From selling ice cream on the streets to practicing law, engaging in environmental conservation, and contributing to peacebuilding efforts, Liz ultimately found her passion for coffee.

When I matured, I came to realize that as descendants of farmers, I am essentially a product of the land where I was raised. This understanding was later affirmed by the people I encountered, much like Liz Escobar.

Initially, we may choose to disengage from agriculture and leave our hometowns. However, perhaps one day, we will recognize our connection to our roots and return home, understanding how much our hometown needs us, much like the story of coffee origins today.

In Colombia’s captivating Nariño region, amidst its rolling landscapes that harmoniously merge coast, highlands, and jungle, Liz Escobar embarked on her journey. Raised in a family steeped in the region’s agricultural traditions, Liz’s childhood was woven with the vibrant threads of farm life.

Later, she ventured away from her hometown to pursue education and career opportunities. From selling ice cream on the streets to practicing law, engaging in environmental conservation, and contributing to peacebuilding efforts, Liz ultimately found her passion for coffee.

Her roasting project, “Kissed by Liz,” aptly reflects this journey. Her journey led her to attempt establishing a new market in Europe for Nariño’s coffee, advocating for specialty coffee in Michelin-starred restaurants, and educating their staff on its nuanced flavors. Seeds follow diverse paths.

Some settle into the soil where they land, while others are carried far by the wind before finding their place. Yet, regardless of where they take root, they carry the genetic imprint of preceding generations. After drifting through the winds for a considerable time, Liz has finally touched down, endeavoring to anchor herself in the soil. Here, she absorbs nutrients, water, light, and carbon dioxide, preparing herself to germinate and flourish. This is her story in the first narrative.

Foreword by our editor, Anna Zhang

First Chapter, Nurturing Roots

Nariño’s geographical diversity, with its towering mountains, sprawling coastlines, and dense jungles, fosters a fertile land ripe for cultivation. Within this rich tapestry of landscapes lies the foundation of my heritage—a lineage of farmers stretching back through generations on both my paternal and maternal sides.

My family’s agricultural pursuits mirrored the region’s varied climates: while some tended to crops suited to the chilly highlands—potatoes, wheat, barley, and beans—others flourished in the sundrenched valleys, nurturing an abundance of avocados, oranges, lemons, guavas, and, of course, coffee.

Nariño is still a red zone with armed conflict. In addition to this, the landscape is complicated due to the high mountains and old roads that are not in good condition. This makes it more complicated to grow coffee there and ship it for export. That’s why it is important to me to see coffee as more than a product, but as an element that generates change in the community and, most importantly, in the peace-building process and economic growth and development, especially for rural families.

Yet, our reliance on coffee did not overshadow the versatility of our farms. In Nariño, where small parcels of land abound, self-sufficiency reigns supreme. Surplus harvests ensured a diversified income stream, a practice ingrained in our familial ethos. I have clear memories of my paternal grandmother, Amelia, who, until her final days, ventured out to the town’s market square to sell our farm’s produce, a tradition my aunt Elvira upholds to this day.

In my youth, I eagerly joined them on weekends, drawn to the vibrant tapestry of colors, scents, and flavors that adorned the market stalls. Surrounded by an array of farm-fresh offerings, I found particular delight in the tropical fruits, picked straight from the fields. What made these outings truly memorable was the opportunity to dine in the market kitchens, where dishes crafted from the same ingredients sold at the stalls tantalized my taste buds.

This experience underscored for me the profound connection between gastronomy and cultural identity—an essential starting point for understanding a country’s heritage. Our family’s exchange of goods between varying climates was a time-honored tradition. Those from warmer regions would bring their produce to colder areas, and vice versa—a practice that brought diverse flavors to our table. This was how coffee found its way into our home sporadically; my mother would roast the beans, and my brothers would expertly grind them.

However, this process wasn’t conducted in a state-of-the-art coffee roaster; rather, it took place in a simple clay pot known as a “cayana,” directly over a crackling wood fire. During school breaks, we eagerly visited both farms, immersing ourselves in the seasonal rhythms of agricultural life. As children, we eagerly lent a hand with chores, particularly during the bustling harvest season when every available hand was invaluable.

These experiences weren’t just chores; they were cherished moments of bonding with the land that sustained us. Our parents instilled in us a deep appreciation for our farming heritage, ensuring that we remained connected to the countryside and never forget our roots. My upbringing wasn’t solely rooted in farm life, thanks to my maternal grandmother, Enriqueta, whose forward-thinking ideals shaped our family’s trajectory.

Despite being born into a life of privilege as the daughter of a wealthy family, Enriqueta defied societal expectations by falling in love with my grandfather Ismael, who lacked financial means. Their union meant that Enriqueta’s fate became intertwined with her husband’s, navigating economic challenges together.

Leaving behind a life of luxury and the comfort of servants, Enriqueta embraced the toils of farm life, from milking cows to tending fields and preparing meals for her family and farm workers. Through her labor, she came to understand the hardships faced by women in agriculture. Determined to chart a different course for her daughters, Enriqueta clandestinely sold farm produce to fund their education in town.

In a culture steeped in machismo and tradition, where educating women was often undervalued, Enriqueta took it upon herself to secure her daughters’ futures. Despite opposition from my grandfather, she remained steadfast in her belief that education was the key to empowerment for her daughters. Through her sacrifices and unwavering resolve, she ensured that her daughters would not be bound by the limitations imposed by societal norms.

So it was with great effort from my grandmother that my mother Emelina Escobar was the first to leave the farm and go to school. She was always an outstanding student, and how could she not be one after seeing the great efforts my grandmother made to change her destiny for the better. This led her to get a scholarship to study nursing, and when she started working, she helped my grandmother get her two sisters off the farm and help them get an education as well.

Thus, my grandmother’s mission was successfully accomplished. The nice thing about this part of the story is that when my grandmother became ill, she was hospitalized in the same hospital where my mother worked as a nurse, so my mother was my grandmother’s personal nurse until she died in 1983 when I was still a child. My mother, driven by my grandmother’s legacy, made it her mission to ensure her children received an education, sparing them from farm labor.

Despite my father’s focus on providing, education wasn’t prioritized due to his farming background. Through my mother’s perseverance, my brothers and I attended university, a testament to her immense efforts. I pursued my studies at the esteemed University of Nariño, renowned in Colombia for its excellence in law and political science. Admission to these programs is highly competitive, given the university’s public funding and rigorous standards.

Inspired by my mother’s academic prowess, I excelled as a student, though undecided on my major. During my university years, I crossed paths with Francisco, who later became the father of my son, Juan Francisco. Hailing from a rural background like me, Francisco’s ancestral ties to Nariño’s soil ran deep. Despite his family’s indigenous roots, Francisco’s father relocated to Valle del Cauca, a more northern part of Colombia where the coffee region begins, in search of better opportunities.

My son’s grandfather, with a lot of effort, studied biology and specialized in coffee. He began to work in the National Federation of Coffee Growers (FNC) in the area of research and development, and instilled in my son’s father the passion for coffee. He also has his own farm, very much in the style of Nariño, with various crops, but on his farm, coffee plays a primordial role. My son’s father became an agronomist engineer and also works at the FNC, in the National Coffee Research Center. So my son is the third generation of coffee growers on his father’s side.

Second Chapter, When Soil Compaction Decreases Crop Emergence

After my son’s father and I parted ways, he returned to his hometown, leaving me to navigate single motherhood while completing my studies. However, my son used to spend every holiday at his grandfather’s and father’s farm because they wanted to teach him everything they could about coffee and help his grandfather in any way they could with the coffee farm chores.

As he matured, he accompanied his father on visits to coffee farms nationwide, honing his skills and embracing the path his father envisioned for him—an engineer’s role within the FNC. Upon completing my degree, my stellar academic record earned me an internship at the Colombian Embassy in Sweden. Despite the opportunity to advance my career and honor my family’s sacrifices, it meant relocating. With a heavy heart, I left my son in my mother’s care and embarked on the toughest journey of my life—a year in Sweden.

Arriving in Stockholm with no knowledge of English, the prospect of settling in an entirely unfamiliar country seemed daunting. The shift in climate, culture, and language felt overwhelming. I thought I wouldn’t make it, but every day I kept telling myself, “do it for your son.” My mother was very supportive, and I knew there were no better hands to take care of my son. Gradually, I mastered English and even acquired basic Swedish skills.

As my internship at the Embassy drew to a close, I stumbled upon an exciting opportunity—a pioneering master’s program in International Environmental Law at Stockholm University. It was a revelation, unlike anything available back home in Colombia. As a woman with roots in agriculture, there’s nothing that ignites my passion more than leveraging legal avenues to safeguard our environment.

I had to study that master’s degree… It became my goal. I submitted my application with hopes of securing a scholarship, otherwise, I would not be able to afford it. I poured my heart into numerous letters, emphasizing the profound significance of this program to me.

Around the same time, I met a man from Sweden, and our instant connection blossomed into love. However, my bond with my son was irreplaceable, prompting me to return to Colombia. Despite the distance, our relationship thrived, with him visiting me periodically. Upon my acceptance to the university, I relocated to Sweden with my son. As I pursued my master’s degree, our relationship flourished, leading to our decision to marry.

My husband embraced his role as a loving stepfather, and together, we upheld our Latino values, prioritizing family bonds by visiting Colombia annually. During my master’s program, a visit to the United Nations in Geneva sparked a revelation: “this will be my future employer,” I resolved. Back in Stockholm, I completed my degree, focusing my thesis on Colombia’s forest protection, because I knew the subject firsthand.

With stellar grades, I began my career in environmental institutions, progressing to roles in international relations. However, after a few years, a difficult divorce left my son and me seeking comfort within our family. Returning to Colombia, I embraced single motherhood anew, navigating financial challenges. I was looking for a job in an environmental organization, public sector, whatever, but nothing seemed to work…

I was overqualified according to them. Embracing my faith as a Latina, I entrusted my journey to God and took action. Starting anew, I applied for an internship at an international organization in my field. Despite being deemed too old for an internship, I persisted, recognizing the importance of beginnings. Eventually, I secured a position at the United Nations Development Program in my hometown. My role in the environment and peacebuilding sector utilized my work experience and public relations expertise.

Tasked with designing campaigns and projects for rural communities affected by conflict, I ventured into red zones, advocating for agriculture as a means of post-conflict livelihood. I dedicated myself wholeheartedly to my work, deeply saddened each time our projects concluded and we had to depart from communities still in need. Feeling a greater responsibility to aid these communities, I realized I required additional expertise.

Thus, I pursued further studies, obtaining master’s degrees in Sustainable Development and Gender Studies. Recognizing the challenges faced by women in rural areas, I integrated a gender perspective into environmental projects, leading to successful funding from international cooperation agencies. However, prolonged exposure to distressing realities, particularly the plight of abused women and children in conflict zones, took a toll on my mental and physical health.

Overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness and guilt, I succumbed to burnout and depression, which manifested as chronic stress syndrome. I was in and out of hospitals for about two years, surgeries after surgeries with no results, and finally, the doctors said they couldn’t do anything for me anymore and sent me home to wait for my death. However, I wasn’t prepared to surrender to death just yet; I hadn’t come this far to be defeated.

Determined to defy the odds, I refused to succumb easily. Reflecting on the vast knowledge of natural medicine among rural communities, I embarked on a personal quest for alternative treatments. Drawing insights from ancient texts and traditional practices, I delved into the principles of Hippocratic medicine, scrutinized my dietary habits, embraced the therapeutic value of walking barefoot on grass, and explored meditation techniques.

Despite months of debilitating illness, I gradually implemented these newfound practices and experienced a gradual improvement in my health with each passing day. During that period, one of my brothers resided in Filandia, a quaint coffee town nestled in the heart of the coffee axis. Sensing the therapeutic potential of rural life, he urged me to visit, hoping it would aid in my recovery. Instantly captivated by the town’s charm upon arrival, I found myself returning multiple times until the allure became undeniable—I decided to make Filandia my permanent home.

Yet, amidst the tranquility, questions lingered: How could I sustain myself in such a small community as an international environmental lawyer? Struggling financially after medical expenses, I leaned on my mother’s support. However, I knew reliance couldn’t last forever; I needed to carve out a livelihood soon. I was not afraid of starting from scratch again; I did it once so I could do it again. Reflecting on potential solutions, I recalled my resourcefulness during college when I needed to support my son financially.

Drawing upon the culinary wisdom passed down from my grandma and mom, I embarked on a venture crafting homemade cookies, chocolates, sandwiches, and even offering dinner coupons for special occasions. My classmates appreciated my cooking style, providing a profitable outlet. Facing a similar need in Filandia, devoid of local acquaintances or quality eateries, I turned once more to the culinary traditions of my family.

Memories of my grandmother’s rustic ice cream-making technique flooded back. During scorching summers on her farm, she whipped up a delicacy known as “Helado de paila” – pan ice cream – in the traditional Nariño style, a fading art. This involved a copper pan nestled on a bed of ice, utilizing blocks harvested from the Cumbal volcano and insulated with sheep wool to endure the journey down the mountain atop a horse.

Once at the farm, the ice was buried in a prepared hole until needed, preserving it for days. This cherished treat had always been a hit at family gatherings, sparking inspiration for my next entrepreneurial endeavor. Eureka! I had my plan. Heading to the farm, I retrieved my late grandma’s cherished copper pan, once used as decoration after my grandmother died. I knew she’d be pleased to see it put to use, so I felt no guilt in taking it along.

Upon reaching Filandia, I secured a modest apartment, transforming its compact kitchen into my culinary workshop. Immersing myself in the world of ice cream, I delved into online resources, grateful for the wealth of knowledge available via the internet, YouTube tutorials, and Netflix’s “Chef’s Table” series, particularly the dessert- focused episodes. It was there I first encountered the masterful Jordi Roca and his acclaimed gelateria, Rocambolesc, in Girona, Spain—my newfound hero.

Making a vow to one day meet him, share my journey, and plead for the opportunity to apprentice under his guidance. With my recipes finely tuned and crafted from locally sourced, organic ingredients, I launched my passion project: “Pailato,” a fusion of “Paila” (pan) and gelato. Equipped with a table, essential tools, and boundless determination, I set up shop. Come the following Sunday, I positioned my table on the bustling street and got to work on churning out my ice cream creations.

To my astonishment, they were an instant hit! The townsfolk had never encountered anything quite like it; some even speculated that I had invented this unique method myself. Unsurprisingly, the crowd favorite was the rich, velvety coffee flavor—a true delight to the senses. This marked the first time I earned money by sharing my culinary creations with complete strangers, a moment of immense pride and the beginning of my journey as a chef.

Across from my usual ice cream spot stood a quaint, traditional Mexican taqueria run by a warm-hearted elderly woman hailing from Mexico. She quickly became a devoted fan of my ice cream, blossoming into one of my most loyal customers and eventually, a cherished friend. During one of our conversations, she confided her desire to return to Mexico but lamented over the fate of her beloved taqueria. She feared its closure or sale to someone who wouldn’t uphold her cherished recipes.

Moved by her plight , I offered to purchase her taqueria, albeit with the caveat that I lacked the immediate funds. Instead, I proposed a gradual payment plan, assuring her that I’d honor her recipes faithfully. To my delight, she agreed. Under her guidance, I delved into the intricate art of traditional Mexican taco-making, learning everything from scratch, including the meticulous process of crafting tortillas from freshly boiled corn.

After a few months, she bid farewell and embarked on her journey back to Mexico, leaving the taqueria in my care. Now, with her legacy entrusted to me, I had a bustling establishment to call my own. I didn’t abandon my ice cream venture; instead, I merged it with my newfound taqueria enterprise. Now, at the entrance of my own taqueria, proudly named “Orale Tacos,” I offered both ice cream and authentic Mexican fare.

My son was a teenager already, and when I moved to Filandia, he was finishing his high school. He used to visit me from time to time, but at the beginning, he was not so happy with the idea of his mom selling ice cream in the street after having been working for such an important organization. But when he realized how happy I was to be doing that, he supported me entirely. Once he finished his studies, he moved with me, he learned to prepare the ice cream, and also learned about how to cook and helped me in the taqueria.

We were the dream team! Plus, beside our taqueria, it was a small coffee roaster, we could smell the freshly roasted coffee that reminded me of all the good days on the farm when I was a child and my mom roasted the coffee in our kitchen. My son was getting interested in the preparation of coffee. His entire time he got the knowledge of the producer perspective; the world of roasters and baristas was a completely new world. The people from that café were very kind people and let my son go there from time to time and learn from them everything he could.

Everything was going so well for us, but nothing lasts forever. After years of joy, the pandemic hit, forcing closure due to lack of customers. We turned to taco-making, barely scraping by. Faced with uncertainty, we ponder our next steps. As coffee harvest approached, labor shortages risked crop losses. Drawing on our experience, my son and I joined the effort. We knew it was a very hard job to do, but we needed the money.

Despite the challenge, amidst lockdown, we found solace in nature’s embrace. And guess what, we fell in love with the coffee again! To unwind after long days in the fields, I delved into online cooking tutorials. As the harvest season concluded, restrictions eased. With my son needing to prepare for university, we made the decision to return to Sweden.

Third Chapter, Time for Sprouts to Push Aside Soil Particles

Returning to Stockholm as my son commenced high school, we immersed ourselves in the city’s vibrant culture. Renowned for its high coffee consumption and multiculturalism, Stockholm thrives on passion and excellence in sports, cuisine, and coffee. This dedication fuels its global leadership in entrepreneurship and innovation, shaping its dynamic cultural landscape. Viewing it as my chance to pursue my newfound passion, I resolved to embark on a career as a chef. I talked to my mom and told her that I was dying to become a chef. In Latin America, being a cook wasn’t considered fancy or glamorous, and in some places, it was seen as disrespectful.

She wasn’t very happy with the idea, but she is an incredibly wise and loving woman who will never stop her kids from pursuing their dreams. She told me that she was proud of me for being a lawyer and that she always would be, but it was time to pursue my dream job. If I’m happy, she’s happy. With her blessing, I was ready to start my journey as a chef. I commenced my culinary journey in hotel kitchens and restaurants, starting with breakfast shifts and gradually exploring various kitchen sections, from cold to hot, eventually venturing into pastry. Initially a kitchen assistant, I swiftly assumed chef responsibilities. Mastering each kitchen, I sought out more challenging environments, perpetually honing my craft.

After some time, I had the chance to work in a vastly different setting: a kitchen adorned with a coveted Michelin Star. It was a revelation—the techniques, the ingredients—a truly astonishing experience! My stint there was brief, covering for an ill chef, yet it left an indelible mark. Experiencing the elevated standards of such kitchens, I realized the need to elevate my own skills. Driven by determination, I sought out the pinnacle of culinary excellence in Stockholm.

There were places with one star, two stars, but then I found the only place with 3 Michelin stars—Frantzen! Oh, when I found it, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. How could I possibly secure a spot there? Fulltime chefs were often seasoned professionals, and interns boasted extensive culinary backgrounds. The odds seemed insurmountable, but I was determined to seize the opportunity nonetheless!

Aware they wouldn’t entertain me without an appointment, I strategized. Knowing every restaurant has delivery times, I took a chance on my day off. Arriving early at Frantzen, I lucked out as the first delivery arrived. Seizing the moment, I met who is now the executive chef. He came with two other chefs, I wasted no time and introduced myself. “I am Elizabeth, I am a self-made chef, and I am dying to have an opportunity to get an internship here,” He admitted it wasn’t the conventional approach but admired my determination.

Promising an interview if I waited, he acknowledged my bold move. The next day, I went to meet with them. I told them that I only had two days available. They laughed and were dubious about having me for just two days, but I told them that they would hardly find a more motivated chef than me, that I was willing to work for them on my days off, that I had a very strong work ethic, an endless determination to achieve my goals, and that if they gave me a chance, I could prove it to them.

They asked the head chef if he thought it was a good idea, and to my surprise, I was accepted. I was there for less than a year until I had a work injury that sidelined me for a while. During my tenure at Frantzen, I marveled at the meticulous attention to detail evident from the start.In Michelin- starred establishments, the dining experience is a complete sensory journey. While many end with coffee, it’s often overlooked. We cannot forget the end, which is sometimes the most easily neglected experience.

To me, providing a top-tier coffee service to conclude fine dining was essential. How could they not offer a coffee that matched the rest of the experience? Earlier this year, I had the privilege of being a stagiaire at Celler Can Roca, renowned as one of the world’s finest restaurants. Thanks to Joseph Roca’s interest in enhancing the coffee offerings, I conducted two training workshops for the restaurant staff, predominantly sommeliers. It was an extraordinary experience witnessing their passion for sensory experiences and expert palates as they delved into the world of specialty coffees, which shares many parallels with wine.

Through this experience, we discovered the potential to enhance the quality of coffee served and even pair it with certain dishes and desserts to elevate the overall dining experience. This integration could enhance sensory experiences on various levels. I wasn’t an expert barista; I was just a simple person who came from a family of farmers.

Nevertheless, I felt the need to go back to my roots and learn everything I could about every area of coffee that I did not know about. Barista, roasting, tasting—all of them! Juan and I make a formidable duo on this journey. Despite his father’s wishes for him to pursue engineering, Juan followed his passion for coffee and decided to work as a barista. His father doesn’t talk to Juan right now. We have faced difficult times and he just kept going.

He is so passionate that in that short time he became the head barista of that cafe. After discovering the potential of espresso, he was fascinated by its complexity, inspiring him to participate for the very first time in the National Barista Championship 2024. During the competition, my son had a scale problem and had to retire. However, before he left, he prepared a milk beverage, scoring the highest. Judges praised his performance, knowledge, humility, and respect.

They encouraged him to compete next year, acknowledging his coffee as one of the best in the Nordics. Patrick Rolf, a renowned barista, praised Juan Francisco’s performance and our coffee’s quality. He asked to use our coffee in the final, impressed by its taste. Patrick secured the runner-up position, confirming the excellence of our coffee and Juan’s skills.

That moment was truly devastating but emotional at the same time. Juan is not only my best friend but also my unwavering supporter in every decision I make, just as I am for him. Whenever possible, we journeyed back to Colombia together. On one such trip, we immediately headed to the coffee axis, where we immersed ourselves in an intensive diploma course at a premier coffee academy in Latin America.

From studying green coffee to its global trade, roasting techniques, and the art of crafting espresso and hand-brewed beverages, our lives were transformed by this experience. Suddenly, everything fell into place. Our memories on family coffee farms, from my mother’s roasting to my son’s time with his father and grandfather at the FNC, along with our shared experiences during the pandemic, all coalesced into a meaningful journey. With the support of cousins who shared my vision, I initiated the project on our family’s ancestral coffee farm.

Together, we introduced new coffee varieties, tended to the existing ones, and enhanced the farm’s wet coffee mill and drying station. Currently, I’m endeavoring to establish a new market for Nariño’s coffee here in Europe, and the response has been overwhelmingly positive! While we’re still relatively small-scale to meet the demands of larger roasters, we’re delighted to represent the pride of our region and are steadily expanding, one step at a time.

At present, I split my time between Stockholm and Nariño. My goal extends beyond field production; I aim to become proficient in roasting and evolve into a coffee hunter. This endeavor is crucial as I aspire to inspire more local farmers to transition to coffee cultivation and aid them in processing. It’s all part of a personal initiative where coffee serves as a catalyst for fostering a culture of peace.