Garlic.  Yummmmmmmm. Can you tell that I like garlic? I eat so much garlic I can no longer taste the garlic. So, it's possible I have what people call awful garlic breath. I don't know.  But, I must not eat that much garlic since mosquitoes still love to bite me. About 15 miles from where we live is a garlic factory. Lots of people dislike the smell that comes out of the factory. Not me. I love driving by it and getting in that sweet spot on the road where you drive right through the aroma. Yummmmmmmmmmm. Too bad a tomato cannery doesn't stand right next to the factory. I was about 30 years old when I realized that not everyone cooks with a lot of garlic. At a dinner in which we, guests, helped prepare the meal, the hostess asked me to make the garlic bread. She set out a loaf of French bread, a cube of butter, and a bulb of garlic. So, I smashed, cleaned and minced the garlic, then cut the bread in two, slathered butter over the two halves, and sprinkled the garl

The Daddy bought several live chickens at a time from a local chicken farmer, and he and the Mama would slaughter them in the backyard.  I was 11 or 12 when the parents decided it was time for me to help with the slaughtering. Like I really wanted the experience. I suppose they figured a day would come when I would need to slaughter a chicken for survival. Yes, it would definitely be an asset if I were to be chosen for Survivor , the reality show. But, that's if I didn't get kicked off before my team won a challenge that rewarded us with chickens. I digress. My part in the slaughter was simple.  I only needed to hold a chicken firmly down on a block of wood while the Daddy slit its neck. On the day of my rite of passage, I watched the parents do the process a couple of times. Then it was my turn. I kneeled behind the wood, and the Daddy put a chicken beneath my hands, face towards him. He did not let go of the chicken until he was sure the bird could not get away from

I used to think that the Mama was a rigid, but, awesome, cook. Everything she cooked was perfect. Her cutting of meats and vegetables always came out precisely small and neat. Her dishes always tasted consistently the same—yummily delicious. When it came to Filipino cuisine, nobody, including Filipino restaurant chefs, came close to her food. The Daddy came very close. The one dish of his that surpassed hers by a tiny bit was his fried chicken. His was a subtle melt-in-your-mouth delicious, while the Mama's was more a pow! wow! in-your-face delicious. My perception of the Mama-the-cook changed when I was in my late 30s. Suddenly the food she put on the table when I came to visit was different. Her pork adobo no longer was the consistently same delicious taste. It was still delicious, but the taste slightly differed each time she cooked it. At first, I thought she was being forgetful when she cooked. And, perhaps, there was a bit of that. During one visit, the Mama served f

Today, I'm going to describe my fantasy day of dining out. Six small meals. A graze pig out. My full day of dining out would be in San Francisco. With the dear Husband, of course.  We would be doing a lot of wandering around the city to get our appetites up for the next meal. Breakfast: A chocolate croissant, from a real French patisserie, with a big cup of organic coffee. Snack: Half a fresh organic papaya. The Husband gets the other half. Lunch: Dim sum. Yummm. Stuffed eggplant. Taro cake. Sticky rice in lotus leaf. Chinese broccoli smothered in lots of garlic. Snack: One old-fashioned doughnut hole. Okay, maybe two. Dinner: Without doubt, a Korean dinner where we grill kalbi, tender short ribs, at the table. And, that isn't even the best part of the meal. That belongs to the banchan, the several small dishes of vegetables that are served on the side. Some spicy such as kimchi cabbage,  kimchi radish, and spicy beans. Some kinda sweet or mild to balance the s

I bet that title caught your attention. Maybe you shivered and thought I must be a vampire. Of course not!  Or, maybe you went, " Ewwwwwwww! " Well, turning blood, pork blood, to be precise, into pudding is definitely not for the squeamish. I was ten years old when the Daddy gave me the task of turning pork blood into pudding. (If I could, I'd put in a sound effect like Dum da da dummmm! ) Okay, let me give you some context. Back then, every now and then, the Daddy and his friends would purchase a pig from a local pig farmer, bring it back to our house, and slaughter it in the backyard. We lived in a small neighborhood two miles out of city limits so that was okay, and, as far as I know, the neighbors did not care.We lived in a rural area after all. This usually happened on a Saturday morning. The men would be out in the backyard partying it up with a bottle of whiskey as they butchered the meat. The pig's blood would be brought into the house to turn into a th

Click here to find other A to Z challenge participants. The clatter of metal against metal and heady aroma of frying pork, garlic, and onions lured me to the dark, cool kitchen that hot summer morning. At the stove was the Daddy's young cousin who was staying with us while on leave from the Navy. One hand shook a large grey soup pot on a burner, and the other hand stirred the ingredients rapidly with a large silver spoon that made a rhythmic clang against the inside of the pot. His body swayed and seemingly danced. The sizzle of the meat and vegetables was his music. I was maybe four or five years old. I don't recall the Mama being home, otherwise why would the handsome, dark-haired man with a sweet smile be at the Mama's stove. But, maybe that day the Daddy's cousin said to the Mama, "Let me cook." So that she could care for Baby Sister who Died too Early. Now that I think of it, that was more likely what happened. The Daddy's cousin smi

Who thinks Sunday is the start of the week? Who sees it as the end of the week? And, who shrugs and asks, "Is today Sunday?" "Wake up you sleepy heads!" Molly the Cat meowed rather insistently outside our bedroom door. I was ready to float back to sleep. So much for being lazy this morning. Today, I hope to get the Husband and me out the door to stretch our legs on a nearby trail. I'd like to see the green slopes and wildflowers before they are no longer. All signs say that we'll be going through another year of severe drought. A few weeks back, the newspapers were carrying stories that stated our reservoirs hold only one year's worth of water. In our county, the powers-that-be has decided to continue with educating us about water conservation rather than fining us for excessive use. Unfortunately, the stubborn folks, who don't believe that the drought is horribly bad, will continue to make sure their lawns are green.  For the past two years

When the Mama bought her lemon tree, she lucked out big time. Not only does it bear Meyer lemons, but it also gives forth citrons. Someone had grafted a couple of citron branches to the lemon tree, unbeknownst to her and possibly the nursery from which she bought the tree.  Some of the citron are Buddah's hands. They're the ones that are oddly shaped, generally looking like fingers. Buddah's hands can get truly creepy looking. Today I'm hooking up with Monday Mellow Yellows , hosted by Gemma Wiseman. Click here to see other yellow-colored interpretations of the world.

Did you know that you can buy tofu already cubed?  Seriously. I must quote the Mama now. "These businessmen are very smart. They know how to make money." The other night I opened what I thought was a container of a block of extra-firm tofu. As I was about to drain the now opened container, I noticed loose pieces of tofu. What the heck? Then, I saw that the container was full of small pieces of tofu. I looked at the wrapper. Extra-firm CUBED tofu!  Again: What the heck?   So much for having fried slices of tofu with roasted Brussels sprouts for dinner. It was time to get creative.  As the Brussels sprouts roasted in the toaster oven, I diced a fragment of orange bell pepper, a handful of browning chives, cilantro, and a bunch of garlic cloves. I also chopped salami slices, which I found in the freezer.  I heated a big glob of bacon fat. Yes, bacon fat. The bell pepper was thrown in first. Two minutes later, the cubed tofu. Stir. Stir. Stir . In went the res

I don't know what got into me. The Husband and I went to the supermarket yesterday afternoon to purchase fixings for split-pea soup for dinner. That meant grab a slice of ham from the meat department and fill a bag with about 2 pounds of split peas from the bin in the produce section. But, then we walked by the fish display. Wild, but previously frozen, Rex sole was on sale for $4.99 per pound. Neither of us ever had it before. Its name intrigued me. About a pound, please, sweet butcher lady. Then I saw the squid. Ooooh. And, the octopus. Double ooooooh . The squid would be a treat for the Mama and for me. The octopus, too, if cooked correctly so it wasn't all rubbery. The Husband doesn't care for either, but he can have 2 pieces of the Rex sole. So, I asked for about a half pound of the squid and a quarter pound of the octopus. As the butcher lady wrapped the items, I spied the locally made sausages. I turned to the Husband. "Shall we get some sausage?"

Today's letter is E . For more E posts, please click here . I've just only settled into a writing groove when it's time to go to the kitchen again. About eight years ago, the Mama's health was failing because of poor nutrition. All she wanted to eat was cereal or frozen waffles and 2% lactose-free milk. Thank goodness for milk. Maybe if she didn't work so hard and long in her flower and vegetable gardens, she could've made do. But, the Mama can't stand still. And, as we all know, when we live alone, we pretty much eat what we want to eat and when we want to eat it. So, about eight years ago, it was quite obvious that her high-carbo, minuscule protein diet had taken its toll on her body. The decision wasn't easy for everyone involved, but it was made. The mama, the husband, and I became roomies. Today, the husband and I seem to spend a lot of time in the kitchen every day. Me cooking; him washing dishes; and me, him, and the mama eating. Most days, three

I'm supposed to be downstairs finishing up what I started over a couple hours ago: . . .washing the fresh veggies we bought at the local farmstand  . . .turning the cut unripe mango into a sauce or something . . .combining the ripe avocado and quarter-cube of tofu into mashed avocado and tofu with garlic, green onion, tomato, cilantro, and (shhhh!) kimchee juice . . .creating some kind of casserole with the leftover BBQ chicken from last Sunday's Filipino Community BBQ fundraiser. Oh, and don't forget, self,  wash the lunch dishes.  The husband is normally the dishwasher but because I needed to hog the kitchen sink and counter I said I'd wash them. That is, I will after I'm done with everything else I need to complete. Maybe I shouldn't have let the husband off the hook. Lunch was a concoction of mashed banana, tofu, peanut butter, and fig jam on toasted blueberry bagel. When the husband took a bite, he asked, " What the heck is this?" "What? You

Today's letter is P . Pinakbet.   What a chicken says when it wants to gamble? Nope. Pinakbet. An Ilocano dish with eggplant, bittermelon, tomatoes, and long beans? Yep, that's it. If I happen to have kabocha squash and/or okra, I'll throw some into the mix, too. Depending on my mood, I'll make it with or without pork. On rare occasions, I'll go classic and add a bit of bagoong (fermented, finely ground fish or shrimp). I say rare because that stuff is very salty. Click here for a photo of what pinakbet looks like. How do you pronounce pinakbet? I say pin-auk-bit .  But, you must realize that I don't have an Ilocano accent. Never had. Pinakbet is one of my favorite dishes. When I was growing up, the mama cooked it often during the summer. Except for the onions and garlic, all the vegetables for the dish were freshly picked out of the daddy's garden. I have yet to eat a version that has topped or even come close to the mama's.  And, now, the mama's

Burp. Excuse me. It's past midnight. Dinner was over at six this evening. I am still full. Tonight's dinner was extra rich. I didn't realize it was. Until now. We invited friends over for dinner, and  I wanted to serve something that would be easy to put together and eat because we were going to a meeting afterwards. So, I made fried sirloin beef wontons and shrimp and grits. The grits were cooked with gouda and cheddar cheeses. The shrimps, with a bit of onion and chives, were sauteed in olive oil, and at the last second (freshly cooked) bacon bits were stirred into the mixture.  Fried meat bits. Shrimp. Bacon. Cheeses. Tooo, tooo heavy. I was just not thinking, was I? The shrimp and grits dish was delicious. I followed (kinda) the Smokey Shrimp and Grits recipe at the Whistlestop Cafe Cooking blog. The cook adds creamed spinach to the dish. I didn't. Just as well. Did I mention that we had semi-sweet chocolate chip cookies for dessert? And, that I drank a bottle of F

"We're having sidewalk weed again." "Oh joy," said the husband. Not really. He didn't say that. He just ate it. Until a few years ago, he didn't know that the weed he saw growing wildly along the sidewalk and on vacant lots was edible. Ha! Then he met me. Specifically, I'm talking about purslane, also known as pigsweed. Portulaca oleracea is its scientific name. The Mexicans call it verdolaga. The Mama calls it kakalangay (an approximate Ilocano spelling to what I hear). Not ngalog, she says. That's something else. Have I lost you? I'm talking about the fleshy, pinkish looking weed that spreads out on the ground. It look anemic and very unappetizing. Water it, and voila, you have what you see in that photo above. It is good to eat. Very good to eat, in fact. Tasty, too. The weed, okay the herb, is high in vitamin C, vitamin A, calcium, potassium, and a whole bunch of the B-vitamin complex. It's also rich in omega-3 fatty acid goodness. Be

Last Friday, the husband and I headed north to Eureka for a wedding. Over 300 miles of perfect driving weather on the 101. Sure, it was overcast and it rained some, but I prefer that to being uncomfortably hot. And, as the husband says, when you're under the redwoods, it doesn't matter if it's sunny or rainy. Because we were just off the leash for the weekend, we didn't dally much coming or going. On the way up, we stopped for a food break in Ukiah, which is the county seat of Mendocino County. It's about a two hour drive, more or less, north of San Francisco. For info about Ukiah, check out the city's Web site . Although we were in the middle of wine country, we felt like drinking a beer when we saw the Ukiah Brewing Company and Restaurant. Are we glad we did! The business is the country's first organic brewpub. Organic beer is definitely the way to go. I tried their Coops Stout. It's described as a "heavy stout with chocolate and roast character.&

The other week, I said to the mama and the husband that I would make an apricot pie for dinner. Then added, "Maybe." Just in case I couldn't. "Where are you going to get the apricots?" the husband asked. "I took a bag out of the freezer yesterday." I was sure they were apricots and not persimmon. We still have a few bags left of last year's harvest in the freezer. Of course, none of the bags have labels. Like almost everything, baking can become an adventure for me. Ingredients Flour. I had less than a cup of unbleached white flour. At least I thought it was wheat flour. For good measure, I threw in a handful of garbanzo flour and another handful or so of brown rice flour to make 2 cups. Two-crusted pie was what I wanted to bake. Shortening. I used coconut oil. I cut it into the flour until everything was nice and crumbly. Then I added 1/4 cup of ice cold water. Dry. I added another quarter cup. Dry. Another quarter. Still dry. By then I suspected

Not to worry. This is not another post about food as metaphor like yesterday's post about potato salad. I really have a recipe about chocolate croissants. A cheating recipe, that is. Yesterday I had a yen for chocolate. The whole time the husband and I were waiting in line at the grocery store, I was eyeing the candy bar racks. No, I won't moan about the rising cost of candy bars that are smaller than they once were. Oh, I just did. Anyway, the only thing that kept me from grabbing a chocolate candy bar was knowing it really wouldn't taste as good as I imagined. I wanted a true chocolate-taste experience like the one I get when I eat chocolate croissants from an honest-to-goodness patisserie. Unfortunately, we have no patisseries in town. The market where we shopped did sell freshly baked croissants. Not flaky, buttery rich ones, but okay enough. Fortunately, when the husband wasn't looking, I had slipped a package of them into the cart. La, la, la, la. Look over there

Pancit, which I pronounce as pawn-sit , is a Filipino noodle dish. Until I was an adult, I thought pancit was made only with translucent mung bean noodles. Then I learned that many Filipinos make pancit with rice noodles or wheat noodles. It was a rude awakening for me. Still, to this day, I make pancit with clear mung bean noodles, the way the mama showed me. Always will. Preparing pancit isn't difficult, just labor intensive, especially if you want to add a variety of vegetables to it.  While growing up, the mama cooked pancit for parties or other special occasions. After I got married, the mama would make a huge pot full of pancit so that I could take leftovers home to stick in my freezer.  Now that the husband and I are living with the mama, I like to make pancit for her now and then. Like all my recipes, many of the ingredients vary each time I prepare pancit. The ingredient that stays the same is mung bean noodles. You can find it at any Asian market or at the Asian section i

Many people visit Monterey to check out the Monterey Aquarium, eat at Fisherman's Wharf, or walk along the beach. All things the husband and I like to do. But, yesterday, we headed over to do some food shopping for organic products because the selection is just limited in our town. I can only hope that one day that may change. We first stopped at the farmers' market in Marina and bought fresh veggies to last us a couple of weeks. Baby bok choy, Chinese mustard, regular mustard, radishes, chard,  broccoli, avocado, lettuce, garlic greens, yellow onions, green onions, and baby potatoes. Also got ourselves some sweet strawberries and clementines as well as a 10-pound bag of tasty oranges. Ok. We stopped at the kettle corn booth and bought us a bag. The cost was a bit more than buying at the local Pinnacle Organic Produce Farm stand in San Juan Valley on Saturday morning. But, then, that's what we get for forgetting to go. Still, it was worth driving over yesterday. The weather