STANDARD NONSENSE SALVO 5: Big fat bald guy in the kitchen

I started helping out in the kitchen when I was eight. I owe my knife skills (naks…skills daw!) to my grandmother. Who while having to fill a big order for a rush catering job was either desperate or trusting enough to put an extremely sharp blade in my then rather young hands. She showed me how to peel and slice the onions. And for about an hour, that was all she made me do. I remember that day quite vividly. I was crying but I was happy. I knew then that I was hooked.

However it was my mom who really taught me how to cook. I was barely nine when I cooked my first dish, adobo. Fairly simple, but back then it was still a bit of a challenge. (hey…c’mon! i was a kid!) My mom let me do everything on my own, from prepping to presentation, observing me through the whole process, offering guidance and advice along the way. The fact that my cousins had no complaints and my mom’s quiet smile as we had dinner made me believe that I did pretty good.

From then on, a new dynamic in our relationship took place. Not just as mother and son, but as apprentice and teacher. And I think even then, I somehow understood what it meant. That I was to learn as much from her as possible, so that soon, we could be equals, even if it was only in the kitchen. By teaching me how to cook, my mother became my friend.

Much has happened since then. We prepared countless dishes together, from the simple adobo, to kare kare, from pancit to puttanesca. I began to focus on more western dishes, while she went on and learned more exotic asian delicacies. We got to a point where we were learning from each other. No longer apprentice and teacher, just two cooks in a kitchen. And even as our friendship grew, as often as it is with parent and child, we had our share of fights. We had our share of joys and sorrows. And bittersweet as it was, I know it was more sweet than it was bitter.

I lost my mom to cancer nearly 3 years ago. She was 47. And I miss her terribly.

I’ve learned quite a lot of new recipes since then, even created a few of my own. And even if there is that slight twinge knowing that my mom could never get to taste them, there is comfort in knowing that I love cooking as much as I do because of her.