9 minute read
Half of Me is Across the Ocean
Half of Me is
Longing for the Taste of the Philippines
Words and Photos by: Gillian Mahoney
The crunch of the thin and crispy egg roll wrapper rang in my ears with each bite of the lumpiang shanghai. The savory pork melded with the sweetness of the minced carrot and onion. I wasn’t used to having rice for breakfast—my typical morning meal consists of cereal, oatmeal, or whatever I can throw together with minimal effort—but I soon realized it was the perfect vehicle for the delicious pork-filled egg rolls. In fact, every time I went to the Philippines with my mom, rice was a staple. My family ate it with every meal. My grandmother, or “Lola” in Tagalog, gets hungry quickly if a meal is missing rice. She often got up just as sunlight began poking through the windows to prepare breakfast. We paired rice with just about anything from Lola’s inventory—scrambled eggs with tomato or pork leftover from the previous night’s dinner.
Across the Ocean
When I first visited the Philippines, I approached each family dinner with hesitation. My aunts, uncles, and cousins gathered around the table in Lola’s kitchen, sometimes scooping together rice and meat with their fingers or using forks to slide food onto their spoons. I quickly imitated them, taking a fork and spoon in each hand. Laughter erupted from the relatives surrounding me as someone joked in Tagalog. With each visit, the meals became routine. I could sense the joy around me even if I didn’t pick up all the words. I found comfort in the homemade food and energetic conversations. I’ve come to miss the aroma of steaming vegetables and soy sauce from pancit canton noodles, but that’s not the only thing I long for while back home. I miss gathering at one table and passing plates around. I miss crowding in the sidecar of a motorcycle with my cousins and blazing through the busy streets of Manila. The streets were always packed with cars at night, and palm trees stuck out over colorful buildings and houses. But even then, I could never hold on to the same feeling of normalcy that comes with being at home. I’ve only experienced the Philippines as a vacation.While my mom and I spent our days lounging at the beach or shopping our way through the giant malls, my family members went to work. Even Lola managed her own store. My mom always warned me not to talk on taxi rides so that the driver wouldn’t charge us extra when he heard me speaking English. I’ve never gone through the typical week that Lola spends at her store or Tita Nat, my mom’s sister, spends at the office. My family knows Manila’s busy streets and colorful buildings by heart, but I look around with the mannerisms of a traveler. I am an observer, constantly taking in new sights and smells, always treading a step behind as my family speaks a different language. With each visit, I need to readjust to the 13-hour time difference. The heat sticks to my skin like a thick blanket. To my mom, each trip to the Philippines is a return home. But while there is a faded familiarity in the food and faces, I feel divided into two parts: one half embraces my Filipino family, the other stays back in the US, leaving behind an air of unfamiliarity. Although I was a foreigner in the place where my mom grew up, meals shared with family and friends always gave me a feeling of belonging. When we sat shoulder to shoulder at the table surrounded by fading sunlight and humidity, or felt the blast of air conditioning while sipping smoothies in restaurants, I felt like I had a place—even if I couldn’t pronounce some items on the menu. Aunts and uncles switched to English upon greeting me. Tita Nat encouraged me to put some more food on my plate. Over time, I approached meals with excitement instead of apprehension as I grew closer to my relatives and embraced this other culture. When I hesitate in front of the new sights and tropical landscapes, familiar meals reassured me that I belonged.
It’s the sense of warmth and family that I crave most when the Philippines are thousands of miles away. The lack of rapid Tagalog and trying to keep up with my mom’s translations. The absence of Lola’s rice with eggs and tomato for breakfast, which would lure me into the kitchen each morning. The joy of scooping up rice with my hands and touching food that was made with love. My mom and I try to recreate this by making lumpiang shanghai ourselves at home. On one summer evening, we gather the ground pork, carrots, and onions on the counter. My mom begins to season the meat and I chop the vegetables into tiny pieces. She always makes sure to fry a small patty to test out the flavor before we fill the wrappers. I taste a small piece of pork and note any lack of seasoning. Before long, our hands are full of egg roll wrappers and the bowl of meat as we take our assembly line to the couch. With one eye on the television and another on the food, we take a spoonful of filling and line it up in the center of the wrapper. We dip our fingertips in water to glue the delicate edges together. When we’ve formed enough egg rolls, my mom drops them in the oiled pan as I stand a few feet away to shield myself from the hot splatter. We know it’s not the same as Lola’s home cooking. I feel a sense of familiarity in Boston. It’s the only place I’ve ever lived. But I know that there are some experiences from Manila that my mom and I can never fully replicate. Back in Boston, Filipino restaurants are like gold mines. Authentic ingredients are treasures that my mom and I hoard away and preserve for as long as possible. But when we do get the chance to enjoy some lumpiang shanghai, or make pan de sal from scratch, it’s like catching up with an old friend. We pick up right where we left off. It’s as though nothing has changed at all and that time apart has gone by in an instant, just like how smells connect to memory. One whiff of egg rolls frying or pancit noodles mixing with sauce floods my mind with snippets of this faraway country. One taste reminds me of my family laughing around me. And that’s part of what the absence of Filipino food means to me. Lack of physical connection doesn’t mean loss of emotional connection. I’ve spent so much time focusing on how these experiences aren’t present, but really, they’ve been there this whole time. They’re nudged to the back of my mind, waiting to be unlocked by kneading ube-flavored bread dough.
The feeling of belonging still lingers back at home whenever I have meals with my dad’s side of the family. Due to the pandemic, we see each other less and less. Instead of sitting at one big table, we are spaced apart. We sit outside and wear masks in order to see each other. But just like in the Philippines, there is a duality to what I feel. The familiarity of gathering with family has turned upside down. We can’t embrace each other. We laugh, but we can only smile with our eyes. The space and time apart from family makes me long for the closeness of my relatives on the other side of the world.
While my mom and I don’t miss Filipino food every day, it’s the first thing we think of when we travel to a place with more access to it. When we feel close enough to home, getting Filipino takeout brings us even closer. Sharing these meals is most important when I feel like I’ve almost forgotten about this other half of my identity. I don’t see it all the time, but with each bite of rice or noodles, I realize what I am missing. When the Philippines and my family are across the ocean, I know that a part of me is absent. But I also know that it’s not completely gone when I’m at home. My mom and I can connect with our family by sharing the same experiences at home. When we share food made with that same longing for this faraway country, we are whole again.
A Salad without Vegetables
Ingredients:
16 oz Brussels sprouts, halved 2 eggplants, cut into ½ inch slices lengthwise 1 green zucchini, cut into ½ inch slices lengthwise 1 yellow squash, cut into ½ inch slices lengthwise 1 red onion, peeled, quartered, with some root attached 2 bell peppers, halved, ribs and seeds removed 1 bunch of asparagus, trimmed and cut into bite-size pieces 8 oz sliced white mushrooms 3 tbsps olive oil Salt and ground pepper to taste 1 can of chickpeas
2 tbsp soy sauce 2 tbsp honey 4 tsp hoisin sauce 4 tsp minced garlic (about 2 medium cloves) 4 tsp minced ginger 2 tbsp olive oil 1 tsp ground pepper
Instructions:
Preheat the grill to medium heat. Boil the Brussels sprouts for 5 minutes. Wash and cut all vegetables.
Toss all the vegetables, into a large bowl, sprinkle them with olive oil, and season with salt and pepper to taste. Grill the vegetables, turning them occasionally, for about 5-7 minutes or until they are charred and tender. Remove the vegetables from the grill and place them into a serving bowl along with the chickpeas.
For the dressing, mix the soy sauce, honey, hoisin sauce, minced garlic, minced ginger, olive oil, and ground pepper together in a small bowl. Combine the ingredients together until the olive oil fully emulsifies. Pour this glaze over the grilled vegetables and mix until evenly distributed.
This recipe serves around 8 people. Enjoy!
A Mac & Cheese without Dairy
Ingredients:
1 cup macaroni or elbow pasta 1 - 1 ½ cup unsalted cashews 1 ½ cup coconut milk 1 tsp garlic powder 1 tsp onion powder 1 tsp salt ¼ tsp chili powder ½ tbsp vegetable oil ¼ cup bread crumbs ½ tsp dried parsley ½ cup nutritional yeast (optional)
Instructions:
Preheat the oven to 375 °F. Cook the macaroni or elbow pasta in a large pot of salted boiling water for 5 minutes or three-quarters of the suggested cooking time. Remove the pasta from the water.
Place the cashews in hot water for 15 to 20 minutes or until they soften completely. Blend the spices and salt, softened cashews, nutritional yeast, and coconut milk until the sauce is smooth and silky. If you prefer, replace the nutritional yeast with some additional softened cashews.
Evenly distribute this sauce over the partially cooked macaroni in a large casserole dish.
Heat the vegetable oil on medium heat until it begins to sizzle. Add the breadcrumbs and dried parsley and cook until the breadcrumbs turn light brown. Evenly spread the breadcrumb mixture over the pasta.
Place the “macaroni and cheese” in the oven for roughly 10 minutes.
This recipe feeds roughly 8 people, and can be stored in the fridge for 2 to 3 days. Enjoy!
