I can't recall how many times I've been asked how I learned to cook. I always answer and say that my mom made sure I knew how to cook. She would require me to help in the kitchen every Sunday.
But the truth is, my dad played a really big part in it, too.
You see, my dad is a midnight snacker. There can only be 3 reasons why he would wake me up in the middle of the night:
1. He brought home food and my sisters and I have to eat with him. (most of the time, Savory chicken from Binondo)
2. He needs me to dress up because we are going out to eat. (we usually end up at some hole-in-the-wall restaurant in China Town or Malate)
3. He needs me to cook.
I loved 1 and 2. I did not like #3.
Because, man, my dad is picky about food. He'd give me instructions on what to do and if I did it wrong, I would be doomed. He's my Gordon Ramsay and I am a contender in Hell's Kitchen. I once served him overcooked scrambled eggs and he sent me back to the kitchen to do it all over again (and I had to eat those overcooked eggs). Why was his steak well done when he wanted it medium well? Why was I serving him hotdogs and no ketchup? He was strict about food that way. But it was through these late night trips to the kitchen that I learned what goes well with what, and how certain food should be prepared.
It's been 8 years since my dad passed away and among the thousands of things I miss about him, it's cooking for him and sharing a meal with him that I miss the most.
Joaquin never got to meet my dad but it seems like he is a lot like him. They have the same temper, they both (and I do this, too) like lying down in bed with their legs "de kwatro" (a Filipino term for crossed legs), and they both love eating a second dinner late at night.
At least 3 nights a week, when my son and I are in bed, he would suddenly sit up and say "Mama, I'm hungry. Let's go downstairs.". I would try to get out of it by saying that it's time for bed and I'm tired and sleepy but then he would say, "But I'm hungry. My tummy is owie." And what kind of mother would I be if I let my son sleep starving?
If there's food leftover from dinner, then we just heat it up but most nights, I find myself cooking instant noodles or frying hotdogs and I would watch my little boy eat with gusto. It is when I watch Joaquin eat that I remember Papa and how he would smile while eating and say "Sarap, anak! Pwede na tayo magtayo ng restaurant.". I remember how hearing those compliments would be music to my ears because as a daughter, and this goes for I think anyone, there is a certain euphoria from getting your parent's approval and hearing them give you high praises.
And that is why I love to cook. Aside from the fact that I love to eat, cooking brings me memories of Papa waking me up in the middle of the night because he's hungry. It is the memory of Mama summoning me to the kitchen every Sunday and teaching me recipes. And now I'm raising a little boy who I hope will remember the tender moments we spend in the kitchen table late at night, talking and eating.
Of course, when Joaquin is a little older, probably in a couple of years, I will have to teach him to cook as well, so I can be like my dad. Hehe!
It's been 8 years since my dad passed away and among the thousands of things I miss about him, it's cooking for him and sharing a meal with him that I miss the most.
Joaquin never got to meet my dad but it seems like he is a lot like him. They have the same temper, they both (and I do this, too) like lying down in bed with their legs "de kwatro" (a Filipino term for crossed legs), and they both love eating a second dinner late at night.
At least 3 nights a week, when my son and I are in bed, he would suddenly sit up and say "Mama, I'm hungry. Let's go downstairs.". I would try to get out of it by saying that it's time for bed and I'm tired and sleepy but then he would say, "But I'm hungry. My tummy is owie." And what kind of mother would I be if I let my son sleep starving?
If there's food leftover from dinner, then we just heat it up but most nights, I find myself cooking instant noodles or frying hotdogs and I would watch my little boy eat with gusto. It is when I watch Joaquin eat that I remember Papa and how he would smile while eating and say "Sarap, anak! Pwede na tayo magtayo ng restaurant.". I remember how hearing those compliments would be music to my ears because as a daughter, and this goes for I think anyone, there is a certain euphoria from getting your parent's approval and hearing them give you high praises.
And that is why I love to cook. Aside from the fact that I love to eat, cooking brings me memories of Papa waking me up in the middle of the night because he's hungry. It is the memory of Mama summoning me to the kitchen every Sunday and teaching me recipes. And now I'm raising a little boy who I hope will remember the tender moments we spend in the kitchen table late at night, talking and eating.
Of course, when Joaquin is a little older, probably in a couple of years, I will have to teach him to cook as well, so I can be like my dad. Hehe!
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