What Satisfies the Soul

I look out the huge glass window of the Legazpi Domestic Airport and see passengers queuing to depart for Manila. A lady is in tears. Her right hand is holding a wet handkerchief like the one Veronica used to wipe the face of Jesus; except that the image on her hand was probably the face of someone she loves.

Mayon Volcano sets the one backdrop for these millions of goodbyes. It is our Statue of Liberty. We know we are home when we see her; we know we’re not, when she’s nowhere in sight.

After all the goodbyes of my life, I have never been used to it. Every single goodbye is like a new gash oozing with bright red blood. And I am sure I am not alone.

Someone remarked at the x-ray machine when asked about a bag she brought, “It’s bicol express!” Somehow letting go is a struggle: we know we have to do it, but we still attempt to bring a piece of home with us.

For many Bicolanos, bringing bicol express, pinangat, pilinut candies and other goodies is like having Mayon Volcano wherever they are. I bring with me memories of home-cooked meals. I guess we oftentimes miss food prepared from the heart.

Have you ever wondered why we miss the ones we eat day in and day out? But home-made food, prepared repetitively, has built us. What makes one family different from another are the stories they share and the menu on the table. It is like the mass: we don’t remember every single homily (although some are like bitter herbs), but we do share the same faith stories in the Liturgy of the Word and eat the same Bread of Life in the Liturgy of the Eucharist. No wonder, the Church encourages a simple pattern: from mesa to misa, or vice versa. Either way we experience the same relationship: as a family, and as brothers and sisters.

Okoy will never be the same to me. It is my brother Jayson’s favorite. Okoy is a handful of small shrimps (photo) or bolinao fish, coated in flour, black pepper, chili, salt and deep-fried to a crisp.

My brother-in-law loves kidney beans cooked with pork and thick coconut milk spiked with siling labuyo (bird’s eye chili). To add color, we put moringa or malunggay leaves. But there is a way to cook the beans: you wait for the time when the coconut milk curdles like milk, and the oil has began to come out. You gently mix the beans until it has become soft. Moringa leaves are then added before the wok is taken out of the fire.

Home-made food is enjoyed because memories are attached to it. It is not just the stomach that is satisfied, but the soul.

***

I get on the plane en route to Manila. I take one last glimpse of Mayon and Legazpi City. My seat is 11D and it will be difficult to take another look from the aisle.

As the plane is towed backward, I think of what I am leaving. And I know, a 45-minute flight will never be enough.

Adobo Beach

Urban settlers take a short weekend vacation out of the city. They would usually take off to an island beach resort or trek to a mountainous region. You’re either a beach person or a mountain person. I am definitely a beach person. I’d rather go deep, than climb to the top.

To seek depth to me is the ultimate road to find meaning. I enjoy the beach with the people who matter.

And so we prepare food that lasts. We do not bring food that spoils too soon. Vinegar preserves a favorite: the adobo. As we take our time to travel, the adobo gets tastier and tastier.

The good thing about adobo is that it adapts to the friends you are with. The Tagalog region cooks adobo with a lot of soy sauce, while the Visayans love vinegar.

My home town’s adobo is dry. In the wok, the pork cutlets is soaked in water, vinegar, soy sauce, black pepper and a lot of garlic. They are boiled until everything has been absorbed by the meat. And the pork is cooked in its own fat until golden brown. Usually the meat becomes shredded and they are reduced to a size.

To serve, I like dipping the adobo in vinegar with garlic and bird’s eye chili or siling labuyo. But bring catsup for those who like a little sweetness.

For fanatics, we don’t wash the wok right away. We fry rice by using the adobo oil. We scrape the sides of the pan for the extra adobo meat to mix with the rice. But if I cook, and my friends like fire in their mouths, I crush small siling labuyo in a tablespoon of water and add it to the fried rice. Yum. Yum. Yum. Nothing is wasted.

At the beach, desert should be just plain and simple. Like fruits. Bananas and mangoes, green and yellow, complement salty water. Indian mangoes are eaten raw or with a little shrimp paste or bagoong. Again, use your hands. There’s a lot of water to wash them and fish to enjoy the scraps.

A fellow Jesuit like green mangoes with soy sauce. As a friend, I just let him be. After all, friendship is about accepting the weirdest part of ourselves and loving the eccentricities of others. At the beach, you don’t swim with clothes on. You go bare.

Fresh and Simple in Easter

Easter Sunday is a celebration of what is new. This is actually the reason why our “Sabbath” is Sunday. The Jews celebrate the Sabbath on a Saturday. Since Jesus resurrected on a Sunday, Sunday became our Sabbaths. St. Paul says that the resurrection of Jesus is a new creation.

What right do we have to change it? Jesus said, “The Sabbath is made for man, not man for the Sabbath.” As the first day of the week, the first Christians dedicated the dies solis to the public and solemn worship of God (Acts 20:7; 1 Cor 16:2; Rev 1:10). St. Ignatius of Antioch (Ep. ad Magnes. ix) speaks of Christians as “no longer observing the Sabbath, but living in the observance of the Lord’s Day, on which also Our Lord rose again.”

This Easter Sunday, we celebrate by coming together and breaking bread as a community (Didache). We can therefore savor fresh and simple food as our homage to new Eden.

At home, ginataang langka is perfect with deep fried tilapia. The jackfruit is sliced and cooked in simmering thick coconut milk seasoned with garlic, black pepper, smoked fish (tinapa) or pork, siling labuyo and pink shrimp paste (balaw). Locals said that one has be ‘sensitive’ to the coconut milk to determine the perfect time to mix the chopped jackfruit. When the thick coconut milk begins to curdle to release some oil, you put everything into the wok.

These make it different from other provinces: First, the Bicol ginataang langka is cooked without ginger.  Second, the amount of small chili is determined by the cook. The hotter it gets, the more it becomes ours. The Guinness World record for eating sili is a relative: Bert Gonzales is the world’s “Sili King.”

The tastiest tilapia, I believe, is from Bicol. It is our version of the “St. Peter’s fish” which the disciple caught with a coin in its mouth (Gospel of Matthew). Ours are usually small, but they possess more flavor than their larger counterparts. Because we buy them swimming in a bucket of water in the market, the flavor is full and robust. At home, my mom would chop tomatoes and red shallots and mix them with black pepper, fish sauce and chili. The tomato salad is then filled into the stomachs of the tilapia and then deep fried covered in banana leaves to retain its juice.

Tilapia is best eaten smoking hot and dipped into spiced vinegar. A friend once remarked when tilapia has been cold from sitting for an hour: “It’s a dead fish.”

Clean the palate with chilled cubed watermelon. Dig in. Use your hands. It is still a mystery to me why our appetites increase when we eat with our bare hands. Maybe we’re not meant to use spoons.

Easter Sunday is an experience of community and the newness that oozes out of our relationships. We know that those who eat together become closer and closer to each other especially when stories are shared and celebrated.