I have been compensated by #CollectiveBias and Nestle #NuestroSabor to share my thoughts and opinions on Nestle La Lechera Dulce De Leche Cheesecake and Nescafe Clasico. My opinions are always my own and cannot be bought if I haven’t tried it myself or don’t truly believe in it, love it or would not use it in my own home with my family, I will not support it on my site. ~ Deborah

September is Hispanic Heritage month and I cannot think of being Latina without thinking of my own abuelito, Grandfather, Manuel because he was my father’s father and, for me, he is where my Hispanic Heritage starts. He was where my story began.

When my grandfather became a father to his first son, my dad, he was already an older gentleman. My grandmother was his second wife. His first wife had died, leaving him with 3 nearly grown daughters. By the time I was born, he was already in his 70’s and by the time I met him, he was in his 80’s.

Don Manuel was once a strong, handsome rancher who was well respected in his community and did a lot to build the small town he lived and raised his children in Mexico. By the time I met my grandfather, he was a tiny, elderly man who I could look directly into his eyes. He was shrinking in stature but his heart and soul were big and beautiful, only to be outshined by the smile he reserved just for his grandchildren. I loved my grandfather for so many reasons but mostly for how he loved my papi.

When we went to visit my abuelito in the summer, it was like transporting to another world and another time. For a little half-breed girl who was raised in Chicago, everything felt different but it was all worth it; the week long drive in a hot car sweating with my 5 brothers and sisters, the month out of my summer, the weird food and odd looks we got from people, every bit of it was worth it for one of his hugs. They were the best hugs, they felt like coming home, even though I was in a strange country.

A favorite memory of my grandfather, and it’s a consensus of my brothers, sisters and many cousins, is of my grandfather eating his pan con leche y café, every single morning of his adult life, maybe even his childhood. My grandfather worked his land until about 2 years before he died in his 9th decade. He broke horses until he fell and broke his hip in his 80’s. This man was a man amongst men. He was quiet, strong and kind and gentle. I never heard him ever say a mean thing about anyone, even when he had reason. But every morning, after milking the cows and before going back out to the fields, he brought fresh milk home and ate his pan con leche y café.

We used to giggle at him. This tiny, old man eating torn pieces of bread covered in fresh milk. Now that I think of it, we were just kids being kids. What was the difference between his pan con leche and our cereal? He would offer us a bite, every single time and we’d take a bite and scrunch up our faces because it wasn’t what we were used to eating. He would smile and we would giggle and we would do it again the next day, for the entire time we were there, every time we were there. Now, that I think of it, he must have waited for us to wake up and kept filling that bowl with pan con leche. That’s the kind of person he was. He’d do anything just to see us smile. He was a good man and whenever I think of pan con leche, or pan or leche, or café, my heart gets a warm fuzzy feeling and I can feel one of my grandpa’s hugs that I haven’t had in over 20 years. So, I decided to make a recipe to pay homage to that great man, Don Manuel Cruz. Te Amo, Abuelito.