the dark girl's rhyme

Tengo 37 años y estoy embarazada de seis meses. Es mi primer hijo y este es un embarazo deseado que tuve el privilegio de decidir y de planear de acuerdo a mi situación. Tuve acceso a la píldora del día siguiente porque todavía no estaba prohibida en Honduras cuando vivía allí. Pude ir a clínicas de planificación familiar en la UNAH y años después en Ginebra. La segunda me remitió a una ginecóloga muy buena que me recomendaba tener mi primer hijo antes de los 35 años, pero mis financiamientos que tenía que renovar todos los años y mi incertidumbre profesional y la de mi pareja no me lo permitieron. En el 2018, leí un libro sobre el ciclo menstrual que me hizo darme cuenta que nunca lo había entendido realmente y que me enseñó a vivirlo de manera más cómoda y no a soportarlo pasivamente. Empecé entonces a llevar un seguimiento de mi ciclo que me fue muy útil cuando al fin decidí intentar tener un hijo.

Por muchos años, me preocupó la posibilidad de no poder quedar embarazada, en parte por mi edad, pero también porque mis ciclos menstruales se volvían cada vez más cortos y lo interpretaba como el signo de una fertilidad deficiente. La situación económica y profesional ideal nunca llegó, pero alcancé un nivel de estabilidad inédito hasta entonces a principios de este año cuando validé el periodo de prueba de mi contrato permanente y mi esposo iba a empezar un contrato de trabajo, aún si es solo de un año, y encontramos un apartamento minúsculo pero decente, bien ubicado y no tan caro en París. Nos lanzamos al agua y para mi gran sorpresa y alivio el primer intento fue exitoso.

Estoy en una posición extremadamente privilegiada con este embarazo. Estoy casada con un buen hombre, los dos tenemos un trabajo y tenemos casa. Estoy cubierta por la seguridad social francesa, mi trabajo cubre parte de mi seguro complementario y puedo pagar el resto de mis gastos médicos. En cuanto confirmé mi embarazo encontré un ginecólogo que, aunque siempre tiene como dos horas de retraso y sus consultas no duran más de 15 minutos, por lo menos atiende en horarios después de mi trabajo por lo que no tengo que pedir permiso para ausentarme. La seguridad social reembolsa clases de preparación al parto y encontré una partera a 10 minutos de mi casa que me recomendó varias referencias, entre ellas un libro súper completo sobre el embarazo y otro sobre la lactancia. Además de las clases, va a darme seguimiento después de dar a luz.

Me pude registrar en la maternidad pública de mi arrondissement. Es súper organizada y está en excelente estado, es limpia, acogedora y el todo el personal ha sido muy amable. El primer ultrasonido y los exámenes obligatorios tenían como objetivo detectar anomalías genéticas y tengo la suerte de vivir en un país donde hubiera podido interrumpir el embarazo si hubiese sido necesario o si yo lo hubiese decidido.

Aparte de un olfato ultra desarrollado al principio y una constipación más aguda que de costumbre, el primer trimestre lo pasé muy bien, sin náuseas, vómitos o sin necesidad de pedir ningún tipo de incapacidad. Encontré en línea un programa de deporte para embarazadas, 2/3 de mi trayecto de apenas media hora al trabajo los hago a pie y me he mantenido casi igual de activa que antes. He seguido saliendo, viendo amigos, viajando y yendo a conciertos como antes. Hasta hice una excursión fácil en una montaña en el tercer mes.

Acabo de hacer el segundo ultrasonido obligatorio y todo está bien. Las cosas no podrían estar saliendo mejor.

Y aún así, esto no es fácil. Nadie te regala, ni te facilita nada. Las listas de espera para las guarderías municipales pueden durar años y nunca se tiene garantía de tener un puesto. Las guarderías privadas cuestan la mitad de mi salario, a menos que consigás un puesto en una en la que tu empresa acepta de pagar una parte, lo que no es el caso para mí porque es pinta para la sociedad tener hijos, pero no es su rol tener que asumir esos gastos. Hasta el día de hoy no sé dónde voy a dejar a mi hijo cuando me toque regresar a trabajar. En ningún momento mi empresa me ha preguntado si hay algo que podría facilitar mi embarazo, como trabajar en casa los días de calor extremo que se están haciendo cada vez más recurrentes.

La vida no mejora con el embarazo y la gente no se vuelve mágicamente más empática o servicial. No es como si alguien te va a ceder su asiento en el metro. Al principio yo creía que era porque no se me notaba la panza, pero ahora que es evidente la gente solo te ve y sigue viendo su teléfono o teniendo sus conversaciones, aunque estén ocupando los asientos prioritarios. No es como si la gente en la calle o en las terrazas, o a veces hasta tus amigos que ya han tenido hijos dejan de fumarte en la cara.

Una de las luchas de mi vida es tener una relación donde yo no sea la única a cargo de las tareas domésticas, como es el caso de todas las mujeres en mi familia y hasta ahora no he dejado de hacer mi parte. Pero esas tareas no se esfuman por muy cansada que estés. 

Estoy en una situación privilegiada, las cosas no podrían estar saliendo mejor y aún así, el embarazo no es ningún regalo. Todo lo que lo rodea, el mundo en el que vivimos, la percepción de los demás, la falta de consideración, son una mierda. Y no le deseo a nadie tener que soportar esto en contra de su voluntad. El embarazo es un desafío físico, mental y financiero y la mayor parte de los efectos, de los inconvenientes y de los perjuicios los tiene que soportar la mujer. Soy yo la que tiene que ir a todas esas citas médicas, soy yo la que tiene el sueño ligero, los calambres en la noche, las várices en el muslo, la que ve su cuerpo cambiar cada día, que no entra su ropa, la que tiene que aguantar los comentarios estúpidos, aunque no necesariamente mal intencionados de la gente a mi alrededor. Soy yo la que va a ver lo poco que tenía de carrera profesional perjudicada por esto. Soy yo la que va a tener que dar de mi tiempo, mi energía y mi cuerpo si decido amamantar. Soy yo la que no puede beber, la que tiene que cuidar lo que come, la que tiene que renunciar a miles de cosas, la agua fiesta que está cansada para salir o para quedarse tarde. Todo mundo me pregunta cómo va el bebé, pero nadie pregunta cómo me siento yo. Pero yo sabía en lo que me estaba metiendo y, una vez más, yo decidí esto. Pero nadie, ninguna pareja, ningún gobierno, ninguna religión debería tener el derecho o el poder de imponer esto a nadie, menos a niñas, menos a mujeres que no lo quieren o no lo pueden por cualquier razón que sea.

Siempre he sido pro aborto, desde muy pequeña. Recuerdo los debates en la escuela donde uno de los argumentos de mis compañeras evangélicas era que si una mamá pobre de seis hijos hubiera decidido abortar el séptimo, Mozart no hubiera nacido. Que se joda Mozart, nadie nunca piensa en lo que tuvo que pasar su mamá. Siempre he sido pro aborto y más ahora que estoy empezando a vivir la maternidad en carne propia. Que se joda el Congreso Nacional de Honduras y sus restricciones inhumanas al aborto incluso en caso de incesto o de violación, sus limitaciones a los métodos anticonceptivos y a la educación de las niñas. Que se joda la Corte Suprema de Justicia de los Estados Unidos y el peligroso precedente que está dejando para el resto de los países dizque civilizados. Que se jodan todos y que me dejen descansar.

I’m 37 years old and I’m six-months pregnant. This is my first child and this is a desired pregnancy that I was privileged enough to decide and to plan according to my situation. I had access to the morning after pill because it was not yet forbidden in Honduras while I was still living there. I went to planned parenthood clinics in my university in Honduras and years later in Geneva. The latter one sent me to a very good gynecologist who recommended me to have my first child before 35 years old, but I had to renew my funding every year and my professional uncertainty, and my partner’s, did not allow me to follow her suggestion. In 2018, I read a book on the menstrual cycle that made me realize that I had never really understood it and taught me to live it more comfortably and not to just endure it passively. I then started to keep track of my cycle, which was very useful when I finally decided to try to have a child.

For many years, I worried about the possibility of not being able to get pregnant, in part because of my age, but also because my menstrual cycles were getting shorter and shorter and I interpreted it as the sign of a deficient fertility. The ideal financial and professional situation never came, but I reached a yet-unknown level of stability earlier this year when I finished the trial period of my permanent contract, my husband was about to start a working contract, if only for one year, and we found a tiny but decent, well-located and not that expensive apartment in Paris. We jumped into the water and to my great surprise and relief the first attempt was successful.

I am in an extremely privileged position with this pregnancy. I am married to a good man, we are both working and we have a home. I am covered by the French social security; my job covers part of my complementary insurance and I can afford the rest of my medical expenses. As soon as I confirmed my pregnancy, I found a gynecologist who, even though he is always two hours late and his consultations never last more than 15 minutes, at least he works after my working hours so I don’t have to ask for permission to leave early. The social security reimburses birthing classes and I found a midwife who is 10 minutes away from where I live. She recommended many references, including a super complete book on pregnancy and another on breastfeeding. On top of the courses, she will do my follow-up after I give birth.

I was able to register in the public maternity of my arrondissement. It is very well organized and it is in excellent shape. It is clean, welcoming and the entire personnel is very kind. The first mandatory ultrasound and exams were intended to detect genetic anomalies and I am lucky enough to live in a country where I could have terminated my pregnancy should it have been necessary or should I have wanted to.

Besides a super developed sense of smell at first and an even more pronounced constipation that usual, I felt good during my first trimester, without any nausea or vomiting o without needing to ask for any kind of medical leave. I found online a sports program specially for pregnant women, I walk for 2/3 of my half an hour commute and I have remained almost as active as before. I keep going out, seeing friends, traveling and going to concerts as before. I even went for an easy trek on the mountains during my third month.

I just had the second mandatory ultrasound and everything is going well. Things could not be better.

And yet, this is not easy. No one makes things easier for you. The waiting lists for public kindergartens can last for many years and you are never guaranteed a spot in one. Private kindergartens cost half of my salary, unless you get a spot in one where your company agrees to pay for part of it, which is not my case because it is nice for society to have children but it is not its role to take on these expenses. I still don’t know where I will leave my child when I have to go back to work. At no point my company has asked me whether there is something that could make my pregnancy any easier, such as working from home in extremely hot days, which are becoming more frequent as summer goes on.

Life does not improve with pregnancy and people do not magically become more empathic or helpful. It’s not like anyone gives up their seat in the subway. At first, I thought it was because my belly was not yet showing, but now that it is undeniable, people only look at me and keep looking at their phones or having their conversations, even though they are occupying the priority seats. It’s not like people on the street, or in terraces, and sometimes even your friends who already have children, stop smoking in your face.

One of the crusades of my life has been to be in a relationship in which I am not the only one in charge of domestic chores, as it is the case with all women in my family and so far, I have not stopped doing my part. But those chores don't vanish, no matter how tired you are.

I am in a privileged position, things could not be going any better and yet, pregnancy is no gift. Everything that surrounds it, the world we live in, other people’s perceptions, the lack of consideration are pure shit. And I don’t wish for anyone to have to endure this against their will. Pregnancy is a physical, mental and financial challenge and it is the woman who has to endure most of its effects, disadvantages and damages. I am the one who has to go to all of that medical appointments, who has a light sleep, who has muscle cramps at night, varicose veins in her thigh, who watches her body change every day, who does not fit into her clothes, who has to stand the stupid but not necessarily ill-meaning comments of people around me. I am the one who will see the little career I had affected by this. I am the one who will have to give up my time, my energy and my body if I decide to breastfeed. I am the one who can’t drink, who was to watch what I eat, who has to give up to a thousand things, I am the party pooper who is tired to go out and wants to come home early. Everyone asks how the baby is doing, but no one asks how I am doing. But I knew what I was getting into and, once again, I chose this. But no one, no partner, no government, no religion should have the right or the power to impose this to anyone, even less to children or to women who don’t want or cannot go through with this for any reason whatsoever.

I have always been pro-abortion, ever since I was little. I remember the debates at my school where one of the arguments of my protestant schoolmates was that if a poor woman who already had six children were to abort her seventh pregnancy Mozart would have not been born. Fuck Mozart, no one ever thinks of what her mother had to go through. I have always been pro-abortion and even more now that I am starting to experiment maternity in the flesh. Fuck the Honduran National Congress and its inhuman abortion restrictions even in cases of incest or rape, its limitations on contraceptive methods and on education for women and girls. Fuck the US Supreme Court and the dangerous precedent it is leaving for the rest of the so-called civilized countries. Fuck them all. Let me rest.

Moving to the USA has signified a complete relapse in my old addiction to popular culture (cf. my recent interest in Taylor Swift). My addiction used to be so strong that I was only able to control it by extracting myself from the environment where it prospered, a.k.a. Honduras, when I left for the first time in 2010 and for the second time in 2013. Without any access to a tv during the weekdays, I started losing the notion of who were the hip artists or shows, with a notable exception: the French version of The Voice.

While I was living in Switzerland, most weekends I traveled to Lyon to see Jacques and he did have a tv. Luckily, he did not have cable and therefore no access to E! Entertainment Television, which is why I could stand to watch a reality show without falling into old habits. We started watching The Voice occasionally, the few times that we came back early from any outing or when we did not go out on a Saturday evening, but we got hooked without realizing it. We even reached the point where, if we could not watch the episode live, we downloaded it to watch it later.

I think I enjoyed the show that year in particular because it was Mika’s first season as a judge. Mika spent his early childhood in France, but later studied in England and so he has different cultural and musical references from that of his fellow judges. He was the only judge I knew, whereas the others were French or Canadian singers I had never heard of. Mika’s contestant won that year, a very talented singer with Roma origins, Kendji Girac, who has a very successful career in France.

The second year I got hooked because the new judge was Zazie, a singer-songwriter whom I liked because she likes rock music and it is evident in her way of singing that she likes some of my favorite artists, like Tori Amos. I watched the next season, but I started losing interest and I do not even remember who won. The next year, Jacques left for Turkey and I never watched the show again.

So here I am in the US and I suggested to Jacques that we start watching the American version of the show, which I had never watched before. Unfortunately, neither Christina Aguilera, Gwen Stefani, nor Alicia Keys are judges this year. I had to settle for Blake Shelton (who????), Nick Jonas (yuck), John Legend (emoji of person raising his shoulders as a sign of indifference) and Kelly Clarkson, the only one I love. Even though I started watching American Idol after she won, I spent all 2005 listening to her album “Breakaway” non-stop, so I have a special place for her in my heart.

Obviously, the show’s format is the same in the two countries, but the American and the French versions of The Voice barely have anything in common. Instead, they demonstrate the overwhelming differences between the two cultures. Let us start with the host. In France, it is the journalist Nikos Aliagas; in the US it is the former Total Request Live host from Mtv, Carson Daly. I did not know Nikos before, but I have great respect for him because he is a good moderator and interviewer. He is serious, but entertaining and very intelligent. After TRL’s death, I did not know what became of Carson Daly, but he may be hosting The Voice for 10 years now, he looks beaten by life and has zero relevance in the show. He is completely static, has no charisma and says the bare minimum to keep the show going. No one will notice the day he does not show up.

It is clear that the dynamics between American and French judges and contestants must be different, but I never imagined to what extent. In France, the judges were very kind between one another, I pictured them as friends, often having dinner and drinks together. I guess they are joking, but the American judges compete against one another as if their next check depended on it. They fight so much that they take the spotlight away from the poor nervous soul who comes to sing. Most of the time the judges do not let contestants speak, they ask them no questions besides their name and try to convince them to join their team by highlighting the other judge’s flaws, or arguing how many times they have won the show.

Exactly, in the American version the judges think they are the winners, like they are the ones doing the singing. They are so self-centered it is embarrassing. Besides, each judge represents a genre of music and it is obvious who will turn for a candidate depending on the song. Sometimes a judge will go against the pattern, but it is extremely rare that all four judges compete for the same person. This is very common in France and there is definitely no clear differentiation of the judges according to the type of music. And the so-called funny sketches of the American judges only show that not everyone can be a good actor.

It must said that the American singers are better than the French ones. It sounds harsh, but it is true. After all, the standard for a powerful voice is Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston, no matter the country. And with so much religious Americans, they sing more frequently in their churches, which gives them a significant advantage to the French atheists who only sing when they are forced to in music classes in high school. But that the Americans are better only annoys me more when the really talented ones are eliminated because they have no pop star potential, meaning they are not young, good looking or with a pathetic history. It almost looks like a requisite to have suffered to sing well, if you believe in the profiles in The Voice US. Each one of them is there because their mother was a single parent, or they are single parents, or because they were bullied in high school, have an incurable disease, have body image issues, or because they are not able to pay their rent if they do not follow their dreams. Their stories are so sad that I became immune to those pitiful speeches.

So I can say that I genuinely loved the French version of The Voice, with the judges I knew, because I watched one episode with the current ones and did not like them, while I love to hate The Voice US, which is an entirely different way of consuming a cultural product. And this matches my opinion of the two countries, actually. 

In 2017, I read a book that made stop reading, and with good reason,self-help books, one of my most frequent genres until then. After almost four years, I had a relapse with Sahara Rose’s “Discover you Dharma, A Vedic Guide to Finding Your Purpose”. Dharma, according to Hinduism, is our mission, our calling, the reason why we chose to incarnate in this life. This is a topic that has obsessed me since the first time I listened to “The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success” by Deepak Chopra when I was a little girl, probably because I never knew, and still do not know, what my purpose is.

I have always liked many things and when something interests me I get obsessed, I learn everything I can about it and then move on to the next thing. There are some topics that remain, but they become secondary to the novelty that is occupying my mind in that moment. I had never had a clear path, but I love seeing others who do. My mother was born to be a doctor, my father to be an engineer. Both were passionate about their work, they did it well – they are both retired now – and their job allowed them not only to earn a living, but it was also useful to society. I find it hard to believe that the concept of dharma is not real after having seen it so clearly. But I am more like my paternal grandfather who was a carpenter, worked in the banana plantations in the north of Honduras, emigrated for a while to the United States, opened a shoe materials shop; who tried many things without sticking to one.

At 17, I had to decide on what to study and I chose architecture. At 15, I began to take an interest in painting and drawing and I did not want to do anything else, but I knew very well that that was not a career in Honduras. I was not interested in being a fine arts teacher and private universities were off the table, as my parents were against them. Besides, I wanted to continue the tradition of going to public university. Since math was not an issue for me and seeing that the only thing more or less artistic in my university was architecture, the option was clear.

It is very hard to say in retrospective whether that was a good choice, because even during my years as a student I had signals that this was not what I was meant to do, but I just never listened. Indeed, I enjoyed math, physics and the courses on structures, I fell completely in love with architectural history, but I detested designing. I hated even the classes on graphical representation, which I should have enjoyed since I liked drawing. It had much to do with the teachers: as soon as I did not like them, I lost all interest in the class and did no effort. This is why I know nothing on Latin American architecture, for instance, because the only thing I ever learned in this class was how to nap without getting caught. But it never occurred to me to change my studies because my grades were decent, I had good friends, I was proud to be there and still now, I have much affection for my university. I now think that I would have been more compatible with the communications bachelor available in a private university, or honestly that my life would have been much easier if I had chosen to study computer science, but I would not be who I am right now.

And I have the diploma, but I am not an architect in the sense that I never dreamt of creating my own works, I was never interested in designing and I loathe the construction world. I was lucky enough to win the scholarships that allowed be to study a Master’s degree and then a Ph.D. in art history, because otherwise I have no idea what I would have done with my life. Despite everything, it was already too late too change course radically. With my background in architecture the most logical option was to specialize in architectural history. I stayed with contemporary architecture because I liked it, but also because I did not have a good foundation on any other historical period.

During those years after my Bachelor’s, my objective was to become a university professor, but in time I realized that was not going be possible. The competition is hard because there are less and less positions at the university, so the standards are very high in terms of number of publications, postdocs abroad and connections with the right people. Whenever I attended conferences I felt out of place, incapable of networking. Whenever I had to teach I class I felt anxious, even though I loved my students and I was getting better with time. My research topic was not promising enough to visualize a long-term career. And I was tired of the short contracts and having to move constantly. So quickly, I started preparing myself to look for a job.

According to my registers, I sent at least 41 applications from October 2018 to May 2019, during the period when two of my friends were reading my dissertation, I sent it to the jury and was waiting for the defense. I applied to positions in architectural drafting, in university administration and even in consulting companies who hire Ph.Ds. Two applications had positive results: one as a researcher in a company that publishes on the history of companies and the second was a position of communications officer in an architecture firm. In the first, I received a negative answer at first, but they called me a month after to offer me another position. Since I did not have yet my French residence permit the only thing I could do was an internship, as I was still a student. My job was to conduct the interviews and research for a corporate social responsibility report. I had never heard about that, but I loved immersing myself in the topic and learning on the company I was researching. My colleagues were adorable and my boss was probably the best I have had until now. But in the meantime, I got a call from an architecture firm in Paris that was looking for someone in the communications department, seven months after I sent my application. I could not resist the possibility of working in this agency whose work I admired so much and of living in Paris.

I enjoyed this work too and I think that this is what I would like to keep doing in the future. But this job was not the end of the short contracts and when I saw that another firm was looking for a profile similar to mine I applied. Everything happened so quickly that I interpreted as destiny. On Tuesday I saw the ad online, in the evening I wrote my application, I sent it the next day, they replied to me a few hours later, I had the interview on Thursday and got an offer on Friday. The following Tuesday, I was putting my resignation. But after three weeks in my new position, my boss ended my trial period arguing that we had entirely different visions of architecture.

It was a blow to my ego like I had not had in a very long time, especially because I did not feel that things were going so bad. Yes, my bosses were complicated people, but just like everyone is in the field of architecture. And that someone took this radical decision after only three weeks seemed to me cruel and unfair, especially since my previous job was secure for a few months at least. This new position was a permanent one and I finally saw myself with more stability. When I lost it, the logical option was to come to the US with Jacques while he finishes his postdoc. I had such a hard time digesting the way things turned out and for a moment I felt like I was falling into a depression. The first months were so hard, between the cold in the winter, waiting to see if I got my employment authorization, finding myself in a town with nothing to do, in the midst of a pandemic, and hurt for everything that happened. And I cannot help but asking, why the hell did all of that happened? Was I not supposed to have found a perfect job that I enjoyed and that needed exactly what I am good at?

Sahara Rose’s book gave me no answer. She wants to portray herself as Deepak Chopra’s successor for “millennials”, writing with hashtags and curse words and trying to convince me that the solution to the dilemma of one’s calling is to create a youtube channel of what interests me or to become a “coach” of anything. I am exaggerating, but barely. Not everything was lost: I am reading her introduction to Ayurveda and that is a revelation to me, but I felt so frustrated with her approach to the question of dharma and with the overall concept in general. Dharma is supposed to be what we do in a unique way, we receive external support for it and it brings abundance in all its forms. But it is a condition for dharma to be shared and to benefit others, because it is supposed to be a form of service to humanity. How can you explain to me that there are people who succeed in their evil? Are you telling me that Juan Orlando Hernández’s dharma is to be a drug-trafficking president who is impoverishing his people? Are you telling me that those who work with him or benefit from him in the government, in the private sector or in organized crime are aligned with their dharma, when they are a little few harming millions? Where is the spiritual justice? That the Honduran president’s brother was recently sentenced to life in prison is a meager compensation for the people who are starving, who have been killed, who left the country in caravans, who cannot find a job, who are being dispossessed of their lands or who whose water sources are being privatized, or for the children in detainment camps in the American border.

I may never understand the world’s injustices or spirituality’s incoherencies. The only thing that has kept me afloat in the uncertainty, the only constant state in my life, is to tell myself that wherever I am is where I am supposed to be and whatever I am doing is what I should be doing. These past months, it was to play guitar, to cook and to keep my house in order. Last week, I received my employment authorization and now the mission is to find a job. The day I find it, it will be a new beginning.

I thought a lot about Anthony Bourdain during last year’s first lockdown, when my only outing of the week was to go to the supermarket and I spent the rest of the time in my 25 m2 apartment. A lot of people took advantage of sheltering to experiment in the kitchen, to bake their own bread or to prepare more elaborate meals than usual. For me it was the opposite, I lost all desire to cook.

In normal times, I have a very structured system when it comes to food. Each week I do a menu of what I will eat in the next days, based on books and cooking blogs I follow regularly, which gives me the list of ingredients I have to buy at the supermarket. It is generally on Sundays that I cook most of the meals of the week, so as to do as little as possible from Monday to Friday after work. This allows me to bring lunch to the office and I give myself permission to eat outside on Fridays and on Saturday evening. I continued with the system during lockdown, but I lost the motivation to look up recipes. On Fridays and Saturdays, I ended up cooking anything that did not necessitate considerable preparation because, even though I really liked my neighborhood in Paris, I did not have good restaurants in a 1 km radius, which was our permitted area. So, I tried to motivate myself by watching cooking/food shows in marathons that I started on Friday evening.  

The first show I watched was “Ugly Delicious” by David Chang. When I started, I had no idea who he was and the previous year I had attempted to watch this show, but I found the guy to be so unfriendly that, despite the fact that the episode discussed tacos, I left it halfway. That I decided to give it a second chance only demonstrates how desolate the TV culinary landscape is without Bourdain. Maybe it is just like love, in that you supposedly fall in love with the person you spend the most time with, because episode after episode, I ended up liking Chang. I was even sad that the show only had two seasons. Instead of doing episodes based on a specific place, Chang adopts a thematic approach, based on a specific type of dish or technique. That is how I learned that tacos al pastor are direct descendants from Lebanese kebabs. The most obvious things really do hide in plain sight.

It was thanks to David Chang that I remembered that Padma Lakshmi existed. I do not know how I learned that she had a show in which she traveled across the USA to show the food brought by immigrant populations, but I had some reservations on her. Up until then, I thought that Lakshmi was just the cold US Top Chef host and Salman Rushdie’s ex-wife. Luckily, I watched the show and discovered this amazing woman. “Taste the Nation” is very personal for Lakshmi, who starts each episode by reminding everyone that she came to the US from India when she was very young. But the show has also very political implications and intentions, by denouncing the racism of the American president at the time and highlighting, in the middle of an election year, that this country is nothing without the cultures or the workforce coming from abroad. In fact, Lakshmi grabs the bull by the horns right in the first episode by going to the US-Mexico border. But it is the other episodes that were a revelation to me because they showed meals that everyone takes for granted, like chop suey for example, but from the point of view of the communities that live in the US and adapt their roots in this new environment. I had no idea that Milwaukee honored so much the German culture, or that in Paterson, New Jersey, there were so many Peruvians. But my favorite episode was definitely the one in New York, in which Lakshmi goes to an Indian supermarket, introduces her mother and tells their story. You can now count me among Padma’s unconditional fans.

I spent a weekend watching “Nadiya’s Time to Eat”, the netflix show hosted by winner of “The Great British Bake Off”, Nadiya Hussain. I remembered very well the season she participated in and was really surprised by how much she had changed since then. When she was a contestant in the baking competition, Nadiya wore only black, she was not very nice, but her recipes were very interesting because she always used daring spice combinations. In this show, Nadiya is always in a good mood in her colorful kitchen on the English countryside where it never rains and prepares meals that look easy and tasty. However, I was not convinced by the segment in each episode in which she visited someone, who generally had no time to cook because they worked too much, to teach them a recipe, as if it is possible to change the structural injustices of the world with a simple quiche. I also did not find relevant the visits to factories of transformed products intended to show where the food we should stop eating comes from. But the worst of it all is that she uses canned foods. Someone needs to call Jamie Oliver ASAP. Yet, I am giving a chance to her new show “Nadiya Bakes”, hoping that she is better in her domain, baking, and based on the three episodes I have seen so far, it seems that my intuition was right.

I also watched marathons of Claire Saffitz’s videos in the “Bon Appetit” youtube channel, which I have mentioned before. I must say that no other host managed to captivate me like her, except Ricky Martínez whom I can thank for finally learning to make pupusas. Ironically, “Bon Appetit” was involved in a scandal in which its editor had to step down when old pictures of him dressed as a Porto Rican surfaced and when it was demonstrated that he only paid white hosts for their video appearances and not the BIPOC ones. Unsuscribe directly.

I cannot make a post on food shows without giving an honorary mention to my favorite for many years now, “Très Très Bon”. It is a French show broadcasted on a channel devoted to life in Paris, so it belongs to the cusp of snobbery. Its concept is that a critic, whom for many years did not appear in front of the camera, goes to specialty grocery shops and upscale restaurants with guests to taste their products or meals and rate them in a scale from “not very good” to “very very good”. On other segments, other hosts taste “street food” restaurants, or the closest you can find to this category in France, bakeries, and even restaurants with sustainable practices or luxury hotels. Obviously, most of the places they visit are in Paris, although they sometimes do excursions to other cities in France and even in other countries. But even before I lived in this city I loved watching its variety of restaurants, learning on the different criteria to judge a meal and seeing how many of the most expensive restaurants were not actually that very good. My favorite segment is, unsurprisingly, the street food one, hosted by Mina Soundiram, the girl I believe to be the coolest and most elegant of my generation and not only because we share an extreme passion for burgers.

All of this to say that I miss Anthony Bourdain very much. I try desperately to look for him in the new hosts and in all sorts of shows, but I am aware that Bourdain was unique and irreplaceable. Even still, there will always be new food shows and I will continue watching them. After all, are we not the generation that has to continue doing things, even though we know that everything is lost beforehand?