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Mom's the Word: Food's a gift that keeps on giving
Well, you only have to look at me to know food is a big part of my life. (Hubby learned early on one had to feed a crabby girlfriend at regular intervals if one wanted to have a happy life.)
Oh and holiday foods, from homemade cookies exchanged at the office to the requisite ham on our family table, are an ingredient in most of my memories.
Mom hosted groups of young seminarians every Christmas who came to our house and sang carols. She always served steaming bowls of "pancit molo" soup, shrimp or mixed meat dumplings cooked in broth.
Mom always served the soup in the pink and white Noritake china set she got as a wedding present, and I remember waiting impatiently for the young priests-to-be to finish singing so I could sip the hot, salty soup at leisure.
Dad's patients showered him with pastries of all kinds and incarnations at the end of the year, too: creamy cheese rolls, towering food baskets with cheese and crackers, and boxes of "brazo de Mercedes," a custard-filled meringue log cake.
Our freezer would miraculously never run out of ice cream. (Later, I found out, many of these foodie gifts were actual payments for medical services rendered by Dad.)
And there are the recipes no family party could be without, like Mom's Filipino noodle dish or the ham hock drowned in soy sauce and brown sugar that only my mother-in-law can make. (I've tried getting the recipe from her but she says she never measures anything so for
the last 12 years, I've just asked her to cook the coveted dish for my husband!) Mom's "pancit" recipe is no big secret: she will take you through each step ala Paula Deen if you ask. The funny thing is, my brother-in-law Ron, and none of us girls, is the one who can make the noodle dish ala Mom. (But at least the recipe has been passed on!)
Another brother-in-law never fails to visit his mom for their annual menudo breakfast any day after Christmas and before the new year. And New Year's dinner at our house always means a never-ending pot of arroz caldo (literally, hot rice), porridge made with chicken broth and seasoned in fish sauce and green onions.
The gift of food is always a safe bet this time of year: I always end up having "extra" boxes of Trader Joe's French truffles or See's Candies because you never know if you've forgotten someone on your gift list.
This year, my friend Metzi baked up a storm of her famous creations (rich cheesecake brownies, mango cake and pecan tarts), which I gave as gifts. (Oh, you know I saved some for me too!)
Other years, I've given zucchini bread from Shaker's or Wild Thyme Bakery in South Pas. (Yes, I'm not much of a baker.)
The gift of food, of course, is more meaningful if it's shared: the homemade loaf of bread brought to the church potluck or the casserole brought over to a sick neighbor. And East Coast cousins who visit must always be brought to pilgrimage at In-N-Out.
The holidays are made more special in this breaking of bread, this coming together across a table, or, in my family's case, hourlong meals punctuated by family stories, saucy gossip and raucous laughter.
It is easy to imagine the generations of lives that have come before us, the same chattering over meal preparations, echoes of the same sentiments, a line that connects memories to stomachs to hearts, to each other, still.
Shared with you by "The Grocery Guy" Steve Banass
Shop at Home for Name Brand Groceries BROUGHT Right to YOUR DOOR! FREE
Oh and holiday foods, from homemade cookies exchanged at the office to the requisite ham on our family table, are an ingredient in most of my memories.
Mom hosted groups of young seminarians every Christmas who came to our house and sang carols. She always served steaming bowls of "pancit molo" soup, shrimp or mixed meat dumplings cooked in broth.
Mom always served the soup in the pink and white Noritake china set she got as a wedding present, and I remember waiting impatiently for the young priests-to-be to finish singing so I could sip the hot, salty soup at leisure.
Dad's patients showered him with pastries of all kinds and incarnations at the end of the year, too: creamy cheese rolls, towering food baskets with cheese and crackers, and boxes of "brazo de Mercedes," a custard-filled meringue log cake.
Our freezer would miraculously never run out of ice cream. (Later, I found out, many of these foodie gifts were actual payments for medical services rendered by Dad.)
And there are the recipes no family party could be without, like Mom's Filipino noodle dish or the ham hock drowned in soy sauce and brown sugar that only my mother-in-law can make. (I've tried getting the recipe from her but she says she never measures anything so for
Another brother-in-law never fails to visit his mom for their annual menudo breakfast any day after Christmas and before the new year. And New Year's dinner at our house always means a never-ending pot of arroz caldo (literally, hot rice), porridge made with chicken broth and seasoned in fish sauce and green onions.
The gift of food is always a safe bet this time of year: I always end up having "extra" boxes of Trader Joe's French truffles or See's Candies because you never know if you've forgotten someone on your gift list.
This year, my friend Metzi baked up a storm of her famous creations (rich cheesecake brownies, mango cake and pecan tarts), which I gave as gifts. (Oh, you know I saved some for me too!)
Other years, I've given zucchini bread from Shaker's or Wild Thyme Bakery in South Pas. (Yes, I'm not much of a baker.)
The gift of food, of course, is more meaningful if it's shared: the homemade loaf of bread brought to the church potluck or the casserole brought over to a sick neighbor. And East Coast cousins who visit must always be brought to pilgrimage at In-N-Out.
The holidays are made more special in this breaking of bread, this coming together across a table, or, in my family's case, hourlong meals punctuated by family stories, saucy gossip and raucous laughter.
It is easy to imagine the generations of lives that have come before us, the same chattering over meal preparations, echoes of the same sentiments, a line that connects memories to stomachs to hearts, to each other, still.
Shared with you by "The Grocery Guy" Steve Banass
Shop at Home for Name Brand Groceries BROUGHT Right to YOUR DOOR! FREE
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