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There’s something about a stuffy nose and a scratchy throat that takes me right back to Mamá’s kitchen. Not the one we had here in the States—but the one back in the Dominican Republic. The one that smelled like coffee in the morning and garlic and onions at night. The one where, if you were sneezing, she didn’t reach for Tylenol. She reached for the jar.

Mamá’s jarabe.

Sticky. Strong. And made with love (and a little side-eye if you tried to run from the spoon).

Today, I’m the one pulling the jar from the fridge. I’m the one handing it to my stepbabies and my husband, reminding them to pinch their nose and swallow it fast. And yes—I’m the one giggling when they make faces just like I used to.

But it’s more than just nostalgia. This remedy works. And it’s a piece of Mamá I carry with me.

What’s in It and Why It Matters

Mamá’s jarabe is a powerhouse blend of:

Honey – Our sweet healer, soothing sore throats and coating irritated passages. Lemon – Bright and acidic, it cuts through congestion like a blade. Garlic – Antiviral, antibacterial, and unapologetically strong. Onion – Our tearful protector, full of antioxidants and immune-boosting magic. Ginger – For the heat that reminds you: this is no regular syrup. Radish – Sinus-clearing, spicy, and dramatic enough to make an impression.

She didn’t learn this from a book. She learned it from her mother. Who learned it from hers. And now, it’s in my fridge—its scent mingling with memories and healing energy.

What It Means to Me Now

In a world full of over-the-counter fixes and fast relief, this jar reminds me that healing can be slow. It can be ugly. It can come in a mismatched jar tucked behind last night’s leftovers. And it doesn’t always taste sweet.

When I stir the mixture and serve it to my family, I’m doing more than just soothing a cold. I’m holding space for legacy. For tradition. For the knowledge that, even though my mamá isn’t in my kitchen, she’s in every spoonful I serve.

Teaching My Children Without Saying a Word

It’s not lost on me that my stepkids scrunch their noses the same way I used to. That they open their mouths reluctantly and chase it with juice. That they’re learning—maybe without realizing it—that remedies don’t always come from a pharmacy. They come from people. From love. From generations of wisdom passed down like recipes.

I’m not just mothering here. I’m remembering. I’m honoring. And I’m planting little seeds in them, hoping one day they’ll reach for the honey, the lemon, the garlic…and remember me.

Want to Make It Too? Here’s the Recipe:

You can find the full visual recipe here—but here’s the quick version:

Wash and slice all ingredients Layer them in a jar Pour lemon juice Add honey until everything is coated Let it sit in the fridge for a few hours Take 1–2 spoonfuls as needed

From One Healing Home to Another

We may not have had access to medicine growing up, but we had knowledge. We had nature. And we had Mamá.

Today, I carry her in my words, my stories, and now, in the sticky sweetness of this jarabe that refuses to be forgotten.

So next time a cold hits your home, before you run to the pharmacy—try a spoonful of legacy.