Post fava stress disorder

In elementary school, I lived for a time with my grandparents. My grandmother, Clementina, worked as a seamstress when work came in. When it didn’t come in, there were domestic chores and complaints: “What am I supposed to do? Be a single mother with five children?” She hid bananas in her closet: “You and your brother would eat them all if I didn’t.” Her room was off limits.

On one of the school lunch breaks, I walked into the house and got a strong whiff of sulfur. I didn’t think much of it until I found out what was for lunch. Clementina had made salted cod fritters with fava bean rice. I wasn’t a picky eater, but I didn’t like fava beans. Too smelly. Lunch was served on a green Depression glass plate, the favas mixed into the rice. My throat closed up. I stared at the rice, trying to figure out how to eat around the beans.

Clementina, who’d spent a good part of the morning shucking fava beans, noticed.

“What’s with the fava beans?”
“I don’t like fava beans.”
“Eat the fava beans!”
“I don’t like them.”
“Child, eat the fava beans.”
“I don’t want the fava beans.”

Clementina’s teeth clenched. She came toward me and I covered my ears, expecting her to grab one. Instead, she grabbed my plate and smashed it on the floor. Rice, fava beans, and glass. All scattered across the tiles. Depression glass, depression everything, everywhere. “Now get the broom and clean it up!”

I refused.

Clementina started pacing the kitchen, calling herself “donkey” (dumb), muttering “For what? For what?” “I’m a worthless pile of garbage.” Then she started banging her head against the kitchen wall. “Why!? Why!? Why!?” I don’t know how many thumps, but it was several before she started screaming for my grandfather, “ROMEU!! ROMEEEU!! ROMEEEEEU!!”

My grandfather Romeu came into the kitchen. Clementina was screaming now—“There’s no respect. No one respects me anymore”—something dramatic like that. I don’t remember what Romeu said but I remember finding out later that he swept up.

In my defense, in Portuguese cuisine, salted cod fritters are almost always served with brothy rice with kidney beans—not with favas. Same way, in an American lunch, the P in PB&J doesn’t stand for pistachio. Tradition might have been a better argument than taste. But I was eleven, stubborn, and not very bright.

I went back to school early, with favas on the brain and nothing in my stomach. I should have stolen a banana from the closet.

Get to know more about Clementina in the video below. I hope it inspires you to get to know the life stories of the figures in your life.

Clementina Bean Stew Instructions

1. Stir fry onion in olive oil.
2. Peel a carrot.
3. Cut carrot and tomato into pieces.
4. Throw in tomato and carrot.
5. Add a bay leaf.
6. Let it cook for a while.
7. Cut pork belly and pigs feet, previously cooked in water and salt.
8. Throw in the meat.
9. Add beans, previously cooked in water and salt.
10. Season with salt.
11. Let it cook for 20 minutes on low.
12. Serve with bread.