Lech-Go!

Mom celebrated her 63rd birthday this past weekend. In addition to inviting everyone she knew to her party, she also made sure everyone had enough to eat, plus go back for seconds, thirds ... fifths.

Since it was a special occasion, and that there would be many mouths to feed, she made sure that her party included that filipino party staple, a whole, spit-roasted pig, lovingly called lechon.

As a child, the image of a whole pig with an apple in its mouth, lying on the table along with typical party fare such as lumpia and pancit, was more unappetizing than anything else.

As an adult, I rarely eat lechon at parties. By the time I get to it, it's already cold, picked over, and everyone's already taken the best parts --- namely, the skin.

Now, don't get me wrong; crunchy, oven-baked (or fried) pig skin is good eatin'. There's nothing I like better than a hot, salty, crispy pork belly. (Wood Tavern in Oakland does it really well, but that's another post.) But I don't think most people pay attention to the sauce that traditionally goes with lechon. It's hard to explain; it's thick, rich, and at once both sweet and sour. It's a meat-based sauce --- okay, liver based --- probably one of the best things to happen to offal.

And my mom makes it the best.

So what's in it, really? Well, I'm not ready to share the details of mom's recipe with you guys just yet. Maybe one day.

And now, dinner:

Hi there.

My dad is from Pampanga. From what I have heard, people from that province are great cooks. My dad is an awesome cook, so it must be true.

Growing up, I remember eating adobo, pinakbet, dinuguan (it ain't made from chocolate, people), pancit, arroz caldo, kare kare. You know, the classics. And as I got older, his "experiments" ventured to the more creative, almost "fusion" in concepts: shellfish in coconut milk, fresh corn soup with malungai (sp?) and a bit of pork and bagoong for flavor.

My dad's cooking spoiled me for any other filipino cooks. Don't get me wrong - my mom, when she does cook - is also pretty good. She has quite a few specialties of her own, which I'll no doubt explore as well. But my dad did most of the cooking in the house. Every day. He still does, actually. Growing up, my family and I made it a point to try the newest Filipino dining establishment that would open up (and subsequently close) in our neighborhood. And we were always, inevitably, disappointed, because we'd set such a high standard. Nobody else could measure up. And it's not like we weren't open minded about it.

Several years ago, Dad sustained a ruptured cerebral aneurysm. It was the worst time of our lives. The very fabric of our small, tight-knit family of three was threatening to unravel, and I was faced with a Moment of Reckoning - if Dad took a turn for the worse, who would take care of the family now? Me?

And for one selfish split second, I thought, who would cook dinner for us now? All I could do was throw stuff in the oven and take it out when it was done. My dad has always been a quiet man, but he shows his love for us in the delicious dishes he cooks, day in and day out. How could anything I cook from here on out ever compare to that?

Thankfully, Dad pulled through from this ordeal (almost) as good as new. And the cooking skills? Intact. Sweeeeet. I took this to mean that I was given a second chance; a chance to learn how to make authentic, homemade Filipino dishes; a chance to continue the cooking traditions my dad (the oldest of seven kids) learned from my grandmother back in the Philippines; a chance to reconnect with my Dad by doing something he loves.

I started this blog as a way to document my journey --- my reconnection with both my father and with my culture through learning, exploration, and recreating the food of my people.