My Heart is Full (and so is the moon)
The aunties, uncles, cousins and friends have arrived. Our Mid-Autumn fiesta has commenced.
Only, there’s no food on the table. Our first course–our amuse-bouche–is a delectable story about one cousin’s awful new girlfriend, with a side of another uncle’s hair-raising experience in a Malaysian casino. The mooncakes line the side table, flown in with us that morning from Hong Kong, waiting like little gold ingots.
It’s a balmy 33 Celsius. Par for the course this time of year in Manila.
A-Ko, my father’s eldest sister, conducts the mayhem in the kitchen. She left at dawn for the freshest catch at the seafood market–prawns, grouper, mud crab, squid. And her famous giam beng (鹹飯), steaming since the afternoon, had finally “settled” in the rice cooker.
A-Ko is precise. And determined. Everything fresh, everything cooked to exacting, non-negotiable specifications. Getting in her way to meddle is a death sentence. So we sit, wait, and chatter. As the gossip begins to warm the air in the dining room, I quietly turn the air-con down to its lowest setting. I peek through the sliding door into the kitchen. A-Ko’s knife work on her chopping board, so poised and confident, calms me over. She has it under control, and back to gossiping I go.
First comes the fish, steamed searingly hot and shocked with sizzling oil over ginger and scallions. Then the prawns, deep-fried whole with minced garlic. The mud crab, steamed sweet and plain. The squid, battered lightly and fried until plump. Giam beng comes out last, served in the same large white melamine bowl with a notch for a rice paddle that’s been used since I was born.
A quiet falls over the room. Her food has stolen the show.
A-Ko hated leftovers–especially of seafood. Every last piece is systematically divided and commissioned to any willing eater. “Eat, eat, why are you stopping?” she hovers. Until the only thing left is the giam beng, which four separate branches of the family fight to pack into Tupperware to take home.
By 9:00PM, the table looks like a beautiful war zone. Unbuttoned trousers, crab shells piled high, and that heavy, blissful, lotus-paste lethargy sets in. A-Ko sits back, quietly smiling, like a warlord back from a successful battle.
We said goodbye to A-Ko recently. No kids. Never married. She was a gift to our family, and we had her mostly to ourselves. She was one of my “grandmas”. And this full moon is dedicated to her.
So, when those old ladies in your life try to force that third helping onto your plate–when you’re stuffed, fighting back a torrent of “no”s, and starting to feel a pinch at your waist–just pause for a moment. Say “thank you”.
Sometimes, we’re all better off if we eat just a little bit too much together.
