Heavenly Food

Since it is the holiday season or thereabouts, food will be on the agenda of most, the overnourished and undernourished alike, the overfilled and the continually hungry, the obese and the emaciated. It is the gauge of our happiness and success (or the lack of them); it is one of the repositories of my memories, and the aroma of certain food can bring me back to happier, more hopeful times.

I'm not particularly attracted to artsy food, prepared by chefs and those who pretend to be chefs. I think they're more of form, design, and presentation, rather than delicious taste. I come from a rather big family, and art in food had no place on our table, nor was it practical. Meals were like plates and spoons and forks set down on their respective spots, and on the middle were the big pots of rice and a viand (or ulam, the term in local parlance). Most often, at every meal there was only one ulam, except when we had ginisang munggo, a very versatile dish, I should say, because it is a thickish soup that can do as an ulam on its own. It has become somewhat of a culinary tradition that when you have ginisang munggo you should also have fried fish. At this point I think I can venture a theory on how this tradition came about. Catholicism, the country's dominant faith, observes several Fridays of abstinence from meat, all culminating in the week of Lent. On these Fridays, lunch and dinner at home were unfailingly ginisang munggo and fried fish. I eventually discovered that this tradition was (and still is) observed in Catholic households, including office canteens. I would say this is something unique to Catholic Filipinos, unless someone will tell me otherwise.

There are dishes that I so miss, the ones that I will never ever taste again. Their creators have all passed away. They did not leave their recipes behind, and even if they did, I don't think it'll ever be possible to faithfully re-create any of these simple, nameless masterpieces. Nanay, my maternal grandmother, had this fried chicken I've never tasted anywhere else. She used what we call "native" chicken, free-range, essentially, and consistently ended up with a masterpiece so juicy, tender, and indescribably delicious. And as if this was not enough, she sauteed the chicken's gizzard, heart, and liver to come up with a sauce all her own, not thick or watery, and which I treated as a separate dish that could do tasty justice to hot, freshly-cooked rice. At my age, I consider it prudent to watch what I eat, shying away from anything fatty or greasy, but fried chicken destroys my resolve, like money and power corrupting even the most well-intentioned people. My ongoing love affair with fried chicken is probably a consequence of Nanay's creation, as I subconsciously look for even a semblance to it. Tatay, her better half, could whip up the best garlic fried rice in the grain's culinary history. During instances when fried chicken and garlic fried rice were served together, as a very listless child I became unusually quiet and well-behaved. The closest ever to Tatay's creation is the garlic fried rice that used to be served during breakfast at the Rose Bowl restaurant in Baguio City. And even now I'm not certain that the standards have been kept.

Mom had masterpieces of her own, and one of note was her pindang,her version of beef jerky. She marinated thin beef slices in a recipe only she knows, and quick-fried them in very little oil. Her pindang was perfect for our packed school lunches and family picnics. The same can be said for her pork and chicken adobo, which were unlike any versions I've ever tasted. They were almost dry but not quite,with just enough remaining sauce and oil combined, but not too much as to be watery, just enough to put on rice and have blissful eating. She was also quite an expert with relleno dishes, i.e. stuffing anything with everything good, and I went through my childhood and teenage years savoring her rellenong itlog (egg), rellenong bangus (milkfish), and rellenong alimasag (crab). I remember that Benjie and I were her "assistants" in removing the tiny fish bones from the stuffing for the rellenong bangus, and we cherished the chore as it gave us the opportunity to surreptitiously take choice morsels from the intended stuffing. Mom knew this, of course, and she pretended to scold us, most probably to discourage us from taking more than we should, and decimating the stuffing considerably. And during rainy cold nights, how can I forget her version of picadillo, a delicious steaming broth of beef cutlets, diced potatoes, onions, garlic, and sampalok (tamarind)? I now think that it is not depression I feel on rainy days, but nostalgia for Mom's cooking and those wonderful, carefree years.

My mother-in-law was not to be outdone. I initially labeled her dishes as exotic, because they were totally new to me, and may I add, deliciously so. They were, of course, more of regional dishes, southern Tagalog, the spicy kind. She introduced me to sinantol, grated santol fruit cooked in coconut milk, allowed to simmer until almost totally dry, with all the flavor and spice locked in. Then there was her chicken feet adobo, somewhat glutinous and sticky, and very spicy. Not very appetizing to look at, I have to admit, but once I tasted it, I was hooked. Savory staples of the annual town fiesta and Christmas were her special spare ribs recipe, pininyahang manok (chicken cooked in pineapple), and a soup-dish made with prawns and coconut meat. The recipes of these last three were requested by several people, after having tasted the dishes, so presumably they've found their way into other households, into other parts of the world even, but I'm quite certain only close reproductions were produced, and as with all copies, they do not have (and never will) the "heart and soul" of the original creator.

I think these dishes are forever gone now, the ones who created them having passed away. I'm just thankful I was privileged to know the people behind these magnificent creations. Oh, the delicious and happier times back then! How I wish for them to come back.