Cooking is Love

Growing up as a typical barrio lass, somehow we were expected to be like our mother (and grandmother and great, great grandmother) - early riser, nurturing, industrious, selfless, loving, and frugal, to name a few.  We were raised to know what to do first thing on a Saturday - pick up the broom and sweep the floor.  Instead of watching TV or play outside, we were asked to help with household chores.

Stubborn as I could be, I chose the carefree world.  I climbed trees; mastered the rules of piko, patintero, and sikyo*; and played from dusk till dawn.  I preferred reading books and studying my lessons over things stored in the pantry.

I was used to having everything served before my eyes.  Before the sun goes up, my mother and my aunt have already finished the laundry.  Breakfast is warm.  My lunchbox has been neatly packed.

There is no wonder that I could barely cook a decent fried egg and steamed rice even when I was already in senior high school back then.  My friends could attest to that. 

Things changed after college graduation and passing the licensure exam.  Bum days would either mean job hunting or house cleaning.  That was the time I started to listen intently to my mother.  She would always tell me, "Don't ask.  Just watch."  And watch was what I really did!

Later on, I helped out in peeling a potato or two.  "Don't cut it like that, cut it in cubes.. it's for menudo**," Nanay would often tell me.   My mind would always argue with her ... "Will it change the taste of the food if I cut the veggies differently?"  

When she was diagnosed to have breast cancer and had to totally stop doing household chores after the surgery and chemotherapy, that's when I had my baptism of fire.

It was not easy.  I had to wake up early in the morning, and I am not a morning person to begin with.  There were meals to be planned for the whole day to be able to feed 8 people (or more.)  I had to take on the marketing task alone; learned how to haggle; got introduced to all varieties of fish, meat, and all the veggies in the Bahay Kubo song.  I discovered how to select the freshest produce.

The journey was not a breeze though.  I've had bloopers here and there.  On my first attempt at cooking (Filipino) beef stew, I put the cardava bananas (saba) ahead of the potatoes.  By the time the tubers have perfectly cooked, the bananas have already dissolved with the broth. :)

And so they say the rest is history.  Several years down the road, here I am in a foreign land still keeping the magic apron and soup ladle with me.

Cooking, for me, is love.  I have seen that kind of affection with how my mother meticulously prepares  each meal for us.

I cook for the people who are special to me.  This is my therapy.  I am happy when they feel gratified with what's on the plate in front of them, and I will cook as long as my hands (and taste buds) would allow me to.

Looking back, that girl who used to flinch at the sight of a stove has grown to become a wonderful cook... just like her mom. ♥

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* Traditional street games in the Philippines
**A traditional stew in the Philippines