Fall 2024 Commencement

Texas A&M International University
Commencement Address
December 12, 2024

Members of the Board of Regents, Faculty, Distinguished Guests, Parents, and Graduating Students of the Texas A&M International University Class of 2024: Congratulations!

It is an honor to be speaking with all of you today. I feel the deepest gratitude for the invitation to be here and I could not be happier to be here...though I must confess that I am, at the same time, deeply saddened by the passing of Dr. Arenaz. We were both so excited about my coming to see you all, but I know deep in my heart that he is with us at this moment. Dr. Arenaz, this is for the graduating students and in your honor. Oh how I wish you were here.

Graduates: The TAMIU name will not only open doors for you throughout the country, but coming from the borderlands, people know that students from Laredo are resilient, creative, have strong work ethics and values and strive to always give back to their communities and the new places where they may land.

As you all may know, I am a former political analyst turned chef, TV host and cookbook author. In thinking about what I can share that will be the most useful to you. It's not the Quick and Easy recipes to cook in a small space as you move to the next steps of your journey, as you can get that on Instagram. But rather some insights from being an immigrant, a Mexican American, a topic I find myself thinking about a lot lately, as you are all, in a way about to become strangers in a new land in your next path of your journey.

When I first moved to the United States from México, after I got married, my English was a disaster, I could barely string together a sentence. Now, I can string many, but with a heavy Mexican accent!

But what is more, I was a terrible cook. I couldn’t even whip up a decent egg scramble. I had always been a fabulous eater, and still am, but food was not my initial career path.

After a degree in political science in México and a graduate degree in Latin American studies in the U.S., I landed a job as a political analyst in a prestigious policy research institute, in Washington, D.C.

According to the linear path I had set for myself, I was working in what was supposed to be my dream job. A life where I could help to strengthen democratic institutions and civic culture in México, promote collaboration between countries, and break myths and stagnant narratives about Mexicans and Latinos all over the world.

However, I was miserable. I witnessed day to day, how no matter how many times you sat people with opposing views at the same table to talk, they just couldn't see eye to eye. No matter how many articles you write, or how many conferences you plan, with existing gridlock, things resist change.

That is, until you put food with meaning on the table. It is hard to resist a warm bowl of Mexican pozole, steaming tamales or drowned crispy taquitos. Food has the power to unlock a hidden door for communication and understanding.

What if instead of policy writing I wrote about our food? After all, I was pretty obsessed with it. That is all I talked about at work. Every night, I would bring cookbooks to bed. My husband started insisting I switch careers since all I was reading from the newspapers was the food section. But I resisted, thinking I had married a macho man in disguise who wanted a wife in the kitchen.

So, after years of hesitation, I decided that I didn’t want to give our kids an example of working so hard only to be miserable at work. I wanted to give them an example of trusting your gut, taking chances, and defying expectations. I took a leap of faith, resigned, and with two toddlers and a baby enrolled in culinary school. And instead of writing about policy, I started writing about tacos.

To this day, my former boss, a dear friend, always tells me that I need to thank him for giving me what he calls “that dreary job” or I wouldn't have switched careers and be here!

Well, culinary school gave me the technical chops however it was based on European cooking. It didn't have anything on Mexican or Latin cooking or culture in its curriculum. And it was Mexican food, the tastes from home, what had nurtured me growing up, what I hankered for and wanted to share with the world.

So, I called my mom, my sisters, mis abuelas, tias and primas, and even my mother-in- law ... which is saying a lot, to talk about our family recipes.

What was even more revealing, is that I began connecting with the diverse Mexican diaspora in the U.S. I would strike up a conversation with anyone who I thought sounded, looked or acted Mexican. If I saw you eating a torta on the train or picking up a pound of manteca or chiles jalapeños at the store, I would ask what you were going to cook with that. And the next thing I knew, I was cooking and sharing meals with people from different places in México, places I hadn’t even heard of before. And from a nostalgic distance, I started eating my way back to México.

By then, a few years had passed since we had settled in the U.S. My father was disappointed that, quote, “I had thrown my career down the drain after all those years of burning the midnight oil and had decided to wash someone else's dishes.” My mother was disappointed too, as it seemed like I wasn't going back home. So she called me up and with a stern tone asked: Pati, do you know what you have become? You have become a despatriada.

Now, I didn’t take that statement for the insult that it was, if only because I love my mom and I knew how much she missed me. But it shook me. Despatriada means someone with no patria, no homeland. Someone who comes from nowhere, belongs to nowhere, and has nowhere to go. Someone with no roots, floating around as if cut loose in space.

By chance, I met the director of the Mexican Cultural Institute who agreed that I could start teaching Mexican cooking classes there if I could:

1. build a professional culinary curriculum for Mexican cuisine,

2. find sponsors to cover any costs,

3. get kitchen equipment donated for their empty kitchen,

4. and find students who would be willing to pay to attend my classes,

Yet, nobody knew who I was!

It took me more than a year to pull it together.

Did I know how to build a curriculum? Yes. Doing research was my backbone. Did I have any experience fundraising? No. I just started making cold calls. Had I spoken in public before? No. Had I used a microphone, been on stage or on a giant screen? No. Did I know how difficult it was going to be? No. Would I have done it, if I had known how hard it was going to be? I wish I could say yes, but, No.

I practiced so much before the first class, that instead of telling my young boys their usual nighttime stories of a monkey I had made up called waba-waba, I started teaching them how to make an imaginary Chicken Tinga every night for a month.

The first live class came. I had stage fright. But the program was set and printed out for many classes, by the third class that frozen sensation in my throat was gone. I was thrilled to see how open people were to learn, to taste, from a cuisine that I loved so very much.

I felt much more useful.

By helping someone with the riddle of what to make for dinner on a Wednesday night, I could help unlock that door. And with an irresistible bowl of food, I could help move them from a place of misunderstanding, to a place of wonder, where they can appreciate how the ingredients, techniques, recipes, traditions, and stories from people from different cultures and countries can enrich their homes and their lives.

Strong bridges of attachment can be suddenly built.

Fast forward to a few years later, I’m sitting in front of the President of Programming at one of the biggest commercial TV networks in the U.S. A producer had gotten wind of my classes after a Washington Post profile had called me “a walking antidepressant,” and had produced a pilot for a show, which would finally have a Mexican teach Mexican food.

The executives had finished watching a pilot for said cooking show and decided to give it a go. I was so happy, I was giving hugs to strangers on my way back home. Next morning, I get a call from the producer with just a few simple requests:

1. Would I dye my hair red? For wider appeal, you know.

2. Had I considered getting a dog? It would make such a great addition to the show.

3. Instead of Mexican food, how about Pan Latin/international food? Something less ethnic. Less niche. I could be like a culinary ambassador for all of Latin America and cook up a mashup of cuisines.

4. And a last easy fix: They needed to hire a speech coach to completely erase my accent. It would be just a few classes. They felt some people in the audience wouldn’t jive with it.

I was confused and sad. Who wouldn’t want to take that opportunity? Yet, I could foresee a future where I would not be able to look at myself in the mirror. Yes, we had been considering a dog at home.

But, who was that red-haired woman, cooking food that doesn’t exist, being a culinary ambassador to countries she hasn’t even been to... and to make matters worse, with no accent, no roots, no trace of where she is from. I would become a soulless vessel of nothing. Was that a worthy price to pay?

I picked myself up, dusted my coat off, and decided to go the PBS route. They thought it would be great to have a Mexican cooking show hosted by a Mexican. My accent was also a concern, but I didn’t budge. They also had to approve a pilot tailored to their strict guidelines, as well as the other 300 independently minded public TV stations.

To boot, here we go again: I’d have to fundraise for production of the show. I thought I had an idea of how hard it was going to be. I had no clue. It took me a couple of years. No, I wouldn’t have done it if I had known.

People had many doubts about my series and thought it wouldn’t last more than a season. Almost 15 years later, my TV series Pati’s Mexican Table is going on its 14th Season, airing nationwide on PBS with a 96% carriage and also streaming on Amazon Prime all over Latin America -- with an audience of 31 million people. A couple of years ago, I premiered a new docuseries called La Frontera which just won a James Beard Award for Best Docuseries.

Along the way, I have written three cookbooks that have become New York Times best sellers and I am so lucky to have an engaged and loyal following on social media, many of whom have been followers from the get-go. I have never looked back.

To this day, my mom is hoping I will move back to México. But now she knows that I am not a despatriada, someone without a homeland, with her roots floating around.

On the contrary. Food has helped me deepen my strong roots to México, just like for so many other immigrants. And unbeknownst to me, by sharing my gifts, our food, and culture in my new home of the United States, I have been able to grow just as strong roots there. I am deeply rooted not in one country but two.

As I tell my Mexican American boys, we have a double blessing, to be able to draw from the culture, cuisine, history, language, from not one country but two. But we have a double responsibility, to both represent México and also do right by our new home. We have a duty to create something new, while enriching not only one, but two countries at the same time. Building these bridges is the most satisfying thing I have ever done.

Here are some of the most important things I learned that I think you might make use of as you continue your journey:

1. There are still ingrained expectations that at the age of 22 you should know exactly who you are, what you're good at, what you want in life, and that you can draw a road map to get there. Yet along the way, you are bound to change. Embrace those sides of you that have yet to sprout, let them flourish when they show up. If you bottle them up, they will resurface later on.

2. It's not about suddenly finding your passion or unexpectedly becoming enlightened with what's your role in the world. Your path gets built as you walk it, find the joy in the walk. With every new step, at every turn, there is a new set of possibilities that open up. As you move along, don’t take anything for granted. When a door opens up, give it all you've got, every single time. When the door doesn't open, dust yourself up, and knock on the next one.

3. There is a certain advantage to jumping in blind. Of course scanning your landscape is essential. But unless your job is risk assessment, don't over do it. Doing too much research on what the obstacles and risks are for taking that step you are eager to take can freeze you in your tracks even before you start your engine. Don't tame your enthusiasm. Take the plunge. You will find out how cold that water is soon enough.

4. Know which things are out of bounds for you, that you are not willing to put on a negotiating table. They are different for each one of us. Even if it seems that in the short-term there will be an incredible reward, even if it's a no-brainer for anyone else. Will you be able to live with dignity without them? And here is the thing, those things shouldn't be compromised many times are the things that you are most embarrassed about, the ones you feel the most vulnerable for, the ones you have had to work the hardest on. They will be in the end the things that will distinguish you and make you proud, and be your power, in the long run.

Staying true to my Mexican roots, working from a place of pride and passion for my history, cuisine and culture have been key. I was not willing to put anything on the negotiating table that meant changing who I was at the core -- my accent, my persona, my values.

I may have taken the long way home, but along the way I never lost my roots, as it turns out, I strengthened them, I doubled them up.

Graduates: As you step away from TAMIU, and continue to pave your path, you are bringing what has been passed down to you and helped shape who you are. You will decide if you want to build upon it, improve it, or radically modify it. Again, as I tell my Mexican American kids... We have a double blessing, to draw from two countries, two cultures, two languages, two cuisines.

Yet we have a double responsibility, to represent with our heads held high and preserve the treasures of where we come from. At the same time we have to earn our place and be grateful to where we are -- I have learned that by sharing who we are with the U.S., we become doubly rooted and we can enrich not one, but two countries at the same time... And be doubly proud.

We all look forward to watching you as you venture out, evolve, and jump into the world. We know you will find your own way to connect and build bridges between all that you have been given and all of which you will encounter on your road.

One last thing: it is the mistakes, the obstacles, that make for the best stories to share. We all need many of those. If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't have had anything to share with you today.

Congratulations Class of 2024, go on, get hungry, eat the world! Thank you.