I also always had this secret desire to be a chef. Or at least be called one. And though I may not be one to be called as such, I am a Proud Mary. Or better said, I had Proud Mary, the little café/diner past the strip of the more known restaurants and diners along Tomas Morato, Quezon City.
But that was a few years back, and though it is another story to write about, it is a beautiful one.
A story that will always be a treasured segment of my life.
Coming back to my (present) life , things are way different now. And although it may not be the same as before, I’d like to say that it is still all good.
After all, Life, for me, is always beautiful. And good. Always. Yet there are still some things that remain constant, amongst several other things about me.
I (still) love to cook.
I learned the art of cooking at a very early age. Being an only child, I am always a tag along company of my mom, so much so, that as early as four or five years old, I became her official kitchen buddy as she prepared every single meal that we ever had, from breakfast to lunch to dinner and everything else in between.
At about that age, I learned how to peel fresh garlic and wash sun-ripened and beautifully
colored tomatoes. I also learned and appreciated the difference between a red and a white or a yellow onion, and how, my appreciation grew to liking (and loving) the onions, as it now remains my cooking basket-staple.
Mind you, being a cooking buddy starts , and therefore includes, a trip to the market.
And, oh, how I love markets. The sight, the sound, even the smell. For a little girl like me, marketplaces are pretty much how Carnivals are, for the other kids, maybe. In a marketplace I see a rainbow of colors, with all the goods and goodies there is – from the reds of the meats to the silvery colors of the freshest fish catch, to the greens and yellows of the vegetables and fruits.
In the marketplace, I hear the sound of life and of people and of how the basic of trade goes, and it is probably how I also learned the art of trade or, in a more recent lingo, my earliest business sense…Still, In the marketplace, I have developed my sense of smell, knowing the difference between what’s fresh and what’s not, by the smell of it. I also developed my sense of aroma, imagining how all these goodies will turn out, once cooked in ouer kitchen.
By my mom. And me.
So, that’s how I loved cooking, as it remains till now.
When they were so much younger, my daughters often ask me why a certain dish that I cook, say a simple Fried Rice, tastes so much better, than the ones cooked by our family helpers, in as much as they use the same staples, and cook in exactly the same manner as I do.
And often, this is what I tell them – that Cooking is like a relationship, you don’t have an exact formula, or an exacted amount on the things that you put in there. It is the love and intention that you put on, in preparing and cooking, that makes a dish or a meal truly delicious…
There is one sure dish that proves this thought. The Arroz Caldo that I cook when any one of them gets sick. As it is lovingly prepared by me, it has since been the best fever reliever and I am proud of it.
Here, let me share with you.
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ARROZ (AMOR) CALDO
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Serve it piping hot…And with love.
Happy Cooking (and happy eating as well).
**Love and light to all**
