THIS is a story of food and love, and how love for food can sometimes be the food of love.

It begins, oddly enough, in Hong Kong, where Carlos Miguel spent the first 18 years of his life, raised by his Portuguese father, his Spanish-Filipino mother ? a Laurel from Tanauan, Batangas, no less ? and the family?s Chinese amah.

By the time he was ready for college, it was decided that he was also ready to discover his Filipino roots, so he was enrolled in the august University of Santo Tomas, where he majored in architecture.

As it happened, the College of Architecture shared the same building as the College of Fine Arts, and he was promptly smitten with a fine arts major named Sylvia Jacinto, of the famed industrialist clan.

The two soon discovered that they shared many interests in common, including cultivated palates and a love for good food. Though his parents weren?t much for cooking (the amah did most of it at home), the Miguels often dined out, and in Hong Kong were spoiled for cuisine choices, whether his father?s native Portuguese, his mother?s Spanish, and of course Asian food. For her part, Sylvia had come from a long line of accomplished cooks. Her mother, and her two grandmothers, had handed down precious family recipes to her, and one of her grandfathers was actually a pastry chef from Spain, who used to bake pastries for the old Spanish casinos in Manila.

Both their families also loved to travel, and traveling went hand in hand with dining out in the best restaurants.

In any case, a campus romance blossomed, and the couple married soon after graduation, settling in the then newly-opened suburban frontier of Ayala Alabang. In quick succession they were blessed with two boys, Anton and Carlo, and a girl, Chrissie. Carlos worked for Cathay Pacific, and then Philippine Airlines, when the Manila International Airport was a quick 15-minute hop from their home, while Sylvia became a homemaker.

And then, tragedy struck.

In 1982, a careless driver ran then eight-year-old Anton down right in front of their home, shattering both legs in several places. With so many fractures, doctors believed amputation was the only option, but the distraught parents refused to accept the verdict.

After four months in the hospital and multiple surgeries, the Miguels realized that the only hope for their son to walk again was to seek further treatment abroad. Reluctantly, they pulled up their stakes and flew to San Francisco, where Anton could get the best medical care. It was then that they made the heartbreaking discovery that previous doctors had made a complete mess of Anton?s legs, and that at best they faced more surgeries and years of physical therapy.

They decided to make the best of the situation. Carlos started a tire recapping business. Then another business opportunity presented itself when Bert Nievera offered his restaurant up for sale. And so it came to pass that Sylvia found herself running, of all things, a burger joint ? Roadrunner Burgers ? serving cheeseburgers, steak subs, French fries and milkshakes.

Four years later, when their son?s legs had finally healed sufficiently, the family was faced with another choice: to return home to the Philippines, or settle somewhere else. In their travels, they had always enjoyed the wide-open spaces of Australia, the clean air, and the good food. In 1986, it was a no-brainer: the family headed for Sydney.

There Carlos returned to Philippine Airlines, and when the company closed its Australian offices, he went to work for San Miguel Corporation, helping carve out a niche for San Miguel Beer in Foster?s and Victoria Bitters country.

Meanwhile, Sylvia cooked. Word of her cooking spread throughout the community, so much so that when the suburb of North Sydney decided to launch an open-air Asian food bazaar, she was the only candidate to man the Philippine booth.

?We had to adjust Filipino dishes to suit Australian tastes,? she recalls. ?Adobo was out because they don?t like dark sauces. Sinigang was out too because most of them don?t like sour tastes. They like kare-kare, but they don?t like oxtail, so I used other cuts of meat instead. They also like lumpia and pancit, especially because we cook them on the spot.?

The North Sydney food booth soon became a full-time job, involving not just Sylvia, but Carlos and both sons as well. After work, Carlos would put on an apron and help out with the booth, as would the two boys.

?That?s one of the reasons both of my sons became chefs,? says Sylvia. ?We would serve a few hundred people a night, so they both learned to cook. It was the best thing for them: our kids learned what it means to work hard and earn a living.?

The extra income from the booth became the family?s vacation fund, allowing them to continue the family tradition of traveling and dining, which helped lay the foundation for Anton and Carlo?s future careers in the culinary arts. Both are now established chefs with their own reputations, Anton in Australia and Carlo in Sala Bistro, among others.

After 18 years in Australia, the couple began to make retirement plans.

?I got very sick, and we decided that maybe it was the right time to come back and live here,? recalls Carlos.

They returned to their old Alabang home, but it was no longer the sylvan refuge they remembered. Manila?s urban sprawl had engulfed the adjacent southlands, and after 18 years of Sydney suburban life, the noise, traffic and heat were unbearable.

Carlos? dream had always been to live on a farm, and as luck would have it, a very close friend had acquired five hectares of rolling farmland in Silang, Cavite and was willing to part with half of it.

Thus was born Kalamunda, aboriginal Australian for ?a home in the country.? If living well is the best revenge, then the Miguels have it in spades. Right in the middle of pineapple country is their little patch of heaven on earth, with scenic vistas and a cool breeze blowing through it. At the center sits their bungalow, which Carlos designed himself ? finally making use of his architectural background ? as a series of living modules connected by shaded pathways and surrounded by greenery and space.

A predilection for Asian art is evident in the Javanese carvings, Siamese buddhas and Ch?ing dynasty paintings that adorn the spacious sala/dining room/patio ? the ?public? part of the house that is open to guests. The effect underscores the tranquility of the place ? occasionally punctuated by the clucking of chickens, the honking of geese, and the various animal sounds made by the menagerie of sheep, goats, potbellied pigs and dogs.

In the beginning, though, it was anything but tranquil, at least for Sylvia.

?I was always a city girl, and it wasn?t easy for me,? she confesses. ?Carlos was busy with the landscaping and building, but what was I to do? I tried cross-stitching and reading, but after a year, I was bored to death!?

Cabin fever had set in, and it got so bad that at one point, she was ready to return to Australia, by herself if necessary.

Once again, food came to the rescue. Having friends over for dinner or lunch was the only thing that punctuated her black moods, Sylvia found. Retreating to the kitchen to whip up some of her famous roast pork or favada or coq au vin was therapeutic. Home felt more like home when shared with good company over a great meal. Her friends began to hint that they would be willing to pay to be invited to one of her dinners, especially if she was going to make her special cochinillo, or roast goose?

A trip to Australia to visit their grandchildren reinforced the idea. Anton was working in a vineyard that served fine food to visiting wine-tasters. When they returned home, the idea for Kalamunda was fully formed: fine food in a relaxed country setting, a sure draw for jaded gourmands looking for something different.

Word of mouth soon spread. After her cooking and Kalamunda were featured in PDI?s Lifestyle section, she was soon deluged with requests and bookings. It proved to be just what the doctor ordered for her blues. It was also something that the couple could work on together, just as they manned the food booth in Sydney years before, with Carlos working on the landscaping and the setting, while Sylvia focused on the food.

?I?m not a chef,? she protests. ?My sons are chefs. I?m just a food enthusiast, and I cook food the way I like to eat it. I?ve found my niche, and I?m happy.? ?

For inquiries, contact 0917-8810032.