Good ol’ Capampangan Cooking
The past few days have been gastronomically challenging for me. Most yo-yo dieters like me would attest that losing weight is never an easy affair. As I’ve mentioned in my last blog entry, I’m bent on losing 2 lbs per week to slash off a couple of centimeters from my protruding pot belly. On my part, I have managed not to consume more than a cup of rice per meal and have channeled the will power of Dr. Phil McGraw not to gobble up any more snacks. So far, it’s been great. I’ve lost 3lbs (“Woo-hoo!”) last week and have denied my erstwhile partnet-in-crime, the Queen of Pain and Tardiness (QPT), the free lunch that she unsuccessfully predicted to gain week after week.
Just when I thought that my food binging days were over, I made the mistake of visiting my auntie’s house back home in Angeles City last Saturday. I practically grew up in that big house in Marisol Village, and as far as I could remember, the food there has always been a scrumptious feast. Every party in that house would see guests scampering for a portion of the insanely delicious roast beef. The meatball spaghetti, morcon, rellenong bangus, chicken pastel, bringhe, and among other viands would draw orgasmic gushes of gustatory satisfaction. See, my family has always taken great pride in their excellent cooking, and when such reputation is at stake, no chances will ever be gambled or taken.
Living in Manila for the past eight years has greatly adjusted my taste in food. For example, I no longer complain that the pinakbet in this part of the country is almost devoid of the generous servings of pork that accompanies the same dish, “pakbit” as we call it, back home. It was thus a refreshing change when I found out that last Saturday’s “low key” lunch affair would involve some of the staples of good ol’ Capampangan cooking.
Once it was announced that lunch is served in the backyard canopy, we commenced to help ourselves with generous servings of steaming rice, calderetang kambing, ningnang hitu (broiled catfish), pork and chicken asado, sinigang na maya-maya, fried eggplants, and buru. In case you’re wondering, buru is actually an infamous Capampangan delicacy that consists of fermented cooked rice with shrimps and/or fish. It is sautéed in garlic, onions, tomatoes, and ginger, and even when thoroughly cooked, buru still has the pungent odor of rotting rice (why of course). Although its texture somewhat resembles cat vomit with an orange hue, most of us Pampangueños would consider boiled or fried veggies dipped in buru as something to die for. It’s definitely an acquired taste, and I guess one man’s cat vomit is another man’s stinking heaven.
Most of my relatives present in that lunch feast ate with their bare hands, something that definitely makes the eating experience more pleasurable. I for one have always been too lazy about washing my hands before meals, and as a result of that, have mastered the fine dexterous art of removing fish bones with a spoon and fork. No one bothered to ask how I developed such unusual skill since they were all, as you’ve guessed it right, messily greasing the serving spoons as they scooped themselves for second servings.
Conversations that abound during those kinds of family meals would always tend to delve into obvious nostalgia. Most statements would start with “Do you remember the time…” and would end with hearty chuckles and Coke-induced burps. Of course, the oldies would also tend to inquire the youngsters about everything from our careers and to our love lives (or the lack of it). Everything that you say while in the meal table would be welcomed by eager ears, and will often merit some sort of approval and reassurance. Family gatherings surely give us an overwhelming feeling of love and acceptance, and although we don’t do them often, we all savor them like odd delicacies.
I hitched a ride with my uncle back to Manila that same evening. He’s the original geologist in the family and it was no wonder that most of our discussions were about the copper-molybdenum mine prospect in Peru that he’s currently working on. In passing, I also mentioned that driving along the North Luzon Expressway (NLEX) nowadays have ceased to be the bumpy ride that threatened of morbid accidents on every slope change. He agreed, and mentioned that the only downside of things was the sharp mercurial rise of the toll fee. From Balintawak, the toll fee to Angeles City is PhP 184, one-way. Before, one only had to pay less than PhP 50 bucks for the same thing.
It didn’t take long before we arrived in Manila. The familiar hustle bustle was there, the air pollution filled my lungs, and countless billboards constantly distracted me. After going home to the serene suburban feel of the province, the grim reality of metropolitan living seems like a bitter pill to swallow now. But as my uncle dodged Bayani Fernando’s pink fences and the recklessly moronic drivers that ply the EDSA route on a daily basis, I felt a certain calm and satisfaction knowing that more than just generous servings of caldereta and buru, the love and warmth of family members is just an hour away up north with the newly improved but now cost prohibitive NLEX.
