Lasang Pinoy #11: Summertime Pinoy-Style

It’s already LP 11??? Where has the time gone? I am almost embarrassed to join this one seeing that I’ve missed several already…. it’s my perfectionism that needs to be kept in check — I’m not going to join LP unless I’ve got the perfect recipe and the perfect story and the perfect post… which given my life isn’t going to happen. So I’m starting, today, to relinquish some of this control-freak thinking and just focus on JMom’s excellent theme.

What is it about Summertime, and being Pinoy? I think I have the same feelings about the summer as I do about Christmas — they’re many and conflicting but mostly consisting of an unexplainable sadness…. it is at once superficial as it is deep. I’ve never fully understood it and I don’t think I ever will. Perhaps it’s all wrapped up in nostalgia and yearning for the past and knowing that these seasons are fleeting.

Summertime brings me to lazy days of lounging around my grandfather’s patio, with my 35 cousins…. food all around. There’s lechon, bopis, pansit, inihaw na bangus, the always-requested Pinoy barbecue, queso ice cream from my Lola’s suki, and various other dishes, some tried-and-true family favorites, others my aunts’ and uncles’ latest explorations and experiments.

Summertime means Baguio…. and strawberries mixed with milk and sugar — what my Mom called sherbet, and is anything but. One particular trip, that inihaw na bangus made an appearance, sold by vendors around the hotel. They’re the little ones, wrapped in banana leaves and sporting the familiar charcoal-grilled aroma. We sneak them into the hotel and enjoy eating with our hands. Why? My tita, the one “with connections”, arranged our free stay — and free meals — at the hotel. So when she’s there we eat at the formal dining room, the lazy susan laden with all kinds of food — mostly Chinese as the hotel owner is Chinese — but when she’s gone, we’re too embarrassed to take advantage of the freebies, and we go out foraging. The bangus is one such find. Though my addiction is to duhat, shaken in a large canister with salt until the fruit is bruised and just beginning to ooze its purple juice.

Summertime is climbing-tree-party-time… and everyday there’s the choice of our backyard indian mango, or the kamias, or bayabas… or the neighbors’ aratilis. I organize “the party” and sometimes have 4 or 5 girls over climbing the trees with me. Often it’s just my best friend Tina; we carry little bowls of patis and toyo and, sometimes, ketchup. I bring along the KNIFE and perch myself on one of the tree limbs. The saucers/bowls sit primly on the branches’ joints, waiting for me to dip my mango slices. I choose the youngest, greenest, firmest ones, those that make your mouth water with their sour smell. I grew deft with the knife on those tree climbing expeditions. But the kamias and the bayabas are easiest, as a handful of sea salt and my legs are all I need … for a snack on the roof. That’s where I contemplate all the young dreams and problems of childhood (like how I could afford my next Sanrio item).

Summertime means beaches… or even better, Lolo’s ilog where we would eat under the coconut trees…. hence no sunscreen required. I’m not a water lover, but how could you resist the company — the 35 cousins I mentioned earlier? Always, always there was adobo to munch on, and a dish from each family — ten in all. And of course, always, always, Pepsi and 7-up — chilled by nestling atop the rocks where the cool waters flowed. Chichiria all over the tables, chips and chocolates, Pinoy sweets and cookies, along with kakanin and all kinds of finger food — nothing fancy, just whatever’s easy to prepare or get hurriedly from the store before the trip.

Sigh… it’s all so far away now. Maybe that’s one reason I sometimes don’t feel comfortable writing for LP. It brings back memories of what was, and what can’t be again. And what I had, but can’t give my children.

But like the Christmas season summertime is over in a flash, and so I need to step away from all that reminiscing. We *are* happy with what we do have. It’s not my Lolo’s patio, but our patio is just as comfortable, and the kids running around the garden are just as fun to watch. It’s not Baguio, but there is exquisite joy in seeing my 4-year-old’s smile as she picks strawberries at the you-pick farm. At home we make sorbet, or turn the red fruit into preserves, for Christmas gifts. It’s almost like making ginataan with my Lolo. Last night I grilled some trout and some mackerel, wrapped in those banana leaves, the friend of every fish-griller. There are no trees to climb, but there are parks to explore, bugs to catch (more than I’d like to know), and balls to throw. The beaches are too far for us to visit this year, and there’s hubby’s work travel plans to consider…. but maybe next year we can make the long drive to Jersey or NC or Florida, where friends or family await — I remain hopeful. We are all scattered now — 36 cousins in 10 states or countries. But two weeks ago I saw my favorite cousin in Philadelphia, and we’re making plans for a food trip when I go home… and tomorrow another cousin from Toronto comes to visit along with his wife and 4 kids…. so all is not as lost as I sometimes think it to be. I think I’ll hurry to the store now to get me some bangus and banana leaves.

Nothing awakens the Pinoy in you like the heat and foods of summertime.

Thanks, JMom, for giving me a chance to take this trip down memory lane once again. And thanks for hosting LP 11!

Part 2 coming…