guatemala

Be a Food Adventurer

Posted on February 22, 2014 by Lia Huber — No Comments ↓

If I were being really specific, I’d call this dish “Sauteed Sweet Potato with Shallots, Chile Cobanero and Lime.” Because there’s a story there.

In Guatemala last week, as with our previous trip with Common Hope in 2012, Christopher and I went in curious about the stumbling blocks to better nutrition. One would think in a third world country the answer would end abruptly with “lack of money.” But it doesn’t. It turns out two other boulders loom just as large: 1) not knowing how to cook unfamiliar foods and 2) fear no one will like said foods.

Sound familiar?

I am so intrigued that the same roadblocks exist in developing countries as here in the land of more-than-plenty. And I have a story (yes, it has to do with chile Cobanero) that shows it’s possible to leapfrog past those roadblocks once you know what it takes to do it.

One of the things I did last week was to teach a cooking class to a dozen kiddos in the Common Hope youth group. Several of them had told the organizer that they were considering cooking as a profession, so I thought I’d teach them about flavor building–first how to sear and saute, then how to add flavor to steamed foods with things like citrus zest, flavored oils and whatnot.

Oh … and did I mention the whole class was about vegetables?

More than a few shoulders drooped when the kids saw green beans instead of brownies, but they were attentive and respectful from the get go. I started out by sauteeing cubed quizquil (pronounced ‘whiskEEL’)–which tastes to me like a cross between a sweet potato and a zucchini–in hot oil with shallots until it got nice and caramelized. Then I tossed it with lime juice and cilantro and was about to shake on a bit of local chile powder (props to you if you guessed it was called chile Cobanero) when I caught a look of utter disgust on the kids’ faces. I halted mid-shake.

“Are you telling me you don’t like chile Cobanero?” I asked. A dozen little heads nodded sheepishly.

I put the jar down and thought for a second. “Alright,” I said, “then I’m just going to have to make you food adventurers.”

They perked up.

“Where do adventurers go?” I asked. “Do they go only to places they know?”

Heads shook and someone piped up, “No, they go new places they’ve never been before.”

“Aha. Exactly. And that’s what I’m going to ask you to do.”

So I divided the quizquil between two plates while I explained that I would only put chile powder on one of them. Then it was up to them, as food adventurers, to take a bite of each and decide which one they liked. I wasn’t asking them to like the chile Cobanero, I was only asking them to try the chile Cobanero … they were food adventurers, after all.

You’ve probably guessed by now that I wouldn’t be telling you this story if it didn’t have a (very) positive outcome. Not only did those kids polish off that plate with the chile powder, they then insisted I sprinkle it on the other plate … and on everything else they cooked themselves that afternoon.

As I hugged each kiddo farewell, I could smell the woodsmoke that infused hair and clothes and knew they were going home to a very different kitchen than the one we were standing in. Yet they were leaving with a new understanding of themselves and a wider view of what was possible; I’m not kidding when I say joy literally sparkled in their eyes.

The whole experience left me pondering how often we allow road blocks to remain in our lives–no matter what circumstances we’re living in–simply because we don’t give ourselves permission to be curious and humble … the two absolute essentials for “adventuring” into places yet unknown.

Pursuing a Passion

Posted on July 21, 2012 by Lia Huber — 10 Comments ↓

When life threw us a curveball at the beginning of the summer, Christopher took a solo retreat and came back saying, “I really feel like now is the time to volunteer for Common Hope.” In fact, traveling to Guatemala as part of a Common Hope Vision Team is something we’ve both wanted to do since we became affiliated with the organization back in 2000. I saw the longing in his eyes and heard the passion in his voice, and I said, “OK, you go.” It seemed impossible to me for us both to be so far from Noemi for a week. But as the days ticked by and Christopher began planning the trip, I recognized the bitter martyr in me raising her head and realized that not going wasn’t going to serve anyone, least of all my family. So Christopher’s “me” turned into “we” and I chose to entrust our precious daughter to the capable hands of those who love her dearly (and spoil her rotten!).

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I started bawling at first sight of the volcanoes, their cones black against the setting sun. It was like I was being torn apart. On one hand, I was overcome by returning to a place that houses my heart. On the other, I was saddened that Noemi couldn’t be with me to see the beauty of the country where she was born. But even as I had those thoughts I realized that Noemi would have her own reactions to Guatemala, in her own time.

The following day, our driver Luis picked us up in Guatemala City and took us to the small highland village of Pachay las Lomas. Mayra, who we’ve been helping get a college degree in social work for the past five years, lives in Pachay with her husband and son, Dimas Sr. and Jr. We’ve met Mayra’s mother, Ana Maria, three times before here in the States on cultural exchanges with Slow Food, but we’d never met Mayra, and had never been up to their village. The main highway, which we’d driven back in 2000, peeled off to a secondary highway at Chimaltenango, and then to a mostly dirt road spiraling up a steep mountain after an unmarked bridge. Breathtaking is probably the best word to describe the scenery in the Guatemalan highlands. The mountains are lush, woodsy and so steep they make you dizzy. Small swaths of cultivated fields cover the hillsides like a quilt; some plots ripe with corn, others with beans, still others with squash. And rising above all of this are the volcanoes. Huge, 13,000 foot cones that feel to me like Mount Olympus. This is where Mayra and Ana Maria live.

It’s testament to their characters that when we arrived, both of them were in different civic meetings. Instead, we were greeted by board members of the AMIDI foundation that Ana Maria founded in 2000 to improve the lives of indigenous women in Pachay (and beyond) while guarding their culture and traditions. We’ve helped the community from afar in many ways, including contributing to their scholarship fund to educate both children and adults, but nothing comes close to seeing what they’ve accomplished first hand. We saw flipcharts with agendas on how to achieve the goals they’re striving for hanging in the meeting house they built; we saw the coffee crops they had to replant following a devastating mudslide in 2010; we got a tour of the medicinal plants they’re growing, harvesting and drying. Then about a dozen board members (and as many kids) gathered with us up at Mayra’s house to share a traditional chicken stew called ‘pulique’. Our Spanish was terribly feeble, and most of the table was speaking their native Katchiquel tongue anyway, but somehow we all managed to express and receive what needed to be said. It’s amazing what hugs, looking in one another’s eyes, hand squeezing and a beach ball can do to transcend language. We ended the day at our favorite inn in the whole wide world (Meson Panza Verde), in one of our favorite city’s in the whole wide world (Antigua).

And that was just our first 24 hours.

The following day, after yoga at Panza Verde and breakfast in the middle of an organic nursery, we met up with the rest of our team at Common Hope headquarters, about 5 minutes out of town. I’ll admit, I was reticent. Christopher and I are not really “group” travel people, and I wasn’t so sure about sharing what was shaping up to be a very emotional trip with total strangers. But from the get-go, we were in lock-step in terms of faith, in terms of outlook, and in terms of how much we respected the people we were serving. From morning coffee sessions on the rooftop that rooted us in the right perspective, to belly laughs on the worksite and always being eager to lend a hand, to evening conversations that plumbed the depth of all we were taking in, I cannot tell you how much richer our experience was because of these six. Debbie, Jesse, Melissa, Joel, Bob and Carrie, you are incredible people. Thank you.

As for the next seven days? We built a house from scratch for a very sweet woman–who had earned it by working over 300 hours on the Common Hope campus–and her four children. One especially moving moment for me was when I was on my knees leveling cement tiles for the floor, watching the kids watching me and praying for each one, picturing each of them thriving on the floor I was laying, in the house we were building. Another was the blessing at the end of the week, once the house was built. Melissa had orchestrated a lovely ceremony which moved the mom to tears, and the traditional gifts of bread (so the house may never know hunger) and salt (so it may always have flavor and life) that I bestowed took on a depth of meaning I’d never encountered before.

Another highlight was visiting with our Godson, Rene Antonio, and his family. Rene has worked hard and been an exemplary student the entire twelve years we’ve sponsored him, and now he’s full of hope and excitement for the future. He even shared a team presentation he’d done for school on helping the environment; he wants to study communication in college to get the word out about how to make his community and country a better place. His mother continues to be an inspiration too. She recently “adopted” three terrific teenagers who were essentially living on the street. Now they all live in the one room house that she and Rene’s grandmother had worked to earn five years ago … and that we happened to be at on the day of the blessing the last time we were in Antigua … the day before we met Noemi for the first time. Talk about full circle.

An aspect of the trip that took me off guard was how much all I do here with NOURISH Evolution would come into play. Our fabulous coordinator, Kelan (bless him), saw my skill set and passion on paper and ran with it. He asked me to teach a cooking class for our team, and another for a dozen at-risk Guatemalan teenagers, and to cook a “snack” (chicken stew) for 50 kids in a poorer than poor village. The experiences were enlightening in and of themselves, but even more illuminating was the pattern that emerged through them all. Low and behold, up popped barriers to eating nourishing foods that don’t differ a whole lot from the barriers I encounter in the U.S. I heard, “There’s not enough time in the day,” “I can’t afford fresh foods,” and my personal favorite, “the kids won’t like vegetables.”

I was curious how the barriers would hold in a culture and economic situation so different from my own. I can’t answer definitely on time and money–I’ll need to do more research–but I can on kids not liking vegetables. The little ones woofed down bowls of my veggie-laden chicken stew chanting “rico quiskil!” (translated, “yummy squash!”) The teenagers in my cooking class followed me attentively through mini sermons on being mindful (“do you feel energized after you eat a bag of chips?”) and on basic nutrition (“the micronutrients that make vegetables look so beautiful and smell so strong and taste so wonderful are exactly what make them so good for you too”). And they polished off every last bit of our caramelized squash and onions, and sauteed Swiss chard with toasted garlic.

The following day, our last, one of the boys who was clearly a leader gave a moving speech as he thanked me at the farewell ceremony. And another girl from the class who had been quite shy with me (although quite flirtatious with the boys) came up to me and proudly declared she used her new knife skills cutting potatoes that morning. I beamed and hugged her and caught the scent of woodsmoke in her hair from the fire over which she’d cooked those potatoes. That moment captured all that I love about Guatemala. Our worlds may be vastly different, but we can still be close as people.

Hola … Regresso de Guatemala

Posted on July 18, 2012 by Lia Huber — 2 Comments ↓

I just returned from an incredible nine days in Guatemala with Common Hope. Highlights:

Visit to Mayra, Dimas, Dimas Jr., Ana Maria and the AMIDI crew in spectacular Pachay Los Lomas

Clicking from the get go with our fellow Common Hope team from Glen Ellyn, IL

Teaching a cooking class to ten teenage Common Hope sponsorees (is that a word?) and catching them sneaking extra bites of sauteed squash and Swiss chard

Cooking a chicken stew for 50 kids in the village of San Rafael, and having them chant “rico huisquil!” (yummy squash!) after being told numerous times that they wouldn’t touch vegetables (and in a rustic kitchen, using frozen chicken, in an hour and a half to boot!)

Seeing–celebrating–our God son Rene Antonio, who we started sponsoring when he was six and is now turning 17 and graduating from high school with a very rosy future ahead of him

Building a house from start to finish (and blessing) for a wonderful, deserving family of five

And, of course, just being in the country that so stole our hearts, and that we can’t wait to return to with our daughter

The trip–and the people we were with–inspired hope, thought, and lots of questions. More to come …

PS — If you’d like to sponsor a child (it’s the best $60 a month you’ll ever spend–education, healthcare for the whole family, skill and trade training, tutoring, the chance to ‘earn’ necessities like a house and stove, etc.) or contribute to the fund that sustains as yet unsponsored children, you can do so here. I can vouch personally on many levels for the incredible ways that Common Hope is working to empower people to pull themselves out of poverty!

The Language of the Kitchen

Posted on July 3, 2010 by Lia Huber — 2 Comments ↓

I know I’ve been writing a lot on Guatemala as of late. But, hey, there’s been a lot to write about. Like, for instance, the fact that I recently got into the kitchen to cook side by side with Ana Maria Chali Calan this week.

kitchen-language-post Many of you know that Christopher and I support Ana Maria’s daughter Mayra in her university studies, and I’ve written about what that means to me. But when we first became connected with the Calan family, I never imagined that Ana Maria and I would be teaching a class together here in Healdsburg.

A couple of months ago, although it seems like days, a few of us had a little planning session in my garden about how to bring Ana Maria back to the states. Slow Food Sonoma County had brought Ana Maria here in November 2008, as the leader of the indigenous women’s association AMIDI, to exchange ideas about farming and foodways in Guatemala and America.

One concern that Ana Maria voiced in 2008 was the proliferation of poorly ventilated stoves, which are both a safety and health hazard. As a result of Ana Maria’s diplomacy here, our organization was able to raise enough money to donate 41 fuel-efficient stoves shortly after her return, one to each member of AMIDI. But it didn’t stop there. Guatemalan officials heard about the stoves and went to the village to see them in action. They were so impressed that they decided to install over 6,000 of them throughout highland villages, improving—and likely even saving—numerous lives.

Fast forward—and I mean fast forward (the generous Bowmans sprung for Ana Maria’s ticket and Marilee mobilized everything expertly)—to Thursday, the day after Ana Maria arrived here in the U.S. I’m standing side by side with Ana Maria, I in my chef’s jacket and she in her huipil, and we’re preparing to teach a class together on using stone tools.

She teaches how to grind corn on a metate and hand-pat tortillas. I talked about making salsas and sauces in molcajetes (you all know I’m smitten for mortars and pestles) and then put everyone to work making their own. I even made Sandra’s Pollo en Jocon and got a thumbs up from Ana Maria herself.

This year, Ana Maria’s village faces even graver issues: the village was hit heavily by mudslides after a recent tropical storm. The water system was destroyed, houses were heavily damaged, and crops and fields and livestock were washed away. But she, they, will persevere. And we will be there to support them (if you’d like to help, click here on the donation page we’ve set up).

The language of the kitchen is universal (of course, it helps to have Marilee there translating). It never ceases to amaze me, whether in Mexico, France, Guatemala, Greece or right here at home, how strong and natural the bonds become when people are elbow to elbow washing leaves or shredding chicken or pounding herbs. Bodies relax. Divides disappear. Conversation flows freely … even when spoken in a foreign tongue.

The Case for Choosing

Posted on June 21, 2010 by Lia Huber — 16 Comments ↓

This weekend, I was flipping through the latest Food and Wine when something decidedly unappetizing caught my eye. “Be An Uncompromiser!” the ad’s headline shouted, and in the text below: “Enjoy the Best of Both Worlds. The makers of Pepcid Complete understand the importance of never having to choose.”

Never having to choose? Hm. I see things a bit differently.

Whether we like or not, I believe our lives are an endless string of choices and that our fate is largely the ripple effect outcome of those choices. I’d even go so far as to say that our choices—whether what to make for dinner or which house to buy—are what define us, and I can point back to the precise moment that cemented my theory.

Ten years ago, on our way home from an extended road trip to Costa Rica, Christopher and I made a stop in Antigua, Guatemala. From the first rumble of cobblestone beneath our tires we were smitten with the town. Quaint earthen buildings in playful colors like turquoise and watermelon pink line the streets, and bougainvillea covers ruins of mansions and palaces and cathedrals. All this in the shadow of three stunning volcanoes.

: Image via Wikipedia

That day, we took a walking tour of the town with Elizabeth Bell. Under the eaves of a centuries-old municipal building, she told us that nearly 70% of Guatemalan children don’t attend school, simply because the books and uniforms (which are mandatory) cost what would be the bulk of a family’s income.

That night, on the way back from dinner, we passed a woman with her three children begging outside our inn. Normally, we’d walk by with a wrinkled brow or, if we were feeling generous, give some money. But that night, for some reason, Christopher got down on the sidewalk and played with the kids. Their mother and I laughed so hard we were leaning on each other’s shoulders as the kids tickled and climbed all over the giant stranger.

A few hours later, we were awakened in the middle of the night by the innkeeper pounding on our door. Our truck had been broken into. We ran out, half-awake, and found that someone had broken the window, reached in and grabbed one bag before being scared off by the alarm.

The rest of the day was a blur. We spent the morning filling out forms in the police station and the afternoon driving through Guatemala City searching for someone to fix our window. But what stands out for me is our lack of immediate reaction. We could have cussed out the innkeeper. We could have accused people on the street. We could have written off Antigua, and Guatemala altogether, and headed the next day for the Mexican border. But, for some reason, we didn’t.

It turns out that Christopher and I were both thinking the same thing: the junk in our “catch-all” bag—the one that had been stolen—was worth enough to put a family of children through school for a year … children like the ones Christopher had been playing with the night before.

So we made a choice. An eyes-wide-open, go against the norm choice.

We decided to return to Antigua and, rather than try to recoup what had been stolen, give an equivalent amount back to the country and the people that had touched us so deeply in such a short period of time. Looking back on that choice now and how profoundly it has shaped my life still stuns me. If, 10 years ago, Christopher and I had “not chosen” and just gone the usual route of angry indignation, my life now—and the lives of at least three others—would be nowhere near as rich as it is today.

The Rest of the Story

We remembered that Elizabeth had told us about an organization on the outskirts of Antigua that helped impoverished children and their families through education, skills training and health care with the support of sponsors and we thought we’d start there. When we got to the campus I expected to see shame in people’s faces, as we tend to see here when people are standing on a welfare line. But it was just the opposite. These people exuded pride and strength and resolve.

As we learned more about the program, it made sense. Common Hope wasn’t about doling out to those in need—nearly everyone in the country was in need. It was about empowering those seeking to change their circumstances and holding them accountable during the process. We signed up that day to sponsor Rene Antonio, a 6-year-old boy being raised by a single mom, and met him and his family the next day. There were a lot more laughs, and hold-my-gaze-and-search-my-soul silences, and hands squeezed tight that expressed whole-hearted gratitude. Rene truly became our godson and our families extended parts of each other.

That was ten years ago. Rene is now a handsome 16-year-old boy who, with his mother’s and grandmother’s support and sacrifice, is still in school and thriving. (He wants to be a doctor, and we’re confident he will be … and you can bet we’ll be at his graduation!). We were there 3-1/2 years ago the day his family’s house was built; a one room cement home they earned through many hours of sweat equity on the Common Hope campus.

mayra Through the years, our passion for the people of Guatemala grew. Five years ago, we committed to support a young woman named Mayra, the daughter of the village leader and a force to be reckoned with in her own right, through college. People tell us how lucky she is, but truthfully, I’m the one who feels lucky; I often feel carried by Mayra’s persistence and determination. To pursue her dream, she has to deal with racism, pre-dawn walks down a mountainside to the bus, having to balance studies with helping family grow food for their sustenance AND caring for her son on a daily basis. In my life, Mayra and Rene are more than inspirations; they’re tangible reasons to get over whatever I’m brooding about and take one more step towards my goal.

The greatest ripple effect of that day’s decision, though, came three years ago in the form of Noemi de Leon Huber … our daughter. When we decided to adopt, there was not even the inkling of a question that it would be from Guatemala. Three years ago today, Christopher and I returned to Guatemala a fourth time … to bring Noemi home. noe-on-plane

I’d love to claim that I’m a naturally saintly person who always makes compassionate, giving decisions like the one ten years ago. But I’m not. And I don’t. But the power that this single choice has had in shaping my life has inspired me to try to be more thoughtful in my choices more often.

What does all this have to do with NOURISH Evolution?

Everything. Because if we talk about reframing our view on fats, but still think eating “light” versions of mayonnaise and peanut butter will make us healthier, then it’s all for naught. Because if we suggest smart sustainable seafood but you feel, deep down, that your decisions really don’t matter anyway, then why bother? Deliberate, purposeful choices are at the core of NOURISH Evolution—what we write about, why we write about it and who we try to be.

So, to the “Makers of Pepcid Complete,” here is my case for choosing:

The maker of NOURISH Evolution understands the importance of being deliberate with your choices, and of being aware that the ripple effect outcome might well outweigh the scale of the original decision. We realize that we always have to choose, whether we’re doing it purposefully or not, and we try to make each choice be one that makes us better people and leaves the world a better place.

Which view do you live by? … It’s your choice.

Get Connected

Posted on September 8, 2009 by Lia Huber — 10 Comments ↓

Last night, we made our usual end-of-the-weekend pilgrimage to the Plaza here in Healdsburg, only this time we were joined by dozens of others participating in the Eat-in organized by Slow Food USA in an effort to change school lunch policy. Like a big picnic potluck, tables were filled with bowls of salad, local bread and cheeses, fruit fresh from the trees and vegetables both roasted and straight out of the garden.

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I’d known for a while what dish I wanted to bring: Pollo en Jocon. My friend, food writer and cooking instructor Sandra Gutierrez, sent me this recipe so we could bring the tastes and scents of Guatemala, our daughter’s native land, into our own kitchen. Somehow it seemed an appropriate dish to share. I also made it in honor of Ana Maria and Mayra, a Guatemalan mother and daughter who have become as close as family despite being thousands of miles away. Our paths first crossed through Slow Food, and I wanted to bring something from their country so they’d be with us in spirit at the plaza.

One dish. And yet it connected me to Sandra, who was kind enough to share the recipe, and Pedro, the farmer who grew the tomatillos we used. It connected us to our daughter’s birth country and others we love dearly there. It connected us to the people who dug into it at the Eat-in, and even to the hope of a healthier future for our children.

Food is about so much more than just feeding ourselves. This week, be aware of how many ways it connects you.