Coquito Wars

You know you want some. 

I'm going to say it; Puerto Ricans make the best Christmas drink, hands down.  It's the most sought-after come Christmas time, and the most enjoyed - even over eggnog. People climb over each other to call their Puerto Rican friends to ask if they've made coquito this year. Chances are there is a batch waiting, and if you've been a good boy or girl (or a least haven't gotten caught), you may get to share in the liquid goodness.

Share the drink, that is. The recipe? Jamas. You see, Puerto Ricans hold on to their coquito recipes closer than they do family secrets. Ask, and you'll almost always get the same look on their faces that say: "Yeah, we close, but not THAT close." It's akin to asking for a kidney. 

Why so guarded? Because coquito is not only a cultural tradition but a rite of passage and a source of clan warfare.  Families compete over who has the best recipe, and who has the right percentage of alcohol (too strong is scandalous, too weak is unforgivable).  Some families will add something unique to their recipe that they will absolutely never share with anyone outside of the clan - you will literally have to marry into them to get access.  The families who earn the reputation of conjuring the best brew are revered and celebrated (and invited to all the gatherings).  Bad coquito may cause banishment. 

While I may be #kiddingnotkidding on the above, I'll share with you a story. 

Every family has their own version of a coquito recipe.  That recipe has probably been handed down from generation to generation, usually from one chosen person to another, making them the "keeper of the coquito." That brings them into central focus every December to January, as it becomes their goal to supply the family with their winter nectar. 

My grandmother (que descanse en paz),  made an amazing coquito. On the strong side of the spectrum, she drank only that and beer to celebrate the holidays.  The recipe was a secret - no one else in my family knew how to make it. NO ONE.

As an adult, husband and proud Papi, I try to add a lot of Latino tradition to our holiday. I introduced Los Reyes to the kids early on (another blog post on that to come soon), we play aguinaldos (Puerto Rican carols) non-stop so they at least can know the words, and I even took up the guitar for a while to try and play them myself.  I didn't grow up with these traditions as my family has been in the states since the 1940s, but I didn't want my children to forget where their dad's family came from.

The only thing I felt was left, was for our family to own that coquito recipe. I knew it would be a controversial endeavor, as cousins and aunts have tried in the past to wrestle it from my grandmother's factory strong hands.  So one day, I and my wife went to the supermarket, bought a ton of what we thought were the basic ingredients, and went to her apartment in the Bronx. I asked her to please give us the recipe. And me, being the first-born grandson (and unapologetic favorite) of my grandmother, she obliged. The look on two of my aunt's faces who happened to be in the apartment that day spoke volumes, as they watched, jaws open, as my grandmother directed my wife and I through her process, giving us the basics, but letting us know that in the end, its to be made a tu gusto (to your own taste).

A year later, we spent Christmas in the Dominican Republic with my wife's family.  Being in the Caribbean for the holidays meant that Christmas day can be spent at the beach, and so we trekked up to Playa Sosua for a wonderful, sun-filled day. 

Throughout that visit, my wife, who is the darling daughter of her small town of El Cibao, was making coquito for family and friends during all the festivities. That it was a hit was an understatement.  Coquito is not as common among Dominican families, and our batch had folks putting down their Presidentes and Johnnys and asking for more.  I was proud that my family was continuing my grandmother's legacy, and expanding it internationally. 

My wife bought a few bottles with us to Playa Sosua and shared some with the proprietors of our favorite kiosk/restaurant at the beach. Playa Sosua, Puerto Plata's only public beach, has a small army of kiosk restaurants that line the beach, providing food, drink, beach chairs and umbrellas to those who would dine at their small share of sand.  They usually have country-themed decor and international flags to differentiate themselves and attract the respective European tourists who travel there. We had befriended the owner of the Italian kiosk and would go there whenever we visited. It was with him and his Dominican wife that we shared our coquito with that day. 

The proprietor's wife immediately asked for the recipe.  And that's when a Christmas trip to the beach turned into an international incident. 

You see, what I learned being married into a Dominican family, is that there is a very unique sharing culture, especially around food.  So to ask for the family recipe of a stranger is not at all unexpected. In fact, to request the recipe is to pay compliment to the cook, that someone would want to duplicate their work. In most cases, I'd be flattered - sure! Here's my smoothie recipe, or my protein pancake mix, or my tips for fantastic BBQ steak and burgers. But she asked for the coquito.  I felt like I had fallen into the sunken place.

My wife looked up, wide-eyed at me, knowing the impending dilemma. The proprietor's wife looked at me in anticipation. My wife's family looked at me in prideful expectation. 

"Sorry. I can't give you the recipe."

I don't think I've ever seen a group of people so surprised in my life.  Questions of why not and embarrassed warnings to not disrespect our hosts were given.  

"I'm sorry. This is my grandmother's recipe, and I can't give it to a stranger. "

I don't think I've ever been seen as more of a pariah as in that moment.  The woman left and returned with what she thought would be a fair barter - the recipe for the restaurants' spaghetti sauce, which was very, very good.  I rebuffed her again, my brown, suntanned face looking sheepishly pale. 

My father in law was aghast. My mother in law was already reporting the scandalous incident on the phone to her sisters. My wife was struggling between supporting me and trying not to get us all thrown off the beach. After the proprietor and his wife awkwardly returned to their duties, she tried to explain to her folks that I didn't want to give the recipe to someone who most likely would use it to sell the coquito to customers for profit, without giving my family proper credit. That slightly smoothed over the situation, but the damage had been done.   In the end, we left earlier than intended, and with an awkward silence.  It was the longest drive ever.

It may be hard to understand why I'd be so stubborn in my stance of keeping the recipe, but knowing how my grandmother kept it for generations, even among family, and how she gave this to me and my family, as one of her last gifts to us, made me weather whatever judgement that would come. I was not about to give something so valuable to someone I loved to someone who couldn't understand its value. To this day I stick by that stance, and there are some who understand it, and some who still give me that "he crazy" look when I tell this story. Those with family coquito recipes of their own usually fall into the former category.

Now, I can respect that there are those who genuinely want to get a recipe and start their own legacy. You can find basic recipes online. But know, however, that most lack any real signature of a personal touch. I am not a fan of the new "flavored coquito" trend, adding mint and abominations like pumpkin spice to the sacred art to entice hipsters and the Starbucks crowd. Worse, however, are the tequila or other non-rum based coquitos.  I am a purist in that end.  I'll always go for the traditional blends and real Puerto Rican rum. Don Q is my rum of choice. And that's about all I'll ever share with you. Unless you marry me.

Oh, and about the proprietor in DR? Just this past August, we returned to the scene of the spectacle and patron his spot. We never mention the incident, but as we were leaving, I noticed a different woman behind the counter. I asked where his wife was. He replies that they divorced about a year ago, that she left him and he had a new girlfriend. I turn to my wife and say "And THAT'S why." To which I got an eye-roll and vindication.