Panza Llena, Corazon Contento

Why is your dog named Panza? What does that mean?

Well let me tell you a little story.

My nana lived in a small adobe house in close proximity to the university. Visiting her was a wild sensory experience. The house itself smelled distinctly; it simultaneously awakened the senses and relaxed them. The thick adobe walls and the built in shelves were filled with original artwork and brightly colored objects. Years before, the wall in the backyard had been painted a deep fuchsia that gave off an attractive glow in the prolonged summer evenings.

But the kitchen was the center of the house – both literally and figuratively. All the best smells, tastes, sights originated in this sacred place. Something was always bubbling away on the well-used Viking range. The blender would be whirring, filled to the brim with earthy red liquid. There would be lots of chatting and lots of sweating, the cooking never ceased, the oven never left abandoned, even in the dead of summer. Nana made homemade new Mexican red chile sauce from whole dried chile pods, green chile enchiladas dolloped with sour cream and then baked till bubbly and fragrant. The favorite though of me and my two sisters was something called “Natillas” – a dessert most people have never heard of. It’s a transcendant magical pudding, aromatic with Mexican vanilla and cinnamon. Egg whites are whipped, a custard from the yolks and glugs of whole milk is whisked together, and dash after dash of ground cinnamon is added. The egg whites are folded into the custard and served mounded in a bowl and sprinkled with even more cinnamon. Even after a grand supper, those natillas always went down so easily, continuing to fill our bellies.

 Besides the kitchen, my favorite part of nana’s house was the horizontal bannister above your head as you walked out the front door. Carved into the wide bannister was the phrase, “Panza llena, Corazon contento.” 

Panza was a word I heard growing up often, as my dad came chasing after me and my sisters giggling, to tickle our panzas. In my family, like many others, feeding people to fill up their bellies was an act of love.

When we would spend weekends with my dad I now know that one of the only ways within his control to show us love was to feed us well, to satisfy our panzas.

 I decided to name my dog Panza. My boyfriend and I at the time adopted her in June 2015 as a 3 month old puppy.

After my boyfriend and I broke up, leaving me with Panza, mee and Panza’s major entertainment activity was baking and cooking in my minuscule kitchen. Inside my apartment Panza is at ease – it is her safe haven. She is relaxed, something she cannot seem to accomplish in public. I would whisk together the wet and the dry ingredients, pour into the greased pan and pop in the oven. I would place the empty mixing owl on the ground for Panza to lick. It was great mental stimulation as she would push the bowl around with her head submerged in it, it would often get stuck under chairs or near objects (like snake plant) that she was scared of. When she’d finish I’d grab the bowl and toss it in the sink. Then we’d do it all over again. Panza always waited patiently for her next assignment. But I soon realized how well her saliva adhered to any bowl, plate, spoon, or cutting board. I really had to use some serious elbow grease to remove it, but I kept doing it anyway.

Panza and I have an intense bond, mostly forged through our mutual love of food – but a strong bond nonetheless.

And as the 11th anniversary of my dad’s death is nearing, I can’t help but think how much he would have adored her and her crazy appetite.