Where was this mystery cake? It has a similar consistency to bibingka (a famous Filipino baked dessert) but was baked in a pan, not in banana leaves. It had condensed milk instead of salted cheese and eggs at the top. It contained dried coconut in the batter, but not young macapuno (young coconut) like most of the other recipes called for. I kept hitting dead ends, and ended up resigning myself to waiting until I visited Colorado so I could have the mastermind herself–my grandmother–show me how to make it.

The recipe itself is very easy–but the taste takes me back to my childhood, when my family and I would fight over the chewy corner pieces and pick the condensed milk off our front teeth (then lick our fingers). I always knew that mochiko cake was on the way when I saw the trademark white box and condensed milk sitting on the counter. I remember my grandmother making it for special occasions, for our giant holiday potlucks, or sometimes just because my brother and I begged her to make more (usually because my dad had eaten all of the edges already).

As I grow older and look to start a family of my own*, I find myself awash in the nostalgia of my childhood–and as a Filipino woman, the food I grew up with is an instant connection with my past. I’m so grateful that I was able to watch and learn from my grandmother today; I can’t wait to share this recipe with my kids when they’re old enough to bite through this chewy, sticky cake! (And probably fight with them over the best pieces. You know, because… tradition?)

* Note: It’s been nine freaking years since I wrote this blurb, and it’s all come full circle I’m happy to report—my kids love this cake as much as I do, and we’re so fortunate to still have my grandmother (their G.G.!) make this delicious treasure for them whenever she visits.

I always managed to scrape respectable cookies out of my parents’ oven despite the charred entrées, though. Maybe I was just lucky? Honestly, I think it’s because baking requires almost no multitasking–once it’s in the oven, it’s time to play the waiting game. Either way, my family always knows that they can trust my baking and therefore I’m always tasked with cookie-baking whenever I come home to visit again.

So what’s different about these “high-altitude” cookies? Is it just a cute turn of phrase? Actually, it’s the standard alteration I make to all of the cookies I bake in Colorado but added to my favorite oatmeal raisin recipe (via Simply Recipes). Click on the link for a sea level recipe!

Thanks to King Arthur Flour‘s altitude baking chart, I came up with a uniform adjustment to generic cookie recipes that works very well for the Mile-High altitude. I subtract a Tbsp. of sugar, add 2 Tbsp. of AP flour and 2 Tbsp. of water, as well as increase the temperature by 15ºF and reduce the baking time by 2-5 minutes. I won’t lie–baking at higher altitude is definitely trickier than sea level, and getting a soft, chewy cookie usually involves some oven window watching. But if you continue to do these alterations over time, they’ll become second nature! Toward the end of my time in Denver [before I moved to LA], it was a customary adjustment that I had memorized and used without much thought.

So to my friends, family, and anyone else that happens to live where the oxygen percentage is lower–this recipe is for you. I wish you chewy, moist, and delicious oatmeal cookies packed with raisins and crunchy edges! My heart will always be evenly split between these mountains and the Pacific Ocean.