Day 11: An adventure in the kitchen (Pam)
One of my favorite things to do as a kid was sleep at Lolo Bojie and Lola Lyd’s house and not just because Lolo Bojie would sometimes go out in the middle of the night to get us 3 a.m. sans rival from Burger Machine.
In the morning, we would head to the kitchen and Lolo Bojie would let me help him make caramelized Spam or sausages. We would drizzle the meat with honey before frying them until they were nice and brown.
It’s almost three decades later and caramelized Spam is still my favorite comfort food. I make it, I order it at Cafe Bola whenever I can, and, one time, on a beer-filled night at Bugsy’s, I convinced the waiter to ask the kitchen if they can sprinkle sugar on my Spam before frying it. They did. I ate it with garlic rice and washed it down with cold beer. So good.
I don’t think I ever saw Lolo Osing in the kitchen. Not in front of the stove, at least. That was Lola Charit’s domain—she’s an excellent cook. The only time I ever saw Lolo Osing enter the kitchen was when he would grab beer from the freezer to begin his nightly pre-bedtime ritual of drinking a few bottles while watching TV in their bedroom. The ritual also included walking around the living room and, if I happened to be there watching TV or reading a book, pressing the ice-cold bottle of beer against my face and laughing when I shrieked.
Lolo Osing didn’t cook. Instead, I cooked for him. Pancakes. From a box. Yeah, my childhood kitchen repertoire was very limited.
I would crack the eggs (I took pride in how good I was at breaking them open) and beat them vigorously. I would tear into a box of Maya Hotcake Mix, pour its contents into a bowl and add the eggs, oil and water. Sometimes I would mix things up and add milk. I would then stir the ingredients in one direction, counterclockwise usually.
When the batter was ready, I would melt a slice of butter on a hot pan, carefully tilting it to make sure every inch was covered. (The smell of melting butter is still one of my favorite scents in the world.) I would ladle pancake batter onto the pan, watching it cook and waiting for the bubbles to appear. When one side was ready, I would flip it over to cook the other side. I would repeat the steps once or twice, until I had a nice two or three-pancake stack for my grandpa, depending on how many he wanted that day. I would slather each pancake with butter before drizzling it with maple syrup, making sure the stack was ready ten minutes before four, the exact time for Lolo Osing’s merienda.
I would continue cooking the rest of the pancakes while watching him eat, finding joy in his satisfaction. He would usually joke, “Pwede ka nang mag-asawa,” even though I was only eleven years old and the thought of getting married grossed me out. Â
I saved the most well-done (and deformed) pancakes for myself—I liked it when the edges got brown and crispy.
When everyone was done eating, I would go back to the kitchen to wash the dishes. Being a full-time dishwasher was one of my childhood dreams, it gave me the perfect excuse to play with water.
I have spent countless hours in the kitchen since, making cakes, cupcakes, brownies and cookies, whipping up pasta, frying chicken and experimenting with grilled cheese sandwiches. But those mornings spent caramelizing Spam and afternoons spent building stacks of pancakes will always be special to me. They weren’t just adventures in the kitchen, they were moments shared with my beloved grandfathers, memories I will treasure forever.