Climbing Mountains

Haitian proverb "beyond mountains there are mountains."

Many times, I would find myself looking at distant mountains and wonder…. what lies beyond those mountains?



This curiosity has been inside me since I was a child wanting to be like the birds that flew overhead;or, climbing trees to see what was beyond our fence. I would like to think maybe it is this curiosity that fuels my desire to travel and to climb mountains.

Once I reach the top, I am humbled by the vastness of what lies below and beyond.



I am grateful to a gracious God for the chance to savor the moment.



I am blessed beyond words.



I am at peace with myself and the world.



The shortness of breathe, the ache in my legs, and the sweat on my brow only intensifies how alive I feel.



It’s as simple as that. And as long as my feet can continue to walk up a steep incline and still have the ability to balance myself while stepping from one stone to the next, there will always be a mountain to climb.

∞Ω.∞Ω ∞Ω ∞Ω ∞Ω ∞Ω ∞Ω ∞Ω ∞Ω ∞Ω ∞

Nothing quite hits the spot that a nice long drink of water after reaching the top. And to see one thru as one treks back down, take along this make-ahead snack. They are light weight, healthy and will give ones spirit the needed boast.

Pinoy Granola Bars (adaptation of Alton Brown’s recipe)




• 2 c old-fashioned rolled oats
• ½ c roasted peanuts or sunflower seeds
• 1 c casuy
• ½ c wheat germ (may be omitted; just increase your oats by 1/2 c)
• ½ c honey
• ¼ c brown sugar
• 1 T unsalted butter, plus extra for pan
• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 1/2 teaspoon salt (may be omitted)
• 182 grams of chopped dried fruit, any combination of dried mango, banana chips, nangka, pineapple etc. (you will need a kitchen scale)

Directions
1. Butter a 9 by 9-inch glass baking dish and set aside. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.
2. Spread the oats, nuts, and wheat germ (if using) onto a half-sheet pan. Place in the oven and toast for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally.
3. In the meantime, combine the honey, brown sugar, butter, extract and salt in a medium saucepan and place over medium heat. Cook until the brown sugar has completely dissolved.
4. Once the oat mixture is done, remove it from the oven and reduce the heat to 300 degrees F.
5. Immediately add the oat mixture to the liquid mixture, add the dried fruit, and stir to combine.
6. Turn mixture out into the prepared baking dish and press down, evenly distributing the mixture in the dish and place in the oven to bake for 25 minutes.
7. Remove from the oven and allow to cool completely. Cut into squares and store in an airtight container for up to a week.

Where do the raindrops go?

Now where could she have gone?
I looked for her in the bedroom
and I called out loud from the kitchen door.
I thought I saw her hiding
behind my mother's aparador.

Where are you sister dear?
The rain has stopped pouring
and there're lots we could be doing.
The wet lawn beacons our feet be bare
to feel the mud ooze through toes it dares.

Finally from behind me
My sister’s laughter tingles with glee.
She said she had gone where the raindrops go.
Falling from heaven she told me so
Every ripple in the puddle, a happy entry into fairyland.

The onset of the rainy season has inspired me to put into rhyme an incident told to me by my sisters (6th and 7th in line-- Family planning was unheard of then).



When they were about 7 & 8 years old, M, the older of the two, related that she would hide from V whenever it rained hard. M would not come out of her hiding place no matter how loud V would call for her. When the rain stopped, M would suddenly reappear. When asked by V where she had been, M would then bring V to a puddle that had resulted from the rain.



M would explain to the wide-eyed V that the ripple produced by the rain in the puddle was a signal that the raindrop had entered an enchanted fairyland. M continues that she had just come back from this fairyland. So whenever V calls out to her, Maria is not around to hear her.

Maria and Vanessa now hold important jobs that they seriously pursue with intense passion. But I can assure you that this does not mean they have forgotten where the raindrops go.

♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫

The following signature recipes of my sisters are real and family taste-tested. One bite and you will be transported to fairyland.

M’s No-fuss Zuchini Bread



You will need:
3 C Flour
1 tsp salt, baking soda, baking powder
3 tsps cinnamon
3 eggs
1 C canola oil
2 1/4 C white sugar
3 tsp vanilla extract
2 C grated zucchini

Mix wet ingredients (except the zucchini) and then add the dry ingredients. Add in zucchini.

Grease and flour two 8 x 4 pans. Preheat oven to 325. Bake for 40-60 minutes. Stick fork thru center and if it comes out clean then it is ready. Cool for twenty minutes.


V’s Luxurious Pancakes (adoptation of Chef Wolfgang's recipe)



You will need:
2 large eggs
1/2 cup whipping cream
11/2 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/2 cup unbleached AP flour
1/4 cup sugar
2 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/8 teaspoon salt

In a small bowl, whisk together the eggs, buttermilk, whipping cream and melted butter, vanilla.
In a large bowl, sift together the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. Make a well in the center, pour the egg-milk mixture into the well, and whisk just enough to incorporate into the dry ingredients.
Heat the griddle and butter lightly. Over medium heat, using a 1/4-cup measure, pour the batter onto the griddle. When each pancake is golden brown on one side, and small bubbles appear on the surface, turn with a wide spatula and brown the other side. As the pancakes are cooked, transfer to a tray lined with a clean towel and keep warm in a low oven.

Note: Makes 12 3 1/2-inch (petite) pancakes

Presentation:

Arrange 3 or 4 pancakes on a warm plate. Serve with warmed pure maple syrup or fruit syrup. Garnish with a few slices of seasonal fruit and serve immediately. To make fruit syrup, combine 1 part fruit (blueberries, sliced strawberries, or any other berry, sliced peaches, or plums) with 3 parts maple syrup and a little grated orange rind. The fruit can be pureed, if desired. Serve warm.

My Grandma's Farm

“What’s the name of your carabao Lola?”, I asked as I spied the young carabao she pulled by a rope that went through its nose.

“Elvis,” my grandma answered.

I remember asking that question when I was a 12 years old. At that time, my sisters and I were vacationing in the farm of my grandparents up in the mountains of Leyte. It was the farm where my mother grew up on with nine other siblings-- not counting several half-brothers and sisters. But that makes for another story.

When you come from the city, all animals are considered pets and should have a name—hence the question. Coming from the city, the farm was both scary and exciting all at once. Scary for fear that a cobra could be lurking behind our back as we used the outhouse (outdoor toilet);



exciting because there was always something to discover—turtles in a nearby stream and the cows that come late in the afternoon to lick salt from our hands.



As we were growing up, my father insisted we conversed in English. And since my grandmother hardly had any formal education, she tried to respond to our questions as best as she could. But what she lacked in proficiency in the English language she more than made up for it with her knowledge about what really mattered in life: how to raise a large family on the meager earnings of a poor farm, how to deal with a fair amount of hardships and tragedies; and eventually, later in life, how to manage a community as barangay captain.



She was a quiet person but not timid. She was firm with her decisions but tempered them with tenderness. She was the type of person whose one-liners were meaningful and most often humorous.

As we grew up, my mother made it a point to bring us to her parent’s farm every summer. There were always new paths to walk through the fields.



These visits continued well into our high school years but, over the years, sadly became less and less as my siblings and I found it difficult to visit— either due to work or migration to foreign countries.

Now that I have time on my hands, I look forward to visiting my grandmother’s farm on a regular basis. Only recently, I was sitting at the terrace of my grandmother’s house trading stories with my mother and her siblings—aunts and uncles well into their 70s.



There is always so much happy reminiscing to be done and something funny to laugh about. And at night, a cacophony of sounds made by the crickets, the giant geckos, cicadas and owls is music to my city ears.



By the way, Elvis grew up to be a strong carabao. In the following summer when we returned for our annual visit, I rode on its back. And boy was I surprised to learn that Elvis had given birth to a fine calf.



¤~ ¤~ ¤~ ¤~ ¤~ ¤~ ¤~ ¤~ ¤~ ¤~ ¤~ ¤~ ¤~ ¤~ ¤~ ¤~

The following is a dish which my grandmother use to prepare when we would come to visit. When I asked her the name, she said that she called it “Rhapsody”. And rightly named so as one taste and you’re sure to hear a rhapsody.

Rhapsody

1 live native chicken
Blood of native chicken
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 med-size onion, chopped
Coconut milk from a grated coconut
1 stalk lemon grass, tied up in a neat bundle
Some sliced ginger (about a thumb-size)
1 sili espada (green chili-- optional)
A bunch of young bago leaves( edible leaves of Gnetum gnemon Linn) or leaves of a sili (pepper) plant or a cup of malonggay leaves
Salt and pepper to taste

Step 1: The native chicken must go thru cleansing for about 1 week. It is caged and not allowed to roam around. It is feed some corn and given water.
The chicken is then slaughtered and its blood collected in a saucer. The chicken is then dressed (funny that when you dress a chicken, you remove its feathers). Finally the chicken is cut up into serving pieces and set aside. In the province, nothing goes to waste as the head and the feet are cleaned and included in the stew but this is optional.



Step 2: In a bowl, place the meat of a grated coconut. Add the blood and about a cup of warm water. Mix and squeeze the grated coconut. The resulting milk will be a nice shade of pink. Pour the milk thru a sieve. Set aside.



Step 3: Saute the garlic, onion and ginger in a little oil (1/2- 1 T). Add the chicken pieces, 2 cups of water and the lemon grass bundle. Bring to a boil then lower flame so that the stew simmers until the chicken is very tender.



Step 4: Add the coconut milk, the sili espada (optional) and the bago or sili leaves or malongay/kamonggay leaves. Continue to simmer for about 3-5 minutes.

Step 5. Season with some salt and pepper. Remove the lemon grass bundle and serve piping hot with lots of rice. Prepare for a rhapsody of flavors.



Note:
Bago- is a medium size tree with edible young leaves. Grown mostly in backyards in the provinces.

I am Mother: I am Daughter: I am Friend

Like most families, Holy Week means vacationing together to far off places, grandparents’ farms, to the beaches or holing up together at home with the occasional visit to the parish church for traditional rituals.

This year was a bit different. My daughter and I were the only ones that ventured out together as my son and hubby begged off for one reason or another. Undaunted but the lack of male support (driver, security guard, porter, as well as audience for our jokes and stories), my daughter and I forged on for a mother-daughter bonding time at a secluded beach house.

We sat and gazed at the same horizon;



we communed with nature and the resident dog;




and at night, we shared one bed and one blanket… well, one bed.




In those three days together our roles as mother and daughter interchanged effortlessly. One moment I was “mommy”—taking care of her; and then a reversal of roles, she would take care of me. Best of all, I would like to think that our time together meant becoming better friends.

One-on-ones are important as it affords family members the chance to move up to the next level of intimacy and, of friendship.

I hope to do the same with my busy corporate warrior son soon. Lunch on the weekend would be a start.

♥☻♥☻♥☻♥☻♥☻♥☻♥☻♥☻♥☻♥☻♥☻♥☻

One thing I liked about the reversal of roles with my daughter was that I got a chance to enjoy her cooking. And what a delicious revelation it was.

Pasta with Spanish Sardines, Olives and Capers
250 grams of cooked spaghetti
½ contents of Bottled Spanish Sardines—drained (may be hot or mild—your preference)
½ c green olives, whole
¼ c capers, drained
3 cloves chopped garlic
½ onion, chopped
3-4 T Olive oil

Fry the sardines in the heated olive oil until it becomes firm. Set aside.
In the same pan, sauté the garlic until just golden but not brown. Toss in the olives and capers. Heat through for about 3 minutes.
Add the cooked pasta and mix well.
Divide into serving portions and top with sardines.