Like Water for Chocolate (Como agua para chocolate)

(SPEAKING SPANISH) "The onion must be chopped finely.

"I suggest that you put a piece of onion on the crown of your head

"to avoid the annoying crying that is caused by chopping it."

The trouble with crying while chopping onions isn't the crying.

It's that sometimes you can't stop.

Mother always said

that I'm as sensitive to onions as my great-aunt Tita was.

She even cried inside her mother's womb

whenever my great-grandmother chopped onions.

Señor Juan! Señor Juan!

Go get the midwife!

There's not enough time.

What's happening?

The baby's coming.

Too late!

Nacha, the maid, said that Tita was literally pushed into this world

by a torrid stream of tears

that overflowed from the table to the kitchen floor.

Another girl, Juan. (LAUGHING)

When the fright was over

and the water had evaporated, thanks to the sun,

Nacha swept up what remained of the tears.

With that salt, she filled a 40-pound sack

which they used for cooking for a long time.

It's a girl.

What a little cutie she is.

That means another drink, right?

Here's to you.

What's the matter with you?

Can't you do it right?

At this point, you've got three daughters.

When are you going to make a son?

Well, it's not entirely his fault.

Why do you say that?

They say that your second child, Gertrudis,

isn't your daughter, but the daughter of the mulatto.

- Señora. - Our condolences.

Poor little innocent child.

You've been left fatherless and without milk from one day to the next.

But don't you worry.

My teas will make you strong and pretty.

The first man who sees you will want to marry you.

You'll see.

Don't ever say that again, Nacha.

Tita will never marry.

Being my youngest daughter,

she's destined to care for me until I die.

Feed the girls. They're hungry.

Whatever you say, Señora Elena.

Fed by Nacha, Tita grew up in the kitchen

amidst the smells of chicken soup,

thyme, laurel, steamed milk,

garlic, and, of course, onion.

- Some more hot chocolate, señor? - Thank you, no.

Good evening, Don Pascual.

Sit down, please.

When Tita felt Pedro's burning gaze upon her shoulders,

she understood exactly how raw dough must feel

when it comes in contact with boiling oil.

The heat that invaded her was so real

that she feared that, just like dough,

bubbles would break out all over her body,

on her stomach, her heart, her breasts.

She lowered her eyes and tried to escape.

Señorita Tita,

I'd like to take this opportunity to say that I am deeply in love with you.

I know this declaration of love may seem hasty and out of place,

but getting anywhere near you is so difficult

that I decided to tell you tonight.

I only beg you to tell me if I may hope for your love.

I don't know what to say.

Give me time to think.

No, I can't.

I need an answer right now.

One doesn't think about love.

Either one feels it or one doesn't.

I'm a man of few, but firm, words.

I swear you'll have my love forever.

What about you? Do you feel the same way about me?

Yes.

Mommy?

Yes?

Pedro Muzquiz wants to talk to you.

To talk about what?

I don't know.

Tell him if it's to ask for your hand, he needn't bother.

He'd be wasting his time and mine, too.

You know that as my youngest daughter,

you must look after me until the day I die.

That'll be all for today.

But I think that's not fair.

You don't think. And that's that!

Never, for generations,

has anyone in our family ever questioned this tradition.

My daughter won't be the first!

Chencha, see who's there.

Yes, Doña Elena.

You didn't invite anyone for your birthday without telling me?

No, Mommy. I really don't know.

It's Don Pascual Muzquiz and his son, Pedro.

They want to talk to you.

For the reasons I've just explained,

Tita will definitely not be able to.

Of course, if you want Pedro to get married,

let me suggest my daughter Rosaura.

She's only two years older than Tita.

She is amply prepared and ready for marriage.

- Please forgive me! - Chencha!

Girls! Girls!

Really! How can your mommy be so cruel?

You can't just exchange tacos for enchiladas!

What did she say?

Come and greet Don Pascual and Pedro

and we'll toast to your sister's wedding.

You'll let Tita marry Pedro?

No. Pedro will marry Rosaura.

Why did you do that?

We looked ridiculous by accepting your marriage to Rosaura.

Where's the love you swore to Tita?

- Don't you keep your word? - Sure I do.

But if you definitely couldn't marry the woman you loved,

and the only way to be near her was to marry her sister,

wouldn't you make the same decision as I did?

Eat, my child.

Food will make it hurt less.

Thank you, Nacha, but I'm just not hungry now.

Just take one bite of the Christmas roll

and I'll tell you what I heard.

Don Pascual asked Pedro

why he agreed to marry without love,

and young Pedro told his father that he is marrying for love,

a great big love for you.

I can't eat. Thank you, Nacha.

I want to be alone.

That night, Tita found it impossible to sleep.

She couldn't understand what she was feeling.

It's too bad that black holes hadn't been discovered yet.

Because then she'd have understood

that a black hole had landed in her chest

that allowed the infinitely cold air to rush in.

That night she cried and knitted,

knitted and cried, until dawn,

until she finished the quilt and covered herself with it.

But it didn't help.

Neither that night, nor many other nights could she conquer the cold.

What are you doing here?

I'm helping Nacha.

You should have been at your sister's engagement.

I had a headache.

You will not disobey me,

nor ruin your sister's wedding by playing the martyr.

And since you're so interested in helping Nacha,

you'll be responsible for the wedding banquet.

And no sour face.

And not a single tear. You hear me?

Yes, Mommy.

Doña Elena, I'll prepare the carriage to deliver these invitations.

Fine.

I'm sorry, Pedro.

Did I hurt you?

Not as much as I hurt you. Let me explain my intentions.

I haven't asked for explanations.

At least allow me a few words.

I did once, and it was all lies.

I won't listen to you anymore.

One hundred and sixty-seven.

We're just missing three.

Isn't the cake ready?

No, but everything else is.

Hurry up.

It's midnight. You should rest a little before the ceremony.

I'm going to bed. Good night.

Good night.

See you tomorrow,

God willing.

Now you can let your tears flow, my child.

Because tomorrow nobody must see you cry.

Especially not Rosaura.

I'll finish up. You go on.

No, I'll help you.

We're almost done.

Go to sleep, girl. I can manage.

Only the pots know the boiling points of their broths,

but I can guess yours.

And stop crying into the batter

or you'll ruin it.

Go.

Poor Tita, watching her sister marry her boyfriend!

One day I happened to see, during Mass, Pedro slipped Tita a love note.

It was even perfumed!

I saw them holding hands in the town square.

How happy they looked!

They'll all live in the same house!

If I were Elena, I wouldn't allow it.

Dearly beloved, Rosaura and Pedro, I welcome you.

You have come to this place of worship

on you own accord, to marry one another.

Don't I get a congratulatory hug?