This series celebrates the season's spirit of community and gratitude, when friends and family - really everybody, and it doesn't matter where one is from - gather together, enjoying food and drink.
Luto-lutuan means play-cooking using a miniature clay set consisting of a palayok pot, frying pan, and stove. Kain na means Let's eat. Luto na - It's cooked. Saan yung tuyo? - Where's the dried fish?
The debt we owe to the play of the imagination is incalculable.
- Carl Jung
I look at the blue sky and hear, Cheep-cheep, from the maya birds in the garden, and in the distance, the dogs. Everything has a Sunday calm. The day is clear and crisp, the air like polished crystal. A line of black ants is sorting through the ground, wrestling small mounds and piling leaves in a heap. On afternoons like this, lutu-lutuan is one of my favorite things to do.
Over there! First Cousin Vicky says quickly. Running toward Grandfather Gorio's backyard, we stop and look for the place where the big spider has made its web right across the path. We don't want to break it, Youngest Cousin Dondi cautions. We go around and sit under the acacia tree. The branches hang very low, close to the ground, so we feel safe.
We quickly set up our cooking implements. My palayok is unglazed, about four inches in diameter and a couple of inches deep. We line its bottom with banana leaf. Here's the rice, Vicky says, smiling broadly as she carefully pours a handful from a folded paper package into the pot.
Now the water, I say breezily. I pause, trying to remember how maid Binay does it. I stick my pointer and middle fingers into the mixture. Determining the proportion of wet to dry to be just right, I cap the cooking vessel and carefully set it on top of the stove. We gently shove a crumpled piece of paper topped of with various twigs and branches into its front opening.
Match, please, I ask in a low voice. As the tiny flame blazes merrily, I continue confidently, Dondi, tend the pot so it doesn't overflow, will you? And keep the fire going by blowing through this bamboo straw.
Folding his arms, he argues in a surly tone, Why do I always have to do this?
Well, I reason out, trying to sound self-assured, because today I am Mother, so you'll do as you're told. Next time, you can be Eldest Brother so you can do the cooking. He pouts but concedes.
It's boiling! Dondi announces vivaciously soon after. I simply grunt in response. Let the steam out. And be sure to tuck a pandan leaf among the grains. Then, cover it when the water has evaporated. After a few minutes we uncover the rice pot and take a small taste. We all nod in agreement that it's perfect. Luto na.
Saan yung tuyo? I hurriedly retrieve the dried salted herring from my pocket and dunk it into the curved bottom of the fry pan. Vicky is today's designated Eldest Sister, so she gets to do the frying. The warm, sweet smell of cooking drifts into the air. Then, all is done.
Kain na! And mind your manners. I give table instructions, jutting my chin up, just like Mum does. And please leave some food for Voltaire! Voltaire is one of six dogs whom Mum always sees to it has enough leftover to eat, maybe because he's my Dadee's favorite. Voltaire grimaces upon hearing his name, but remains nonchalant. He doesn't seem to care for our food, neither for the pesky flies circling around, and glances away.
Vicky admonishes Dondi dramatically, Eat your meat. It will make what lies between your legs to grow large and firm. They're the very words that Uncle Yoyong always says to tease the boys. Dondi looks puzzled and ignores her.
We giggle as we eat, looking at each other, the sort of knowing glance between cousins, and bursting into laughter as we take turns savoring every little bite of our modest meal. Actually, the rice is undercooked. The fish is burnt. It will surely taste better with diced fresh tomatoes and a suka vinegar dip, but we're satisfied.
Rubbing my belly and stretching back with a lazy smile just like Dadee does after each meal, I whisper approvingly, This has been my best meal ever.
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