Mimu

I fell in love with cooking as a little girl, standing on a stool next to my grandmother, learning to make simple meals for our family before I could even see over the stove.

Every Sunday we’d walk through the farmers market together. I can still remember the smell of fresh herbs, the funny little shapes of the potatoes, the deep red of the tomatoes — all those colors and flavors that make Peruvian food what it is. Those mornings taught me more than any recipe book ever could.

I wish I’d written down every one of my grandmother’s recipes while I had the chance. I didn’t get to save them all — but I don’t think I really lost them either. Close my eyes, and she’s right there with me: in the smell of the pot, in the way I season without measuring. She’s in everything I make.

Sabor y sazón — that’s really what this is all about. Cooking was never just following steps on a card. My grandmother cooked with love, my mother did too, and now so do I.

But if I’m honest, the sweets were always where my heart lived. Alfajores were the first thing I learned to make on my own — two rounds of soft, buttery shortbread pressed together with dulce de leche I’d stir on the stove until it turned that deep caramel color, then a dusting of powdered sugar to finish, like the first snow. I still make them the same way today, in small batches, because rushing dulce de leche is the one thing you can never do.

Cakes came later, but they grew out of that same love for sweetness. Every birthday, wedding, and baptism in our family had a cake I made by hand — and now I make them for yours too. Tell me the flavor, the occasion, even just the colors you love, and I’ll build it for you, layer by layer, with the same care I learned making alfajores as a girl.