The Night Making Albondigas Led to a Life-Changing Realization

If you’re not familiar with albondigas soup, it’s a Mexican meatball soup that is just to die for — meatballs, veggies, rice, cilantro. It’s heaven in a bowl.

Sunday night, I had this craving for albondigas soup. I rarely get the chance to eat it, but it’s always been one of my favorite meals. Still, I wasn’t quite sure where this craving was coming from.

I’ve never made albondigas soup before, but decided I just had to.

I went to the grocery store and picked up everything I’d need for albondigas, checking my phone after picking up each ingredient to see where to head next. After all, the last time I had albondigas soup, I was really little. Aside from the albondigas (meatballs) and rice, I couldn’t quite remember what was in it.

Chronic illness means resting every time I do something. Naturally, I had to rest after getting home from the store.

As I started pulling together ingredients, cooking meatballs, and chopping veggies, I felt very homey in a way I really never have. It wasn’t until I had pulled everything together and had the soup simmering that I realized why.

My (pretty damn handsome) grandpa died before I was born. He did a lot of missionary work in Mexico. When he was home, he loved going to El Borracho in Reno. It was a place my family went to at least once a week, if not more. The staff all knew my family well.

When we weren’t at home in the few years I lived in Reno, we were almost always at El Borracho. It closed a few years ago, but it was one of the best places I’ve ever eaten — and I did all of that basically before age 5.

The smell of everything coming together — the smell of real albondigas filled the apartment and my craving began to make more sense to me.

By the time I was around, everyone at El Borracho would sneak me sopapillas and horchata and other goodies. I got big hugs and cheek kisses.

They adored me.

I was always welcomed there. Even when we visited as I was older, they were happy to see me. Of course, some new people would be there and some of the older crowd had left — but it was still so welcoming, so full of love and happy memories.

It’s a stark contrast to a lot of my memories as a child. I’ve mentioned my mother and other abusers often here in order to raise awareness about PTSD and the lingering effects of abuse.

Most of my maternal family recipes aren’t things I really like to make. They bring up negative memories about what growing up meant for me and my sister.

Albondigas soup is the closest I have to a family recipe that always brings me joy.

Albondigas soup, for me, is that comfort food from my childhood that most people get from a parent.

It’s also the biggest connection to my grandpa that I really have.

I learned Spanish over other language choices in middle and high school because of him. I finally just went to Mexico, in part because I’ve always wanted to go because of his love for that amazingly beautiful country.

Like the gringa I am, I came back with a really bad sunburn that I’m still nursing two weeks later. Despite sharing blue eyes with him, I did not get grandpa’s tanning ability at all.

I feel more of a connection with my grandpa now at 28 than I ever have, despite the fact that his kids and I don’t really communicate with each other at all.

It’s comforting and liberating to make my own connections.

To figure this out as I walk up the hill to my 30’s feels… odd. Unpacking a lifetime full of abuse and neglect and harm takes longer than anyone would like. I know this. Still, I can’t help but feel so silly for not seeing this sooner.

How many bowls of albondigas soup have I cost myself by not seeing this before?

Having this realization in the middle of cooking was interesting to say the least. Before we ate, I told my husband about all this and cried.

As I dug my spoon into a meatball and got the perfect bite, that warm fuzzy version of nostalgia that I rarely see visited.

And all was well.

Kirsten is a writer, sexuality educator, and chronic illness/disability activist in Wisconsin. She runs Chronic Sex which highlights how illnesses and disabilities affect ‘Quality of Life’ issues such as self-love, self-care, relationships, sexuality, and sex.

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