Tilapia Balot Sa Dahon Ng Gabi

Foods of Childhood
Dinner: Tilapia Fish Wrapped In Taro Leaves

I'm singing in the stands like a contestant on Tawag Ng Tanghalan (literally 'Call Of The Stage'), a local live talent show. The moon is bright so I can see every star. Outside, crickets are whirring. The air smells of nightfall, and not only that...

It smells of dinner.

Tilapia fish in coconut milk.

After the waiting, the summons comes. Dinner!

A small cheer goes up throughout the room. Like the door has opened, and an angel is singing.

I carefully sit down with a plate that is dangerously heaped, surveying it to determine the best angle of attack. I nibble on the plump center of the rolled tilapia. With the first bite, I'm in ecstasy. It practically melts in my mouth. My cheeks bulge. 

I ignore the itchy-in-the-throat feel from the taro leaves. As Mum avows, they are, after all, the secret to a creamy-like complexion.

My lips curl comically in rapture at the taste of the flavorful fish and the thick sauce infused with delicious nuances of pandan flavor. Those rolls, folded to perfection the way Martha Stewart folds a fitted sheet, are one of the mysteries of life.

Watch the fish bones, Mum says. 

I quietly mouth, I know to spin my plate three times to dislodge the fish bone should it get stuck in my throat.

Super simple. Super a-lot-of-food. Super fill-your-plate-up and go back for more. These are the foods of my childhood.

The.Best.In.The.World.

I float in on the memories of intimacy, wit, and love they bring, all of them bubbling beneath my feet.

Whether it is Mum humming to herself in the kitchen, the whiff of dulce drifting through the house.

The barely contained chaos at mealtime as you chow down on clam soup.

The mumbled satisfaction filtering from squash pudding-packed mouths.

When the scratchy taste of taro leaves doesn't matter and you finish off the plate, your appetite undaunted.

It is in moments like these when time stands still best - in moments that look suspiciously like ordinary life.

RECIPE

1. Choose the freshest tilapia from Aling Petra's stall in the neighborhood market. Despite her poetic remark, The blood of eternity is in this fish, choose only those with clear eyes and firm scales. 

2. Wash the fish after removing its innards.

3. Spoon chopped tomatoes, green onion, and ginger into the belly cavity of each fish. 

4. Wrap in taro leaf and tie with strips of pandan leaves to secure. The diameter of the wrap can go to hell. Character is okay for this dish.

5. Arrange in a single layer in pan. Add coconut milk and hot sili peppers. The latter can be a game changer. Add responsibly. Season with rock salt and pepper to taste. 

6. Cover and simmer for about 20-25 minutes or until fish is cooked through and sauce is reduced. Serve hot with steamed rice.

Will serve a family of nine. Add deboned leftover fish to the dogs' 'lamas.' 

Throw fish bones over the back fence for Aling Sisang's cats.

Dadee, the brothers, and Voltaire will all secretly spit out the taro leaves.

And that's a wrap (pun totally intended) for this series.

Minatamis Na Kalabasa

Foods Of Childhood
Snack: Squash Pudding

There’s something about afternoons after a siesta that I love.

The hours that amble lazily.

The promise of daylight for play.

And most of all, merienda.

Meet the snack for the ages. The tastiest on the universe...

... minatamis na kalabasa. Squash pudding. 

I swear the smell of the cooking dessert can wake the dead and Mum doesn't have to yell, Gising na! We topple over each other, taking prime positions on each of the long benches at the dining table. We sit expectantly as if awaiting the sudden appearance of Jesus or the Holy Ghost.

And then? 

The clouds part and we join the heavenly choir singing praises to the sweetness of newly-cooked squash pudding. 

Would you like to know how it tastes?

Are you set?

It is sweet. I take a spoonful and feel the pleasure of the smooth squash and light syrup. I eat it, almost as if I were in a trance. It is thick, stick-to-the-top of your mouth that you have to suck off the spoon. Mushy good.

And in that moment, I feel a thrill of recognition in the lightness, the flavor.

A singular incandescent moment of extravagant joy.

RECIPE

1. Choose a kalabasa squash from Aling Petra's stall in the neighborhood wet market. Turn it upside down and shake. When you hear the rattle of seeds, you know it's ripe and ready.   

2. Peel the squash. Boil, mash, and set aside.

3. Mix a can of coconut milk, a half cup of sugar, and condensed milk. Heat to boiling.

4. Break some eggs. Check the number of yolks in each egg. If you see two yolks in a single egg, you will become rich. 

5. Mix the yolks with some corn starch and pour in a thin stream into the boiling milk. 

6. Add the mashed squash and lemon rind. 

7. Be forewarned: this step is tedious and can go on till kingdom come. Stir while simmering in medium heat and your arm is falling off.  

8. Set to cool. If two ants are in the pot, it has cooled off enough and is ready to eat.

Will serve a family of eight (Dadee is still at the office). The dogs don't care for it.

Sopas Na Tulya

Foods Of Childhood:
Lunch: Manila Clam Soup

Just between us—there’s no inspiration like lunch to make us dream and gaze toward the kitchen. Like what's for today.

Manila clam soup and lamas.

The latter is hot, boiled rice hand-mixed (that's where the word 'lamas' comes from) with raw egg sprinkled with sea salt. Salmonella-what?! Never heard.

Our babbling, a constant birdsong as we wait and look forward to something warm to heat us up, down inside, is interrupted by Mum's announcement, Sopas! 

After whiffing a breath to cool the bowl of steaming broth, I carefully take small, curious sips, pausing each time to savor the taste. I let it trace a long, hot trail to my stomach. The soup washes down the egg-rice mix beautifully. 

And the best part?

When I pick an open clam and slurp the meat off its shell with gusto. 

Mum admonishes us as we eat, speaking to us like she is ordering a regiment into battle. Be sure to clean up your plate.

I already know the reason why: the number of rice grains left behind on my plate will signify the number of days I'll spend in purgatory. But I'm not worried. 

Amid the jabbering and slurping sounds, I'm going all Rachael Ray sighing, Yum-O!

RECIPE

1. Walk to the talipapa wet market. Buy fresh tulya clams from Aling Petra. She won't tip the scale because Mum is her suki (known customer). 

2. Buy candied breadfruit dessert from Mang Pepe if there is change. If there's none, just snatch a couple when he's not looking.

3. Brush the shelled clams and soak in water. Wait for them to open and spit out sand and other impurities. This may take a few hours so while waiting, tune in to Student Canteen. Nori Jacinto, 'Neil Sedaka of the Philippines,' will be on to sing Stupid Cupid. He's Mum's favorite.

4. Saute garlic, tomatoes, and onion. Add water carefully or it will sizzle, in which case you'd hear, Anyare? It's an expression of surprise, short for Anong nangyari? (What happened?). 

5. Add the clams and ginger slices, cook for about 20 minutes. Add malunggay leaves. Season with sea salt to taste.

Will serve a family of eight (Dadee eats at the office) and six dogs.
For the latter's 'lamas,' use boiled corn kernels and kangkong leaves seasoned with soy sauce in lieu of egg. Add leftover clam meat for all, except Voltaire.
He's allergic. 

Dulce De Leche

Foods of Childhood
Breakfast: Caramelized Condensed Milk

This series revisits Mum's old-fashioned home cooking, while attempting to capture the unique whimsy of her recipes.

When I think of home, I think of Mum.  She is at the top of my list when it comes to heroes. She nurtures and creates joy. She has the cure for all hurts that come along the way. Best of all, she cooks the tastiest food of all time. Every.Single.Day. 

Starting with breakfast.

Just picture a heap of airy, slightly-sweet and hot pandesal bread smothered with dulce de leche - that dreamy caramel-like nectar of life.

It isn't like it's a recipe that Mum's great grandmother smuggled over from some foreign country on a scrap of paper stuffed in her cleavage, but its sweet and heady fragrance has always been for us the best part of waking up.

Mmm... can you smell it? 

In the kitchen, Mum is presiding over the Liberty Condensada can of sweetened milk simmering on the stove.

With the magic words, Almusal! Breakfast! we drag ourselves into chairs around the table amidst a commotion and the strange hubbub of voices, rising in pitch.

I hold one of the fist-sized rolls up to my nose and breathe in its scent theatrically. The first bite tastes warm in my mouth. The salty crust of the bread, slightly crunchy with a fine coat of crumbs, is dense and chewy with the dulce. 

The flavor explodes in my mouth, rich and intensely sweet. As it dissolves, I let it sit on top of my tongue. I relish the taste, eating as slowly as possible.

It is said that every time you smile, a very tiny bit of the smile stays on the face. As you get older the face starts to show all the tiny bits of all the smiles and you look like you're smiling all the time, even when you're just thinking about what's for breakfast.

RECIPE

1. Start with a 14-ounce can of Liberty condensed milk or whatever is on sale at Cherry's grocery.

2. Peel the label off the can, place in a pot, and cover with one to two inches of water. Bring to a very gentle boil, then reduce the heat to low.

3. Simmer for two to three-and-a-half hours, depending on the depth of golden coloring desired. If the brothers cannot wait, which has always been the case, take the can out already.

Madre de Dios! Mother of God! Oops, too late now.

4. Don't open the can while it's still hot. Let it cool completely before opening, or there will be a devil of a mess.

5. Soothe the burnt finger with Purico lard. Lather the spread on the bread. Give the spilt sweet to Tisoy (my dog whom you may remember as the subject of a September 2017 entry). When Mum is not looking, slip in, besides, a whole pandesal to him.

Will serve a family of nine and Tisoy.