"¡Qué más quisiera yo que todo fuera leche y miel! Pero no, esto es un valle de lágrimas cargado de sufrimiento. " —El desbarrancadero, Fernando Vallejo.

    Cooking with my grandma was one of the first things that taught me about love, patience and time. We would spend hours during my summer breaks opening each bean pod as a sort of meditation, removing one per one the grains of corn cobs, using the manual grain mill to release the juice of each one of them to prepare arepas and envueltos. 

    On her table there was always a porcelain container with brown sugar, whereas the one I had in my house in Bogota was always white. I always found it funny how each household would have their own way of doing specific things. Whereas my mom would buy brand names of cereal, chocolate milk, ice cream, my grandma would prepare almost everything from scratch as it was her joy–she would always remind me– as a prove of love. Spending my winter break there would mean that the large pot would finally be used again and with it all four of the stove's burners.