Cafecito with El Cuco
What my Abuela's favorite monster taught me about life. Plus a recipe for Café Colao.
One of my first memories is of sitting in my Abuela Alicia's tenement apartment in San Juan. I was five years old, and the roar of Highway 22 just outside her window was a soundtrack to my grandmother's morning routine. The cars honked angrily as she prepared her café colao the same way she had ten thousand times before.
Her back hunched as she scooped a few grainy cucharaditas of Café Yaucono into a cloth strainer. Her knarled hands closed around the black handle of a tiny aluminum pot that never left her stovetop. She slowly poured steaming hot water into the colador, its cloth stained a deep yellow from tip to tip. I watched, mesmerized, as she held the now glistening sock-like contraption over a faded red plastic tea cup and let the amber liquid slowly drip out.
Many women would enjoy the minute it took to filter their morning coffee in silence. But my Abuela was a true multi-tasker, and she would take those few seconds to discuss some of the challenges I would face in life. The biggest of which would be surviving El Cuco.
In case you're not of the Latin variety, El Cuco is Puerto Rico's version of the boogeyman. He is a snarling, shapeless monster that runs rampant through the streets snatching misbehaving children. He eats them alive as they kick and scream for their mothers, leaving behind a trail of blood, bones, and sometimes a dirty shoe.
It was the shoe detail that left me heavy with fear. I didn't own a single pair of clean sneakers. I trembled as I realized I must be on the beast's radar. Even more worrisome was that, according to my Abuela, El Cuco lived in the hallway outside of her tiny apartment.
"You must never go out there without my permission." She looked away from her coffee long enough to make eye contact. "He'll get you."
I could feel my eyes bulging as Abuela shook her head and tsked. "Mija. Look at your chubby cheeks. You'd be a tasty treat for El Cuco." I stared at my reflection in the toaster, terrified.
Many years later, as I made my morning coffee, I told my five-year-old about El Cuco. I watched my kid's eyes widen, much like my eyes must have, as I spun a sordid tale of a beast with an insatiable appetite for disobeying children.
My kiddo stared quietly at the coffee mug on our breakfast table as I stirred in a spoonful of condensed milk.
"Coco sounds scary."
"El Cuco. His name is El Cuco." I corrected, suppressing a grin.
My kid walked over to me slowly, then hugged me hard before looking deep into my eyes.
"It's a good thing Coco doesn't live in California."
I giggled as I hugged my kid back. "You're right, babe. You're so right."
I could almost hear my Abuela muttering, "Ay, bendito."
Even though I had failed to pass the fear of El Cuco to the next generation, I was still thankful that my Abuela Alicia had been successful. She had taught me a valuable lesson. Life is hard, and El Cuco comes in many shapes and sizes. It doesn't take a snarling monster to destroy you. It could be the loss of a job, a sudden illness, or a relationship falling apart.
If you're going through a difficult time, take a minute to focus on the present and a minute more to prepare for the fight ahead. A cup of Puerto Rican coffee can be the best way to sharpen your senses and ensure that whatever it is that's coming at you doesn't eat you alive.
Not today, Cuco. Not today.
Find my Abuela's recipe for Café Colao below the paywall.