10/09/2025
The Best of Summer, Un Cocktail de Camarones
The afternoon heat shimmered on the patio, and the air smelled of salt, lime, and sun-warmed stone. I rolled up the sleeves of my white linen shirt, tugged my hair into a loose bun, and set down the clay bowl of shrimp cocktail on the table.
It was more than a dish. It was a memory layered in flavor—pink shrimp kissed with citrus, the sharpness of red onion softened by tomato, the sweetness of mango sliding in like an afterthought. My grandmother used to call it el canto del verano—the song of summer. She’d make it for us after long mornings at the river, our skin sticky with sun and sand, our laughter spilling louder than the waves.
Today, it was my turn. My family was gathering, music drifting from the speaker, and the smell of grilled corn was in the air. I wanted to capture that same joy my grandmother wove into every bite, the kind of joy that tastes like sunlight.
I squeezed a lime wedge over the glass and slid it toward Nana, who had just arrived. Her cheeks flushed from the car ride. She took one bite and closed her eyes. “Gosh, this is summer,” she said, her voice half-whispered and reverent.
And I felt it too—that moment when the world slows and you realize happiness doesn’t always roar; sometimes it just hums gently between family, in the clink of cold drink glasses, in the sweetness of shrimp soaking in its bath of citrus, tomato juice, and chile.
The best of summer isn’t in the places we go but in the flavors we carry forward, each recipe a story, each bite a memory.
And on that patio, with the sun dripping gold over us, I knew: I wasn’t just serving food. I was serving nostalgia, love, and my identity’s bold, refreshing truth
Un cocktail de camarones. Un verano eterno
From my memory to yours—- Ría
