As I stirred tender rectangular slices of beef in its tangy aromatic sauce, nostalgic feelings swiftly invaded my senses. I was cooking a Filipino dish derived from the Spaniards called Mechado for a friend's bridal shower. I do not pretend to be a great chef by any means. I am not passionate about cooking as some people are. I am better at eating. However, cooking Mechado has become a ritual I actually relished doing. The task was tedious. The meat had to be sliced just right, not too thin, not too thick. The tomatoes and onions were cut lengthwise then sideways as appropriate for sautéing. The garlic is beaten to a pulp with a pestle in a mortar. Once all the ingredients are ready, each slice of beef is carefully fried before simmering them in rich creamy tomato sauce. With each of these steps I try to imagine how my grandmother Carmen, or "Mameng" as she was fondly called, would have done it.
Lola Mameng was a wonderful cook. Her Mechado, Sinigang (a sour soup with vegetables and pork) and fried chicken were legendary. Although she passed away 11 years ago, her memory is more vivid than ever because of her legacy. She was able to pass down her culinary techniques to two of her daughters. It was not even intentional or done on purpose. The daughters, of whom one is my mom, Lita, imbibed it through observation. Once they had a family of their own, it was a natural instinct to want to transfer the feelings of warmth and care that they derived from my grandmother's delicious meals. It was the same urge I had when I came to have a family of my own.
As I have said, I have no great passion for cooking. I have friends who would come up with a full course meal laid out in a presentation worthy of a fine restaurant. My tendency is to concentrate more on the main dish, make sure it was laid out with a serving spoon, and we will just have whatever is available for dessert later on. But even I was not immune to the truth of that wise old saying, "A way to a man's heart is through his stomach." One can also add, "A way to your children's heart is through their stomach."
Lola Mameng knew that, instinctively, perhaps. There were no formal training passed on from one generation to the next. It was not mandatory. Her daughters and granddaughters would imitate her because the love that came with every dish she served was so felt, it had to be emulated.
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