If there is one thing I learned since I was a child, it is that one of the languages of love is cooking for the other what they like: cooking with true pleasure, with enthusiasm and care. Also, that to make a tasty meal, all you need is to want to, because with two or three ingredients, delicacies are created; or at least that was what my grandmother did, who had the gift of multiplying food.

When I was a child, my grandmother was the one who cooked the most at home (my parents worked) and she did it in a sort of ritual of textures and smells: she seasoned the meats, marinated them, then sautéed the spices (I still remember my grandmother when the onion, chili, and garlic spread their aromas in the pan), then she would place each thing into the pots arranged in the kitchen, while sprinkling salt and pepper as if they were magic powders or a final sigh.

If there is a dish that makes me remember my childhood, it is hallacas. Hallaca is a typical Venezuelan dish, consisting of a kind of cornmeal cake wrapped in plantain leaves, filled with a stew made with meats (chicken, pork, or beef), olives, capers, and raisins. Similarly, depending on the area where you live, it may include eggs, potatoes, carrots, and even chickpeas. These cakes are boiled and are typically eaten during Christmas celebrations, accompanied by chicken salad, ham bread, and black roast.

At home, hallacas have always been made together in a festive atmosphere: my grandmother would make the stew, my mother would wash and cut the banana leaves, and we had small tasks like chopping the bell peppers, cutting the string, or washing the green onions. Mom and grandma, when everything was ready, would arrange the ingredients on the table, put on their aprons, have the music playing, and start the work, which could last for hours.

When the first hallacas were ready, they would give us some to try and thus "give it the thumbs up" or "to check the seasoning" with a bit more salt, garlic, or spice. Every person who arrived at the house would be given their piece of hallaca because at home, although there wasn't much, there was always enough food to give away, to share, even if we had to divide our hallacas into 3 or 5 pieces.

Likewise, if there is a dessert that I remember with true affection and gratitude, especially now that I have discovered the love that was in it, it is the Chocuta. The Chocuta was a humble dessert that my grandmother made with old bread and sugar water when, at snack time, hunger made our stomachs rumble and we jumped around Grandma wanting something sweet. Then Grandma would boil water, add sugar to it, then chop the bread that had been left over from the day before and stir it slowly, with patience, without haste, until the bread soaked up that sweetness that came from her fingertips.

People say that love is a feeling that is expressed with words, kisses, hugs; but in my house, I was taught that it is also given with spoonfuls, sips, with the smells that come from the stove, with a plate of food served. For me, the kitchen is not just a place, but a way to express feelings and show affection.