Rice Planters

 Rice 

I dream my painting, and then I paint my dream. - Van Gogh

In the late 70's, I took a painting class at Central Arizona, a public community college in Coolidge, Arizona. We were living in our first home in Casa Grande at the time. 

When an art contest was announced at the college, my competitive spirit kicked in. An artist-wannabe, I was certain that I got this. I knew exactly what the subject of my painting was going to be.

Rice planters. 

So many ideas floated in my head for a hook. In a piece of writing, hook is an opening statement that attempts to get the readers' attention. It grabs their interest, making them want to read more. I adopted this thought-process into my painting. 

How about this?

"God looked down on the earth He created and said, I need a caretaker for this world I made. So God made a farmer."

There is no better demonstration of faith than people planting seeds in a field. When one eats, one should not forget those who till the fields. Great, huh? 

I'd seen farmers, watched them. I'd walked the paddies and talked to them in the summers that I had spent on the Llenado farm. 

That was it.

I'd put them in a rich field where the seeds of life met the hands of the skilled farmer. Some may think that it was the middle of nowhere. I was going to feature it as the center of the world.

Also, Picasso's cubism was topmost on my mind at the time. My plan was to portray my figures in monochrome brownish and neutral colors.

I realized, however, how rice planters must twist and bend to plant rice in the muddy paddies all day, with no chance to sit nor stand. They were to be like the rice stalk. The more grain it bore, the lower it bowed.

Innovatively, I was able to blend that idea with my preferred body shapes that were geometric. Minimalist. Their bodies would be like square-cut diamonds. Gems that did not have upside or downside.

Competition gave me energy. It kept me elevating my thematic focus: my cubistic rice planters would go into the field... to find their soul. 

Hah! Enlightenment. Of course. With that underlying motif, the painting should have a characteristic glow, and where else but from a Philippine sun? Intense light on one part of the canvas to highlight nearby details. A few clear clouds above for contrast. Cubistic, of course.

My ideas were coalescing. 

As Degas says, art is not what you see, but what you make others see. Thus, ultimately, it would be a painting of hope. Of rice planters who are optimists,  thinking that if they tickled the earth with a hoe, earth would laugh with a harvest. 

And that was what I painted. This was how it turned out.

Rice Planters. First Prize Purchase Award. Oil Painting: A.T.V, Central Arizona College: 1978

By the way, it won first place and was a purchase award (for $100, I think) that was displayed on the admin college wall.

I had actually painted two entries for the competition. While at work on the pieces, I told First Daughter that Dancers in Flight would be hers, and Second Daughter that Rice Planters, was for her. I hadn't foreseen both of them winning and being purchased by the college. (Dancers won third prize). Perhaps, I could visit the college one day and offer to buy the pieces back and give them to The Girls.

In the meantime, I'm consoled by the thought that art is too important not to share. After all, earth without art is just eh.

Rice Bowls

 Rice 

Being is always becoming. - Buddha

It was a most spectacular sight in the early hours of morning.

As sunlight began its slow journey across the sky, monks dressed in bright orange, carrying bowls, purposely walked down the hill in single file.

Led by the oldest monks, they processed silently, barefoot.

Hubby says it was in Thailand. I don't really remember where.

What I do remember is that it was truly awe-inspiring, seeing hundreds  of them lining the streets. They were collecting alms. Gathering food for the day. 

Intermittently, they paused to have rice scooped into their bowl by men and women positioned along the road in intervals, almost like water stations in marathons. Neither monk nor lay person made eye contact with each other. 

Since then, I've learned that this was a silent and sacred ceremony that is steeped in tradition.

Historically, before the days of monasteries, the first Buddhist monks were homeless. Their only possessions were their robes and begging bowls. Disciplinary rules instructed them not to engage in agricultural labor and to keep only a few possessions. They were to eat only what was offered in their bowls each morning on the alms rounds.

Returning to the temple, they shared the food among themselves as part of their common meal. They ate twice a day, breakfast and lunch. They were forbidden to eat after midday.

I admire the asceticism.

The tenacity of spirit to let go of what they were, to become what they might be.

I'm thinking, a steaming bowl of arroz caldo or relleno shrouded in a scoop of rice would be a boost to their ever-evolving self.

Relleno Surprise

 Rice 

Cooking is love made visible. - Anonymous

Fridays when godmother Aunt Tessa came to visit after teaching at the elementary school nearby was one of my favorite days of the week.

Why?

Because that was when Mum would create her signature concoction of mouth-watering stuffed relleno eggplant buried in a mound of sinangag (Filipino fried rice) especially for her.

I loved watching Mum put it together. 

I recall how she would first slit the broiled and peeled eggplant lengthwise till it lay flat. On it, she would spread sauteed ground meat, then beaten egg. The top side was fried until it was golden brown.

For me, the wizardry was in the flipping that followed.

It was like a performance. Her face would grow suddenly solemn as she approached the task. With a sandok ladle and large spoon in hand, she'd quickly turn over the fried piece with agility. Assured it was still intact, her face would soften as her mouth turned into a gentle smile.

It was like love. Carried out with abandon. 

When that was done, using drippings in the now-emptied pan, she'd add day-old rice, garlic bits, salt, and pepper for a hefty plate of fried rice. 

The grand finale was the presentation.

Mum would keep her expression neutral, as she first flattened a mound of rice on a plate. Looking sheepish, she'd lay the relleno atop. The final act of unleashing the gourmet in her was accomplished by covering all with an innocent-looking mound of more sinangag. 

So unique! Pretty much copyrighted. She had brought love to the plate and plated like an artist. 

I could picture Aunt Tessa raising her eyebrows in delight every time she unearthed the delicious viand hidden underneath.

Ah! The element of surprise. Like a sorceress, Mum had dispensed happiness and created something magical using the simplest ingredients.

Ma L's Arroz Caldo

Rice 

Family recipes keep us connected to our memories.

Thus, on this Mother's Month, I thought it fitting to include in this series an heirloom recipe that has been passed down from Hubby's Ma L to Hubby's Only Sister to me.

*****

Recipes are like poems, they keep what kept us. - Henri Coulett

Being the challenged-cook that I am, I read recipes the same way I read science fiction. When I get to the end, I think to myself, Well, that's never gonna happen.

For the most part, I'd thought this way, until I was given Ma L's arroz caldo recipe.

Arroz Caldo: a hearty and flavorful Filipino-style rice porridge with chicken, ginger, and various toppings

Step 1: Over low heat, saute annato (atsuete seeds) in vegetable oil in small saucepan. Strain.

Step 2: To annato oil, add chicken pieces (preferably bony pieces for added flavor), garlic, onion, ginger, and salt.

Step 3: Add Cal Rose rice and water, using a 1:5 proportion. Boil until rice is tender.

Step 4: Season with black pepper; add salt to taste.

To serve, garnish with toasted garlic, green onion, and hard-boiled egg.

Add  slivers of calamansi (lemon) and patis (fish sauce) as condiment.

My first attempt at the recipe was a success. 

Internet pic only

The caldo was comforting and had the taste of homemade-with-love. In other words, I licked the spoon and kept using it.

Thanks, Ma L. 

You and your caldo

are treasured memories

that I hold in my heart.

Quirino Elementary School, Project 2, Quirino District, Quezon City: 1957  

Sinaing: Cooked To Perfection

 Rice 

Life is short. Cook rice. - Anonymous

You may have noticed by now that most of my Mother's Day stories are all about food. That's because Mums are the best cooks. The first three blogs in this series bear witness to that fact.

*****

Rice is good if you're really hungry and want to eat two thousand of something.

It is doubly good when Mum cooked it. Her sinaing was always perfect. Never mushy, gummy, or burnt.

Tried and tested, this was how we cooked it on a kerosene stove.

Step 1. Measure and clean the grain.

Chon, she'd say. Luto na tayo ng kanin. (Let's cook rice).

Mie, ilang gatang? (How many measures should I do)? 

She'd think, then decide. Her voice was soft, but very sure. Three measures, but add a half to be sure there would be enough for Voltaire.

I nodded in agreement. It always seemed that when it came to food, our littlest but most ferocious dog, also the most favored by my Dad, always figured in the equation. I'd say he was spoiled.

Pilian mo na yung bigas. (Choose and take out chaff from the rice). Rice back then which was bought from the wet market or sari-sari was usually fresh-milled leaving in that process some husks and chaff.

Step 2. Rinse to separate the grains so they won't get clumpy, then drain.

Step 3. Add water. This step was crucial because the perfect rice texture relied on accurate measurement.

I recall how always there had been something mesmerizing about the way Mum would accomplish just this.

In the dim light spilling through the kitchen window, I could see her eyes were keen, her brows furrowed, as she leveled the rice out. I nodded knowingly as she placed her index finger so that it was just touching the surface of the rice.

Her mouth compressed in concentration, she would then add enough water so that it came up to her first line or knuckle. 

Ayan! she'd exclaim. 

That wasn't rocket science.

Step 4. Add a pandan leaf for flavor. Cover and wait for the rice to boil.

Step 5. When it starts sputtering, incline the cover aside and lower the heat. I could already smell the mystical aroma of newly-cooked rice beckoning me to the dining table. Surely, you would never have thought rice could be so delectably tasty. 

Step 6. Cover once the water had dissipated. Leave pot on stove to cook for about ten minutes more. Turn off stove.

All done!

Happiness was cooking Mum's way. It was a time when we found joy in the simple.