I say porridge | Lucrecia Pinto | TEDxCuauhtémoc

This talk was given at a local TEDx event, produced independently of the TED conferences.
Lucrecia Pinto sings a song that highlights her Latin American roots: porridge, cooked in salted water with grain corn. It was a staple food in South America.

Good afternoon,

I'm very happy and thankful to be here.

I'm going to share a song with you
called "I say porridge,"

which is a very delicious recipe
of an Argentine dessert.

I was thinking, I think that recipes

hold people's memories
and preserve and share them,

just like they are in songs,

I think that's why I like to sing.

The 'mazamorra' is
a dessert made from corn,

which is prepared in a similar fashion
to the Mexican atole

which is why I chose this
song to sing here today.

Corn is a plant

that from the start has been very
connected to the birth and development

of the ancient cultures on our continent.

You might know that the gods
made man out of corn,

or that it was him,
the son of god, they say,

the one who sank himself into the earth
and made corn sprout from his body.

It's a sacred and very mysterious plant;

something that sticks out to me
is that it doesn't grow in the wild,

rather it depends on the hands of men

who thresh, sow, and harvest it.

So, it's a plant that connects men
and women to the earth,

and also connects them to
the sky, because these people,

watching their crops and observing
the movement of the stars,

created calendars

and left us a legacy of immense knowledge

that I hope to honor with this song today:
"I say porridge."

♪ Porridge, you know,
is the bread of the poor ♪

♪ And the milk of the mothers
with empty breasts ♪

♪ I kiss the hands
of the Inca Viracocha ♪

♪ Because he invented corn
and taught farming ♪

♪ It comes in a trough
to keep the family together ♪

♪ Greeted by the old,
celebrated by the young ♪

♪ Over there where
the goats silently return ♪

♪ And hunger is a cloud
with wings of wheat ♪

♪ Everything in it is
beautiful: the ripe cob ♪

♪ That is shelled on
windy country nights ♪

♪ The pestle and the maiden
with braids over her shoulder ♪

♪ To the grain she is adding
blushes and sighs ♪

♪ If you want it perfect,
look for a clay pot ♪

♪ And thicken it with
slight, neat gestures ♪

♪ From the rocking chair
cut from the branches of the fig tree ♪

♪ That accompanies your nap
with shades, little birds, and figs ♪

(Recites) You can add
a touch of Jume to it,

this plant found in desert valleys

that lets its flames
to feed it with its strength

until it turns slightly amber.

When you eat it, you feel
the people by your side

along valleys and river bends.

When you eat it, you feel
the Earth is your mother,

more than the old sad lady who
awaits your return from the field.

Its mother of your mother

and her face is a
stone carved by centuries.

♪ Many cities ignore its American taste ♪

♪ And many had forgotten
its Argentinian flavor ♪

♪ But it will always remain
what it was for the Inca ♪

♪ A nursing mother for the Andean poor ♪

♪ The night poets and
singers will be shot ♪

♪ For having corrupted and betrayed ♪

♪ The music and the pollen,
the birds and the fire ♪

♪ These verses I recite
might keep me safe ♪

♪ These verses I recite
might keep me safe ♪

♪ These verses I recite
might keep me safe ♪

(Applause)