Tag Archives: food

Día de Los Reyes Magos (Three Kings Day)

Transcript of Interview with my Informant:

Each year on January 6th, my family celebrates Día de Los Reyes Magos, or Three Kings Day, a tradition with roots in Catholic faith and Hispanic culture. The story goes that Melchor, Gaspar, and Balthasar–guided by the star of Bethlehem–brought gifts to the newborn Jesus. In honor of this event, our family gathers at someone’s home (sometimes mine) and shares a special sweet bread called Rosca de Reyes. The bread is circular, topped with colorful dried fruit, and contains hidden figurines of baby Jesus inside.

During the celebration, each family cuts a slice of the Rosca. If someone finds a figurine inside their piece, they’re “chosen” to host a gathering later in the year–symbolizing both a blessing and a responsibility. It’s a mix of excitement and groaning laughter when someone finds one; some are honored, others jokingly curse their luck.

On the night before, January 5th, children place a shoe near the door or under the Christmas tree, awaiting small gifts from the Three Kings by morning–just as kids do with Santa Claus on Christmas. While we’ve adapted parts of the tradition for our life in the U.S., the essence remains: a celebration of faith, family, and culture that marks both the joy of giving and the hope of a new year.

Context:

My informant first became aware of the significance of Día de Los Reyes Magos as a child, but admitted they didn’t initially recognize it as a distinct or formal “tradition.” Growing up in a Hispanic family in the U.S., the celebration felt like an extension of everyday life–something “normal,” even if classmates or neighbors didn’t understand it. The ritual of gathering around the Rosca and the playful suspense of finding the baby Jesus figurine stood out as moments of connection and community.

Celebrations would rotate between family members’ homes, often becoming larger events when someone “won” the figurine. These gatherings served not just as cultural practice, but also as a form of reunion–bringing relatives together after the holidays for one more festive moment. The act of putting out a shoe for gifts was a quiet, joyful echo of Christmas traditions, but with its own spiritual undertone tied to the biblical Magi.

The informant noted that these rituals, though modest in scale compared to holidays like Christmas, carry a different kind of emotional weight. They blend the sacred with the familial, and even the humorous–like the yearly joking dread of having to host the next party. Though they didn’t see their upbringing as “filled with traditions” at first, reflecting on this holiday made them realize how layered and meaningful these recurring events are.

Analysis:

The Día de Los Reyes Magos tradition functions as a cultural bridge, connecting the informant’s Hispanic heritage with their life in the United States. Like many diasporic traditions, it has been adapted to new social contexts–reshaped by work schedules, school calendars, and community life–yet remains firmly rooted in Catholic ritual and familial bonds.

The act of sharing the Rosca de Reyes and discovering the baby figurine exemplifies how folklore can use food as both a symbolic and functional tool. The bread becomes more than a treat–it’s a ritual object, one that assigns roles (the future host), invites storytelling, and reinforces familial obligations through humor and fate. In this way, the tradition embodies both luck and labor: blessings that come with responsibilities, just as faith comes with commitment.

Furthermore, the informant’s reflection illustrates the invisible ubiquity of folk practices–how traditions can be so woven into daily life that their significance is only recognized when viewed from outside or upon reflection. The use of shoes to receive gifts also echoes other folk traditions (like Dutch Sinterklaas or Saint Nicholas Day), showing the shared human impulse to mythologize generosity and moral reward during midwinter festivals.

Ultimately, this tradition is not just about religious observance. It is about identity–how faith, food, family, and folklore sustain cultural memory and offer moments of grounding and joy in the midst of American life. It’s a celebration not just of the Three Kings, but of the endurance of heritage in a changing world.

La Mordida

Nationality: Mexican American

Age: 21

Occupation: Student

Residence: San Francisco

Language: Spanish and English

Text: “In my family, when it’s your birthday, everyone sings the ‘Happy Birthday’ song and then starts shouting, ‘¡Mordida! ¡Mordida!,’ which means bite. That’s when you are supposed to take the first bite of cake, but you are not allowed to use your hands. And as you are leaning in to take the bite, someone, usually my dad, shoves your face into the cake. Sure, it’s messy and your makeup gets ruined, but you’ve grown up with it, so you expect it. You can’t get mad at it; it’s tradition.”

Context: My informant told me this about this life cycle ritual, which is something her family does at every birthday celebration, no matter the age of the person. Even if you are turning 1 year or 90 years old. She first experienced it when she turned 1, and she can’t remember, but there is photo evidence of it. She recalls her first memory of it being around five years old, and her older brother did it to her. She emphasized that while it can be a surprise, it’s not seen as mean or rude. Instead, it’s a sign of affection. She associates this tradition with joy, family bonding, and humor.

She learned this tradition from her parents and grandparents, who grew up practicing it in Mexico. Getting your face smashed into the cake is a larger constellation of birthday customs that include singing “Las Mañanitas” and having a piñata.

Interpretation: La Mordida is a playful, semi-ritualized disruption of a special moment. While it may appear aggressive to outsiders, the act of smashing someone’s face into a birthday cake works as an affectionate hazing, signaling inclusion into the family and community. It shows us the values of humor, resilience, and shared experience that are important in Mexican and Mexican American family structures.

The word “mordida” literally means “bite,” but in this context, it’s a rite of passage. Taking a bite that isn’t graceful but instead messy is both funny and intimate. It shows there is a deep cultural heritage to younger generations through memories. They don’t watch the tradition; they experience it; they feel it on their faces.

Día de los Muertos

Nationality: Mexican American

Occupation: Teacher

Residence: Nevada

Language: Spanish and English

Text: “Every year for Día de los Muertos, my family sets up an ofrenda in the living room. We put up photos of all our loved ones who have passed away, even including our pets. Alongside, we also include marigolds, sugar skulls, pan de muerto, water, and their favorite foods. Pan de muerto is always a must to add to an ofrenda, it’s a sweet bread with bone-shaped decorations on top. For my grandfather, we always put out a can of Coke, a pack of cigarettes, and juicy fruit gum. My mother also believes in leaving a cup of water for every passed loved one since the journey to get back to Earth is a long one, and they are probably thirsty.”

Context: My informant is Mexican-American and grew up in Los Angeles. Since she can remember, she has always participated in Día de los Muertos, and now, since she is older, she helps organize the family’s annual ofrenda. Her mother is from Oaxaca and takes the tradition very seriously. The ritual is a mix of sad and beautiful, but gives her a sense of connection to family members she never got to meet or ones she misses. The ofrenda is the emotional center of the celebration, but pan de muerto is the food associated with the holiday.

Interpretation: The ofrenda ritual for Día de los Muertos represents a profound fusion of indigenous Mesoamerican beliefs as well as Catholic practices. The ofrenda acts as both a physical and spiritual portal, in order to welcome the dead, but also to unite the community through shared memory and tradition. This tradition emphasizes the circle of life and how death is not the end but a recurring part of life that invites return, celebration, and remembrance. Eating pan de muerto together turns the experience from commemoration to communion, where the past is not mourned.

Lechon

Age: 51

Occupation: English

Residence: Corona, CA

Text

“When I think about big Filipino parties like weddings, baptisms, birthdays, Christmas, and even some funerals, the first thing that comes to mind is the lechon.

Lechon is a whole roasted pig, skin golden and crispy, head and all. It’s not just food; it’s also a spectacle. When the lechon arrives, someone always yells, “andiyan na ang lechon!” (the lechon is here), like someone famous just arrived. People gather around it, phones out, kids ready to grab, and family members grabbing their plates to have a piece.

Here in California, we usually order it from a caterer. It arrives crispy and ready to eat. The most important part of the lechon is the skin. It’s crispy, salty, and slightly sweet.

Lechon isn’t just something we are eating. It is a real celebration that marks abundance, pride, and hospitality. It shows that you spared no effort to feed your guests, too. Sometimes it can become a competition of who had the best lechon.

Even when there are other yummy dishes like pancit or lumpia, the lechon is always the centerpiece. It almost feels like the lechon is the guest of honor.

When I see lechon on the table, I don’t see just food. I see a tradition. I see a family showing love the Filipino way, which is full of laughter and full bellies.”

Context

The informant of this narrative was born in the U.S. to immigrant parents from the Philippines and grew up attending traditional Filipino gatherings in both domestic and community settings. Her story centers on lechon, which is a whole roasted pig that serves as the focal point of large celebratory events. The presence of lechon transforms an ordinary gathering into a culturally significant event, and its performance carries a deep symbolic and social meaning.

My Interpretation

From a folklore perspective, lechon functions as a material symbol of abundance, kinship, and collective identity. While it is technically a food item, it is best understood as a ritual object within the context of Filipino celebrations. Its preparation and presentation serve as a ritualized performance, where cultural meaning is enacted, remembered, and passed down.

The centrality of lechon to the events positions it as a symbolic quest of honor. The pig, therefore, is not just food but a performative symbol that embodies both economic investment and cultural pride. Its role aligns with the folkloristic principle that everyday practice scan function as nonverbal, expressive culture, encoding shared beliefs and values.

Lechon also serves as a visual and sensory expression of Filipino-American identity in diaspora. Even when the preparation changes from backyard firepits in the Philippines to pre-ordered catering in California, the core symbolic structure remains there. This demonstrates the multiplicity and variation that define folklore: traditions persist not because they are static but because they adapt meaningfully to new environments while preserving key elements.

In this sense, lechon is more than just a cuisine. It is a ritual marker of festivity, community, and cultural continuity.

Tang Yuan

Nationality: Taiwanese-American

Age: 20

Occupation: Animation Student

Residence: Los Angeles, CA / Queens, NY

Language: English

Text:

“One of the foods that we made is um.. Tang Yuan, which is like a… kind of like mochi? It’s like a glutinous rice ball and then on the inside is sesame paste. And so, it… it’s usually typically eaten during the New Year. Um… it’s just like kind of a dessert. I know it’s been more popularized within like, um… like, Taiwanese dessert places nowadays, or like dessert places in general, but they’re usually served as like a treat for introducing the New Year. Um… a while ago, like when I was really really young — I’d say like before I was five — my grandma used to make Tang Yuan by like… She didn’t have the sesame paste, it was just like flour balls, I guess? Like she’d make the sort of like, dough out of rice flour and water and then she’d dye it into different colors and like, cut it up into strips and then she’d have me and my cousins like prepare the dough balls together. And then she’d prepare a kind of uh, kind of soup, like a sweet soup to go with it. Um… I believe also typically… I prefer to eat it plain, but my dad um… My grandparents on my dad’s side — and my dad — they both kind of… they have like a somewhat Cantonese background, so they end up drinking it with like, this fermented wine, like rice wine. And it… has an ‘interesting’ taste, it’s like… it’s like the sweetness of the Tang Yuan on itself is pretty good, and it’s like, the fermented rice wine is very bitter, and very pungent…. and so it’s like, I don’t know how they acquired the taste for it but, um, my dad typically eats it with this sort of rice wine. And also, when you eat it… I think it represents currency. ’cause the ‘yuan’ at the end… and ‘tang’ is usually like ‘sweet.’ So like ‘sweet money.'”

Context:

Tang Yuan are a traditional Chinese dessert, although they can be sweet or savory. They are often made for holidays and festivals, especially the Lunar New Year. There are several variations on Tang Yuan recipes, but the most common one involves making a dough out of glutenous rice flour and water, stuffing the dough balls with a sweet black sesame paste, boiling, and serving warm in a sweet syrup. Tang Yuan are said to represent togetherness and completeness.