Cultural Immersion: La Michoacana Purépecha
I craved something sweet. Having just been paid, I figured I could treat myself, and in some stroke of luck, I remembered this assignment. It seemed like it was a sign – one of my coworkers earlier that day had mentioned this ice cream shop her family, who immigrated from Mexico, goes to regularly: La Michoacana Purépecha. So I went there.
It was almost empty. To be fair, it was pretty late at night. I was nervous, because I had never been there before and I had gone alone. There wasn’t anyone else in line to order, and with no one to point me in the right direction, my plan to copy whatever the person in front of me did was gone. I lingered near the door, feeling slightly overwhelmed at all of the options and the wall of a menu. I stared at it, flabbergasted and overwhelmed, my eyes no doubt wide in surprise at the various options – most of which I didn’t understand. The wall menu was in Spanish, and I can’t read Spanish.
Unfamiliar with most of the items on the menu, I just kind of stood there for a few minutes and then looked around the store. There was no one behind the counter to ask questions or talk to, which gave me a sense of relief. At least I wasn’t holding them up while I struggled to figure out what to do. There was a family, or at least what appeared to be a family as there were clearly several generations present, sitting along the wall at the back. They were speaking in Spanish and were all enjoying treats. The children and the oldest two women with greying hair – two little girls – had popsicles, while the others were eating mangonadas. The children had what looked like homework spread out on the table before them.
A woman dressed in the store uniform smiled at me but otherwise stayed with the family, talking. Maybe she picked up that I clearly wasn’t ready to get anything and was still taking in the bright, fun decor interspersed with traditional and cultural memorabilia, as well as the menu options.
While I was looking at the menu, the door opened behind me. I stepped to the side to indicate I was still looking, and the couple that entered came up beside me. They also spoke Spanish, and discussed the options, then moved to the counter and looked at the different popsicles. The woman working came over and they all chatted briefly while she rang them up. While she got their order together, it was my turn.
I faltered, of course. The other two seemed to know exactly what to get, but my nerves were eating away at me. What if I got the worst thing they had, or what if I said it wrong? So instead, I asked her what the best sweet item was.
The woman from the couple watched as the worker, now flustered, looked to her. Clearly, we didn’t speak each other’s native language. Even more flustered, I blurted out an option and then pointed to something in the case. Both women stared at me for a moment before the customer explained that I had ordered two separate things. Not wanting to seem as foolish as I felt, I went with it and got both.
While my order was being prepared, the two women conversed, before the customer beside me explained that the mangonada was one of the most popular items, as was the fresas con crema and paleta de fresas con crema I ordered. We talked about what was in it and introduced ourselves while we waited for our separate orders. Bella, as I learned, was a regular at the shop and preferred the elote.
Bella helped me again when the worker asked what toppings I would like. I didn’t know what would be best, so I asked the worker to pick. We both turned to Bella again, who then finished the order for me.
After paying and thanking Bella, I then sat down with a parfait and a popsicle and determined to try and bring the popsicle home. Bella and her boyfriend sat near me, and another couple came in and then sat near the windows. While this was happening, the family in the back said their goodbyes to the worker and left, though one did stay behind and joined the group near the windows. I thanked Bella again and left shortly after.
