Story by Ludmila Pesce, Summer 2019
Growing up, my parents, uncles and aunts, and occasionally my older siblings, would drink yerba maté tea. They always drank maté in a gourd (a round cup that is made from a gourd or metallic exterior to keep the heat with a gourd or wood interior to keep the flavor) with a filter metal straw called a bombilla to strain the leaves and twigs. When someone in my family prepares maté, only one gourd is usually made. One gourd and a few traditional treats such as dulce de batata, alfajores, and tortas fritas are enough to last my family for many hours of conversation whether it’s about family, school, work, or even about the neighbor's noisy dog. Having these conversations while drinking maté keeps the cultural and social experience alive, forming a strong bond between family and friends. Maté is never meant to be enjoyed alone.
Yerba maté is an herbal tea found in the central and southern parts of South America. It’s brewed from the leaves and twigs of the yerba maté plant. The word mati derives from the Quechua language, which means “to infuse or the fruit of a gourd”. Maté is described as having the taste and health benefits of tea, the strength of coffee, and the pleasure of eating chocolate.
Eight-year-old me would disagree with that statement. I remember my first time drinking maté. My uncle came over one hot summer afternoon. During his visit, my mom made maté, which she usually prepares the same way every time: dry herbal mix hits the bottom of the gourd as the aroma fills the air and intensifies as she adds in the hot water and sugar; the grinding of the bombilla hitting the gourd as my mom mixes everything to keep the rich flavor together. When my mom sipped through the bombilla and poured fresh hot water, she hummed to herself, as she knew that she prepared a really good brew of maté. My mom and my uncle spent the afternoon talking and sharing maté together. I eyed the stainless steel gourd between them. My mom always warned me that I might not like the taste because it wasn’t sweet. But I was curious to find out myself. As soon as my mom and uncle left the kitchen, I quickly drank it up. My first thought: “It tastes weird.” Then the aftertaste kicked in and it left an intense bitter taste in my mouth. I quickly spat it in the sink and gulped down a glass of water. I heard laughter behind me, and lo and behold, my mom and uncle witnessed the first and last time of me drinking maté. Not my favorite memory of maté, but it’s an amusing one.
I may not have many memories of Argentina but maté always stood out to me. Having maté in my household refreshes my family. We have a piece of home with us, even if we’re far away. Maté keeps our heritage alive and connects us back to our roots. Maybe one day I can drink maté without having a bitter taste in my mouth and hopefully without someone laughing in the background.