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.

Bosphorus

The Water Is Wide

When roses bloom in winter's gloom
Then will my love return to me.

No one has two signs. Zodiac signs, that is.

But if you were born within a few days of the sun's move from one zodiac sign to the next, this means you were born on the cusp.

So why do I bring up this topic of 'cusp' in a blog that is all about the water? Does this pique your interest?

That's great.

Hop aboard a private ferry in Istanbul with me. Sit down and have a listen. Are you ready for a short geography lesson?

This strait we're traversing is a geographical sort-of-cusp. The Bosphorus is the world's narrowest, twenty-mile long strait that joins the Sea of Marmara with the Black Sea. It separates the continents of Europe and Asia and separates Asian Turkey from European Turkey.

Useful info, isn't it? Try mentioning it casually at the water cooler in your office or in the dairy/cheese aisle at Fresh Thyme. I'm sure it will start a conversation. Or not.

Anyway, let's see the sights - there's the Topkapi and several Ottoman palaces, a mosque, the Selimiya Barracks where Florence Nightingale worked, and the Bosphorus Bridge.

And just look at the beautiful, green water - clear as glass, with pools of indigo blue in them that float like broken clouds of ink.

You can just watch.

We don't have to talk.

There's just being.

The river doing its river thing - moving slowly to wherever it goes, stretching to infinity it seems, and then coming back again. Don't you just now sense a new restless awareness in your heart?

Perhaps, it's the endless waves lapping and rocking against the boat.

Perhaps this is what creatures feel in those first days when dying winter starts to give way to spring.

Are you discerning it? It's like there's a string tied to your heart, as if it were a kite being tugged by a kite flier whose face you cannot see...

Yet.  

Gulf Of Alaska

The Water Is Wide

Give me a boat that can carry two
And both shall row, my love and I.

Do you know that Alaska is the 49th state to join the union?

Do you remember that 'Land of the Midnight Sun' is its nickname?

Have you wondered how it is to live in an igloo?

Or been curious as to how muktuk, a traditional food by the Eskimo and Inuit people, tastes like? (Hint: muktuk is thick slices of whale blubber and skin.)

Are you bemused as to why I'm starting off this post with four (okay, five) questions?

Oh, good.

It's because I'd like to talk about this cruise. My.First.Ever.

The family and a host of others who have signed up for 'The Ultimate Alaska Experience' are trekking into the untamed beauty of glacier-carved fjords surrounded by the forested wall of some 1,000 islands along the famed Inside Passage.

I know. I'm as excited as you.

The water, beautiful at this time of day, is cool and magically pale. Against the ship, waves break into foam and tumble in, one after the other. They keep coming in their soft way and skipping backward as we sail through a spectacle of idyllic coves and bays. The gulls above hang upon the wind and call to one another in shrill voices.

Then, as snow-covered mountain ranges glide along numerous glacier passes, everyone begins talking at once. High-pitched utterances of children, as well as those of some adults, resound in counterpoint like an obligato as sculpted rock walls, striated cliffs, and eroded hillsides start to come to view.

Are you gasping?

And then the ice sculpture...

Have I mentioned the ice sculpture?

They are deep cobalt blue in color, extending over 30 feet out of the water.

The hum of our voices has risen in crescendo like exclamation points looking at them stretch, like forever. Several have comically inclined their ears, as if to better hear the bubbling fizz from effervescent glaciers melting and cracking in spots.

Anyway. Awesome.

The sounds around me commingle into a canticle of hymn - beautiful, melodic, elongating into infinity.

Truth? It is all I can hear this night - my melody. In a boat that can carry two, my love and I. No, actually, not just two, but our family of four...

... And better still, an entire cruise ship of people who have made the day so full of sparkles I have to sing to the wide waters of the Gulf of Alaska.

Seine

The Water Is Wide

But love grows old and waxes cold
And fades away like the morning dew. 

I'm on the Bateaux Parisiens riverboat in Paris, France. Facing the Seine, I'm able to take in a better view of the city's illuminated waterfront sights.

Come sit by my forlorn self.

The night seems peaceful, the river asleep. From my side, I can see moonlight glittering off the fractured surface of the water.

On the open deck, small groups of people are exclaiming Ahs and interjections of Ooh-la-las as the Louvre museum, Musee d'Orsay, and the iconic Eiffel Tower float into view, as if through an invisible ocean of air dotted with stars. Here and there, some of them let out a breezy chuckle, stepping back theatrically as the Place de la Concorde drifts by, illuminated against the night sky.

Except...

... except on me, the lively chatter has dissipated. Don't you remember me saying I'm feeling pitifully sad?

Confession time: I want to mope. I want to go all ostrich and duck my head in the sand as soon as we dock (although I doubt if there is sand on the banks of the Seine.)

There is only silence. I hear nothing but the plaintive sighs of despair in the sky, the rattle of the night wind and in the space between the gusts, the muted sound of the river rushing past, a gently throbbing loneliness.

I feel unwanted. How did love ever grow old?

Perhaps, I can work on being more attractive. I'd drink eight glasses of water and wear leg warmers and do leg lifts and go all Jane Fonda. I'd add brussels sprouts to my favorite-foods list.

Or I can buy a new Marshall's outfit and practice different poses in front of the mirror: hold in my stomach, put my hand on my hips, turn slightly to the right, cross my legs, and make a fish face.

I can plan and dream. Perhaps I might succeed. Or perhaps... not.

I search for the splendor, but see only the darkness - so vast that it seems to stretch out forever, covering everything with indistinct gloom. I sink into my seat as the evening sags, as lonely evenings do.

It's shaping up to be a long night, and this one isn't over yet.