Manong Jaime’s Story

January 8, 2008

7 January 2008

Just 20 minutes ago, I struck a conversation with the taxi driver whose unit I had flagged down at Gateway in Cubao. I was wondering why he wasn’t too familiar with the roads of Metro Manila, and he kindly explained that he had only been in Metro Manila for a few months. He was from Davao City, he said—and I immediately jumped at the chance to practice my very rusty Bisaya.

Maybe it was the familiar language that spurred Manong Jaime to tell me his story. Maybe it was the mother tongue that so reminded him of home that made him comfortable enough to narrate the events of two months ago that, as he put it, made his Christmas the saddest he had ever experienced.

I thought it was just homesickness. From what he had said before that, I had learned that he had no relatives, no family in Manila—he left wife and children back home in Davao. At 71 years old, he heard the stories from taxi drivers fresh from their stints in Manila, claiming that they earned far better than what they made as taxi drivers back in Davao City. So he decided to give up his stable—albeit not very high-paying—job as a taxi driver in Davao and go to Manila, earn more for his family.

At the end of his story, Manong Jaime tells me in a mix of Tagalog and Bisaya—almost flippantly—“sana hindi ako naniwala sa mga hambog na iyon.” Why? Not just because the reality of being a taxi driver in Metro Manila was a far cry from the stories those men had regaled their neighbors with. Not just because he struggled to even just meet the “boundary” charged by the company for his aging unit. Let me tell you why.

Last November 15, 2007, at around three a.m., Manong Jaime was in the Roxas Blvd. area, looking for his next fare. He was at an intersection. The light turned green, and he was easing his taxi unit across the intersection when a very fast SUV crashed into the side of his taxi. He later learned from witnesses—and there were many, as there was a police outpost at the intersection—that the taxi spun and hit a pole. The police rushed to get him to the hospital, while a concerned bystander with a motorbike tried to chase after the speeding black Ford Expedition. It was to no avail, though—the SUV was going too fast for the motorbike to catch up with it, and no one was able to even get a glimpse of the plate number. It was, simply, a hit and run.

Manong Jaime, in the meantime, was confined in the hospital from November 15 to December 5, slipping in and out of consciousness. When he was discharged, he had to pay a bill that totaled roughly PhP30,000, including all his medicines. He was able to obtain some support from DSWD that covered more than half his bill, and his employer gave him Php3,000. The rest, he had to scrape together by borrowing from the other taxi drivers that he worked with. No family member, not even his wife, could visit him during his hospital stay. He says that the policemen who helped him were frustrated and apologetic, telling him that “Tay, kung nakuha lang naming yung plate number nung Expedition, kami mismo pupuntang LTO para hahanapin yung nakabangga sa iyo. Kami mismo yung haharap sa kanya.”

Now, even though his left foot is still swollen, he forces himself to drive. “Para lang naa ko makaon ug makapalit ko ug tambal,” he says. Just so that I can eat and buy the medicines I need. “Mingaw na ko,” he tells me. He is sad. He misses his wife and children. He wishes he had never come to Metro Manila.

Why am I writing this? Why am I telling his story? To some, it may not be any more different from any other sob story of a probinsyano discovering the sad truth about life in Manila.

But if it was “just another sob story,” why do I feel so angry? Why do I feel like I want to get out of the house right now and hunt down every black Expedition in Metro Manila, until I find whoever it was who caused the hit and run accident? Why do I feel so frustrated? Why do I feel like I need to be the agent of justice for this man whom I barely know?

I’ll have to admit that one reason for my emotional reaction is a bit selfish—it has to do with what I do. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I head to one of the top universities in the Philippines to teach philosophy. One of the things that I hope they learn from me is how every action we make has an effect on other people, whether we know it or not. The other thing I hope they learn is to respect and value every person, every unique individual alive. I worry a lot about whether or not they see the point.

After Manong Jaime’s story, I half fear for my students. Would they have done the same, leaving whatever damage they inflicted in their wake? Or would they have done the right thing, would they have taken responsibility for whatever effects their actions had caused? Would they have helped Manong Jaime—or whoever other person was injured in the accident?

The other reason for my indignation is a bit harder to articulate. What repeats over and over in my head is: “I can’t believe things like this still happen. I can’t believe this injustice will just go silently away. I can’t believe one person can treat another person, a fellow human being like that!” I silently curse the anonymous driver of the black Expedition.

I’m a bit embarrassed by my thoughts. Mang Jaime is far more charitable than I. He seems to have put himself in the shoes of the person driving the Expedition. “Siguro natatakot siyang mahuli ng pulis,” he speculates. “O baka nakainom.” There seems to be no hint of anger in Mang Jaime’s voice, as far as I can tell.

I have to do something, I realize. But all I could do at that moment was give a little extra on top of what it read on the meter. Not much, really. I get off the cab, and start crying as soon as I shut the gate behind me. What must I do? What can I do?

 

8 January 2008

I still don’t know the answer to my question, nor can I find any adequate way to conclude what I’ve written.

A few minutes after arriving home last night, I called my boyfriend and told him Mang Jaime’s story. He, too, was indignant. He hit upon an idea, though. “If you really want to help, why don’t you? Magkano ang isang tiket sa barko pauwi ng Davao? Baka pwede kang makatulong na bayaran yung utang niya o yung kailangan niyang bilhing gamot? Kaya nating makagawa ng paraan.” And, I agree—there is a way that I can help, render charity by assisting him financially. After all, I jotted down his full name, took note of the plate number of his unit, the taxi company he works for—it would not be too hard to track him down. Maybe I will take the advice.

But that still leaves me dissatisfied. Somewhere, out there, on the streets of Metro Manila, someone did not take responsibility for his or her actions and is not being held to account for it. Someone did an injustice to another human being, and pretended it did not happen.

Maybe, you’re thinking: So, you want justice, then? How’s that going to happen? And In a sense, you have the right of it—our formal justice system operates at a snail’s pace, overloaded by immense case loads. Being a vigilante is certainly not an option at all. How can justice be done? I don’t know either.

But I’m hoping that, by writing this, I at least did something. Please pass this on—do something, too. Who knows—one day, this might show up in the inbox of an anonymous driver of a black Expedition that was speeding in the Roxas Ave. area, in the wee hours of 15 November 2007.

Media Noche Recipes!

December 31, 2007

Inspired by Nanan, I'm posting some recipes (and later, picutres) of a couple of dishes I prepared for our little New Year's celebration. Consider it my New Year's gift to y'all.

New Year is always less hectic for me than Christmas–the preparation is more relaxed, less to worry about, no last-minute wrapping of gifts. So I was able to prep two dishes for tonight, pasta and dessert. So without further ado, I proudly present:

Easy-Peasy Puttanesca Sauce and Lola's Leche Flan

 

Easy-Peasy Puttanesca Sauce

Why call it easy-peasy? Well, my first memory of making puttanesca dates back to my second year of college, helping Peachy and Perp make puttanesca in Peachy's flat. Boy, was that difficult. We had to blanch tomatoes, peel them, etc. etc., while using Peachy's lone electric plate to cook everything. Whew. Thankfully, with this recipe, one need not slave over puttanesca. Using pre-sliced olives cuts down your prep time. The only thing that could possibly delay you? Crying while chopping the onions (which happens to me often). 

Prep Time: 10 minutes  Cooking Time: 15 minutes  Makes: 4-5 servings

• a scant 2 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil (plus a little extra)
• 5 large cloves garlic, minced
• 1/2 of a medium onion, finely chopped
• 4 medium-sized kamatis tagalog (native tomatoes), cut into chunks and de-seeded
• a dash or two of dried parsley flakes (optional)
• 3-4 pieces bottled tuyo, flaked
• a 180g can of tuna flakes in oil or water, drained
• 1/2 of a 360g bottle of sliced black olives, drained
• 1/2 of a 100g bottle of capers in vinegar, drained
• a 250g foil pack of spaghetti sauce in your brand of choice (not the meat sauce, though!)

In a saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. When a few wisps of smoke begin to rise, saute the garlic and onions. The oil shouldn't be too hot–we don't want these to be crisp garlic chips, thanks.

Once the onions start to turn translucent, add the tomatoes, saute a little, then let simmer for a bout a minute or two to let the juices run out of the tomatoes. You can add the dash or two of parsley at this point, as well. 

When tomatoes have softened (soft enough to cut with the edge of a spoon, but still firm enough to hold their shape) add the tuyo and the tuna, stirring well. Sometimes, I add a bit more olive oil and a teaspoon or so of the oil from the bottled tuyo to give it a bit more flavor.

After a minute or so of saute-ing, add the capers and olives. Mix well. Once the capers and olives look pretty well-distributed, add the spaghetti sauce. Lower the heat. Stir until combined well. Simmer for about 10-15 mins, stirring occasionally.

Lola's Leche Flan

    

I decided to try out my lola's recipe for leche flan. It was an adventure, to say the least. I misread one of the directions! Not to mention that the cooking instructions were as vague as: place the mold in a larger pan half-filled with water and bake until firm. Huwhaat?! What temperature should I set my oven at? How long will it take? Are you kidding me?

Of course, I grew up in a time where all recipes have exact baking temperatures and baking times. Her recipe came from a kinder era–a time when you could leisurely bake and cook without worrying about other things. I often think that recipes would be a good tool for anthropologists to tell what kind of lives people led.

One last note–I halved the amounts of the original recipe to come up with what I have here. Feel free to double it, if you want to make more. 

Prep time: 20-30 mins  Baking time: ~90 mins  Yeilds: 1 big llanera, or 2 4-in cake pans.

• 1 cup / 250 ml milk (I used Alasaka Evaporated Filled Milk. Read the labels carefully, guys! "Evaporada" is just glorified vegetable oil)
• 4 egg yolks (you can freeze the egg whites indefinitely, and just thaw when you need to use them)
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1/2 tsp vanilla extract, or 1 tsp. grated dayap rind

for caramel

• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1/8 cup water (about 2 and 1/2 Tbsp)

Before anything else, preheat your oven to 200 degrees Celsius. (This is about 390 degrees Farenheit.) Prepare your llanera or mold and a big baking pan that can fit the llanera. (I used two cake pans, 4 inches in diameter.)

First, make the caramel. Place the water and sugar in a saucepan over medium heat. Let cook until all sugar has melted, and has turned brown. It may be boiling at this point. DO NOT STIR. Pour into molds or llanera. Give the mold or llanera a little swirl to coat the bottoms evenly.

In a metal bowl placed over a saucepan of boiling water (or a double boiler, if you have one), scald the milk for about 10-15 minutes. The milk should be hot, but not boiling. Transfer the milk to a heat-proof container with a spout.

In another bowl, whisk egg yolks with sugar. Do this briskly, until the egg yolks and sugar are well combined and have turned lighter in color.

Slowly pour the milk into the yolk mixture in a thin stream, stirring rapidly as you go. If you go slow–or if you put too much milk, too soon, the mixture might curdle. After combining the milk, add the vanilla or dayap. (Sadly, dayap has lately been so hard to find! Durn. I used vanilla.)

Pour the mixture into the llanera or the molds. Place the llanera or molds in the larger pan, and add water to the larger pan (NOT the leche flan mixture), until roughly halfway up the sides of the pan. This is called a bain marie, baño maria, or in English, a water bath. Put the bain marie into the oven. Bake for roughly an hour, or until the leche flan is set.

Let cool, then chill. Unmold and serve when needed.  

 

Happy New Year! Here's to the hope that 2008 will be better than the last.

A Reflection on Pinoy Christmas Fare

December 25, 2007

If you know anything about my family–the Mariano side, that is–it should be that we take our food seriously. We love food, and we're also the type that firmly believe that if you like it, you either have to learn to cook it, or find a regular source to buy it from.
When my grandmother was still alive, we (my cousins, my uncles and aunts) used to have Noche Buena in their Mandaluyong house. After her death, however, we've had to tweak with tradition. Now, we have Christmas Day lunch at the house instead of the Noche Buena–partly because it's less hassle for us, and partly because it frees my Auntie Hope and Uncle Willie for their parish activities the night before.
Even with the change in tradition though, some things have remained the same; and though we no longer serve exactly the same food as lola would prepare every Christmas Eve, my taste still leans towards her preferences.

Seafood
One thing that hasn't left the Christmas table since lola's death is seafood. I don't know about your family, but in mine we can't celebrate without some form of sea creature cooked and ready to eat on the table. Most of the time, lola would prepare steamed lapu-lapu, its side coated with mayonnaise and stripes of minced carrots, hard-boiled eggs and pickle relish. (I used to think this was a dish that developed during the American era, because of the presence of pickles. Only last year, after reading Gene Gonzales's Cusina Sulipeña did it occur to me that a similar dish existed in the late 19th/early 20th Century, but with capers instead of the pickle relish. I'm guessing that the pickle relish became a cheaper substitute after the Second World War.) In many ways, this fish dish represents what Filipino fiesta fare is for me–undoubtedly rich (what with the mayonnaise AND eggs, not to mention the capers), yet still light (the flaky, white flesh of the lapu-lapu offsetting the mayonnaise).  Unmistakably Pinoy.
Of course in recent years we haven't prepared this dish all that much, but have replaced it with other seafood dishes–prawns, crabs, Chinese hot prawn salad. Today, though, something compelled me to prepare it again. The lapu-lapu was tiny, we didn't have any pickles, and I lightly boiled the fish instead of steaming it–but despite all the flaws, I couldn't help but feel a wee bit of my childhood return to me as I took a bite.
(We also had crabs and rock crayfish cooked in loads of garlic and coriander today. Yum.)

Hamon and Queso de Bola
I'm pretty finicky about these two. Ordinary fiesta ham and local queso de bola are okay–fiesta ham makes for great sandwiches come January–but they'll never evoke Noche Buena as powerfully as Marca Piña edam cheese, and a good handmade, bone-in ham from Adelina's or Majestic. Lola herself wasn't particular about the cheese, at least not to my memory, but the ham would always be memorable. A couple of Christmases after she died, Daddy splurged on a leg of Majestic Ham (expensive even then at 500+ per kilo, back in the late 1990s) and I would happily eat the ham skin and fat (which I normally wouldn't do if it were any other ham!). If you have never tried Majestic Ham, you have missed half of your life. It's ham perfection.
Sadly, due to the sheer artisanal nature of Majestic Ham (every step of the curing process is done by hand, with premium ingredients, over months), it's become really expensive. So, we didn't have any this year. We made up for it with the queso de bola, though. (Apparently, my family loves the edam so much that my dad could tell what brand was served today–Marca Pato, which is "saltier" in his estimation, compared to Marca Piña.)

Embotido, Galantina, and their ilk
And by ilk, I refer to all the Spanish-influenced Tagalog dishes that take a heck of a long time to make and have a busload of ingredients. (I'm looking at you, morcon, chicken pastel, and relleno–yes, both of you, chicken and bangus!) Holidays for lola seemed to be incomplete with out the richness and abundance these dished symbolized.
It's no wonder these dishes stood for plenty in her book. I recently took a look at her recipe for chicken pastel and it listed eleven ingredients for the stew alone. My grandmother would serve the pastel with a shortcrust pastry cover, which requires even more ingredients (not to mention more work). Pastel was not just a stew, no siree, it was a pot-pie.
The recipes for embotido, galantina, and morcon are along the same lines–ingredients lists that could fill a page, and instructions that fill another page. Inevitably, ham, chorizo de bilbao, and vienna sausage are in them. And boy do they take a lot of time to make.
Two Christmases after lola died, Dad and I tried to make both morcon and chicken pastel for Christmas lunch. We were so distracted by the whole process that we nearly burnt the morcon.
Fortunately, today my aunt bought chicken galantina from a friend. It was excellent. I doff my hats to all people who have the patience to still make galantina the traditional way.

Dessert
Aside from the ubiquitous fruit salad (made with the classic fruit cocktail, and not the "fiesta" kind with the tough papaya chunks–is it just me, or are there a lot less grapes now in fruit cockatil?) dessert would be pretty variable during Noche Buena. Whatever it was, we would down it with a cup of hot cocoa–made from the then-excellent Ricoa powder–poured from lola's stainless steel teapot. Lola used to make leche flan, but she stopped when I was older. I'm thinking that she just plain ran out of time to make it, what with all the other things she made for Noche Buena (yes, chicken pastel. I'm not angry). We would also have, from time to time, some biko and ube halaya–never something lola made herself, but given as gifts or bought. With the amount of effort it takes to make either biko or halaya (you need biceps of steel!) I don't think my petite lola would have survived the Christmas season if she had to make that herself!
We still have the leche flan from time to time. Today, I served up JC's Christmas gift–his mom's famous leche flan. We also had a big biko (after a couple of years of not having any) from Ate Sarah, one of lolo's caregivers. As I write this, I'm eating a couple of biko slices with a mug of hot tsokolate de tablea (a gift from Lovelyn, made by a lola in Bicol). Now, that's what Filipino Christmas fare is all about–the bounty of the land and the work of people's hands, lovingly put together.

Happy Christmas, everyone! Happy eating!

Bushisms are always good for a laugh

June 4, 2007

"If you've got a chicken factory, a chicken-plucking factory, or whatever you call them, you know what I'm talking about."—discussing the sorts of jobs many illegal immigrant workers perform, Tipp City, Ohio, April 19, 2007

Read more Bushisms here.

mememememeh!

June 3, 2007

Okay, I promised myself I'd go to bed early today (spent 3 days at puerto galera getting tanned and drunk) because I have a heavy schedule tomorrow, but what the hey. Joy tagged me, and I shall answer her summons. 

Okay, the rules for this meme: 

Each player of this game starts with 6 weird things about himself or herself. People who get tagged need to write a blog entry of their own as well as state the rule clearly. In the end, you need to tag 6 people as well and list their names. Don’t forget to let them know they’ve been tagged!

So, shall we?

1. I can spend hours on the internet doing nothing constructive. Most recently (last Wednesday, to be exact) I spent five hours (!) reading ONLY about dog and cat breeds. So I can tell you about one of the rarest terrier breeds (the Selky from Scotland). Extremely useful information, don't you think?

2. I talk to myself a lot. Maybe this is not exactly too weird nowadays when everyone seems to have a neurosis, but anyway. It dates back to growing up as an only child and carrying conversations with imaginary friends (whose responses I also supplied!) and being encouraged to do so. Another form that my "talking to myself" takes is running commentary–often, when I'm absolutely alone, I give myself running commentary and/or narration as a do something. This happens a lot when I'm cooking or baking, and I make as though I were a presenter on a cooking show. (I think it's a sign: I've definitely been watching too many cooking shows.)

3. I can be extremely lazy about taking baths on weekends. I guess this is both embarrassing and weird, especially since Filipinos have a tendency to be obsessed with personal hygiene (what other languages have such extensive terms for body dirt?), not to mention how rabid a cleanliness-freak my mother is (very borderline O.C. that woman, and I mean that seriously). I guess on weekends I'm caught up doing more relaxing, enjoyable things that make me loathe to move my butt: reading, watching TV, surfing the internet…

Because of that, Kapi says that I should have been a hippy.

Not to worry, though–when I bake, I always make sure that I've taken a bath and I constantly wash my hands with anti-bacterial hand soap. 

4. Okay, a lot of my friends know this already, but now I'm ready to admit it to the whole world: I find guilty pleasure in reading historical romance novels set in Regency England. Please take note of the word historical, as I cannot stomach reading romance novels (even by the same author who writes a historical novel) set in the present. Take note as well of Regency England: I can't even stomach romance novels set in other historical eras. (The Wild West? So politically incorrect, not to mention unsettling. Medieval times? So implausible, not to mention gross-out inducing–sex with months-unwashed medieval knights is not a good image.)

What attracts me to the Regency romance novel is its brainlessness (so easy to read that I can finish in an afternoon or less) which, at the same time, requires some degree of research. I don't like reading regency novels that get their terms or time lines wrong (for example, ladies' evening bags were called "ridicules" for a couple of years, before being artificially "Frenchified" into a "reticule." some awful writers of historical romance use "reticule" in a story set in a year that the bags were still called "ridicules"). They're a pretty good escape as well into a period of English history that was incredibly interesting: Napoleon was both a conqueror and a prisoner during the regency (on the continent); women in England still had a limited role in society but had an increasingly important role in the private sphere; and so on. Not to mention that it's also the period that one classic writer, Jane Austen, immortalized in her books.

5. I had (still have!) the biggest crush on Spock/Leonard Nimoy of Star Trek.

6. Whenever I'm in the bathroom, I make faces at myself in the mirror over the sink, and practice my smile. When I was a child, I was once told I had the fakest-looking smile in photos (even when I was genuinely happy) and to this day, I practice smiling in the bathroom after I brush my teeth. I have no idea if my smile looks a great deal more natural than it had been then, but at least I did try to do something to change it.

Agh. I'm so darn sleepy. Can I just tag people for this meme tomorrow? 

Live long and prosper!

Edit: Darn it. I don't know who to tag, aside from Kapi. Den, do you feel like doing this meme?