Story by Wilma Mendoza, Summer 2019
To this day I still crave the sweet and sour taste of agua fresca de Tamarindo on a hot summer day. Growing up I remember grocery shopping with my mom and her always throwing a bag of dried Tamarindo into the cart. As a child, I was ashamed of drinking agua fresca and not being able to drink Tang or Sunny D like my other friends. I would bring it for lunch and kids would question the color and consistency I hated having to explain what it was because it made me feel as if my agua and I didn't belong. I enjoyed Tamarindo in my agua, pulpa, candy, and paletas - it was the perfect balance of sweet and sour. Tamarindo gives me nostalgia for my childhood - when I would drink a cold cup of agua de Tamarindo as sweat dripped down my forehead from playing cops and robbers with my siblings and cousins while my mom and uncles were grilling. Or after mass we would run towards the elotero man, asking him for a raspado of tamarindo with chicharrones as my mom spoke with other church members. Or going to birthday parties and fiercely collecting Veros Tamarindo rellerindos, Pelones, and Pulparindos from the piñatas and eating them all before I got home leaving me with sticky fingers and a stomach ache. I thought my mom only recently started to make agua de tamarindo but after visiting Mexico, I learned through stories about how my mother would love to eat the tamarindo from the tree outside. I instantly smiled at the thought of a younger version of my mother snacking on tamarindos under a tree. It made sense now and gave me a heartwarming feeling of my mother and how she would make us agua fresca so we could enjoy it as much as she did and maybe reignite her memories of her being back at her hometown in Puebla, Mexico.