No chronicle of coming home would be complete without writing about the original Sunday House. 1760 Sandejas Street is the home that yielded 9 children from an industrialist and a housewife. These 9 children went out to the world, literally scattered in lots of places: Canada, California, Missouri, Chicago, Mass., D.C., India, the Philippines. Two more generations (and counting) have called 1760 Sandejas Street home. Lately, I have been coming back to it at least once a month to take part in the lunches that are hosted there. It seems like now as before, food and its comforts are part of the reason to return home.
The house itself is an essay on wood and all of its incarnations: paneled, carved, book-matched...
The heart of it all is the dining table. If it could talk, it would tell the story of its life that started out as a project for prison inmates. Then it was ushered into this home to be in the center of many family gatherings, from the simple lunch and dinners where my lola would fry one squab each for her nine children (then again, "simple" is relative), to the more festive Christmas meals. Our family probably owes our penchant for good food from this table and the kitchen that served it. After all, my generation can be proud of producing four chefs! But the best dishes served here are those that are cooked slow, stews and soups that have taken a whole day to languish in flavor, savored in the company of people who automatically understand and know where you're coming from because of the strong ties that bind.
Abundance, nourishment, security... all hallmarks of this home. I am very grateful that it has been recently restored to be called home by us and many more generations after us.
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