Arroz con Pollo, Puerto Rican chicken with rice

It seems as though every culture has its own version of Chicken and Rice and Puerto Rico is no different.  As a child, my older sister and I spent whole summers, Christmas breaks and Easters with my mother’s family.  Our father spent a huge amount of time up and down the Amazon working on the genetics of a certain tropical fish in order to create his own strain.  So as the weeks before he departed loomed before us my mother would start making noises to the effect of “Girls, what do you think if we go to Puerto Rico? Jackson, (that’s what she called my father), vamos a Puerto Rico. Girls? GIRLS! I want you to check your gloves and make sure they all match.  Alicia, make sure yours are clean.”  And off we went on a massive Pan American jet.  We loved Pan Am!  The flight attendants were so glamorous and they pretty much always gave us hot chocolate, a huge treat for these two little girls.  Until my younger brother and sister came along, we were the only children in my grandparents house.  And, boy, did we love it.   Aunts and uncles spoiled us so we always had crayons and coloring books, china tea sets, wonderful dolls and books.  Oh, the books!  A few days after we arrived, for every visit, my aunt, the one who adored my older sister and looked upon me as though I was a spot of mud on an otherwise perfectly clean tile floor, would take us to “our” bookstore in old San Juan.  Libreria Campos was three stories of gorgeous books with glossy hardwood floors and an old-fashioned elevator. There, a gloved elevator attendant closed the solid brass door to the elevator before we lumbered up to our desired floor.  I remember I would be left alone in the young reader/children’s section as my sister and aunt went off whispering, arm in arm… 1960’s style bff’s.  After we had chosen our heart’s desire, the transaction would be finalized at the massive, dark polished wooden counter on the first floor.  Our books would be wrapped in Libreria Campos’ thick, moss green, signature paper then tied neatly with twine.  They were beautiful.  Every trip back to the house left me feeling a little like I had somehow been tricked.  In the taxi cab I’d be well into my one, single Nancy Drew thriller when I’d look over and there would be my sister sitting smugly with something like the entire collection of Anne of Green Gables.  I received one book, she got eight.  It just smacked of wrong.  Oh, well.  Afternoons found the two of us having tea parties with our dolls beneath our grandparent’s tall, dark, mahogany beds where we sat up straight pretending to be aristocratic ladies.  Chicken was the star of most of our meals and they, too, were a ritual.  Our dinners were somewhat dressy affairs.  At 5:00 p.m. sharp we were given baths, changed into little dresses and hair was neatly combed.  We were allowed to watch a few episodes of Felix the Cat in Spanish and then we dined… alone.  The grownups never dined with the children.  And that’s where the chicken and rice comes in.  Always perfectly seasoned, aromatic and glistening with olive oil coated capers, olives and peppers.  It was just heaven.  The traditional Puerto Rican accompaniment was, and is, red beans and pumpkin, either in the beans or steamed separately.  Nothing makes Puerto Rican adults happier than children asking for more.  And there was always, always more!