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.



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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.

Retired, Re-used, Rekindled

People warned me of the pitfalls of early retirement: boredom, financial difficulties and the absence of purpose.

Pre-retirement days meant there were schedules to follow: the daily commute, meetings, deadlines, performance discussions and the never ending events to manage. Twenty-four hours did not seem enough.

At present, I admit that there are plenty of days with no specific agenda on my plate but there is plenty to keep me occupied: prayer and reflection, weeding my little garden, going thru my collection of recipes, calling my mother, answering the crossword puzzle (lots of time needed)… and the list goes on. Regrettably the days go by just as fast.

Pre-retirement days meant not paying attention to the cost of chicken or whatever took my fancy at the supermarket. Buying came easy with no second thought about budgets to follow. Money was not an issue.

Now-a-days, I keep to a budget, check out chicken prices and think twice before I buy a trinket. (Do I REALLY need another one?) No need to get another pair of office pumps with killer heels or “borloloys” to jazz up my look in the kitchen. Thankfully, with prudent use, I hope that money will not be an issue.

In the past, my purpose was to contribute to keeping the corporate alive. At present, I have found joy in using skills honed during corporate life as a volunteer in my parish scholarship committee. The scholarship program is open to children of a nearby squatter community.

Only recently, I got involved in a Lenten Recollection organized by said committee for these children. Just like corporate days, the group plunged into the planning and the execution of said event. It was just like the “old days”—program flow preparation, set-up of venue, logistical checklists, and even a de-briefing afterwards. There were three priests that facilitated the event where 83 kids showed up. Most of all, the assessment made by these children indicated that they had a good time and learned a lot. The little we did was greatly appreciated. I could not help compare this with the many complaints I used to hear from participants in more lavish corporate events. How ironic indeed.

Can I sustain this way of life? I’ll be sure to let you know.

* > ** > ** > ** > ** > ** > ** > ** > ** > *

Preparing for an event, big or small, is like cooking a dish. You need to know what, how, when and even why you will cook a particular dish. You have to ensure you have all your logistical requirements: ingredients, cooking utensils, and work force. Lastly, you have to be open to feed-back in order to assess whether it is a dish worth improving or serving again.

The following recipe will give you a good appreciation for the need to be organized:

Chinese Lumpia



Ingredients:
¼ c cubed shrimps
1 c grated carrot
2 c grated coconut heart of palm (ubod)
2 c grated tokwa (firm tofu)
1 large onion, minced
4-6 cloves garlic, minced
1 c julienned cabbage
1 egg, scrambled, cooked and chopped
Native lettuce leaves, washed and dried
Fried sotanghon
Peanuts (pounded)
Brown sugar
Celantro leaves
Lumpia Wrapper

Optional:
Chopped celery
Chopped cucumber
Bean Sprouts

Sauce:
½ t Fish sauce (patis)
2 t Soy sauce (toyo)
1 T Brown sugar
1 c water
1 t Corn starch
In a small pan, bring to simmer the water, patis, toyo, and sugar. In a cup, mix together the corn starch with 1 tablespoon of water. Add this to the simmering mixture. Stir until mixture has thicken. Adjust seasoning to your liking. Pour into a small bowl.

Bottle of hot sauce

Procedure:
1) First Saute
a) Divide the onions and garlic into three portions.
b) Saute 1 portion of the onion and garlic with:
i) Carrot
ii) Ubod
iii) Cabbage
c) Set Aside.



2) Second Saute
a) Saute 1 portion of the onion and garlic with the tokwa.
b) Set aside.



3) Third Saute
a) Saute 1 portion of the onion and garlic with the shrimp.
b) Set aside.



4) Mix all of the sauted ingredients and the chopped scrambled egg in a big pot.
a) Season with salt, pepper, fish sauce, and soy sauce.
b) Set Aside.



5) Set-up
a) Place a lumpia wrapper on a plate
b) Put a lettuce leaf in the center
c) Pile two to three tablespoon of your filling on top of the leaf
d) Garnish with pounded peanuts, sugar, cilantro leaves and crispy
fried noodle and other optional garnishings.
e) Roll up the lumpia, make sure you tack in the corners to seal.
f) You might want to use two wrappers to ensure that the lumpia does
not burst.



6) Condiments
a) Prepared lumpia sauce
b) Hot sauce



So go ahead, organize a lumpia party and have your guests involved in the preparation. Not only will it be fun but the final assessment will surely be: Delicious!!

Note: proportion of ingredients may be adjusted to fit your preference. If you like togue more than the other veggies, go ahead and make yourself happy.

Write-on Baby!

While cleaning out my closet one warm evening, I came across a box containing old letters dating back to my elementary school days; home-made greeting cards-- some with lopsided flowers and crayola hearts and some liberally sprinkled with silver dust; and, written bits and pieces of lives lived. There were letters from friends with stories of travel and announcements of milestones in their lives. Friends who vowed to always stay in touch. I pause and wondered where they are now.



There were three diaries of different years-- all started at different months of each year; all ending abruptly; all written in my small, tight and heavy penmanship. I read once more my impressions of the people and events that passed thru my young life then. The more I read, the more I remembered.

And there were letters I wrote but never sent. Letters filled with intense youthful angst -- hate, anger, disappointments. Reading them now, I am glad I never sent them out. Time does heal all wounds (or in some cases, dulls the pain) and what seemed to be so important then becomes so petty in the present light.



Amusingly there were also little scraps of paper with scribbled to-dos; a list of items to take on a trip; and even a crumpled note that definitely was passed around during a boring class. There was a famous quote on torn rule pad and a short poem I wrote about a cat (!).
•
With modern technology, writing or chronicling has evolved. But whatever the chosen mode, the value of putting thought to paper or ,now-a-days,to blog stays the same.

It is proof of ones existence.

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One notable find from that box is the following recipe given to me by a former office mate, C. C used to share her homemade lunch at the office. At one time, she brought bangus sardines. It was so good that I asked her repeatedly for the recipe. She finally gave it to me before migrating to Canada. I have not heard from her since. I tried the recipe out last weekend and it was as delicious as I remembered it to be. (Thanks C!)

Bangus Spanish-Style Sardines

1 k bangus
1/2 c olive oil or corn oil
1 c water
4 T sugar
1 t peppercorn
2 t salt
1 small crushed garlic clove
3 bay leaves
5 sili labuyo
5 small tomatoes (seeded and sliced)
3 slices of ginger (as big as 1-peso coins)
1 green or red bell pepper (sliced into thick strips)
1 small carrot (sliced into rounds)
pickles for garnish



If you are lucky, have the fish vendor clean and scale your bangus. It would be ideal if the fish is about 6 -8 inches long.



At home, wash your fish, cut off their heads and set aside to drain if they are small in size or if large,cut into 3-4 pieces.



Measure out all the ingredients.



Place the bangus pieces into a pressure cooker. Arrange the tomatoes, bay leaves, ginger slices, sili labuyo and sliced bell pepper in the pot.



Add the oil, water and seasoning (salt, sugar, peppercorn).

Seal and pressure cook for 20 minutes. After 20 minutes, cool the cooker down based on pressure cooking instructions. Open and turn each bangus slice over. This will enable the flavors better penetration. At this point, I suggest that you taste the resulting broth and adjust seasoning accordingly. Seal the cooker and resume cooking for about 25-30 minutes. Cook 45 minutes longer if bangus are large.

Once done, cool the cooker and carefully open the lid. Let the sardines cool down. Since they are very hot, they will tend to crumble if transferred out of the pot. When the fish slices have been removed to a container, add the carrots into the pot with the remaining sauce and quickly bring to a boil. Do not over-cook as the purpose is to retain the crispiness of the carrot. Pour the sauce and carrots onto the sardines and garnish with some sliced pickles.



Note:
• You must have a pressure cooker to try out this recipe. This type of cooking quickly softens the bones of the fish.
• You must know how to use a pressure cooker. Explosions or accidents occur from opening the cooker without properly releasing all of the pressure.
• Add or decrease your sili labuyo depending on how hot you want your dish to be. As the sili I added were not crushed, the resulting dish was not at all hot.
• Best to double the recipe and use 2 kilos of bangus to make all that effort worthwhile.

Trust me, it will be worthwhile. I served the sardines to a Spanish priest and he thought it was good. That’s enough reason for me to do this again.

Staying in Touch

“Daddy, can we visit your father’s house?”, I asked my dad when I was about 10 years old.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. There are a lot of snakes there.”, was the response of my Dad.

My father has long passed away and I never got to visit his hometown. Until this year. Somehow everything clicked: a recent invite from his relatives to visit; cheap airfare; and, the travel itch to be somewhere new. I had brought along my mother who was eager to rekindle ties and introduce me to my father’s relatives.

Although declared recently a city, the birthplace of my father is 20 times less than that if compared with the urban jungle I came from. Rice fields and coconut groves; banana plantations and fish ponds; cattle ranches and chicken farms surround the town center--- and not one movie house in sight!



The house where my father grew up in is no longer there. But the river that run beside the house continues silently to empty itself to the nearby sea.



Did you ever get the feeling of looking at something or someone and realize that it’s both familiar and unfamiliar? Maybe it’s from all the black and white pictures of said place and people that I used to look at as a kid. Or is it possible that my father’s childhood memories reside in the deepest part of my brain?

While there, my mother and I were graciously received at the ancestral house—my great-grandfather’s house. What made the visit more interesting was learning about my father’s family tree as patiently explained by my father’s cousins. And it took me sometime to grasp the connections considering that my great-grandfather had so many relationships!



Best of all were the stories about the magical powers my great-grandfather possessed; the illicit affairs; the ghosts that continue to walk the halls of the ancestral house; and, the struggle to keep the land in the family name. Many enjoyable hours were spent at the dining table with the retelling of these stories.



The sincere and warm invitation to come back for another visit will surely be taken up again. I see it as another way of keeping and staying in touch with my father.

During the visit, we were constantly warned to watch out for snakes. And indeed, as if to prove my father correct, a cobra had come out of the tall grass and was quickly killed by a farm hand. It’s a good thing I don’t scare easily.




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The ancestral home is kept humming with a retinue of loyal staff. Memorable were the delicious meals lovingly prepared. One such dish served was Humba—braised pork belly in a soy sauce and black bean sauce. This was paired with Young Fern Salad and Sauted Ampalaya with Egg. Such a winning combination! The recipes that follow were generously shared by an Aunt charged with the supervision of the kitchen staff.

HUMBA



Ingredients:
1 kilo pork belly, sliced into 1-inch pieces
1 small can of pineapple juice
2-3 tablespoon of vinegar
3-4 tablespoon of soy sauce
3-4 tablespoon of brown sugar or moscovado sugar
10 peppercorns
1-2 bay leaves
a handful of dried banana blossoms
3- 4 tablespoons preserved salted black beans with canned liquid
Salt and pepper

Procedure:
Fry the sliced pork until golden brown. Place in a pot and add the rest of the ingredients. Pour water enough to cover the pork. Bring to a boil and reduce heat and allow to simmer until the pork is fork-tender.

Ampalaya with Egg



2 medium size ampalaya or bitter gourd
Minced garlic
Sliced onion
A handful of diced pork
2 eggs

Procedure:
Cut the ampalaya diagonally and remove the seeds. Cut into very thin slices and place in salted water for about 15 minutes. Once done, drain and set aside.
Break the eggs into a bowl and scramble them slightly. Set aside.
Saute the garlic, onion and follow this with the diced pork. Once cooked, add the ampalaya and stir until tender. Pour in the scrambled eggs and continue to stir until just done and not dried out. Season with salt and pepper. Serve piping hot.

Fern Salad



1 bunch fern (Pako variety)
Diced tomatoes and onions and some ginger
Vinegarette (vinegar, salt, pepper, sugar, a little water)

Blanch the ferns—be careful to quickly drain as the ferns can get soft very quickly and loss its crunch.
Place in a bowl and add the tomatoes and onion. Stir in the vinegarette. Enjoy!

To Listen to the Quiet

When a neighbor brought up the idea of attending a retreat in a monastery in Digos, Davao. I immediately told her to count me in. I figured it would be hitting two birds with one stone:
• I was itching to visit Mindanao so Digos would be a good start
• it was high time to join a live-in retreat as the last one I attended was in high school.

On a cloudy Tuesday, we landed in Davao and motored to Digos. The Monastery was everything I expected it to be--- very quiet.



We were going to be a group of 16 women. And being the advance party of 3, we had the retreat house and grounds to ourselves from late afternoon until bedtime (at 8PM!). We were each given our own room-- very basic with a washbasin. Toilets and showers were outside-- just like a dormitory. The rest of the party arrived shortly after we had gone to bed but I was out like a light. Surprisingly for someone who usually takes at least two nights in a strange bed to fall asleep easily.

At 4:30AM, there was a sudden buzz of activity outside my door. The monks had morning prayers at 5AM and followed by mass at 6AM. I peeked out my door and saw some of these ladies rushing back and forth in the corridors. I quickly got dressed and quietly left the dormitory and headed for the church.



My two friends were not up so since there was no time for introductions, I kept to myself as I stole glances at the women who would be my retreat companions for the next three full days.

By breakfast time the necessary introductions were made. It will take another day to get the names and the faces in sync. Meanwhile, to help me remember, I jotted down things that struck me for each of their names I wrote down in my notebook. So-and-so was the one with the tight curls; this other one was the spunky leader of the group, and so on and so forth. By the end of the morning, we were friends. Maybe not close, but the smiles were given out more freely.

The retreat in itself was far from what I had expected. For the next three days, our retreat master, Fr Pat, would meet with us promptly at 9AM. He would speak to us for about an hour. After which, he would advise us to go and find a cozy nook and reflect on what he had said. Guide questions were also given out to help in the reflection. He would meet with us at 3PM for the next session and after a short time, send us off for solitary reflections.

At first, in all the silence, I probably thought about what Fr Pat said for about 30 minutes and then do other things to occupy the rest of the time. I got a chance to steal some time to talk to the staff and the sisters that ran the house. I took solitary walks around the retreat grounds--



checking out the cows



and the chickens



and took pictures of the gardens.



I also took morning naps, afternoon naps, prayed the rosary with my two other friends, and most of the time sang myself silly in one of the garden huts. That was how I was reflecting.

So one afternoon, after singing a medley of Carpenters songs, I happened to look up to see what I thought at first were two golden brown butterflies twirling up in the air. I never took my eyes off them and watch as these "butterflies" finally came to the hard ground. On closer examination, the twirling butterflies turned out to be seed pods of the mahogany tree. I picked them up and then it hit me. The sessions of Fr Pat could be likening to the seeds in the parable of the sowing of the seeds. These "seeds" will not grow without the benefit of a fertile soil or a reflective spirit.



I had come to the retreat hoping to be spoon-fed the answers I was seeking the way it was done during my high school days. Fortunately for me, there was that tiny bit of quiet time when a message got through. Thankful, I stopped singing to listen to the quiet.

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Delicious meals and snacks at the retreat house were available at the dining house. Meals were made out of the fresh produce from the market. And since Davao is the fruit bowl of the Philippines, there were a variety of fruits served during our stay: tangy pomelos, sugary sweet chicos, mangoes and pineapples, slices of red watermelon, caimito (sugar apple), the (in)famous durian, creamy papayas and golden bananas. Definitely my stomach was always quiet with contentment.

Many of the vegetable stews were familiar to me as Davao share similar Visayan fare—like utan (veggie stew). And utan will not be complete without the tanglad or lemon grass fashioned into a distinctive knot. Follow the steps below and add the knotted tanglad to your meat dishes or veggie soups for a new taste dimension.
Step 1


Step 2


Step 3


Step 4


Step 5