The Last Pupusa
Almost 17 years ago, I flew with my then-girlfriend to visit her homeland of El Salvador to ask her father’s permission for her hand in marriage. Although I was in my early forties, I still felt the need to show my respect to her father, for whom we both share great reverence. I wouldn’t say I was nervous, but there was some anxiousness prior to asking.
Papi, as we all call him, is a throwback to the last generation of industrialists. He built an empire with his bare hands, sheer determination, and the will to carve out a better life for himself and his family. Although he is a man of diminutive stature, he was a giant in the screen printing industry.“ Don Carlos, Don Carlos!” the people on the floor of the trade shows would call to him as he walked by. Can you say Rockstar! He single-handedly put El Salvador on the map in the screen printing world. Very similar to my grandfather, he is a man of few words, but his mere presence fills the room.
It is about this time that most readers of this blog ask, “What does this have to do with Federal Workers Compensation?” The answer is: nothing—and everything. One of my mentors used to say, “People buy the messenger first, then the message.”
My blog is an attempt to pull back the curtain on the great and powerful Oz, and show that there is a person and a team behind what we do at One-Fed Injury Clinics. Further, our dedication to injured federal employees goes beyond providing claims management and treatment. This blog—with its stories, advice, and structured plans for self-improvement—is part and parcel to that dedication. So, now on with the show…
Nothing can prepare you for the oppressive heat as you walk out of the airport in La Paz, El Salvador. Although summers in South Florida are hot by most standards, the summer heat in El Salvador takes your breath away. Literally.
Seventeen years ago, El Salvador had long moved past its civil wars and, aside from the gangs that exist in many developing countries, was relatively quiet. Papi picked us up from the airport in his big Mercedes and drove us an hour or so back to his house in San Salvador. The ride through the county revealed most of what is par for the course in developing nations. Hard-working people trying to carve out a life for themselves the best way they can. El Salvador is famous for their colorful private buses that function as its most highly used form of public transportation. Outside the armed guard at the entrance to his development, and street vendors on most corners, we could have just as easily been in Boca Raton when we arrived at his house.
Having traveled to Costa Rica numerous times, I was well accustomed to certain aspects of life in Central America. However, I was not prepared for a little piece of heaven that would become a central part of my relationship with my wife.
That piece of heaven was the pupusa.
Mari (pronounced Madi) was their housekeeper, au pair, cook, and house manager for over forty years. When we arrived, she was busy in the kitchen preparing the evening meal, but she paused to greet her little Karlita and her gringo boyfriend. I asked Karla what Mari was making, and she told me they were pupusas—baked corn patties filled with beans and cotija cheese. That would be dinner, along with perhaps some soup. At the time, I was a pretty big eater and couldn’t help but wonder… what else we’d be having? Well, dinner arrived, and the meal was delicious. But me being me, I couldn’t help but ask if anything else could be filled inside the pupusa. That suggestion was met with a stare from my wife that bordered on sacrilegious.“Beans and queso,” she said firmly. “That’s what goes in a pupusa.” I floated the idea—half-joking—that maybe some chicken or even shrimp might mix it up a bit. That thought was quickly put to rest, and nothing more was said about it for the remainder of the trip.
Many months later, we were getting married, and her family was coming for the wedding. Her father and his wife arrived in Miami, and we drove down from Fort Lauderdale to pick them up. They were staying for maybe three or four days—and brought four giant suitcases with them. I could only imagine what they needed that much luggage for. I asked Karla what was up with all the bags, and she just smiled and said it was a surprise. When we got back to the house, we carried two of the suitcases upstairs to the guest room—and the other two into the kitchen. I was secretly hoping they were packed with duty-free liquor or Cuban cigars… but no such luck.
Papi placed both of the suitcases we brought into the kitchen on the counter and unzipped them. Just like the glowing briefcase Samuel L. Jackson opens in Pulp Fiction, a warm light seemed to shine from within. Inside were 50 chicken pupusas and 50 bean pupusas. Frozen solid for the flight. I couldn’t believe it. Mari had overheard my offhand suggestion and asked Papi what I had said. She’d spent time experimenting with the recipe, and once she perfected it, she sent her creations—her babies—to America. I wish this story had a bigger ending, like “Mari’s Pupusas” are now available at a Whole Foods near you. But maybe the ending is bigger than that. From that moment forward Karli’s family has hauled suitcase after suitcase of frozen pupusas from El Salvador to SoFlo much like in the movie Blow for the past 17 years. Our freezer is never without a sleeve or two. Always at the ready for a quick meal and a trip down memory lane to El Salvador for my wife.
Mari and I don’t share much in common—except that we both love Karla very much. And through that love, Mari loves me. And I love her. She’s since retired and is enjoying life with her little niñas and niños. We saw her this past December—and yes, she had several sleeves of her delicious pupusas ready for Karla and I to take home.
At our core, One-Fed Injury Clinics is a service provider. We gather health-related information and provide medical oversight to help injured federal employees open claims and receive the care they need. Seems simple enough. But often, it isn’t.
The system in which we provide that care is broken and disjointed. It’s filled with misinformation, disinformation, intimidation, and red tape. One-Fed must serve like a lighthouse keeper—helping each claimant stay steady through the storm of the claim approval process. We anticipate. We listen. We help them avoid crashing into the rocks —all without the claimant ever being aware, we are always serving.
They have a job to do, and so do we. It’s not unlike Mari.
She didn’t say much, but she paid close attention. She heard me. Quietly, thoughtfully, and without fanfare. That’s the kind of care we strive for at One-Fed. Behind the scenes. Ahead of the need. Always listening. Happy Easter and Passover, everyone. Have a great week.
