Something fishy.
I was at the fish market next to the dampa along Macapagal Highway looking for our dinner. There guys just stopped what they were doing and posed for the photo.
For the uninitiated, the order of business at a dampa is: 1. buy your fresh (very, very fresh) seafood at the fish market (I think they are holding up a lapu-lapu and a piece of tuna jaw) and then 2. have it cooked at the dampa (dampa really means the humblest of huts) but in this context its a restaurant where they will cook the fish you've bought to what every recipe you want. They will only charge you the cooking fee.
Needless to say, we ate a lot.
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Uploaded on Jun 22, 2009
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A quiet and gentle spirit.
My grandmother's funeral was held two weeks ago. It was a dark and overcast Thursday. Manila traffic was not at its best. Of course the rain wasn't helping the flow of cars. My family hails from the city of Malabon. Its a very congested and tight part of Metro Manila.
That is all background information to this: the entourage of cars that followed the hearse carrying my grandmother's body was about 900 meters long. Following that were two busses full of people from the province (my grandmother is originally from Bulacan). The small city of Malabon with its equally small streets were closed. Police were blocking intersections in order to allow the convoy of vehicles through. They continued to escort us, well out of Malabon, all the way to the cemetery
During the days of the wake (and up until the last day of viewing) flowers of tribute kept arriving. The funeral home was literally overflowing with bouquets.
At the funeral I met people who's lives were touched and changed by my grandmother. Some people were sent to school. Some were given livelihood. Some were given second chances. Some were now doctors and professionals. All of those made possible because of my grandmother's efforts.
I share all that not in pride but in honour of my humble Lola. Sure, my family has means. But you never saw any air of wealth about my Lola. She was quiet. She did what she could. She was who she was since the her days in the province.
In our world of do it by force and take what you can and to hell with everyone else, my grand mother's funeral, for me, stands as testament to the world-shaping capacity of a quiet and gentle spirit.
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Uploaded on Jun 17, 2009
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The last words.
The last time I spoke to my grandmother was at the Manila Airport during my visit in February of this year. She took me to the airport with the driver. We got to the departure ramp, I turned to her and said goodbye and thank you. I took my luggage and headed into the terminal.
That story accompanies this picture not because I think I should have said more or regret not having said more. Nor do I regret anything between me and my grandmother. I relate it because there probably were things that could have been shared between the two of us. I probably could have listened to her more. I could have asked more questions. I could have learned her recipes. I could have told her more stories. Again these aren't regrets. I'm just postulating on what more I could have gleaned from a woman whose life was so rich.
There is this old Filipino saying: huwag nang ipagpabukas ang magagawa mo ngayon. Loosely translated it says: do not wait and do tomorrow what you can do now. That saying is usually applied in telling people to be productive, but I think it is more pertinent in terms relationships and in love. Don't let a day pass wthout telling someone you care for how you feel. Don't let a day pass where your significant other does not feel how important they are to you. Even if it means swallowing your pride. I know it all sounds overemotional, but believe me it isn't so melodramatic when you are in a situation where you couldn't tell them anymore.
This is my dad speaking his last words to his mother. Taken on the morning of her funeral. This is in Manila, Philippines.
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Uploaded on Jun 17, 2009
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Purveyor of fine salted duck eggs.
I am guessing many of you who visit this Flickr site would have had salted duck eggs (maalat na itlog, in Tagalog) before (I don't know why I say that, but I think you are a food-wise crowd). If you are one of the few who haven't, well, I think you are sorely missing out. Whenever I fly back to Manila my Lola (thats how you say grandmother in Tagalog) makes sure that there would be a fresh and constant supply of salted eggs. The eggs would be there for breakfast to eat with hot pan de sal. There as well for lunch mixed with diced tomatoes to eat with adobo. And, yes, they would be there for a midnight snack—an added topping to a bibingka. You might think of it as an all-around support food. It bolsters any meal that it is rightly paired with. For instance crispy-skin pork with duck egg; prawns in salted egg batter; sticky rice with lap cheong and salted egg, you get the idea.
I know that I am pushing the salted duck egg quite heavily. Perhaps I am biased by my experience. You see the eggs that my Lola acquired were always good. I would crack one open and I would never be disappointed. The eggs were the right balance of saltiness and dense richness that only a duck egg could have; they would be moist and not too flakey (I hate it when they are flakey and dry, like they are over done); it would have this oil naturally produced in the egg and that adds to the experience. The yolk would be a very deep orange and it would be large; those eggs never left me wanting more yolk (if the yolk is too small you are left with a large portion of very salty egg white, not so much fun to eat on its own). An alarm goes off in my head every time someone uses always and never too often. But I do mean it when I say that the duck eggs she bought were always good and I was never disappointed.
I thought that she had a supplier of who consistently made very good salted duck eggs. It turns out that that is only a part of the equation. I found that Lola had this uncanny ability of picking the good eggs out of a batch. There were times when my aunties or the house-help would buy the eggs, they just would not be as good or as consistent in quality. Maybe she chose them just by sight or maybe by weight, I never really knew how, but she came home from the wet-market with the best eggs.
My Lola died last Sunday. Fairly unexpected. As I was having dinner last night I found myself wondering where all the good salted duck eggs would now go. Who would be randomly picking them? Who would now have a pleasant surprise when they crack one open? I kept thinking that their new surprises were my regular occurrences. In hindsight, I suppose the regularity of having the best salted duck eggs is a small testament to Lola's commitment to give her family the best. She did not boast that she was after the best, nor did she speak of it, or push for it but the simple choices she took (like the duck eggs) were made more meaningful by the standard she upheld.
I have much to learn.
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Uploaded on Jun 2, 2009
6 comments
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