The Churro Incident

Shortly after our Au Pair, Dome, arrived in the states from Ecuador, we ordered a churro gun from Amazon. It’s not an actual gun that shoots out churros - though that would be pretty magical -  just a white tube with blue attachments that you feed the dough through into a pan of hot oil. She and I were still in the beginning stages of working through language barriers and learning how to effectively communicate with one another when I eagerly asked her, “Do you know how to make churros?” 

“Uh, yes, I do. I haven’t made before, but I can look for recipe video.” her English a bit broken, but perfectly understandable.

As I poured the blue attachments onto the counter - the star, the rectangle, the fluted circle - I pulled the instructions out along with them. On the back was a short recipe titled, “The Ultimate Churro Recipe.”

“Oh, look! Here’s a recipe! We can just use this!” I handed her the booklet.

She glanced over it, hesitating a bit. I was new to her, this language was new to her, everything about our home was new to her. And with my well-intentioned, keep-it-simple-attitude, I assumed that this recipe in our hands was perfectly sufficient and perhaps, even better than what she knew. No need to watch a YouTube video or make a call back to Ecuador when we have something already typed out and in front of us, promising instructions to get the churros from point A to point B. 

“Okay, we can try, if you think it’s best,” Dome obliged. 

We got to work, following the instructions as best as we could. Add the flour, the water, mix. 

The batter was thin, but I wasn’t sure what it was supposed to look like. I mean, I’ve never made churros before. 

Consumed plenty? Yes. Created them? Nope. 

But I had bought the kit and the kit said this is the way, so it must be the way. 

Dome was quiet and then giggled a bit. “I don’t think this is right. It’s too…um…” She flashed a word on her translator app. “Too liquidy” I confirmed. 

We let it sit in the fridge for a bit to see if it’d thicken up. It didn’t. Still, in honor of time and the huddle of impatient children drooling nearby, we poured it into the churro gun anyway, as if it would suddenly turn from a viscous goop to thick, delicious churros between the press handle and the star-shaped opening. 

We squeezed it into the oil, making long strips like we’d seen done before. It sizzled and cracked as it landed. The thin dough instantly bled into clumps and solidified in the most unappetizing way. Instead of forming the perfectly cylindrical confections I’d enjoyed nightly on our family trip to Mexico two years prior, we were cooking wildly unstructured pastries that looked like, well…turds. There’s really no way to sugarcoat it, y’all. Pun intended. 

We pulled the wanna-be churros out of the oil and Dome generously covered them in cinnamon sugar, pretending like nothing was wrong. Until she caught my eye and I started cracking up:

“They look like poop.”

“Caca.” I offered, and we burst out laughing together. 

She breathed a sigh of relief, as if she finally had permission to speak freely: “I knew something wasn’t right. It’s not the recipe I know.” She giggled at me, a pile of poop-shaped pastry on the plate before her. 

“I didn’t know you knew a recipe! I thought you hadn’t made them!” I cackled back. 

“I haven’t but my family has. I know what they should be.” 

“And this isn’t it,” I finished her sentence.

When we started our baking endeavor, I was sure my way would be better. Dome was new to the United States, learning so much from the experiences around her, and I was presumptuous to believe that this was something else she needed to learn too. In my hurry to produce something I was familiar with from a distance, I  believed my way was better, barely pausing to acknowledge her heritage or history with the subject at hand. 

Instead of waiting for Dome to confirm the correct way to make churros - the way she’d experienced it countless times before - I imposed my way onto her because I was convinced it would be fine. Turns out, a Chinese rendition of a Mexican recipe translated into poor English is simply a recipe for disaster! I was in such a hurry to prove my proficiency that we wound up with maybe-you-shouldn’t-eat-that “Turd-o’s” (as we affectionately named them), instead of melt-in-your-mouth Churros.

How many times have I done this in my life? Assumed my way was the better way? The correct way? Or even…the only way? Oof. 

We live in a kaleidoscope world, fashioned by a magnificent creator, bursting at the seams with unique culture and customs. If we’re willing (and humble enough), we begin to recognize that we are surrounded by a vibrant tapestry of experience, illuminating ideas and ideals we could never imagine on our own. And yet, we often find ourselves blind to the blazing color in front of us. We are deaf to the whispers that someone else might know a way, too, filling our souls with knock-off versions of half-truths instead of feasting on the rich, sweet perspectives that we might find when we stop to let someone else’s voice be heard. 

//

Dome has been living with us for over a year now. Her English is excellent, we communicate effectively, and we’ve settled into a rhythm of teamwork in our daily lives. 

I’m working in my bedroom and I hear a little knock at the door.

“Mommy, I have a present for you!” It’s my 4-year-old son, holding a plate with four perfectly golden, evenly sugared churros, still steaming.

“Oh my goodness! For me?” I exclaim. 

“Yep! Me and Dome cooked them! They’re Choo-ros!” He face ignites with a smile. I peer around the wall and see her standing in the kitchen in her floral apron, happily humming and dropping thick strips of dough into the hot oil.

“Thank you!” I call out. “This is amazing!”

My son hurries back to her and resumes his position on the step-stool where he happily rolls the fresh treats in their cinnamon coating. 

She’s teaching him what she knows. In sweetened bits and pieces, between stolen bites and nibbles, she knows her heritage is welcome here. Her perspective is needed. And her personal experience far outweighs any of my presumptions.

If our original churro-making mishap has taught us anything, it’s that I’m clearly not the one to teach my children how to make churros. And by relinquishing my belief that I knew best, I provided space for Dome to have the confidence to trust that she actually did. And I’m thankful for that. 

Because my way isn’t always best. 

Because my family and I will always have much to learn from those around us.

And because churros made by Dome are 100% better than “turdos” made by me.

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Things I’m loving right now:

Reading - “Slow Growth Equals Strong Roots” by Mary Marantz. This book is a stunning guide to practicing presence and finding perspective in every season of our lives. As a creative and small business owner, I am finding heaps of solidarity and endless encouragement within these pages. And it’s making me even more excited for my in-person meet-up with Mary Marantz (yes, you read that right!) next month!

Watching - 1883: Y’all if you haven’t watched this masterful piece of poetry in motion, run don’t walk over to Paramount+, download the free trial and get caught up. We went into this after finishing Yellowstone, knowing it was the prequel, but not expecting it to be the incredibly powerful narrative that it is. From the writing to the cinematography to the casting, it has quickly become one of our favorite shows of all time.

Buying - My favorite water bottles for my whole family! We all needed to upgrade our water bottle situation and after carrying nothing but Thermoflask to weddings in 105 degree heat for the past 2+ years, I knew the rest of my crew needed them too. Smitty and I bought the larger size, but they have standard size bottles and even adorable duos for the kids as well!

Making - I’m spending my days knee-deep in a tough transition season, working through what’s next for me and for our family. Right now, this looks like a whole lot of system building behind the scenes - workflows, content creation, goal-setting and storytelling. It’s not always glamorous, but I know it’s necessary to begin to bridge the gaps between where we are now and where we want to be. This She is Kindred podcast episode with Rachel Marie Kang speaks to that a bit and is reminding me to stay present where I am instead of pushing through to every possibility before it’s time.

Photo of my love and I, practicing presence and soaking up quiet on our little cabin getaway with our family last month.

Thank you so much for being a part of this little corner of my world where I share my words and wonderings at the intersection of faith, family and following dreams.

-Britt