Oda al mate

Let's face it, I'm not talented enough to write an ode to mate, but I'm dedicating this post to mate. When I was a boy we lived in southern California and I had a friend named Jordan Giuliani. At the time I could never figure out why his last name was Italian if his parents were from Argentina. I do remember that every time I would play at Jordan's house we would drink mate and watch futbol or cool sci-fi movies (after we played G.I. Joes of course). That was my first exposure to mate and when I think about mate I think of friends.

Later my friend Mac would patiently teach me how to properly cebar my mate and it became a regular habit. I remember many days in the office when we would share a mate, ruminate on philosophical questions, or simply talk about the simple things that make us happy. I've always known mate as a friendship beverage. Though there are many times when I drink it in solitude, on the farm, late nights while writing, quite afternoons staring out the window at the mountains. But it always tastes best when I can share it.

I like my wooden mate and the way it contours to my hand, I like that the yerba comes to me from Argentina, I love the warmth of the mate going down my throat and the foam that forms at the top sometimes. I enjoy the different blends and how each one is connected to a memory. But most of all, I love that when I sip my bombilla I know that my friends, even perhaps my childhood friend Jordan, would share with me if the distance didn't separate us.