Since I emigrated to Canada in 2010, my palate has grown accustomed to other wonderful flavours, other textures and, above all, to the nostalgia of empty chairs at Christmas. Thirteen years may not sound like much, but they amount to thousands of days longing for the warmth of the tropics and the bustle of a Venezuelan dinner table. That is why December 2023 was no ordinary month; it was the month when my camera and I finally returned to Valencia, in Carabobo State, to reconnect with what really matters: yes, family.

This chronicle isn’t just about a meal; it’s about the ritual of being together. Our friends at Silver Bloggers invite us to recall a memorable meal, and for me, nothing will ever top the dinner at my younger brother Jhonny’s house.

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑡𝑠

Even before the dishes reached the table, the kitchen was already a scene of joy. I looked through my camera’s viewfinder and felt as though time had stood still. In one of the first photos I took that day, I see the little girls of the house. There they are, with their bright smiles, holding a tray of freshly baked biscuits they had made themselves. Those treats weren’t just sweet; they carried the legacy of a tradition that refuses to die, despite the hardships of my beloved country. Seeing the new generation involved in the kitchen made me realise that, even though I was far away, the essence of our family remained intact. I only knew those little girls—Angie and Solisbeth—through video calls.

Then, I captured the ‘behind the scenes’. In the second photograph, you can sense the movement, the beautiful chaos of a family preparing the feast. There are hands chopping, sorting, arranging. It is that moment beforehand when the scent of smoked banana leaves and the hallaca stew permeates even the walls. It is a hustle and bustle that I missed in Canada with a lump in my throat... the sound of laughter drowning out the clatter of pots and pans.

And finally, the moment arrived. We sat down at the table. That third photograph I’m sharing with you is, for me, the very picture of happiness. There we were, ready to savour the quintessential national dish… yes, the hallaca, accompanied by its ever-present chicken salad.

On the left, almost hidden by shyness and the angle of the shot, is my son Matthew. Next to him is his great-great-grandmother, Mrs Victoria (my brother’s mother-in-law); between them is the mischievous Solisbeth, Angie’s little sister, completing that generational picture that reminded me just how much everyone had grown whilst I was up north. And to think my visit was only supposed to last twenty days.

In the centre of the picture, with a look that radiates peace, are my brother Jhonny and his wife Yusbeth, the hosts who opened their hearts to this reunion. We can also see my nephew Jhonny Alí, Angie’s father, and Angie herself, whose joy lit up the whole room.

When I finally tasted the first bite of that hallaca, I savoured the flavour of the onoto that I had long forgotten, the raisins and the perfect stew... I felt the chill of thirteen Canadian winters melt away. Eating with my family, in my homeland, listening to the accents of my loved ones and feeling the warmth of Valencia, was an indescribable experience.

That dinner was memorable because, after so long, I didn’t have to see them through a screen. I could smell the food, I could hug Jhonny, I could watch Matthew spending time with his cousins, and I could see for myself that, even if you leave Venezuela, Venezuela never leaves you.

This is my entry for the 𝑆𝑖𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝐵𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒. Because sometimes, a simple hallaca and a table full of loved ones are all we need to feel that, finally, we have come home, even if only for a few days.

Hi! Everybody (friends), if you've made it this far, THANK YOU! You are welcome to participate; the link with all the information is below. But I also hope to read your comments in the reply box. Thank you for joining us in these waters of HIVE.