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 I can remember being surrounded by food for most of my childhood. In the immediate vicinity of any celebration or holiday were large of amounts of beans, rice, pernil, empanadas and sancocho. I would not trade that comfort food for anything in the world. When my mother moved from Colombia to marry my father, she brought over her weapons. She was armed with generations of recipes and a pressure cooker to make her array of beans and rice.
Each night I would see my mom measuring out beans and soaking them overnight, so they could be cooked to perfection in the pressure cooker the following day. I would watch her in the kitchen cutting up peppers, tomatoes, cilantro, potatoes, garlic, adding water, and waiting for hours for the perfect taste to evolve. Then, at the right time, the whole family would sit around enjoying a fabulous meal of rice, beans, meat, platanos, a little side salad, and mango juice.
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