at christmas eve we eat caviar on cucumbers and oysters on ice, meatballs on gravy and salmon on cream. at christmas eve our faces are cast red and purple.
(frans floris, the fall of man, the best thing that ever happened)
my mother’s in spain, my father’s in france, sam is in siberia.
These posters narrated my childhood: the Mini Milks for walks with abuelita, the Frigo Pie when I was ready to risk pink melt trickling down my arm, the Calippos when I felt like sucking cardboard, the cones with hazelnuts to feel grown-up and the Super Choc when I was old enough to bite down on ice-burned chocolate without it hurting my teeth. I never touched the Fresh Limón flavor of the cones (not featured); that was my cousin’s choice, and not only did I avoid competing with her at all costs (she had a powerful smack) but I felt apprehensive about the mix of sour lemon with sweet Vanilla. Wouldn’t there be some curdling involved? Wasn’t that cheese?
In Galicia we eat cheese the shape of breasts.