Vanity Fair 

 

Last night I took one of those Facebook quizzes – At What Age Will You Actually Be Before You are Old?  The answer was 17.  The answer came as a shock at first, but its validity is slowly becoming apparent to me.

As I face the mirror wondering whether I should continue coloring my hair or allow it to grow back into the shade of gray that it should be at my age, I am once again confronted with the fact that this time – I am actually old.  As my sister-in-law said to my face: who are you trying to fool?

No one, really.  Just my self.  My vanities.  Thinking of the young girl inside me who refuses to grow old and probably never will. The one who still dreams, still cries at sad movies and enjoys a naughty joke.  The one who still believes in love and a God who made the world and who will eventually make things right.

And yet, my colleagues in school are even younger than my daughter; my visits to the doctor (and to the bathroom!) more frequent and the parties I go to are more likely to be golden anniversaries than weddings.  Let’s not talk about the beautiful clothes still wrapped in drycleaner’s plastic that are hanging in my closet waiting to be worn when I go back to size 34! 

When did I grow old?? Was it really at 17?  Or was it at 22 when I learned of my father’s death from a letter sent by my best friend while sitting alone in a cold apartment in Amsterdam?  Or at 51 when Louis lost his job and we had to readjust to a new reality and an uncertain future?  

Funny that I equate growing old with dramatic life-changing incidents. 

And yet, in my mind I associate coming of age with the joyful events in my life – the way my father made each birthday a family ritual; getting married at 21 in a simple church ceremony with my girlfriends singing my favorite Carpenters songs in the background; at 25, coming home to Manila to deliver our first born; the tears of joy when we found out that we were to have another child at 34….  The list, just like the years, goes on.

So should I turn gray or keep going different shades of brown?  The action is still on hold.  I have booked the appointment for the 16^th of December.  Then the expensive process of growing gray will officially take place.  Until that day comes, I am taking a friendly survey – so far, half of my friends say, go for it!  while the other half  are screaming – oh, please don’t!

Meanwhile, I’m checking out wigs, make-up for white-haired (not gray for us dark-skinned folks!) women and the possibility of hibernating in some dark hole till all the roots come out.

Louis says: I’ll love you any way.

A reassuring sentiment; but … will I love me anyway in shades of gray?

I  made this recipe a few days ago because I had some leftover vegetables and few other bits in the fridge. My grandson loved it! 

 

Vegetable  Fritter

Ingredients :

1 big carrot, peeled and cut into matchsticks

1 cup shredded cabbage

1 onion, sliced fine

1 cup, shredded zucchini (for this recipe, I used leftover sautéed broccoli)

1 cup flour plus 1 tsp. baking powder or 1 cup self-raising flour

1 clove garlic, pressed

1 egg

¼ cup water

salt and pepper

Procedure :    Mix flour, baking powder, egg and water.  Season with salt and pepper.  Add all the vegetables.  Mix thoroughly.  Chill till ready to fry.

To cook :  Heat oil in a frying pan, drop the mixture by spoonfuls.  Flatten each spoonful and cook till brown and crispy.

Serve immediately with your choice of dipping sauce : soy sauce with a touch of vinegar and spring onions, hot chili sauce, catsup or aioli.

Other vegetable options : canned or freshly grated corn, grated sweet or normal potatoes,  finely sliced French beans.  I think it is also a great way to use up those little bits of vegetables leftover from a meal.  If you chop them up and mix them into the batter, they will come out crispy.   No one will ever know it’s a leftover remake.

 

Ice Cream

Baby blue skies, cotton wool clouds, trees green and lush, birds singing as they fly by… it is summer.  All 28°C of it.  And, as most people here in Holland say with a big smile : heerlijk! (delightful!)

It is ice cream time.

Pass by any ice cream parlor and you can see them – young, old, brown, black, white, yellow, male, female – happily licking their ice cream cones, spooning away into their ice cream cups or tall parfait glasses. Chocolate, vanilla, pistacho, melon, lemon or a hundred other flavors.  With cream, drenched in chocolate syrup, studded with nuts or plain. There are no sad faces here.

 Ice cream.  Its velvety smoothness slides down slowly, gently all the way to a welcoming tummy.  Soothing frayed nerves, uncrinkling those lines etched in your forehead, turning the drooping mouth into an upward smile. Heerlijk!

I have often been amused by those comedy sketches on tv where the actress after being dumped by a beau heads straight for the fridge, takes out a giant tub of ice cream, sits down and shoves spoonful after spoonful into her mouth as the tears fall from her face. A cliché perhaps, but there is some truth here. 

 I know that ice cream can’t heal a broken heart, solve the Greek crisis or cure cancer.  But sometimes, that little bit of reprieve makes a world of difference.  Maybe, it is that 90 second break from reality that gives one the time to see something from a different perspective or to realize that it really isn’t as dire as it seems.   

But, it isn’t just ice cream.  It takes so little to break that mood of despair or apathy.  A quick drink with a colleague after a grueling day at work.  A mint offered by a stranger in a packed train.  A comforting glance from a friend.  A kind word from a  supervisor.  A phone call from one of your children, for no particular reason but hello mom, just thought of you today.  An  unexpected I’m sorry as someone accidentally rolls over your toes in a crowded supermarket.

Sometimes we forget how little it takes to make someone else happy. Even our selves.

I tasted this for the first time in a friend's house.  I was amazed at how easy it was to make and how good it tastes!! 

 Meringue Ice Cream Cake

Ingredients : 

• 2 cups whipping cream
• 90-120 gm dark chocolate bar, coarsely grated (70 % chocolate is great but a normal dark, milk chocolate or even white chocolate bar will do as well!)
• 1 tablespoon coffee liqueur or rum (optional)
• 50 gm, unsalted almond slivers or chopped cashew or pistacho nuts
• store bought meringue, crumbled roughly to make 2 cups

Procedure : 

1. Line a loaf tin or round baking mold with cling film, making sure you have enough overhang to cover the top later.
2. Whip the cream until thick but still soft. Add the liqueur.
3. Fold in the chopped chocolate.  Then the nuts. 
4. Fold in the crumbled meringue.
5. Pack this mixture into the prepared loaf tin, pressing it down with a rubber spatula. Carefully pull the cling foil hanging on the side to the top of the tin to seal it. Just to be sure, rewrap the entire tin with more cling film.  Freeze overnight.

To Serve : 

 Peel off the cling foil.  Unmold into a plate and slice as you would a loaf cake.

You can top each slice with fresh fruit like strawberries  or blueberries or canned fruit like peaches or mandarins. 

For an even richer dessert, pour

a strawberry sauce over it (blend 1cup fresh or frozen strawberries with 1/2 cup orange juice.  Sweeten with a bit of powdered sugar).   

or store bought chocolate syrup.

Heerlijk!!

Sweet Dreams Under the Mango Tree

Louis and I have always believed that starting our married life in neutral territory is the secret of our 41-year marriage.  Living neither in the Philippines nor in Holland meant that we had to rely on ourselves to resolve our every day problems.  For me specially, there was no family to run to.    Phone calls to my parents took a great chunk off Louis’ salary, so they were limited to birthdays and special occasions. Letters took a week to 10 days and often got lost in transit. All we had was each other.  Becoming not only life partners but more importantly, each other’s best friend. 

 The only setback was that our children missed out on having the big family experience.  There were no Sunday lunches, no All Saints Day picnic at the memorial park (very Filipino!), none of those Italian-movie family gatherings under a leafy elm.  

Growing up away from either of our families, our friends became our children’s surrogate uncles and aunties, their children replaced the cousins who were living in different continents and our household help became part of the core family.  Exposure to the real family came in annual 2-week doses.  In Manila, they were cuddled (actually crushed with kisses), showered with presents and proudly paraded to all the other relatives, friends, neighbors and anyone else interested – the mestizo (Eurasian) children of Alma and Louis.  In Holland, the reception was more sober but nonetheless, warm. 

Our two children were also never exposed to family rifts and feuds which always seems to be an essential element in a happy family scenario.  And neither were we.  In my heart though, I often feel that being away from such incidents only served to alienate us even more from the whole family reality scene.

Still… that idyllic picture of the long table laden with food and drink under the shadow of an ancient mango tree, surrounded by 2 or 3 generations of happy, noisy family members celebrating nothing in particular except a warm summer day… is the vision that both Louis and I can not shake.  

Perhaps such a scenario is purely a Hollywood invention. But is it really?  Is getting the family together, forgoing childhood resentment and forging new relationships particularly for our next generation too difficult to achieve? Does one really need a Tuscan landscape or a grand ancestral home to make it happen?

Clearly the answer is NO.  A balcony, a living room cleared of the usual furniture and filled with assorted sizes of folding tables, a rented hall, a public park, any place will do.  Because it is not about where, but why.

But then again… is it really necessary to instill this ideal of kinship in our children? I remember at 16, running up to my room after an argument with my father, slamming the door and screaming – I don’t need you, I have plenty of friends! And here I am, all of 62 years, unable to remember the reason for that remark , regretting every word,  missing my parents, longing to be near my siblings and desperately wanting to create links for my children with their kin.

I think that part of Louis’ and my need to bring our children into the family fold comes from the fact that, even here in Holland, they are neither here or there. 

We do know that they have each other. 

A couple of weeks ago, Mike, our son flew to London to attend a music festival with his sister.  Their 8-year age difference no longer a hindrance.  Their separate lives, Mike’s in Amsterdam and Amanda’s in London, serving only to make their weekend reunion even more significant. I am sure they went on a food binge and had a bit too much to drink, but the thought of them together having a good time was reassuring for Louis and I.   This is what we had always wanted – our two children growing up, but not apart. 

And yet, we want more for them.  Yes, that idyllic under-the-mango-tree family closeness with their families in both our countries. 

The reality is : family bonding with or without the mango tree can not be forced.  No matter how much time and effort I put into the menu, the décor and the table setting of my perfectly orchestrated Christmas dinner,  I am not assured that it will create that closeness among the relatives that I/we have always hoped for. 

Every family is different.  The dynamics within each one, complicated.  The relationships even within the core unit, influenced by so many factors – favoritism, jealousy, neglect and so on, or perceptions thereof.  The consequence on the lives of the individual members goes beyond the present.  It shapes that of future generations as well.  

But there is no need to rewrite our ancestral history.  There is simply an option to start a new one.  

We have raised our children in the knowledge that family matters.  And that there are no perfect families.  Just people connected by blood who try to live their lives as best as they can.    Undoubtedly, there are, and will always be, differences.  But that should only serve to  allow for understanding and to make room for forgiving.  

This is the legacy that Louis and I shall pass on to our children. And hopefully, they - to theirs. 

Meanwhile, Louis is happily nursing a couple of fruit-bearing trees in our yard…

Mango Jam 

 

This recipe makes 3 – 4 bottles of jam depending on the size of the mangoes and the size of the jars!   I used the Brazilian variety which are readily available in Holland.   Ripe Philippine mangoes are a lot sweeter and smaller, so you will need at least 6 mangoes and use a lot less sugar.

Ingredients :

4 ripe mangoes

½ cup sugar

juice of ½ to 1 lemon

Procedure :

1. Before making the jam, make sure you have sterilized  jars and lids ready for filling.

2. Wash the jars and lids  in hot, soapy water, then rinse well. Place them on a baking sheet and put them in the oven to dry completely. (120/140 C). 

3. Peel the mangoes and cut the flesh into small cubes.  Place the fruit in a thick bottomed pan, add in the sugar and lemon juice.  Mix well.  Allow to sit for about an hour for the sugar to melt and blend with the fruit.

4. Cook the mixture over high heat until it boils and then simmer until most of the  fruit has softened and reached the thick texture of jam. This may take at least 45 minutes and needs to be stirred constantly.

5. While the jam is cooking, you may adjust the sweetness and/or tanginess according to your taste, adding more sugar and/or lemon. 

6. Remove the warm bottles from the oven and place them on a clean dishcloth.  They are now ready for filling. 

7. Let the jam cool for a few minutes before spooning it into the jars.  Seal immediately with the lids.   (This is normally enough. But, just to be safe,  I like to put the sealed jars into a pot of water filled to half the size of the jars and boil them. Then I turn the heat off and let the jars sit in the water for about an hour.) 

9.  Store the jars in a cool, dark cupboard.  Unopened, the jam should be good for at least 2 years.  Once opened, it has to be kept in the fridge. 

Other serving options : This jam can also be used to sweeten plain yoghurt, as a topping for ice cream or panna cotta or as pie filling.  Or eaten as it.

Doormat

 It has taken a lot of soul searching and a great amount of courage to write this particular blog.  I trust that it will be taken for what it is - an unburdening, a baring of the soul.

Is it necessary?  Yes.  Because I think people need to understand that kindness is not a weakness.  It is a strength.   It is based on confidence that one is loved and that every thing that matters, one already has.  Thus one can be generous.

The sketch above is that of two doormats. 

The Free Dictionary’s literal meaning of a doormat is a mat placed before a doorway for wiping the shoes.  Whether it says Welcome or Come Right In – it’s for stepping on.

The Urban Dictionary gives the colloquial meaning - someone who's really nice, kind, generous and sweet; often also smart and funny. They can be outgoing and extroverted, but still allow certain/most people to walk all over them.

This blog is about being a doormat.  Something I am afraid I have been accused of or labeled as.  Even by myself.  And I can happily say that I am not alone.  There are many of you out there like me who have, at one point in your life, been there.  That’s right.  On the doorstep - ready, willing and often times, proud to be.

Funny how easily you can spot them.  They are not the strong, quiet types.  Nor are they those shy, demure, meek-looking ones hugging the corner.  They are more likely the ones who can spin a tale and keep a group talking, or laughing at some silly story of about how she had mistakenly given her daughter milk of magnesia instead of cough syrup.  Yes, the ones who tell stories about themselves.  Not about their achievements or their family fortunes, but those laughing-at-myself stories which keeps everyone in stitches.

That openness and seeming accessibility is an invitation to any one :  Come on over –  share with me.   Take your coat off, slip out of your shoes and get comfortable. Unburden your heart here.

The Urban dictionary has other synonyms for doormat – nice guy, tool, pushover. Many of them so nasty, I dare not write them here.  It goes on to describe a doormat/doormats as - dedicated friends and partners, and infallibly there for anyone who needs them with advice, support, money, homework to be copied, and expect nothing in return.

A doormat is some one you can count on at any time of the day or night.  Just call or appear at the doorstep and say you are having a bad day or feel let down.  No long story or reason required.   A doormat has an inner scanner that can spot the slightest  trace of sadness or despair. It is what spurs a doormat into action.  The instant response is :  what can I do for you?

Does being a doormat mean you do not value your own self?  When you care so much about how the other feels or think, is it because what you feel or think does not matter? No, it is merely valuing the other person’s feelings as you value your own.  The old maxim holds true here – do unto others what you would like others to do unto you.  It is a doormat’s code of conduct.

The trouble with doormats is that they hope that the kindness they bestow on others will be passed forward.  That is why there is no direct expectation of gratitude or indebtedness. It is meant to be given freely to the universe and the universe will right itself.  Because that is the way it should be.

Except, it isn’t. 

Perhaps, that is why the doormat-type of person is taken as a fool.  Now, why would anyone want to give and expect nothing in return? Not in today’s world and the world before this and perhaps in the next. There is no such thing as something for nothing.

But what one often forgets is that a doormat is laid before a door.  A door which opens to a room.  A room where you know your secret, your pain, even your joy, will be kept sacred and will not be held against you later on.   A place where you know you are safe.

And that is something – for a doormat.  It is this validation of worth – as a keeper of secrets, as a person to run to in time of need, as a person of trust and a source of comfort. For the religious, it is being a Christian.  For those who do not share the same faith, it is the essence of humanity.

So, to all of you who have once been or have always been doormats, stay in front of that open door with pride.  For only one who is truly confident, truly at peace with one’s own self worth, and who knows that he/she is blessed with love, can be so benevolent.

 

Chicken Rice

This simple meal of chicken and rice is a family favorite.  It is a humble all-in-one-dish. But  for us, it is a feast - for the palate and for the soul.

The Chicken :

·      1 whole, free range chicken, rub salt all over the skin

·      Stuff the cavity with : 1 piece crushed garlic, 1 thumb size ginger and 2 spring onions

Boil about 8 cups of water or enough to cover the chicken.  Place the chicken in the boiling water and allow to cook for 20 minutes.  Turn the heat off and let the chicken sit in the hot water for another 20 minutes.   Take out the chicken and allow it to cool.  Remove the vegetables from the cavity.  Reserve the broth.

 The Rice : 

·      1 clove garlic, minced

·      ½ tsp. grated ginger

·      1 tbsp. spring onion, sliced fine

·      3 cups long grain rice, washed and drained

·      4 ½ cups broth

·      a bit of salt and pepper

·      1 tsp. light soy sauce

·      2 tbsp. corn or coconut oil

In a heavy saucepan or rice cooker, sauté the garlic, ginger and spring onions.  Add the rice.  Season with salt, pepper and soy sauce.  Pour in the broth. Mix  well.  If using a rice cooker, cook as you would ordinary rice.  If using a saucepan, allow the rice to boil, then simmer on low heat until the rice is cooked.  Add a bit more water or broth if  necessary.

The Sauce :

Blend or pound together  

·      1-2 fresh red chili peppers

·      1 thumb size ginger root, peeled

·      2 cloves garlic

·      1 tsp salt

Dilute with 1 tbsp. vinegar and 2 tbsp. oil

The Soup :

·      4 cups chicken broth

·      1 tbsp. oyster sauce

·      1 tsp. light soy sauce

·      1 tbsp. sesame oil

·      sliced spring onion

Boil the leftover broth once again, season with the oyster and soy sauce.  Add more salt & pepper according to your taste.  Just before serving, add the sesame oil and top with a few slices of spring onion.

 To Serve :  Cut the chicken into serving slices. Arrange in a big platter and serve family style. 
Or serve the chicken and rice in individual plates.  Complement with slices of tomato, cucumber and shredded lettuce.  Place the garlic/chili sauce in a dipping bowl and some light sauce in another.  Serve with a bowl of piping hot chicken soup on the side.  

 

Postcard from My Kitchen

This postcard is for you.  Wishing you were here next to me in the kitchen, talking about every thing and nothing at all. Laughing, giggling till the tears run from our eyes.  Sometimes shedding real tears of anguish … or just moaning.

Or else we could be in your kitchen.  With the baby crawling on the yet-to-be-cleaned floor.  Dinner gently simmering on the stove top.   Perhaps a bit giddy from trying to finish last night’s leftover red wine.

As I close my eyes, I see each one of you.  A friend in time of need, of hope, of joy, of merely passing away the time in the company of someone with whom one is completely at ease.  No invitation required here.  Just ring the bell and walk in.  Always welcome – day or night.

I miss the kind of friendship that goes beyond scheduled dinners and lunches or coffee mornings.

I miss the kind of friendship that transcends the Facebook variety.  In my book, a friend is someone who is comfortable enough to call and say, I had a bad day, do you have time to talk or come over? I really need a hug.     

In my book, a friend is someone confident enough to share the great news of a new job or a new beau knowing that even happiness can be shared.  Empathy is not only for the things that go wrong.  It is also for the things that go right. 

In my book, a friend is someone with whom one can share simple pleasures like watching back-to-back episodes of Brothers and Sisters, eating popcorn and sipping ice cold coke. Feeling like a couple of school girls cutting class, leaving plates unwashed on the kitchen sink and the husband’s un-ironed shirts in the laundry basket. 

Perhaps as we grow older we have forgotten how easy friendship can really be.  We have become encumbered by adult-inspired barriers such as political correctness, propriety and personal space. We find it harder to be spontaneous and to be truly honest.  We are no longer able to just walk over to a friend’s house, because well… I have time today.  Or pick up the phone and say ... hey, I miss you, want to have a cup of tea?

The postcard above is for all of you who have shared my kitchen table or in whose kitchen   I have ever sat in (living room couches count as well!); called on the phone or skyped; exchanged copious emails with;  or even worst, suffered through my barely discernible handwriting. 

There is a chair in my kitchen waiting for you to fill.  The one in my heart you already have.

 Orange Cupcake 

Ingredients

250 g/ 1 cup  butter, at room temperature

1 ½ cup  sugar

4 medium eggs

1 1/2 tsp finely grated orange zest (about 2 oranges)

• 250 g/ 2 cups  self raising flour 
• or 2 cups plain flour  + 3 teaspoons baking powder

+1/2 teaspoon salt

85 ml/ ¼ cup freshly squeezed orange juice

(Optional) For the icing:

125 g icing sugar

5 tsp freshly squeezed orange juice

Procedure

1.    Preheat the oven to 170C.  Lay the paper cupcake molds on the tin cupcake trays or in the silicon containers.  If you are not using cupcake paper, generously grease the cupcake tins.  Silicon containers do not need to be greased.

2.    Using an electric whisk, cream the butter and sugar together for 4-5 minutes until very pale. Beat in the eggs, one at a time, beating very well between each one, if necessary adding a spoonful of flour (or flour mixture) with the last egg to prevent the mixture from curdling. Beat in the orange zest. Add the flour all at once and mix in well, then slowly mix in the orange juice.

3.    Spoon the mixture into the prepared tins and bake in the oven for 15-20 minutes or until a skewer, inserted into the center of the cake, comes out clean.

Optional -  For the icing, sift the icing sugar into a bowl and stir in the orange juice until you have a spreadable consistency. Spread it over the top of the cupcakes. 

The recipe above is for at least 12 normal cupcakes.  But you can use the same recipe for mini-cupcakes.  They will cook between 10-15 minutes. 
These cupcakes can be frozen, thawed and served when unexpected friends come to visit!!