THE ROSQUILLAS RECIPE SWAP

Written by Dani Spencer

When I arrived at Rooral in November for the pilot residency program, Juan, the co-founder and inimitable master of ceremonies, pulled me aside and asked me about my goals for my three week stay. 

I knew that there was a correct, canned response:

• Work on creative projects (of course)

• Build community (seemed easy enough with the amazing crew he had a gathered)

• Recalibrate my sense of work-life-balance (I had already gotten happily lost in the nearby hiking trails and felt well on my way to a sense of contentment)

But, instead of saying any of those things, I looked him straight in the eye and said: “Juan, in one month my family is having a Christmas cookie competition and I need to win. I want to work on recipe testing while I’m here.” 

Juan gamely smiled. “I think the abuelas can help with that.”

I guess I should back up a little bit and provide some context: I am one of six kids and every Christmas for the last 15 years, my siblings and I participate in a Christmas Cookie Competition. 

That might sound sweet and wholesome, but it’s anything but. The cookie competition is a serious cut-throat business. One of my sisters—I won’t name names—cries every single year. After more than a decade of battling it out in the kitchen, reinvention is the lifeblood of our competition. Innovation and new recipes are required. 

With my goal for my residency zeroed in on, I looked to Juan for next steps.

“The abuelas gather every Monday and Wednesday to do art in the community center. Most of them are avid, life-long bakers,” Juan assured me. “We’ll ask for their input then.”

When Monday rolled around, I arrived at Art with the Abuelas dutifully armed with paint and brushes. It felt like a thin disguise. I’m no artist. What I really wanted was their recipes, but it seemed uncouth to just come right out and ask. 

I sat down next to Francisca who was working on painting a quilt for her 15-year-old granddaughter. She was assiduously stenciling out an anime character from a TV show onto the white fabric. 

While I suddenly felt shy, Francisca jumped into conversation with me, making me feel at ease. More abuelas arrived and what started as a calm afternoon quickly revved up into a lively chatter. 

Most of these women have been friends since elementary school–and for the uninitiated–it can take a moment to get up to speed with their conversation topics; the inside jokes are as endless as they are nuanced. At one moment they’ll be laughing about something that happened last weekend and the next they’re making fun of their friend’s highschool ex-boyfriend from 60 years ago. Even when I felt a bit lost, they’d make an effort to include me in their lore. 

Ana, one of the most outspoken abuelas, noticed I was barely making progress on painting the tote bag I had brought. She shook her head disapprovingly and my lopsided flowers.

“Niña, pick up the pace,” she said, with a smile. 

This seemed like my moment. 

“Well, I’m less of an artist and more of a baker.”

That’s really all it took. In a matter of seconds, the Abuelas formed a chorus, each telling me about their favorite baking recipes. So I shared with them the story behind my cookie competition dilemma. 

“Have you ever tried rosquillas de anis?” Ana asked.

“No, what are they?”

The Abuelas were shocked to hear of my ignorance and then began to describe to me, in the most scrumptious detail, the fluffy sugar-coated fried donuts famous among Andalucians. 

“I’ve never fried anything before,” I said, a bit skeptical that perhaps the rosquillas were beyond my skill level. 

Ana waved her hand in the air, as if waving away my anxieties. “We’ll show you how.” 

The next week, instead of gathering for art, all of the Abuelas in the village showed up to the community center with dough, a portable stove, and pre-baked treats. I, and my fellow Rooralists, also came with some of our favorite desserts in tow. For good measure, I also brought Anis, the Spanish liqueur, as a personal thank you—I know from experience with my own abuela that it’s a hit. 

We all set down our offerings on a large table in the middle of the community center and then without much fanfare, the Abuelas got to work. The portable stove was hooked up to gas. Multiple bottles of cooking oil were drained into a deep saltén. The fire was lit and it was off to the races.