Growing up in Honduras, the baleada was a constant presence in my life. As a child, I can still vividly remember the aroma of the air, mingling with the savory scents of refried beans, crumbled queso, and sizzling chorizo.   My abuela would wake up early every morning to prepare the baleadas for our family. She would knead the dough, roll out the tortillas, and carefully fry them until they were golden brown and puffed up. Then she would carefully assemble each baleada, layering on the warm, creamy beans, the crumbly cheese, and the spicy chorizo.  As I would sit around the table with my family, taking that first bite of the baleada, I was transported. The flavors would explode in my mouth - the salty, savory fillings contrasting with the soft, pillowy tortilla. It was a taste of home, of comfort, of love. The baleada was more than just a simple dish to me. It was a connection to my Honduran heritage, a way to feel close to my family even when they were miles away. Each bite reminded me of the laughter-filled meals we shared, the stories we told, the traditions we upheld. Even now, as an adult living far from Honduras, the baleada remains a cherished part of my identity. When I crave that familiar taste, I am transported back to my childhood, surrounded by the warmth and love of my family. The baleada is not just a food, but a piece of my heart, a tangible link to the place and the people I hold most dear.

– A.L.

Relationship:  Im/migrant Im/migrant