban Family and leave a comment on the post titled Voices from Mariel - A Giveaway and tell me your coming to America story.

• Start off with....Cuando sali de Cuba.... tell me about your travels and how you found things in this country.
• If you send it by email and with photos, I'll be happy to post it on my blog, with your permission, of course.
• In fact, I think every Cuban should write down their story and share it.

It's a beautiful film. I promise you'll enjoy it. We are all one people, we Cuban-Americans. No matter when we arrived here in the U.S.

I'll pick a winner randomly on Saturday evening, May 21 at 6 pm Pacific.

Now, come on....Tell me your Coming to America story.

Happy 20 de Mayo!

My daughter and I were privileged to be invited yesterday to a luncheon honoring recently released Cuban prisoner, Ariel Sigler Amaya and hosted by Asamblea de la Resistencia Cubana and commemorating the 8th anniversary of the Cuban Black Spring. Organized by former political prisoner, Fernando Marquet and our very own Ziva, it was a wonderful and memorable afternoon.

Ziva and myself greeting Ariel Sigler Amaya in Los Angeles

They showed the film "Todos Somos La Resistencia." ("We Are All the Resistance.") And we heard speakers from the Asamblea explain the goals they had for the organization. Mainly to build support and to unite the freedom fighters on the island with the Cuban exile community.

We were pleased to have been invited and knew we would be meeting Ariel Sigler Amaya at this luncheon. We had seen the dramatic photos of his arrival in the U.S. after 7 long years in Castro's jails and of him taking his first steps last week.

Many of the Cuban exiles in attendance were former prisoners of conscience themselves, some having served 20 year sentences. There were many Plantados - the immovable ones - who have endured the harshest punishments in Castro’s gulags. There were Pedro Pans, who were sent to the U.S. as children during those first years of the revolution.

And there were those of us who just fall into the group of Cuban exiles and friends who care passionately about the cause of freedom on the island. This eclectic mix of patriots welcomed Ariel Sigler Amaya to Los Angeles.

On behalf of US Congressional Representative Buck McKeon of California, Luis Alvarado presented Ariel with a Congressional Certificate of Recognition for his courage and sacrifice on behalf of freedom and democracy.

Speaker after speaker, the main thought that was expressed was that we are all ONE community. The prisoners, the Cuban bloggers (not just on the island, but also in the U.S. and around the world), those trying to scratch out a living on the island and those of us who have made our lives outside of it, are still, when all is said and done, Cubans who are unabashed lovers of liberty.

It’s to our credit that even after all Castro has done to divide us geographically and ideologically, we “gusanos” are still in the game. We care. This small fact is helping to give traction to the growing group of dissidents on the island. Knowing there are Cubans all over the world who are standing with them gives them hope and courage. And because they now know we are standing with them, it encourages those who were once without hope, to stand as well.

Ariel Sigler Amaya said as much to me yesterday and as if to illustrate that point, he stood up to embrace us.

Ariel stands on his own

There was that moment of “It just doesn’t get any better than this." That was when The Call came in.

Receiving a call from Dr. Biscet from Havana

On the other end of the line was Dr. Oscar Elias Biscet from Havana, newly released from prison himself, sending encouragement (!) to the group that was gathered. “The Castros are afraid of you. Of us,” he said over the cellphone speaker. “Keep the fight alive.”

The stunned group of Cubans then launched into the Cuban National Anthem. We sang proudly and loudly, knowing that our voices were being heard on the island. Overcome with emotion, I only captured the very end of the song on tape.

One last thing:
Ziva gave Ariel a ride back to his hotel and was playing Cuban music in her car. He asked if she had any “American rock and roll.” She found a local classic rock station which delighted him.

He quickly (and quite proudly) identified the band and the song. “Black Sabbath! Never Say Die!”

Ah, freedom! Never say die, indeed.

Sometimes my family sits around and has noisy, opinionated and pointless discussions. (Hello? Cubans!) In this case, we were discussing the wonders of plantains and engaging in the Eternal Cuban debate:

Maduros or Tostones?

It depends on the main dish you’re serving, of course. I mean, I love a good tostón with garlic sauce. (Who doesn’t?) But I tend to be partial to sweet plantains or maduros.

In the midst of this discussion, my mom threw a wrench into the works when she declared rather regally and with great finality: “Platanos en tentacion.” (Rougly translated: Plantains in temptation. I know. I said roughly.)

Of course, you don’t just throw out a random suggestion like this with a group of noisy and opinionated Cuban women who all have their own particular versions of how to cook things.

It was like throwing gas on a fire.

“If you don’t have enough rum, they’re not as good.”

“The rum makes takes away too much of the sweetness.”

The discussion went on and on and even though I had not made these before, I quickly determined that they would be most tasty with just the cinnamon-caramel-glaze and it seemed to me that the rum was a bit superfluous anyway. (See? Opinionated.)

So, my daughters and I started messing with maduros and came up with a rather to-die-for concoction and took those maduros to the Next Level. Seriously.

They turned out so amazing that I'm convinced you could travel through time after eating these.

What I could not completely determine, however, was whether these caramel-glazed plantains would be better served as a side dish or as a stand alone dessert? Maybe over ice cream?

Your thoughts?

Platanos en Tentacíon

• Goya frozen maduros* - cooked according to package directions
• 6 oz. sweetened condensed milk
• Ground cinnamon
  

*I decided the frozen maduros, which could be heated through first, worked well enough. Frying plantains would make them a little too heavy for this dish, but that's not important right now.

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
2. Place cooked plantains in a baking dish.
   
3. Pour sweetened condensed milk over them.
4. Sprinkle with cinnamon.
5. Bake for 35 minutes.
6. Serve hot with __________. (Your thoughts?)

My mom, Luza, enjoying MY Platanos en Tentacíon.

Buen Provecho!

"But why is the rum gone?" ~ Captain Jack Sparrow

It's December 31st and I'll venture to guess that in just about every Cuban household the cry is going out, "Did you get the grapes?"

Because when the clock strikes twelve tonight and the ball drops in Times Square, Cuban families everywhere will begin the fabulous relajo that signals the end of the old year and the ringing in of the new.

Back to the grapes...

At midnight, we Cubans eat 12 grapes, one for each month of the past year.  If you're really serious, you attempt to eat one with every stroke of the clock.

You must wash each grape down with a gulp of hard cider (sidra).

Earlier in the day, you would have mopped your floors and saved the dirty water. At midnight, you toss that old, dirty water out into the street. Out with the old! I think many people may even skip the mopping and just fill a bucket of water for this one. The point is to be tossing out the old year and any bad juju with it.

If you hope to be traveling in the new year, grab your suitcase and take it for a walk. This symbolizes that you will be going places. For the lazy among us, you can just put the suitcase outside. If you opt for the suitcase-outside-the-door, don't blame me if the farthest you get to this year is North Hialeah.

If you go for the midnight walk with your suitcase, be sure to bring an egg and throw it over your right shoulder at the first intersection.....for good luck, of course. (?)

The question of prosperity is also answered in the busy midnight hilarity. You have a couple of options for this:

1. Place money in your mailbox. Money attracts more money, so you should be getting more money, presumably from unexpected sources.
2. Have someone give you 3 garbanzo beans to keep in your wallet all year. I personally have never tried this one. Most of my friends in the O.C. don't carry garbanzos with them on New Year's Eve, or really at any time of year.

Then there's the matter of the underwear. I'm not sure if this applies to both men and women, but I'm just going to throw it out there. You would presumably wear red underwear for luck, yellow for prosperity, or black for passion. I suppose you could wear all three at once to cover all your bases. (<--That works on two levels.)

Don't forget to start soaking your lentils to make a big pot of lentil soup for New Year's Day.

If I missed any more Cuban New Year Superstitions Traditions please feel free to add them here to the comments section of this post.

Yes, I'll be wearing my lucky red underwear, but that's not important right now. So, until next year, Prospero Año Nuevo!

When it comes to Noche Buena, the menu doesn't really vary at my house: Lechón asado, frijoles negros, arroz blanco, yuca con mojo, etc. You know the drill. (I'm sooo not complaining.)

Where I do get to play in the kitchen and flex my creative muscle, is for breakfast/brunch. Actually, I excel at this, but that's not important right now.

On Christmas morning this is what will be coming out of my kitchen: Crepes. Not just any crepes, but Dulce de Leche Crepes, people. Last time I showed you how quick and easy it is to make dulce de leche in your crockpot. This is the next logical step.

[Note: I learned how to make these when I visited the Betty Crocker Kitchens in Minneapolis over the summer. Of course, I'm happy to share. After all, it's Christmas, and I'm a giver. ]

Dulce de Leche Crepes

• 1 cup original all-purpose baking mix (Bisquick!)
• 3/4 cup milk
• 2 eggs
• 1 1/2 cups dulce de leche
• 1/2 cup chopped pecans (optional)
• Powdered sugar, if desired

1. In medium bowl, stir baking mix, milk and eggs with wire whisk or fork until blended.
2. Heat 8-inch nonstick skillet over medium heat. For each crepe, pour 2 tablespoons batter into skillet; rotate skillet until batter covers bottom. Cook until golden on bottom. Turn; cook other side until golden brown. Stack crepes as removed from skillet, placing waxed paper between each.
3. In small microwavable bowl, microwave dulce de leche on High about 30 seconds or until thin enough to drizzle.
4. Fold each crepe in half, then in half again. For each serving, top 2 crepes with 2 tablespoons dulce de leche; sprinkle with pecans and powdered sugar.

De aqui pa’l cielo!

My husband, Eric and I had the wonderful opportunity to see and hear George W. Bush at the Saddleback Civil Forum last night. (We regularly attend Saddleback Church, but that's not important right now.)

He was there, by his own admission, to "shamelessly peddle my book," Decision Points.

What was wonderful about the entire evening was that the format was very casual and Pastor Rick asked him some personal questions about what it takes to be a successful leader. He came off as smart, articulate and passionate. Words that are not often used to describe George W. Bush.

He was completely comfortable in his own skin and it showed. He spoke of his father's unconditional love for him and about his personal faith in God and how those things definitely affected his decision making during those 8 years of crisis and wartime when he was in the White House. He spoke candidly about how his alcohol abuse was destroying his life. He referred to himself as a sinner saved by grace. I loved that.

The evening was tarnished by a few Code Pinko types who attempted to disrupt the atmosphere by shouting at him from the audience. W deadpanned to the crowd about how these people needed to get a sense of humor. The shouting was drowned out by thunderous cheers and the disruptive attendees were quickly escorted out of the building.

There was lots of joking and fist-bumping between Pastor Rick and W. And there was lots of sustained applause and a couple of standing ovations. Say what you will about him, but there's no denying the man is a true patriot.

I loved his self-deprecating wit and that he began the evening by joking about people's reaction to the book, saying it has been "a slight shock.… A lot of people didn't think I could read, much less write."

He spoke of his wonderful parents. Of the uncertainty of leading this nation in grief after 9/11. Leading being the operative word.

My first takeaway, was that here was a man who was a True Leader. I didn't always agree with his decisions, but I never doubted his Character. He just wanted to do the right thing and made those tough decisions humbly and fearlessly.

My second takeaway, was an autographed copy of his book.

I'm not a professional journalist and this post is not about politics. It's about how I was personally impressed by a decent man doing his best to trust God and effectively do the most difficult job on the planet.

(cross-posted at MBFCF)

Miss me yet?

I haven’t been cooking as much as I’d like (or as much as my family would like, but that’s not important right now). That doesn’t mean I haven’t been busy.
I’ve been experimenting with food and presentation and recipes and tastes.

I’ve also been experimenting with tape. Video tape. (I know. Shut up.)

Today’s offering is Me *takes bow*, making dulce de leche, in the crockpot. One day when I have my own cooking show, this is what it will be like.

Only then, I will definitely have a crew to clean up after me. (Right? Right?? Come on, you guys...)

Crockpot Dulce de Leche from Marta Darby on Vimeo.

Crockpot Dulce de Leche

• 1- 14 oz. can sweetened condensed milk
• Crockpot
• Water

1. Peel the paper off of the can.
2. Place the still sealed can in the crockpot full of water so it just covers the top of the can.
3. Cook on low for 7 or 8 hours. Or on high for 5 to 6 hours.
4. Remove with tongs. Can will be very hot.
5. Let the can cool and open carefully once it has cooled.
6. The dulce de leche is ready to eat straight out of the can or to be used in recipes.

Buen Provecho!

I've spent the last week serving on a jury for a criminal trial at the County Courthouse in Santa Ana, here in California. (If I tell you any more, I'd have to kill you, but that's not important right now.)

I'll be honest with you: I'm not enjoying it.

I have been sitting through hours of testimony and evidence and exhibits one through twelve. But I'm not happy about it.

I may not discuss the details of the trial with anyone. Which makes me feel a little crazed.

I have to sit completely still. And be quiet. And listen attentively. For hours.

For a chatty and friendly and active Cuban woman such as myself, all of this adds up to cruel and unusual punishment.

But I remember this....

It was in this very courthouse that I was sworn in as an American citizen in 1974. I was 19 years old and very proud and sober and serious about the oath I was taking:

"I hereby declare, on oath,

that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen;

that I will support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same;

that I will bear arms on behalf of the United States when required by the law;

that I will perform noncombatant service in the Armed Forces of the United States when required by the law;

that I will perform work of national importance under civilian direction when required by the law; and that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion;

so help me, God."

That's right. I took An Oath. And I said, "So help me, God." And I meant it.

So, while I'm not happy to be serving on a jury because of my own selfish, personal discomfort, I feel extremely proud and privileged to do so.

In Cuba, as in many other socialist nations, there is no such thing as "being innocent until proven guilty."

There is no such thing as a "jury of your peers."

Simply stated, there is no such thing as freedom.

I voted today. In free elections. Because I live in a Representative Republic and I have a voice.

I know that I happen to be using that voice to complain (loudly!) about having to do my civic duty. And that's part of the beauty of this system: it's my right to complain if I want to.

But ultimately, it's my joy to serve, because I remember that it's not that I have to serve in the judicial process....it's that I get to.

Go Vote. It's your privilege as an American citizen. In other words, you get to.

(cross posted at MBFCF)

Next week marks the anniversary of the death of mass-murderer Che Guevara.

Many of us have had more than our share of run-ins with ignorant hipsters sporting t-shirts and messenger bags with the idealized image of the "revolutionary poster boy." Like most Cubans, I'm not shy about offering the truth of who Che was and why their t-shirt is not cool.

Sometimes, as most writers here on Babalú can attest to, it's an exhausting uphill battle. You almost have to start from scratch and explain the historical truth about Cuba and Castro and that murderous rat-bastard Che.

So I was thrilled to receive a call from the Vice-President of  Young America's Foundation, Patrick Coyle, asking if I would be willing to get the word out about "No More Che Day 2010."

If you click on this link, Young America's Foundation can provide you with free copies of their "Victims of Che Guevara" poster and other download-able fliers to distribute for No More Che Day.

I would ask that you forward YAF's link through your own blogs and also on Facebook and Twitter.

A big Thank You to YAF for getting it. Let the re-education begin.

(cross-posted at MBFCF)

I was privileged to have had the opportunity to be in Miami in May for Cuba Nostalgia.

While there, I got to see and hang out with most of my favorite intransigent bloggers (=D) and to experience the food and music that define me as a Cuban.

I love living in So Cal, but every now and then, Miami sings her siren song to me. (It usually comes with a killer bongo beat, but that's not important right now.)

Opening tomorrow, July 8 through July 11 at the Adrienne Arsht Center in Miami, there's a show I'd love to see. It's called..... (wait for it....) Babalú. (I know. Shut up.)

Starring Lucie Arnaz, with guests Raul Esparza, and Valarie Pettiford, and dancers Jeanette Delgado and Richard Amaro and very special guest (be still my foolish heart) Desi Arnaz, Jr. (Yes, that's right MY Desi. *sigh*)

So, if you're in Miami this weekend, please go see this show. Do it for me.

And don't forget to tell Desi that Marta sent you. *sigh*

(cross-posted at MBFCF)

My family left Cuba in early 1961.

My brother was on the first Pedro Pan flight in December of 1960. Happily, my family was only separated for a few very tense months. But we were part of the lucky few who managed to leave the country rather quickly.

Once reunited, my father vowed we'd never be separated again and so when my older sisters were to be married in California, he packed up the family and we never looked back.

We lived in Miami for the first 3 years of our exile, before my parents moved us across the country and so we made our lives in Southern California.

As Cubans in California - "en el exilio del exilio" - we managed to find other Cuban families and connected with the familiar community of people who spoke our language and recognized our customs and our food.

My sisters and me. Miami, circa 1962.

There were other waves of Cuban refugees. But unarguably, those who landed in Miami during the early 1960's and 70's were the ones who built that city.

I've just received a copy of the beautiful book, Historic Photos of Cuban Miami by Jennifer Ortiz. With nearly 200 black and white photographs and detailed captions and stories. It has simultaneously captivated my attention, made me joyful and fiercely proud, but also broken my heart.

Cuban exiles are amazing people, individually and collectively.

My mom poured over the book for hours, pointing out familiar faces and reciting the names of the former presidents of Cuba who lived in Miami in exile. We sat together and turned pages and it was like I was a child once again. I sat quietly as each photo triggered a memory and she told me story after story.

She pointed to a photo, "My first visit to Miami was aboard the S.S. Florida." She remembered her excitement and how she and my dad packed as if for a world cruise rather than a weekend trip.

She marveled over the photos of the historic Vizcaya Estate and laughed out loud as she saw the photos and remembered moments from the ground-breaking television show, "Que Pasa, USA?"

The folks at Turner Publishing have generously sent me a copy of this gorgeous coffee table book to give away. Yes, to give away. (I know. Shut up.)

To be entered in the drawing for this beautiful book, please leave a comment on this same post over at MBFCF. (<---click the link and leave a comment over there.)

I'd love to hear your answers to these 3 questions:

• Where in Cuba is your family from?
• What year did they arrive in the U.S?
• Do you still have family there?

I'll be choosing a winner on Monday, June 21, 2010 at 11 am Pacific Time.

By the way, this is my answer:

"Havana. 1961. Yes."

Last week at Cuba Nostalgia, we were privileged to meet a group of young people in Miami that go by the name of "O-JEC" which stands for "Organizacion de Jovenes Exiliados Cubanos" (Organization of Young Exiled Cubans). The young men and women of O-JEC are going to march for 7 days. Yes. SEVEN DAYS.

Val with members of O-JEC.

On May 31st, Memorial Day, three leaders of O-JEC are going to start at Mile 0 in Key West (where the "90 miles to Cuba" sign is) and over the next seven days they will march all the way to La Ermita De La Caridad (3609 South Miami Avenue; Miami, FL 33133-4205). They have the whole thing mapped out with breaks and everything. They are even going to stop and place flowers on the Jose Martí monument. Essentially, these young Cuban exiles will be walking from 8am until 6pm every day. (See schedule below.)

150 miles in 7 days. May 31st through June 6. It would be wonderful if this went viral and thousands of Cubans showed up dressed in white to support the youths, but if you can't take a week off, there are PLENTY of ways to show your support.

You could meet them along the way and walk for just a bit.
If you're not up for marching in the Miami heat, you can meet them at La Ermita de La Caridad at 1pm on Sunday, June 6th to celebrate their success and participate in the mass honoring the victims of the regime that begins at 3pm.

You could donate to the cause at www.o-jec.com or mail a check made out to:

La Organizacion de Jovenes Exiliados Cubanos
8567 Coral Way
#406
Miami, FL 33155

These young people are marching "to demand the rights that the Cubans of the island cannot demand for themselves."

They march in tribute to the victims of the communist (c)astro regime who have risked and/or lost their lives in attempts for freedom: balseros, Brothers to the Rescue,  2506 Brigade, and the prisoners from the Black Spring. O-JEC wants the world to pay attention and what better way to make a statement than a 7-day march? They are marching in support of the Ladies in White and demanding the release of political prisoners in Cuba. They are marching for Cuban freedom.

Young Cuban exiles are taking up the fight for a free Cuba.
Please support them, if you can.

?

Although most of the Babalú contributors are located in Miami, there are some of us who traveled from the West Coast to attend Cuba Nostalgia.

There is plenty of sweat and tears that go into setting up the Babalú Booth, but once the first family members arrive with pastelitos and café, it all becomes worth it (Yes, Val, you know it's true).

Between keeping the posts coming on the site and connecting with the amazing people that share their Cuban stories, we get to hang out and just be together. This is usually the one time of the year we are all in the same place, but it never feels like a whole year has gone by.

We slip easily into the familiar rhythms of conversation. Regular readers stop by to give us hugs and tell us how much they appreciate what we do. It's quite the love-fest.

People bring food and take photos and there's a lot of friendly banter. Of course, we talk politics, and try to further the cause of freedom in Cuba, in between bites of croquetas. But we also give and get lots of hugs, and we openly express our appreciation for one another.

It feels very much like a wonderful family reunion.

And we wouldn't have it any other way.

(Amanda, Ziva, Alberto, Marta, Val, Pitbull)