I have a dream.
Now, I am perhaps the least ambitious man in America - actually standing up to walk across the room and change the channel rates as major act of gumption on my part - but I have an ambitious dream. I want to be a Goya.
If you aren't familiar with Goya food products, the next time you are at your supermarket, look for the aisle labeled "Mexican Food" and take a look around. Virtually every item will be produced by Goya. The Goya Corporation puts out a mind-boggling variety of foods. Most of these are Hispanic, or at least foods that a loyal Hispanic clientele would be expected to eat a lot of. The foods range from the pedestrian and expected (canned pinto beans, rice and chilies), to the interesting-but-not-so-expected (rice flour and elbow macaroni), to the truly startling (anchovi-stuffed cocktail olives, pickled cactus and the frighteningly named "Goya Potted Meat Food Product). Every time I go down the Goya aisle at my market, I feel like the children in the movie, Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory; I feel lightheaded and giddy at the prospect of so many cool food products. Three separate types of canned octopus, for the love of God! Who knew that there was even ONE type? I feel like grabbing other shoppers by the shoulders, shaking them around, shouting, "Coconut soda! They have coconut soda!" I don't, of course, but it takes an effort of will. Goya's extra-thick "gordita"-style corn tortillas are, in and of themselves, a major contribution to western civilization.
I was at a new friend's house a few weeks ago and we were cooking together. I forget precisely what we were making, but I remember saying, "You know what would be great in this? Capers."
My friend replied, "Oh, I've got capers," as if this was the most natural thing in the world to have sitting around one's kitchen.
We stopped for a moment, made eye-contact and paused for a heartbeat.
"Goya?" I asked meaningfully?
She just nodded solemnly. It was a bonding moment.
I heard a radio story a few months ago that mentioned that Goya is the largest Hispanic-owned food company in the United States. It is apparently a family-run business started in the 30s. I envision it as a sort of family dynasty headed by Senior Goya - a powerful man in late middle-age who looks like Caesar Romero.
I want to marry one of his daughters.
A powerful man like Senior Goya must have daughters. He is, after all (and keep in mind that we have drifted firmly into the realm of fantasy here) married to a stunning woman who looks exactly like Maria Conchita Alonzo and they MUST have several daughters. They might be beautiful. They might not. It doesn't matter. All that matters is that I marry into the empire. I can see it now - family holiday dinners where I am the token gringo son-in-law, tolerated only for the brilliance of his food-writing, the annual Christmas cards with a picture of me and my Goya family saying, "Feliz Navidad from the Fladds and their Fladditas", my own line of frozen Mexican treats - "Burritos Fladdito"... but I digress.
I'm afraid that I'm a darkhorse candidate for this particular lifestyle however. A little research on the internet has turned up the fact that the facts that while Goya IS a family-owned business, the phrase "family" refers to a multi-generational spread of extended cousins and that their name isn't actually Goya. My chances of insinuating myself into the organization are slim at best. But that hasn't stopped me from dreaming. I've been watching Spanish-language soap operas every night just in case. I don't understand what's going on yet, but I feel that this will prepare me for the family politics if I ever actually achieve my dream.
© 2001 HippoPress
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