Lessons Learned Over “Rotten Bananas”
A cultural awakening in Cuautla
It was the 1980s, and I was barely 21, a time when my understanding of the world was as limited as my palate was unadventurous. Filled with excitement, I arrived in Mexico, ready to embrace a new chapter of life with Oscar, my boyfriend. One of our first adventures together was a trip to Cuautla, the second biggest town of the State of Morelos, known for its rich war history and its natural hot springs.
We were there to celebrate the graduation of my boyfriend’s sister, Gladys, who had just completed her studies to become a teacher. The town was buzzing with activity, and the heat of the day only added to the vibrant atmosphere. As we strolled through the central market, I marveled at the colourful stalls, each one a feast for the eyes.
Then, I saw it — a mountain of bananas, or so I thought. To my dismay, most of them were blackened and, to my inexperienced eye, clearly rotten. In my home country, the only bananas available were the bright yellow ones, and these looked nothing like them. I couldn’t fathom why anyone would sell, much less buy, these rotten bananas.
Oscar, clearly amused by my ignorance and indignation, let me rant on about the apparent waste of perfectly good market space.
Finally, with a smile playing on his lips, he explained, “These aren’t regular bananas. These are plátanos machos — plantains.” I was dumbfounded. I had never seen plantains before, and it dawned on me that I had a lot to learn about my new surroundings.
This was the first of many humbling lessons Mexico had in store for me.
Our day continued with a visit to the home where Gladys had been staying during her studies. We were welcomed warmly, and the simple yet delicious menu was a testament to Mexican hospitality: fresh tortillas, crumbly cheese, black beans, cecina (dried salty beef), and a freshly made spicy red sauce.
As I watched everyone dig in, I noticed the lack of cutlery. Instead, everyone skillfully used tortillas to scoop up the food, tilting their heads to take bites of their makeshift tacos.
I hesitated, unsure of how to proceed without utensils. My companions encouraged me to join in, and with a short tutorial, I learned the art of eating with my hands. This new skill would prove invaluable, especially during future visits to my boyfriend’s family in the mountains (read the story here).
Not long after this eye-opening experience, I discovered a restaurant in Mexico City that quickly became my favourite. It offered “comida corrida,” a daily set menu with a few choices that changed every day.
One constant on the menu was plantains baked to perfection, sprinkled with a bit of sugar, served after the soup and rice but before the main dish.
The restaurant was far from fancy, but the food was just so fresh and delicious. Not surprisingly I looked quite chubby on my wedding day after a few months of having the full meal every day: soup, rice or pasta, baked plantain, a main dish of chicken, beef, or pork, and a dessert.
It took me a while to confess to my boyfriend that I had been enjoying those “rotten bananas” from Cuautla for lunch every day. The irony wasn’t lost on me, and we both had a good laugh about it.
This small but significant culinary adventure taught me not only about the versatility of food in the country I would now call home, but also the importance of keeping an open mind and embracing new experiences.
Reflecting on that day, I realize how much I’ve grown since then. What started as a misunderstanding about plantains turned into a lesson in humility, cultural appreciation, and the joy of discovery. Mexico had begun to work its magic on me, one “rotten banana” at a time.
