The Fiambre Recipe

It's nine o'clock on the night of October 31, and Rebeca has been in her kitchen in Guatemala City since five. Tomorrow is All Saints' Day, and for the first time, her grandmother won't be the one who makes the fiambre. Abuela Tina died in March. Rebeca has promised herself that the family will still have it tomorrow, exactly the way her grandmother made it.

Fiambre is a huge cold salad that can have more than fifty ingredients: chicken, pork, sausages, cheese, and lots of pickled vegetables. Rebeca has already cooked the meat and chopped the carrots and the cauliflower. She has followed every line of the recipe card, but she only has half of it.

Before she died, Abuela Tina tore her famous card in two and put the halves in two envelopes, one for each granddaughter. Rebeca's half stops mid-sentence: "For the caldillo, mix the vinegar with..." The caldillo is the sauce the vegetables soak in overnight, and without it, there's no fiambre. Abuela Tina always made it alone, with the kitchen door closed. The other half belongs to Lorena, her younger sister. They haven't spoken since the funeral.

Rebeca has picked up her phone four times tonight, and four times she has put it down. She wipes her hands on her apron again, although they've been dry for an hour. Then the doorbell rings. Lorena is standing outside with a bag of beets and a folded piece of card. "I've had this in my wallet since March," she says. "It's useless without your half."

Rebeca doesn't move from the door. "You weren't here," she says. "When she got sick, you moved to Xela, and I was the one who took her to the hospital every week." Lorena looks down. "I know. I've been angry with myself ever since. I was scared to watch her get worse, so I ran away." It's the first time Rebeca has heard her say it.

Rebeca steps back and lets her in. They put the two halves together on the table. The torn edges fit perfectly, and their grandmother's sentence continues: "...the water from the beets, a spoonful of sugar, and a little mustard. Let it sit overnight. If you two are reading this together, I've won." Lorena makes a sound that is half a laugh and half a sob.

Neither of them says anything else. Rebeca puts a pot of water on the stove, sets the beets on the big wooden cutting board, and hands her sister a knife. For the next hour, they stand side by side and chop on the same board, the way their grandmother taught them.