personal experience

garden with the playground, and on the front side, just tree huge trees and a fence covered in bamboo sticks, where bees would make their beehives.

Naturally it was not our favorite spot, so close to the bees, but you see, it was plain afternoon in a South American country in Spring, it must have been very hot out there, and the teachers wanted to avoid faintings.

They were very well organized: after making us hold hands in circle and then sat down, they would go around the circle pouring water onto the tea bags from a thermos and adding a spoonfull of sugar to each cup.

I clearly remember watching the water turn green and feeling the warmth of the water through  the tin cup, with all my friends at my side, commenting on the amount of water and the sweetness or bitterness of their drink. I myself had never had tea before, so it was my very first time sipping anythinglike that, and little did I know about the difference between mate and mate cocido.

Naturally, I did not like it. 

Mate cocido is indeed a milder version of mate, but still, I could not cope with the herbal and bitter taste of it. I found it strong and spicy and I couldn’t at my four years of age, drink it all: I ‘secretly’ poured it on the grass.

I of course was the special snowflake of my class: looking around I noticed that all my classmates, who were used already to have mate at home, were enjoying their mates cocidos, sipping it like specialised degustators of yerba, somehow like mini someliers.

I better remember the embarrassment of being the weird ignorant one, that didn’t appreciate her own culture enough! But for as embarrassing as that experience was, it sticked to me, all these years, especially the feeling of being in that situaton, the people, the smells, the wind blowing warm, and the warmth of mate in my hands.

 

A few years later, I would be helping my mother prepare and serve a snacks tray during one of my father’s frinds meetings; among other drinks were of course mate and all needed items.

So, of course, you can’t just go there and start preparing the mate in front of all of them, it is a process that must be executed in the kitchen and only once it is done the final product can be consumed by the men ( I know, it is a very denigrant situation for a woman to be in, but it was the 90s in Latino America...).

 So I’m staring at my mother, from underneath the kitchen counterbank, while she puts the kettle on the stove and lights up the fire by hand. She then proceeds to take the mate and yerba out of the cupboard and places it next to the sink; the sugar and edulcorant, the ones in the “visitors’ containers” go on the tray, together with a little spoon. Last but not least she takes the big spoon and a bombilla from the first drawer, placing them next to the mate.

It only took her three minutes to put the right amount of yerba into the mate, shake it off, set the bombilla in the right spot and at the right angle and put the mate back on the counter. She then took the kettle from the fire, the water in it barely warm, and poured the first chorro of water in it, meticulously centering the spot. The mate was then let to set on the counter again, while the kettle was put back onto the stove. All of this while the stove was still running, because of course, it was the ninties, it would have taken her forever to light it up againg between a passage and the other.

Once the base of the mate was set, she explained to me, she had to wait until the water reached th right temperature: in the meanwhile we set the tray. A support for the pava, the sugar, the spoon, some napkins and torta frita. 

When the water finally reached the right temperature a few seconds later (and only God knows how she knew), she took the kettle and poured the water into the mate, waited a few seconds and sip the content. She then proceeded to spit it in the sink. This was repeated several times before she placed the whole set on the tray.

I remember being quite concerned about the spitting part: she then explained to me that it was necessary becuse of the intensity of the drink, and that that is the traditional way o preparing it. She then left the room to serve mate to the gentlemen, leaving a concerned Eva pondering about this weird tradition of ours.

After moving to Italy in 2004 we discovered there was nothing such as mate in Europe. And that was so for several years. 

Yerba mate, mate, mate cocido and suh, were not known nor commercialized in Italy: I remember my mother cherished the few ounces of it we had brought from Argentina, and the few afyernoons she got to spend with other Argentinians chatting and having mate. 

From 2004 to 2009 that was the only mate I experienced: I didn’t even experience it myself, I just perceived the sorrow my mother felt for not being able to buy it or consume it freely.

It was only in 2012, after a trip to Argentina, that I got bck to mate: I had bought one there and my parents had bought yerba and transported it to Italy. At the time I was a tea addict and started to prepare my very own verison on mate cocido: I would put something like three table spoons of yerba in a mug, then pour boiling water on it and let it set until it was cool enough to drink. I then proceeded to add a tablespoon of sugar and some lemon juice. only at this point I sticked the bombilla into the watery mess and sip it from it. I absolutely loved it!

My parents were disgusted by this invention of mine, and never dared to try it.

 

Finally, I had to travel a lot to Argentina during the last six years, since my father died. I had hence the opportunity to rediscover mate, the real deal, and catch upwith some traditions.

I had to learn how to prepare it and how to drink it from scratch, but I slowly learned how to apreciate it too.