My Grandmother’s Comal
Credit…Linda Xiao for The New York Times. Food stylist: Maggie Ruggiero. Prop stylist: Heather Greene.
My grandmother’s comal was a modest six inches in diameter, yet it held a monumental place in her home, nestled among the pecan trees and loblolly pines draped in Spanish moss in Live Oak, Florida. It was as integral to her kitchen as the amber ashtrays and jars of pickled hot peppers that adorned her dining room table.
The house was alive with the sounds of “Hee Haw,” the Mandrell Sisters, and Ray Charles, accompanied by the comforting presence of old dogs whose odors were far more pronounced than their appearances. It was a haven filled with the rich flavors of chili verde and carne adovada, where homegrown chile de árbol, jalapeños, and serranos were either pickled or enjoyed fresh in every meal. But most memorable were my grandmother’s tortillas, crafted fresh from her beloved comal, the cast-iron griddle that produced the most cherished meals of my childhood.
Recipe: Flour Tortillas With Honey and Butter
During those days in Live Oak, back in the early 1980s, I would watch my grandmother prepare to cook, her movements fluid and practiced as she warmed her stove and collected her essential tools: a plastic bowl designated solely for tortilla making, her trusty rolling pin, and the plate where she would rest the rolled dough. These flour tortillas were not just food; they were our daily bread, conjured up in mere moments.
The kneading, shaping, rolling, and shifting were motions she had perfected since childhood, moves she performed effortlessly, just as I did when I clung to her side, waiting eagerly for my own warm tortilla. In my memories, my Nana, Mary Gutierrez, was often seen in baby blue polyester pants that hugged her hips, reminiscent of the way mine do now, her body exuding vitality and warmth.
Before rolling out the first tortilla, she had a peculiar ritual. She would touch the comal with her middle finger, gauging the heat before proceeding. Then, with a delicate yet confident motion, she would roll out the first tortilla, check the comal’s temperature again, and flip it onto the hot surface with her whole hand, a gesture that spoke volumes of her experience and love for cooking.
