The Italians are a breed in themselves . They are most known for their clannish and obscure ways but when together , will exhibit loudness and a gymnast of hand gestures. I know , because two of my previous landlords were Italians but my favorite one is Donna,my friend.
I met Donna at my sister in law’s wedding a few years ago. Her boyish dark auburn hair revealed a chiselled face, an inquisitive nose held round rimmed glasses that covered her brown velvety eyes. Her thin lips revealed only a few shades darker than her fair skin, and the svelte frame gives justice to the way she moves about. Being same in age, we had so much in common, that our friendship grew deeper in the years that came.
She grew up in the Bronx and had the streets as her playground. Often reminiscing as a kid, she would relate how life being ‘in the hood’ was. She grew up tough and strong, surviving a hefty divorce from an Italian as well. She has none of those feisty, loud traits of an Italian, but instead, she displays one of a serene and melancholy demeanor. If there was a phrase to describe her it would be like a duck swimming in a pond, gracefuly keeping herself above water, but paddling like hell down below.
Donna has always been a people person. Always around when someone needed a baby sitter. A helping hand when friends relocated, and an assistant cook at parties. Sometimes even offering to drive for whoever needed rides at her own expense. She doesn’t like to be the center of attention, content to be oblivious, yet a team player to the max.
Working in the medical field has made Donna expose herself to a lot of Filipinos. Although Italian American, she has more Filipino friends than her own breed. She has attended numerous Filipino funfare and is not new to the ethnicity of our Filipino cuisine. But her own repertoire of eating habits is so limited mostly to chicken with an occasional beef. Her preference for food or lack of it is nothing religious nor medical. She just hinders herself from gulping anything that is a reminder of something cute. She will not eat fish because it will remind her of Nemo, nor much of pork as this is Babe, and she will never eat a rabbit because it reminds her of THUMPER and the fact that Bambi is venison is totally out of her list. Pasta and coffee is all she needs to survive on. And of course, she loves our Filipino pancit.
Last week, Donna had a mammogram test and was diagnosed with a suspicious carcinogenic cell
I’ve asked her how she felt after the news hit her and her answer was, “I don’t know”. What do you say to someone who was unsuspecting and was caught off guard by such debilitation? At these times no words of comfort or wisdom can penetrate the deep emotional roller coaster seeping into Donna’s innermost thoughts.
She has never questioned her God, nor even gotten angry, yet the proverbial challenge that she faces is the need to know what the near future holds , and what must be expected of her. Right now, she is only concerned with her daily existence, not planning for anything and not wanting to disappoint anyone for unfulfilled commitments. . I know she will not recluse herself, but will go on double time. Like an athlete, doubling her strokes to reach whatever goal she has in mind.
I am sure that many things come into her mind as of this moment. Her pain is my pain. Her sadness is my sadness. Her doubts are my doubts. And even the joys she will experience are my joys as well.
Yet inspite of all that is happening ,she is a fighter, she will do what needs to be done at all cost. And in the end, the two phrases she will be hearing will be, “well done, good and faithful servant……..you have fought the good fight, you have finished the race, you have kept the faith.”
That is the iron lady in the Donna I know. She is my ITALIAN MAFIA (Most Amazing Friend In America.)
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
All In A Day's Work
ALL IN A DAY’S WORK
I had just recently arrived from the Philippines, when my brother, Steve called to ask a favor. His co-worker was going for an R&R and he needed a reliever. It was only for 2 days anyway , so I agreed to help him out.
Steve’s assisted living facility had only 2 patients but could occupy 4. Sonya, a Caucasian in her 70’s stayed in Room 1. Her bouts of dementia and the inability for her only daughter to care for her due to work commitments, led Sonya’s confinement in an assisted living set up.
Dillo, an octogenarian Italian widower who had lived in America half of his life, occupied Room 2. He had family nearby but they couldn‘t get along with him so they opted to put him in the facility . Although Dillo’s mind is still sharp, he was having hallucinations of the mafia following him .
One morning while changing Sonya’s bed sheets, and dusting the furniture , I was singing to my heart’s delight. I twirled and pirouetted around the room oblivious of my lone audience, who was sitting in her wheelchair.. When I finished my chores, Sonya beckoned me and said, “Missy, you are so beautiful, but you know what? You don’t sing nice?!”
I just winked, smiled and said, “ooo-kay, there goes my singing career!”
After breakfast, I wheeled Sonya to the living room. I parked her by the wall to wall window, which revealed a small garden before visibly showoing the street. Since the next door neighbor was a nursery school, Sonya was entertained by the traffic flow of mothers carrying their children and cars passing . I would then be free to do my other chores of clearing dishes and getting ready for lunch.
More than an hour passed when Sonya decided to call for me.
“Missy, can you come over? She screamed over her shoulders.
“What’s up?” I answered swiftly walking to the living room.
“Can you change the channel, please?” she said.
I looked at her. And then I looked outside the window. No more cars, nor people were passing by. Did she think the window was a television? I looked back again at her face. She was dead serious. AND BORED!
“Is there another channel?” she reiterated. Was her dimentia in ‘play’ mode, I wondered.
I immediately ran to my brother, who was cleaning Dillo’s room
“Steve! Steve!” I said,
“what’s wrong?” he asked.
“quick! Put on some fast music!”
“Why? “
“I want to go outside by the window and dance. Quick put on the music of Macarena so I can dance the ocho ocho. Then Sonya will think it’s another channel!” I excitedly proclaimed.
“Stop your foolishness and go back to work!” Steve commanded. With a pout and a snapping of the fingers, I went back to Sonya. There goes my dancing career again. It had already ended before it even began.
I wheeled Sonya to the kitchen while explaining that there were no nice channels that morning. I asked her to keep me company while I prepare for lunch.
Just then, Steve walked in and asked what was for lunch. “I’m making Lengua” I said. Steve’s demeanor was a cross between disapproval and anxiety. “Why?” I wondered.
“Huwag mo nalang sabihin anong linuluto mo kasi hindi kumakain ng dila ang mga puti! Baka magka ulcer itong mga matanda at magka problema pa tayo” Steve explained.
Dillo, who was in his room watching t.v. all this time, suddenly appeared in the kitchen. He saw Steve and I conversing and became suspicious.
“Are you talking about me?” he asked with squinted eyes.
“Of course not!” I said. “we’re reminiscing about our Filipino food!”
“what about it?” he asked
Glancing at Steve I said, “Well, in our country, nothing is wasted. From chicken feet that we call adidas, chocolate porridge made of pig‘s blood, and even ox tongue which is a delicacy.”
“Yuck! I wouldn’t want to think of eating feet stomping on dung, nor do I want to eat something that’s tasting me back such as your ox tongue. Disgusting!” and with that he turned and headed back where he came from. Steve’s “I told you so” look further concluded his earlier remark.
Away from Dillo‘s hearing distance I said, “Well, MISTER , you’re going to do a lot of French kissing with your food today . There will be wagging tongues galore.”
Lunch was served with utmost restaurant ambience. The rectangular table was set for 4 . The centerpiece was a bowl of fresh fruits honing with fresh roses scattered among clutters of grapes, apples, peaches and pears. The main dish was glamorously plated with the lengua encircled over a mound of mashed potatoes at the center . Buttered corn kernels, cubed carrots and peas surrounded the meat and a sprig of parsley on the top center of the plate added the finishing touch.
As the dish was handed to the elderlies, Dillo was curious “What’s this?” , he asked.
“It’s beef?” I answered. “Try it!”
He picked a slice with a fork and placed in his mouth. He was chewing and nodding at the same time and then declared., “This is the softest meat I have ever tasted.” He exclaimed. “ What kind is it?”
Without realizing, I blurted, “That is called Visayan beef. And the reason it’s soft is because it has been pressure cooked.”
Then I turned my back and muttered under my breath. “Tinawag kong Bisaya yan kasi matigas ang dila ng mga bisaya pero lumalambot kung napipressure. There!
Sonya and Dillo ate with gusto that day. Dillo complimented me again and wished that the Visayan beef be served in the future. At least I have a promising career in the culinary industry even if I don’t have one in entertainment industry. But if there is one thing I really learned from this experience with Sonya and Dillo is this: be kind to your children, you’ll never know what kind of nursing home they will send you to---and if they do, make sure the cook from that nursing home isn‘t from Haiti.
I had just recently arrived from the Philippines, when my brother, Steve called to ask a favor. His co-worker was going for an R&R and he needed a reliever. It was only for 2 days anyway , so I agreed to help him out.
Steve’s assisted living facility had only 2 patients but could occupy 4. Sonya, a Caucasian in her 70’s stayed in Room 1. Her bouts of dementia and the inability for her only daughter to care for her due to work commitments, led Sonya’s confinement in an assisted living set up.
Dillo, an octogenarian Italian widower who had lived in America half of his life, occupied Room 2. He had family nearby but they couldn‘t get along with him so they opted to put him in the facility . Although Dillo’s mind is still sharp, he was having hallucinations of the mafia following him .
One morning while changing Sonya’s bed sheets, and dusting the furniture , I was singing to my heart’s delight. I twirled and pirouetted around the room oblivious of my lone audience, who was sitting in her wheelchair.. When I finished my chores, Sonya beckoned me and said, “Missy, you are so beautiful, but you know what? You don’t sing nice?!”
I just winked, smiled and said, “ooo-kay, there goes my singing career!”
After breakfast, I wheeled Sonya to the living room. I parked her by the wall to wall window, which revealed a small garden before visibly showoing the street. Since the next door neighbor was a nursery school, Sonya was entertained by the traffic flow of mothers carrying their children and cars passing . I would then be free to do my other chores of clearing dishes and getting ready for lunch.
More than an hour passed when Sonya decided to call for me.
“Missy, can you come over? She screamed over her shoulders.
“What’s up?” I answered swiftly walking to the living room.
“Can you change the channel, please?” she said.
I looked at her. And then I looked outside the window. No more cars, nor people were passing by. Did she think the window was a television? I looked back again at her face. She was dead serious. AND BORED!
“Is there another channel?” she reiterated. Was her dimentia in ‘play’ mode, I wondered.
I immediately ran to my brother, who was cleaning Dillo’s room
“Steve! Steve!” I said,
“what’s wrong?” he asked.
“quick! Put on some fast music!”
“Why? “
“I want to go outside by the window and dance. Quick put on the music of Macarena so I can dance the ocho ocho. Then Sonya will think it’s another channel!” I excitedly proclaimed.
“Stop your foolishness and go back to work!” Steve commanded. With a pout and a snapping of the fingers, I went back to Sonya. There goes my dancing career again. It had already ended before it even began.
I wheeled Sonya to the kitchen while explaining that there were no nice channels that morning. I asked her to keep me company while I prepare for lunch.
Just then, Steve walked in and asked what was for lunch. “I’m making Lengua” I said. Steve’s demeanor was a cross between disapproval and anxiety. “Why?” I wondered.
“Huwag mo nalang sabihin anong linuluto mo kasi hindi kumakain ng dila ang mga puti! Baka magka ulcer itong mga matanda at magka problema pa tayo” Steve explained.
Dillo, who was in his room watching t.v. all this time, suddenly appeared in the kitchen. He saw Steve and I conversing and became suspicious.
“Are you talking about me?” he asked with squinted eyes.
“Of course not!” I said. “we’re reminiscing about our Filipino food!”
“what about it?” he asked
Glancing at Steve I said, “Well, in our country, nothing is wasted. From chicken feet that we call adidas, chocolate porridge made of pig‘s blood, and even ox tongue which is a delicacy.”
“Yuck! I wouldn’t want to think of eating feet stomping on dung, nor do I want to eat something that’s tasting me back such as your ox tongue. Disgusting!” and with that he turned and headed back where he came from. Steve’s “I told you so” look further concluded his earlier remark.
Away from Dillo‘s hearing distance I said, “Well, MISTER , you’re going to do a lot of French kissing with your food today . There will be wagging tongues galore.”
Lunch was served with utmost restaurant ambience. The rectangular table was set for 4 . The centerpiece was a bowl of fresh fruits honing with fresh roses scattered among clutters of grapes, apples, peaches and pears. The main dish was glamorously plated with the lengua encircled over a mound of mashed potatoes at the center . Buttered corn kernels, cubed carrots and peas surrounded the meat and a sprig of parsley on the top center of the plate added the finishing touch.
As the dish was handed to the elderlies, Dillo was curious “What’s this?” , he asked.
“It’s beef?” I answered. “Try it!”
He picked a slice with a fork and placed in his mouth. He was chewing and nodding at the same time and then declared., “This is the softest meat I have ever tasted.” He exclaimed. “ What kind is it?”
Without realizing, I blurted, “That is called Visayan beef. And the reason it’s soft is because it has been pressure cooked.”
Then I turned my back and muttered under my breath. “Tinawag kong Bisaya yan kasi matigas ang dila ng mga bisaya pero lumalambot kung napipressure. There!
Sonya and Dillo ate with gusto that day. Dillo complimented me again and wished that the Visayan beef be served in the future. At least I have a promising career in the culinary industry even if I don’t have one in entertainment industry. But if there is one thing I really learned from this experience with Sonya and Dillo is this: be kind to your children, you’ll never know what kind of nursing home they will send you to---and if they do, make sure the cook from that nursing home isn‘t from Haiti.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
My First Foreign Romance
(a foreign affair)
I am a 50-something mother of four grown children and live in New Jersey with a husband of 30 years. This has been my home for a couple of years now. Previously, home was in Cebu, Philippines, where I was living a comfortable yet stressful life. Juggling work, home and social commitments like a headless hen brought me to the point of exhaustion. I was living yet I had no life. So with packed bags and confident determination, I headed for a different surrounding . America!
Coming to the U.S. was a challenge and a relief. Here, I could dress any way I wanted to without the reprimands of my fashion conscious children. I can now visit places where I only see on t.v. and probably bump into the likes of Richard Gere, Josh Groban and Julia Roberts. And most exciting, I can flirt with whoever I want to without the wagging tongues of neighbors, relatives and well meaning friends. So in short, I am FREE.
Not that I’m a flirt, but being convent bred has always contained my every move. Loud guffaws, indecent skin exposures and immoral behaviors were often condoned. The stare and pouting lips of Sister Lutgard would flash before my eyes every time I am confronted with such situations.
The realization of such restricted movements came during cocktails after a symposium I attended at the U.N. in New York. In one instance, I went to the bar to replenish my drink of merlot. While waiting, a man in his thirties donning a black suit brushed up beside me. I was mesmerized by his Adonis look and Herculian build, the type that makes any woman's knees wobble. Simultaneously extending our hands to the bartender, he looked at me, smiled and then winked .
Just then , I froze. With wine glass in hand, I darted from the bar as fast as I could looking for my husband, who was with me then. I felt like a foolish schoolgirl running away from a pack of wolves and probably from possible danger. Heck those nuns!
Thinking about the incident that night, I just couldn’t sleep. Friends having affairs, flings and adventures of promiscuity dazed my mind. Was I experiencing mid life crisis? Was I combining the 7 year itch and the 15 year anxiety to break the existence of my mundane life? America is huge and no one will know.
Then came the time when my musician son invited me to see him play with his band, a group of 3 Caucasians and himself, at a Brooklyn bar. My daughter in law and I, with some other Filipinos decided to support the group by watching them perform. As we were standing at the far corner of the bar holding our drinks, Paul, the lead singer of my son’s band approached the group . Mind you, I have never met any band member before that night.
Among all the sexy, young brown skinned girls within the group, it was I whom Paul approached to strike some conversation.
“So” Paul starts, “How do you know Wiggy?”
“Wiggy?” I asked questioningly.
“Yes, Wiggy, our drummer in the band. How did you meet? ” said Paul.
“Oh, you mean Wiggy, my son!” I exclaimed.
Paul looked at me intently and was starting to turn shrimp red. Finally he got his composure and said., “Oh! I’m so sorry!” If he was trying to hit on me, then I am flattered.
What’s with these young men anyway?! Just for the record, I’ve never had botox, nor liposuction, but I must say I can still pass for a good catch to to be hit on twice!
That night thoughts of the movie, “The Graduate” roamed through my mind. Is it possible? I wonder how Demi Moore is feeling right now. Just then, Sister Lutgard’s face appeared and the thought immediately vanished . Shame on you , woman, for those sinful thoughts!
Then I met Matthew. His mother introduced us. The moment I set eyes on him, I was in love. Blue eyes, blond hair, Caucasian with the sweetest smile. Although abdominous and many years my junior, his white butt is delicious to behold and he is indeed properly endowed.
Ours is an open affair. Four nights a week, I spend with my husband, and the three nights with Mathew. Don’t get me wrong. I love my husband, but Matthew makes me feel young and energetic.
With Mathew, it’s those special moments of feeling vibrant again. A walk in the park while holding hands, strolling in the woods then playing hide and seek. And the rewards of a find is a tight embrace.
During winter, we would just cuddle with blankets rolled over our legs, eating popcorn while watching T.V. We would have snow fights in the backyard and then drink hot cocoa in between laughters.
Ocassionaly when he wanted something, I would put my face nearer for clarity and on cue, he would plant a kiss. I would snuggle up his neck and sniff as hard. He always seem to smell so good.
On rainy days, we stayed in the family room where we would just have downtime I would be content reading my books while Matthew would be pounding on the computer or doing his puzzles.
Our relationship is more on “old goat teaching new tricks” mode and Matthew just loved it.
In due time, Matthew will realize that his feelings for me will wane and that freedom of some sort is innevitable. I will then have to accept my fate and cherish the moments spent together.
With Matthew it is reminiscing youth with all its trimmings. It is a unique and special kind of love affair. There is no sexual innuendos, nor is there any communication of intellectual comprehensions. Instead, it is a nurturing experience, a learning growth and an unforgettable one of a kind romance which overcomes the difference in race, sex and age.
After all, Matthew is only 2 and a half years old and I’m his nanny.
(a foreign affair)
I am a 50-something mother of four grown children and live in New Jersey with a husband of 30 years. This has been my home for a couple of years now. Previously, home was in Cebu, Philippines, where I was living a comfortable yet stressful life. Juggling work, home and social commitments like a headless hen brought me to the point of exhaustion. I was living yet I had no life. So with packed bags and confident determination, I headed for a different surrounding . America!
Coming to the U.S. was a challenge and a relief. Here, I could dress any way I wanted to without the reprimands of my fashion conscious children. I can now visit places where I only see on t.v. and probably bump into the likes of Richard Gere, Josh Groban and Julia Roberts. And most exciting, I can flirt with whoever I want to without the wagging tongues of neighbors, relatives and well meaning friends. So in short, I am FREE.
Not that I’m a flirt, but being convent bred has always contained my every move. Loud guffaws, indecent skin exposures and immoral behaviors were often condoned. The stare and pouting lips of Sister Lutgard would flash before my eyes every time I am confronted with such situations.
The realization of such restricted movements came during cocktails after a symposium I attended at the U.N. in New York. In one instance, I went to the bar to replenish my drink of merlot. While waiting, a man in his thirties donning a black suit brushed up beside me. I was mesmerized by his Adonis look and Herculian build, the type that makes any woman's knees wobble. Simultaneously extending our hands to the bartender, he looked at me, smiled and then winked .
Just then , I froze. With wine glass in hand, I darted from the bar as fast as I could looking for my husband, who was with me then. I felt like a foolish schoolgirl running away from a pack of wolves and probably from possible danger. Heck those nuns!
Thinking about the incident that night, I just couldn’t sleep. Friends having affairs, flings and adventures of promiscuity dazed my mind. Was I experiencing mid life crisis? Was I combining the 7 year itch and the 15 year anxiety to break the existence of my mundane life? America is huge and no one will know.
Then came the time when my musician son invited me to see him play with his band, a group of 3 Caucasians and himself, at a Brooklyn bar. My daughter in law and I, with some other Filipinos decided to support the group by watching them perform. As we were standing at the far corner of the bar holding our drinks, Paul, the lead singer of my son’s band approached the group . Mind you, I have never met any band member before that night.
Among all the sexy, young brown skinned girls within the group, it was I whom Paul approached to strike some conversation.
“So” Paul starts, “How do you know Wiggy?”
“Wiggy?” I asked questioningly.
“Yes, Wiggy, our drummer in the band. How did you meet? ” said Paul.
“Oh, you mean Wiggy, my son!” I exclaimed.
Paul looked at me intently and was starting to turn shrimp red. Finally he got his composure and said., “Oh! I’m so sorry!” If he was trying to hit on me, then I am flattered.
What’s with these young men anyway?! Just for the record, I’ve never had botox, nor liposuction, but I must say I can still pass for a good catch to to be hit on twice!
That night thoughts of the movie, “The Graduate” roamed through my mind. Is it possible? I wonder how Demi Moore is feeling right now. Just then, Sister Lutgard’s face appeared and the thought immediately vanished . Shame on you , woman, for those sinful thoughts!
Then I met Matthew. His mother introduced us. The moment I set eyes on him, I was in love. Blue eyes, blond hair, Caucasian with the sweetest smile. Although abdominous and many years my junior, his white butt is delicious to behold and he is indeed properly endowed.
Ours is an open affair. Four nights a week, I spend with my husband, and the three nights with Mathew. Don’t get me wrong. I love my husband, but Matthew makes me feel young and energetic.
With Mathew, it’s those special moments of feeling vibrant again. A walk in the park while holding hands, strolling in the woods then playing hide and seek. And the rewards of a find is a tight embrace.
During winter, we would just cuddle with blankets rolled over our legs, eating popcorn while watching T.V. We would have snow fights in the backyard and then drink hot cocoa in between laughters.
Ocassionaly when he wanted something, I would put my face nearer for clarity and on cue, he would plant a kiss. I would snuggle up his neck and sniff as hard. He always seem to smell so good.
On rainy days, we stayed in the family room where we would just have downtime I would be content reading my books while Matthew would be pounding on the computer or doing his puzzles.
Our relationship is more on “old goat teaching new tricks” mode and Matthew just loved it.
In due time, Matthew will realize that his feelings for me will wane and that freedom of some sort is innevitable. I will then have to accept my fate and cherish the moments spent together.
With Matthew it is reminiscing youth with all its trimmings. It is a unique and special kind of love affair. There is no sexual innuendos, nor is there any communication of intellectual comprehensions. Instead, it is a nurturing experience, a learning growth and an unforgettable one of a kind romance which overcomes the difference in race, sex and age.
After all, Matthew is only 2 and a half years old and I’m his nanny.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Three Things Pinoy Kitchens Must Have
The first thing I often miss when I am out of the country is the Filipino food. Many times, it is difficult to look for ingredients, like tanglad, achuete , batong , or ubod. They can only be found in oriental stores. And Ethnic stores are hard to come by especially if you‘re in the midwest. Even eating Chinese food such as the ‘pancits’, lumpia shanghai’s or sweet and sour ‘whatever‘ is not even as close to satisfy the craving for real pinoy food.
However, we Filipinos are creative and we try to improvise just to satiate our palate. I make my fresh lumpia with jicama, ham, and coleslaw veggies while friends wonder where I get my ubod from. Or that I flavor my puto bisaya with orange zest. Or I make my own bagoong by sautéing lots of garlic with anchovies, and eating it with plain rice.
Tools, equipments and appliances, as well as ingredients also play a major role in the preparation of delicious home made cooking. Having said that, let me enumerate a ’must have’ for every OFW who just loves to cook pinoy food and still not be contstrained of time and added resources.
1) RICE COOKER - Rice is the staple diet in the Philippines therefore a rice cooker is a must. We have a National brand Rice Cooker that is turned on 24 hours a day. My family can come home to a meal of hot rice to eat with leftovers or canned something. The only time the cooker is turned off is when it is being replenished by a new batch. Isn’t it that when someone walks inside a pinoy home, the proverbial question is, “Kumain ka na ba?”
2) SLOW COOKER - time constraints often hinder us from cooking favorite dishes like nilaga, kari-kari, tinola, caldereta and other stewed Filipino dishes. By placing the ingredients in the morning and having it ready when you come back after work , makes you feel like you’re in the Philippines sans the maids. Using a slow cooker to cook beans without having to check on it every now and then is a safe way to do and it comes out really soft especially when mixed with your favorite chorizo. Home made beans are better than canned ones, I should say.
3) TURBO BROILER - the best invention for those yummy to make lechon kawali, crispy pata and my favorite ‘bisayang lechon manok’ without the hassles of deep frying or grilling. You can even make bibingka in the turbo.
And if you are truly filipino, there are two ways of preparing adobo. You can either use the slow cooker and when cooked, let it laze in its sauce.
Or after it has been cooked and softened in the slow cooker, you can broil it in the turbo to make it dryer and a little crispy. Then pour a little sauce over it when serving. Now that is truly FILIPINO.
Whether you are just having your own meals at home or planning guests over, the three must haves are all you really need.
I can’t think of anything else….Can you?
However, we Filipinos are creative and we try to improvise just to satiate our palate. I make my fresh lumpia with jicama, ham, and coleslaw veggies while friends wonder where I get my ubod from. Or that I flavor my puto bisaya with orange zest. Or I make my own bagoong by sautéing lots of garlic with anchovies, and eating it with plain rice.
Tools, equipments and appliances, as well as ingredients also play a major role in the preparation of delicious home made cooking. Having said that, let me enumerate a ’must have’ for every OFW who just loves to cook pinoy food and still not be contstrained of time and added resources.
1) RICE COOKER - Rice is the staple diet in the Philippines therefore a rice cooker is a must. We have a National brand Rice Cooker that is turned on 24 hours a day. My family can come home to a meal of hot rice to eat with leftovers or canned something. The only time the cooker is turned off is when it is being replenished by a new batch. Isn’t it that when someone walks inside a pinoy home, the proverbial question is, “Kumain ka na ba?”
2) SLOW COOKER - time constraints often hinder us from cooking favorite dishes like nilaga, kari-kari, tinola, caldereta and other stewed Filipino dishes. By placing the ingredients in the morning and having it ready when you come back after work , makes you feel like you’re in the Philippines sans the maids. Using a slow cooker to cook beans without having to check on it every now and then is a safe way to do and it comes out really soft especially when mixed with your favorite chorizo. Home made beans are better than canned ones, I should say.
3) TURBO BROILER - the best invention for those yummy to make lechon kawali, crispy pata and my favorite ‘bisayang lechon manok’ without the hassles of deep frying or grilling. You can even make bibingka in the turbo.
And if you are truly filipino, there are two ways of preparing adobo. You can either use the slow cooker and when cooked, let it laze in its sauce.
Or after it has been cooked and softened in the slow cooker, you can broil it in the turbo to make it dryer and a little crispy. Then pour a little sauce over it when serving. Now that is truly FILIPINO.
Whether you are just having your own meals at home or planning guests over, the three must haves are all you really need.
I can’t think of anything else….Can you?
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