Arepa Night
1Every Friday is arepa night at the Ruiz apartment. This week, Abuela Consuelo announced that Marisol was finally old enough to make the arepas by herself. Marisol felt unbelievably proud, but she was also a little nervous.
2First, she measured the ingredients: corn flour, warm water, and a pinch of salt. She mixed them in a big bowl. The dough was sticky and uneven, so she added a bit more flour and kneaded it again. Abuela watched from the table and nodded. "Good dough should feel soft, like clay," she said.
3Next, Marisol rolled the dough into balls and pressed each one flat between her palms. Her first arepa came out misshapen, with a crack along one side. She reshaped it carefully and smoothed the edge with a wet fingertip. Her little brother Joaquin, who was waiting impatiently at the table, asked when they could eat.
4Abuela preheated the heavy griddle while Marisol rearranged the arepas on a plate. When the griddle was hot, Marisol laid six of them down in a circle while Abuela stood beside her. She tried not to flip them too early, because undercooked arepas fall apart. After several minutes, the bottoms turned golden and crispy.
5There was one small disagreement at dinner. Joaquin wanted his arepa filled with cheese, but Dad wanted black beans. Marisol solved the problem by splitting her extra arepa in half, so each of them could try both fillings. Abuela praised her thoughtfulness.
6By the end of the meal, every arepa had disappeared. "Next Friday," Marisol said, "I am making a double batch." Joaquin cheered, and Abuela smiled at her granddaughter's newfound confidence.