Mexican Food Armando Montano Analysis

“The Unexpected Lessons of Mexican Food.” This essay follows a Mexican-American boy, Armando Montano, on a journey to find himself. He starts off with telling you just a little bit about himself, like how he grew up, his nationality, and the food his father used to cook for him. Then it evolves into his journey to find himself. From when he went back to the place his dad was born, and he discovered just how rich his culture was and how much they use food to connect to it, to his time in Brazil and the way his friends seemed to except him as Mexican even when his own family did not. The whole essay he struggles to find his identity and just where he, a mix of cultures, belongs. There are two parts of himself that he struggles with which one
he identifies with more. Even though he urges to be like his father a full blood Mexican he cannot deny that there is a whole other part of him that he must also accept. I understand this fully I find it hard to except both sides of myself, I cannot just identify with one group over the other.
For me it is not that hard to imagine such prejudice.
I am also a mix of cultures, both Venezuelan and white, it is hard for me to identify with either sides of myself. I see the same struggle in the author. Though he tells his friends, “*/*/*I’m technically American, Guillermo,’ I told him as I started slicing the avocados. ‘My dad is first generation and my mom is white. I’m considered Hispanic.’” He identifies with his dad when he is in Mexico. With me I choose to identify with one part of me more than the other just because I look more like one than the other. It has been happening since the beginning, when someone is different they are mocked. When someone does not quite fit in with one group or any group they are ridiculed. Life is just like high school sometimes. When everyone has their own clique, or culture. Every other culture is looked down upon sometimes even
feared.
When I am with my Venezuelan family I feel more at home more comfortable. We are always surrounded by good food, good friends, and loud music. We dance together and eat together. It is always good times when I am with them and we are always goofy and like to yell and scream at each other. They are so laid back and accepting. They welcome me even though sometimes I get made fun of, it is not as bad. The opposite is true when I am with the other side of my family. It seems to be mellower and the people are not always that great. Even though I would love to just hold onto the one side of me and disown the other, mostly because I feel so much more at home in one culture verses the other, they are both parts that make me, me.
My Dad’s family is very passionate about what happens in Venezuela not just because it is their home but because most of our family still lives there.
I cannot speak of it the same way though since I have never been there or I was not born there so it is hard to connect with my family about these things. Just like the Author and his family, we grew up in totally different places and we were born into total different cultures. When I speak about these things with the same passion as my dad, a man who was born there and was bred into the culture, I get looked at like a pretender even if I do have the same passion and fire about what goes on there. By my family and even by my friends who are also Venezuelan. Just because I was not born there and I was not always a part of the culture does not mean that I do not care as much as those who happened to be full blood born and bred
Venezuelans.
With the other side of my family I feel like an outsider, even though I grew up with them I have changed so much. I have been introduced to such a different culture that sometimes I say things and they look at me like I am an alien. Like when I tell them what we eat at my house or how we operate in general. When I am with them, sometimes I get called a Mexican and it is all fun and games but deep down it hurts a little. I feel like I am casted out just because I have Spanish blood in me. It makes it hard to call myself a part of my Mom’s family as much as I call myself part of my Dad’s family. They do not seem to try to pull me in with them or embrace me like the other side of my family does. I feel like they try sometimes, but other times they just leave me to figure it out on my own.
Another thing that is hard when you are biracial is when you are with your friends that are either one or the other and you do not quite fit in with them. Sort of like how the author and his family are, even though he speaks Spanish and he looks exactly like them he is still called a “Wexican”. That is how it is for me around my Spanish friends, especially since I do not speak the language very well. It is very hard to fit into one group when you meet the criteria of both. Now days it is all about your clique or the group you fit into. When you fit into more than one group it is hard to find the right one to fit into and you get made fun of by those who know exactly where they fit.
The Author found himself through the food and culture he shared with his Dad. I hope to one day find myself like he did on his journey. Whether it be through food or through music or just being immersed in the culture or what have you. It is very hard to be biracial even within the group that call themselves your family. That I understand and connect with the author about. His family made fun of him for being different just as mine does. Another reason it was hard for me is because I have to be one way with my Mom’s side of the family and a totally different way with my Dad’s side of the family. Neither side of my family understands which makes it that much harder. They both want me to be part of their side of the family but I find it hard to identify with either. Especially when one expects something totally different from me than the other.