Guilty Feet Have Got No Rhythm

“To the heart and mind ignorance is kind.
There’s no comfort in the truth
pain is all you’ll find.”
(George Michael, from Careless Whisper)

 

“Dad can I go see the dance?”

“No you cannot! Dancing is a sin…!”

“But Dad… am just going to watch….”

“Don’t let me tell you again…!”

“Ugggghhhh.” I sighed in disappointment.

I wish my dad would let me go see the dance.  I really just wanted to watch since he forbids me to dance.  I’ve seen it – the dance I mean, a few times with my Mom.  On those occasions when I got to see the dance my Mom and I sold sweet stuff.  We set up a small  table and placed our basket full of rolled cassava filled with sweetened coconuts.  Often, my Mom took advantage of events like this.  This is one of the ways she made money for the family, which helped put food on the table.  Though I wish we weren’t working  each time I was at the dance.  But it was better than not seeing it at all.

I often wonder why my Dad wouldn’t let me dance.  I knew he considered it a sin, but now I wonder maybe it was because I was only twelve years old and really had no business dancing with boys. But of course he never told me so.  Other than telling me it was a sin, he never explained to me why.  I just knew that he detested the idea of me dancing with extreme repugnance.  But what about him? I’ve seen him danced…! He danced over a bed of red, hot coal during one of the many rituals he performed at one of his religious ceremony.  OK… maybe it wasn’t really a dance.  I think it was more like an Eskrima form.  Yeah.  He knew and practiced Eskrima during my childhood, every night, before he went to bed.

When I was 12, the barrio started a dance event every Friday night.  It was held in an open basketball court, where most of the barrio’s events are held.  In this same court, I also entered a Wee Wee Jamboree, along with my cousin, Villy.  My cousin sang better than I did, so he took in first prize.  I took second.

Teens and young adults are excited and look forward to the dancing every Friday night.  Dancing on Friday nights is the most exciting thing that is happening in our barrio.  Everyone can hardly contain their excitement – walking giddy  all day, especially on Fridays.

The man who owns and sets up the sound system:  the turntable or long album player and the large speakers is also the disk-jockey.  When he smiles, two gold teeth in his upper teeth shine against the beaming sun.  His name is Mr. Rubio.  He’s also married to my science teacher in 5th grade.  A very fine looking woman.  One of the prettiest teachers in our school.  She’s 27.  Tall, pale skin, with prominent cheekbones.  Her dark wavy hair frames her angelic face.  In addition to her graceful beauty, I was fascinated by her handwriting.  I’d watch her in fascination while she writes on the black board.  Every stroke was calculated, and very fine.  It is as if she’s studied calligraphy.  I am an admirer of beautiful handwriting.  When I see someone with a beautiful handwriting I often try to imitate it.  With handwriting, of course, I also collect different sorts of pens as long as it glides well on the paper.  Mr. & Mrs. Rubio have two children, Ruby and Roy, ages 11 and 9.  While she teaches in our school, her husband tends his electronic repair shop located on the first floor of their baby blue painted house.  Theirs is the place to go if you have a broken transistors radio.

At around three o’clock, Mr. Rubio, begins to set up the turntable and the speakers.  By four o’clock he starts playing music to get the whole barrio excited and in the mood for dancing that night.  He sets up three speakers.  One facing to the east, the second facing to the west and the third facing to the south.  The barrio was shaped like a cross, built along the only highway connecting Tacloban City, Imelda Marcos’ hometown, and Ormoc City.  Since the north part of the barrio is not as populated as the south, no speaker facing that way.

There were benches set up on both sides of the court, on opposing direction.  The benches set up on the left side are for the boys, while the benches across on the other side are for the girls.  The middle of the basketball court is left empty and wide open to serve as the dance floor.

The dancing starts at 7pm.  Here’s how it works.  When the music begins to play, the boys would walk over to the other side where the girls are seated and ask the girls to dance with them.  It’s usually a boy and a girl.  A boy picks a girl, usually a girl he would like to woo.  A girl can refuse to dance with a boy she doesn’t like, and wait for another boy.  A boy she much prefers to dance.  The boy who gets rejected moves on and ask another girl to dance.  There is no age limit.  But majority of the girls and the boys are teenagers, and people no older than 25 years old.  Both boys and girls are assumed single and unmarried.  Out of decency, married men and women do not participate in this dance, unless they want to be the “talk” of the barrio the next day, and can bear the rolling eyes and whispers all around.

Most of the boys take advantage of dancing events like these.  This is usually their best chance to talk to a girl, a girl they’ve never had the courage to talk to before.  And in these dances, the boys get to whisper ‘sweet words’ in the girls’ ears during a slow dance, and a chance to put their hands around the girls’ waist, where any other time would have been highly inappropriate.  In these dances, many romances and courtships are formed.

One Friday evening, at around 7 o’clock at night, that’s when the dance starts.  I could hear the song being played, one of my favorite songs.  It was the Bee Gees…

Listen to the ground:
there is movement all around.
There is something goin’ down
and I can feel it.

On the waves of the air,
there is dancin’ out there.
If it’s somethin’ we can share,
we can steal it.

 

Outside the kitchen, under the dark shadows of the trees, I started dancing… and singing…

Then I get night fever, night fever.
We know how to do it.
Gimme that night fever, night fever.
We know how to show it.

Here I am,
Prayin’ for this moment to last,
Livin’ on the music so fine,
Borne on the wind,
Makin’ it mine.

 

… swaying from side to side, bobbing my head, when all of a sudden I heard footsteps.  And then I heard footsteps walking towards me.  And then I head him yell:

“Teresita! What I tell you about dancing?!” He was holding his long, sharp knife, drawn from its sheath.  I stared at him in horror and froze.  All I could think of was – Ooh, ooh. I’m in trouble now.  He saw me danced!

“If I see you moving your feet again I’m going to chop them off!  ‘ you hear me?!”  With the point of the knife aimed towards my feet.  He was five-feet away from me.

“Yee – Yeeess, Dad.”

“Now, go wash your feet and go to bed!”

“Yee – Yeeess, Dad.”

Finally, I felt my blood flowing back into my legs and unfroze them.  I took a step and ran into the kitchen.  I poured cold water onto my dusty feet and dry them off with a torn t-shirt.  I went up to the room and laid down next to my little sister, Elsa.  I was a little embarrassed that my Dad caught me dancing.  And disappointed that I was denied the simple pleasure of a dance. Yet thankful that he didn’t beat me for it.  Or worse, chop my feet like he said he would.

I still couldn’t understand why he thinks dancing is a sin.  He didn’t used to.  Back in Samar, when I was five or six, I remember dancing outside – in the dusty yard, in front of my grandmother’s house with my cousins.  My grandmother, when she was in a good mood, she’d play her Fono – turntable player and watched us, grandchildren dance.  I don’t remember my dad getting upset then.  But then, I don’t remember him being around either, while we’re dancing.  He must have been at the farm still.  He usually stays at the farm until sundown.

It was fun – the dancing.  But my cousins always ruined it for me. When I dance I retreat into my head with the music, and phase everyone out.  So while I was in the moment, one with the music, one of my cousins, Norma, Mana Noynoy I call her because she was older than me, would pull down my underwear, and everyone would burst out laughing.  They think this is funny.  It’s not.  It’s not funny at all.  Not to me.  This is embarrassing and infuriating.  And when I am embarrassed and angry, I become physically violent.  So I’d start running after everyone whose laughing and start hitting them with my fist.  A good dancing session is ruined because of my cousins.  I couldn’t understand why they always picked on me.  Every time!

I still love to dance.  Though I am shy about it.  Especially if there are strangers watching.   I would feel embarrassed.  And I also feel guilty.  Each time I dance I think about how my dad threatened to chop my feet off.  Often when I starts dancing to the music, my son, Ramon smiles and would say, “Mom…  you’re off the beat, and you have no rhythm!”  “Well, baby…  When I was a little girl, I wasn’t allowed to dance.  So of course I don’t have any rhythm!” I’d tell him.   Rhythm or not, I still likes to dance at home once in a while.  I eventually get beat down after a few minutes into the song.  And dancing becomes fun after that.  Though sometimes there’s this voice, a little girl’s voice that nags at me:  “What are you doing?!  Why are you dancing? Stop that!” But I learned to ignore the voice.  I turn the music a little louder and keep on dancing.  I  dance.  And dance some more.  Until my heart’s content.

~~~

This past few months, I’ve had several people, friends from Yahoo 360, asked for my meatloaf recipe.  Thus, I’m posting it here.

This meatloaf recipe takes a bit of time to make.  But i think the extra time is worth it.   When i make this, i usually make this on weekends, when i am not rushed for time.

Spicy Meatloaf
1 ½ pound ground beef – round or chuck (93 – 96% lean)
1 pound ground pork
Sautéed Sweet Onion and Jalapenos – see below
2 extra large beaten eggs
½ cup plain bread crumbs
6 TBSPs. petite diced tomatoes, including the juice
1 tsp. kosher salt
Sauce for topping – see below

Sautéed Sweet Onions and Jalapeno Peppers
5 slices low sodium bacon – chopped
6 garlic cloves – smashed, peeled and finely chopped
1 medium sweet onion (Texas or Vidalia) – finely diced
3 medium sized jalapeno peppers – finely diced
3 medium sized celery sticks – peeled and finely diced
2 tsps. ground cumin
1 TBSP. paprika
1 tsp. dried basil leaves or 1 TBSP. chopped fresh basil
1 tsp. dried chives
1 tsp. beef granules
1 tsp. kosher salt
½ tsp. black pepper

Heat a large skillet and smear it with 2 teaspoons vegetable oil. Add the chopped bacon and sauté until it has rendered about 3 – 4 tablespoons of lard… and slightly crispy.

Add the chopped garlic and sauté for 1 minute. Add the diced onion and sauté until translucent… about 3 minutes.

Add the chopped jalapeno peppers and celery. Sauté and simmer mixture for about 5 minutes.

Add ground cumin, paprika, basil, chives, beef granules, kosher salt and black pepper. Stir and simmer (over low medium heat) until celery is soft… and the spices have blended well with the rest of the vegetables. Remove the pan from the heat and set aside to cool.

Preheat oven to 375°F.

Lightly butter two – 8” x 4” loaf pans.

In a large mixing bowl…

Combine ground beef and ground pork. Add the cooled vegetable mixture and mix thoroughly with your clean hands.
Add the beaten eggs, bread crumbs, petite diced tomatoes and kosher salt. Again… mix with your hands until all ingredients are combined.

Divide mixture into two equal portions. Form each portion into loaf and place in a lightly greased loaf pans.

Pour the sauce over the meat loaves… smoothing the top with spatula.

Place the loaf pans in a heavy-duty cookie sheet and bake uncovered, in a preheated oven for 1 hour and 45 minutes. Turn off the heat and keep the meatloaves in the oven for another 15 minutes. Remove from the oven. Pour off excess oil that has accumulated in the pan.

(Some people bake their meatloaf between 1 hour and 30 minutes or until the meatloaf reach a temperature of 160°F… BUT… this doesn’t work for us… Don’t worry… even after of almost two hours of baking time… these meat loaves are moist… tender… and melt in your mouth!)

Slice and serve meat loaves with mashed potatoes… and Sweet Onion and Bacon Bits Gravy.

Zesty Sauce Topping for the Meatloaf:
¾ cup ketchup
¼ cup Heinz 57 sauce or your favorite barbecue sauce
2 TBSPs. French Yellow Mustard
½ TBSp. worchestire sauce
½ tsp. ground hot peppers (optional)

Whisk together in a bowl… and pour over the meat loaves before baking.

Simple Mashed Potatoes

When I don’t have very much time… I peel and cut the potatoes in 2 or 3 pieces and then boil with 1 tsp. coarse sea salt. The potatoes cook in about 30 minutes and ready to be mashed and seasoned.

4 large potatoes (about 4 pounds) – boiled
3 cloves garlic – unpeeled (optional)
2 – 3 TBSPs. butter
½ – 1 cup warm milk
1 tsp. kosher salt
½ tsp. freshly ground black pepper

Wash potatoes and cut split them in half or thirds.  Place in large pot and add the garlic.  Cover with water, about 1 inch above the potatoes.  Add salt.    Cover pot and boil potatoes over medium heat for 25 – 30 minutes or until potatoes are soft.  Remove the garlic and peel them.  Set aside.  Drain the water and place the potatoes back in the pot.  Keep the pot on the stove, over a very low heat.  Add butter and mash the potatoes.  Add milk.  Start with ½ cup and add more milk for thinner consistency.  Season with salt and black pepper.

Serve with the Spicy Meatloaf and Sweet Onion Gravy.

Sweet Onion Gravy with Bacon Bits:

5 slices low sodium bacon – chopped
3 cloves garlic – smashed, peeled and finely diced
½ medium sweet onion – finely diced
1 tsp. dried thyme
6 TBSPs. all purpose flour
3 cups beef stock or boiling water + 3 beef bouillion cubes
1 tsp. coarse sea salt if needed – taste gravy before adding
¼ tsp. ground black pepper

Heat a large skillet and smear it with 2 teaspoons vegetable oil. Add the chopped bacon. Sauté bacon until has rendered about 4 tablespoons of lard, but not too crispy.

Add chopped garlic and sauté until garlic until light golden brown. Add onions and sauté until soft.

Add the flour and stir until flour is coated with the lard and form a sand texture. Keep stirring until flour is light golden brown.  Whisk in ½ cup beef stock… Whisk until mixture forms into a thick paste. Whisk in the remaining beef stock, ½ cup at a time until all 3 cups are added. Continue whisking until mixture is smooth and free of lumps.

Lower the heat to medium low… and simmer gravy until it thickens… for about 5 – 10 minutes.

Serve over mashed potatoes and Spicy Meatloaf…

before baking.

after 1 hour & 45 minutes.

ready to serve.

Tess’ Kitchen Secrets:

#1 – I usually like my mashed potatoes to have a zesty flavor.  So I add one tablespoon of wasabi paste to it, and two or 3 tablespoons of sour cream. If you haven’t used wasabi in your mashed potatoes before, start with one teaspoon.  Taste and add more if you like.

#2 -  The sauteed sweet onions and jalapeno peppers and the glaze or topping are  what makes this meatloaf taste extra ordinary.  Jalapeno peppers are not spicy if you remove the seeds and ribs off it.

#3 – As for the gravy.  I like the bacon bits in it. Its what makes the gravy tasty.  However, the  bacon can’t be crispy.  It must still be a little limp so it flows with the gravy’s creaminess.

Enjoy and Happy Cooking!

Tess Harris

Mrs. Terror – Teacher from Hell

Last night I was reading a book about an animal scientist – a woman who thinks in pictures.  She was born autistic and did not speak even at age two.  She credits her family, teachers and mentors for “surviving in the social jungle.”

As I was reading the first few pages of her book, I was suddenly transported back to my fourth grade class with our teacher from hell.  I don’t know why… but somehow the word teacher triggered my memory about Mrs. Terror.  I do not remember her name, that’s why I am simply going to call her Mrs. Terror.  However, I can vividly remember her frame.  She was built square and heavy, with curly, graying hair.  Hers wasn’t a typical Filipino features.  It was apparent that she had plenty of Spanish blood in her genes, with dark brown eyes and thick lashes to boot.  And so we attributed her meanness and being a terror to her Spanish heritage.  She was very mean and abusive to one particular boy in our class who gets very nervous each time he is called to solve a basic math problem on the black board.

“Reynaldo!”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“On the board… write the problem and solve it.”

Reynaldo slowly got up from his chair and started walking to the front of the class – to the black board.  He picked a white chalk and proceeded to write the problem:

5/__ + 1/9 = 2/3

And then he just stood there.  His eyes fixed on the black board.

“Reynaldo.  What are you doing? You wrote the problem.  Now solve it!”

“Fill in the blank!.”

Reynaldo glanced at Mrs. Terror and shifted his gaze on what he had written and just stood there – frozen.

Whoooossssh – Ugk – Powww!

Mrs. Terror hurled a heavy, hard covered, textbook across the room to Reynaldo.

It whacked him on the head.

Reynaldo kept rubbing his head, with tears in his eyes… the book that hit his head is on the floor, next to his left foot…

“Teresita! On the board!”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Help Reynaldo and solve that problem!”

I must have flew to the front of the class, to the black board, I walked so fast.  A little shaken after witnessing what had just happened.  I prayed that she won’t throw a book at me too… and hit me in the head.

Reynaldo’s head tilted to his right, looking down on the floor… not saying anything.  Just standing there.   His face ashen white.  He must have felt totally humiliated getting hit in the head with big, thick book in front of the class just because he couldn’t solve a basic math problem.

I reached for the white chalk and wrote 9 on the dotted line…

“Very good.”

“Now… you see that Reynaldo! The answer is 9.  The fraction is 5/9.”

“Ye – Ye- Ye- Yess, Ma’am.” Finally looking up.

“Now both of you, take your seats!”

This was one of many occurrences during the whole year in fourth grade.
The whole class was in fear.  We were all afraid to have the thick text book land on our head at a high rate of speed.  Though, I do not recall seeing other kids having a book hurled at them.  I only remembered Reynaldo.  For reasons I didn’t know and still do not know, Mrs. Terror always picked me to help him out! And this kid always froze up each time he was called to solve a problem on the black board.  Now…  I wasn’t sure if he stood frozen because he was terrified, or he simply didn’t know the answer to the problem.  I’m thinking he was overwhelmed with fear and it was simply too much that he froze…

In fourth grade I excelled in Math.  The only time I ever excelled in Math.  I was awarded “Best in Mathematics.” This was because I was so afraid of Mrs. Terror.  I was afraid of not knowing the answer to a math problem if she calls me to the front of the class.  So… every night I stayed up, until my eyes were tired and droopy.  I studied the math book inside the mosquito net with a kerosene lamp, with the mosquito net catching on fire at times which explained the holes in several places.  I wanted to make sure I was prepared when it was my turn to solve the problem on the black board.

In her class we did other things too that weren’t part of the curriculum, like watering her plants inside the classroom; pulling and weeding the tall cogon grass in the back of our building; and every Friday, the whole class went to her house.

Mrs. Terror shared a large house made of bricks and stones, with steel roofing, with her husband who was also a teacher.  A high school teacher in the same school.  She didn’t have a housemaid, though she could have easily afforded one.  And that’s why she brought us to her house every Friday afternoon to do all her house cleaning.  The jobs were divided among the girls and the boys.

“Alright girls… here are some rags.  Here!  Take one for each of you.  Some of you can dust the furniture and cabinets.  The others can wash dishes in the kitchen, and sweep the floor.”

We obediently followed her orders.  We all scattered and do our assigned task while she instructed the boys on what they need to do…

“Boys… you take turns scrubbing the floor.  Here…” She began handing out several coconut husks – mature, whole coconuts with the shell and husk split in halves.  Coconut meat and at least ½ inch of the shell removed from the cut part, exposing more husk.  These were cut and made especially for scrubbing wooden floors.

“Some of you boys can cut the grass…  And be sure to sweep the grounds after you finished…”

We spent our Friday afternoons cleaning Mrs. Terror’s house before she let us go home for the weekend…

Comes Monday… and the week started all over again…

Reynaldo still hasn’t overcome his fear of solving a problem on the black board.  Each week he gets hit in the head with thick and heavy, hard covered text book because he couldn’t solve a problem… and the whole class still went to Mrs. Terror’s house on Friday afternoons… This was what happened in fourth grade each week  until the school year was over… And Mrs. Terror finds her new victims…  The incoming students knew what to expect from Mrs. Terror so they are all terrified.  But there’s no escaping fourth grade…

~~~

This cake is one of the easiest cakes I’ve ever baked.  The recipe for this cake was given to me by our neighbor in Okinawa, Japan.  Her name is Janine.  She was a grade school teacher.  Janine was so unlike Mrs. Terror.  She was kind, generous and a great cook.

We have been living next door to each other for six months before Willie met her…

He was coming home for lunch after a bad morning at work. When he pulled up to our assigned parking, he saw a very pregnant woman holding a little boy with her left arm and struggling to untie a mattress off her Jeep with her right.  My husband briefly looked at the woman and proceeded to the elevator… He was tired and wanted to enjoy his hour lunch break.  He planned to take a quick restful nap.  But as he was ascending to the 8th floor, he had a flash back of how it was… when Ramon was very young and how difficult and troublesome it was for me to do anything with a little boy in tow, especially when he wasn’t around.  He felt so bad that when the elevator door opened on the eight floor, he pushed the button to go back down…  He went back out and saw that Janine was still struggling to get the mattress off her vehicle.

“Hi.  Let me help you with that…”

“Oh thank you.  Thank you very much!”

“I’m Janine and we live on the 8th floor, Apt. 8C.”

“I’m Willie.  I think we live next door to you!”

It took Willie almost 10 minutes to untie the mattress.  He took it up into Janine’s apartment and helped her get her old mattress down; tied it on top of her jeep and drove with her to drop it off… By the time Willie got back to our apartment, his lunch break was over… and so he just hopped into his car and went back to work… He did not get to eat lunch that day… and missed the nap he wanted so badly…

The next day, Janine knocked on our door.

“Hi, my name is Janine.  I met your husband, Willie yesterday.  Actually… he helped me get a mattress up here… “

“I brought you guys a chocolate cake… I want to say thank you.  And I hope you all enjoy it …”

“Wow! Thank you very much…”

“Please tell Willie, THANKS…!”

“No problem.  I’m sure he’s glad to help…”

I liked the cake so much that I asked Janine for the recipe.   And now I’d like to share it with you.  I hope you enjoy it…

Death by Chocolate

Ingredients:

2 cups all purpose flour
1 Tbsp. baking powder
½ tsp. baking soda
2 cups sugar
2 large eggs
1 stick or ½ cup butter
1 cup sour cream
½ cup water
2 tsp. vanilla extract
½ cup plus 2 Tbsp. cocoa powder
1 (12 ounces) pkg. semi-sweet chocolate chips
Powdered sugar

Sift flour, baking powder, and baking soda twice.  Place in a small bowl.

Beat the sugar and eggs in large mixing bowl until sugar is dissolved.  Add butter and mix into egg mixture thoroughly.

Add sour cream, water, vanilla extract and beat.

Slowly add flour mixture and cocoa powder and beat slowly just until the flour is absorbed.  Do not over beat.  Fold in chocolate chips,

Pour into buttered bundt pan.  Bake at 350F for 50 – 60 minutes.  When cool sift powdered sugar on top.

Serve with French Vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup drizzled on top.

the batter and before baking

fresh from the oven

moist and chocolaty. you can see the chocolate chips buried and  melted throughout.

Tess’ Kitchen Secrets

#1 – When using a dark coated bundt pan, the cake will bake faster.  Here, this cake was done in 50 minutes. I use a bamboo skewer to test the doneness by inserting it into the cake.  It should come out with cake crumbs not wet batter.

#2 – When sifting flour, I simply use a medium size fine strainer.  I get the same result.

Enjoy and Happy Cooking!

Tess

All By Himself

Nothing compares to the homemade pies made from scratch.

Nothing.

Well, OK… Fine.

I will admit to one brand.  Edward’s Lemon Meringue Pie.

Edward’s Lemon Meringue Pie is my husband’s favorite pie.  His face radiates with excitement like a little boy receiving his favorite treat each time there’s a slice of Edward’s Lemon Meringue Pie in front of him.

After all these years and countless of Edward’s Lemon Meringue pies, it never occurred to me to ask him why he loves this pie so much?  So one day, I asked him…

“So… tell me Honeyko.  Why do you love Edward’s Lemon Meringue Pie so much…?”

“On Sunday mornings, when I was a kid, my dad would go to the grocery store and buy Edward’s Lemon Meringue pie…  When he got home, he’d place the pie in the refrigerator to thaw. And then… he’d wait until that evening when the pie is thawed and ready…”

“Pie on the table… He’d slowly pull the brown oak chair… slowly wiggle his body into the chair until he is comfortable… take a deep breath and slowly pull the pie closer to him.  Fork in his hand, he slowly devours the pie all by himself.  My brother and I will be slightly hiding in the far corner, watching him… He’d eat that lemon meringue pie, bite by bite.  We gulped and swallowed our saliva each time he took a bite.”

“Did he knew you and your brother were watching…?”

“Yes, he knew…”

“And he did not offer you and your brother any?” I couldn’t believe that a parent wouldn’t share food with his kids.  Even animals shared food with their babies!

“Nope, he did not! And we didn’t ask.  If he didn’t offer us any, that means he did not want us to have some at all.  He bought that pie for himself… all for himself!”

I have never made lemon meringue pie before.  I was content in eating the store bought ones like we’ve been doing all these years.  But, I’m like a cat… highly curious and always patting my paws on things.  Of course my OCD – Obsessive Compulsive Disorder(self diagnosed) also helps a great deal.  I don’t leave things well enough alone.  Not a good thing sometimes.  My
husband hates it when I keep changing and altering recipes he liked, even when thinks I have perfected it.

Two years ago, few days before Thanksgiving, I decided to try my hands on making my own lemon meringue pie from scratch.    I was very surprised how my first lemon meringue pie came out unbelievably delicious.  The filling had a perfect balance of sweetness and tartness.  We quickly gobbled it up in one day.  So… I had to make another one for Thanksgiving.

I discovered that most people shy away from making lemon meringue pies.  I found that most people make lemon meringue pie only after they have gained enough knowledge, experience and confidence in making the other types of pies.  Most people’s fear lies on the very temperamental meringues… and keeping the crust from being soggy once it’s filled.

“Making a pie is the ultimate test of a good cook, it shows technique and heritage,” according to Susan Westmoreland, food editor of Good Housekeeping Magazine.

For those of you who are avid fans of Food Network’s Emeril Lagasse, Alton Brown or Tyler Florence… they are very specific on their instructions:  keep the mixing bowl oil and lint free… or the egg whites are not going to expand… have the egg whites at room temperature before beating… so you can be assured of volume…

For me… is not so much the fear of making the meringue… but rather simply that it just did not occur to me to make it myself…

Nostalgic Lemon Meringue Pie

1 Prebaked Best Pie Crust Ever – see recipe below
4 ginger snaps (cookies) – crushed

Spread the crushed ginger snap cookies on the bottom of the prebaked pie crust. Set aside.

Lemon Custard Filling:
1¼ cup granulated sugar
6 TBSPs. Cornstarch
¼ tsp. kosher salt
1½ cup cold water
1/3 cup fresh lemon juice (about 3 small lemons)
5 large egg yolks, well beaten
2 TBSPs. Coconut oil or unsalted butter
1 tsp. pure vanilla extract
1 TBSP. Lemon zest

In a 4 quart sauce pan, combine sugar, cornstarch and salt using a whisk.

Turn the heat to medium.

While whisking the sugar and cornstarch mixture, gradually add the cold water. Stir in the lemon juice.

Blend in the well beaten egg yolks.

Keep whisking the mixture until it comes to a full boil.  Boil for 3 minutes or until thick in consistency.

Remove pan from the heat and stir in the coconut oil or butter until well incorporated with the lemon custard. Add the vanilla extract and grated lemon zest. Whisk until well blended.

Pour lemon custard into the prebaked pie crust, while still piping hot.  Set aside while you make the meringue.

NOTE:  Before beating the egg yolks and blending into the cornstarch mixture… remove the chalazae – a white fibrous cord on each end of the yolk that stretches through the whites. This white cord prevents the yolk from bumping against the shell. And this white cord is a bit chewy when cooked and I definitely do not want this in my lemon custard.

For the Meringue:

Cornstarch paste:
1 TBSP. cornstarch
1 TBSP. granulated sugar
½ cup water

In a small sauce pan, combine cornstarch and granulated sugar. Gradually add the water and stir until cornstarch and sugar dissolve and form into a runny paste.

Turn the heat to medium.

Keep stirring the cornstarch mixture until it starts to boil and form into a clear slightly thick paste. Cover the pan and remove from the heat.  Set aside while you make the meringue.

The Meringue:

5 large egg whites, at room temperature
½ tsp. cream of tartar
½ tsp. vanilla extract
Zest of 1 small lemon (about 1 tsp.)
¾ cup granulated sugar

Wash the mixer bowl with hot soapy water.  Rinse thoroughly and shake water off the bowl.

Place bowl in the electric mixer and attach the wire whisk.

Add egg whites and beat on high speed until foamy.

Add cream of tartar and vanilla extract.  Continue beating on high speed until soft peaks form – about 2 minutes.

Gradually add the sugar, while the mixer is running on medium speed.  Beat on high speed again until peaks are firm and glossy, but not too dry. (This will take about 1 minute.)

Reduce the speed to low and add the cornstarch paste, one tablespoon at a time.  Beat on medium speed for another 15 seconds.

Adding the cornstarch paste to the meringue reduces shrinkage and will keep the meringue from collapsing.

Spoon the meringue over the hot lemon custard, slight pressing the meringue to make sure it is touching the custard and crust and also filling any gaps.

If you do not like too much meringue… you may only use half or three fourths of the meringue to cover the lemon custard.

Use the back of the spoon to create an attractive design on the meringue.

Bake in a preheated oven at 400°F for 7 – 10 minutes or until golden brown.

Remove pie from the oven and cool completely on a wire rack.  This will take about 3 hours.

Refrigerate overnight before serving.

Best Pie Crust Ever

(Yield two pie crusts)

Crust:

3 cups all purpose flour

1 tsp. salt

1 cup coconut oil or vegetable shortening

1 large egg

1 tsp. vinegar

2 TBSPs. Cold water

Combine flour and coconut oil or vegetable shortening. Blend with a pasty cutter until mixture resembles coarse sand.

Beat the egg, vinegar, and cold water  to gether. Drizzle over the flour mixture.  Stir with a fork until the dough is a little sticky, but not gooey.

Divide the dough in half and form into large balls.  Place each ball, separately in a large ziploc bag.  Flatten each ball into a round disk and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.

While waiting for the dough to chill…

Lightly grease the glass pie pan or pans, if you are baking more than one pie, with a nonstick spray, butter or coconut oil.  I usually grease the glass pie pan with 1 tsp. coconut oil.  I use a pastry brush to spread the oil on the bottom and sides of the pan.

Remove pastry dough from the refrigerator. Work with one dough at a time.

Lightly rub flour on the rolling pin.  Roll each dough into a 12 inch circle.

Lightly rub flour on the rolling pin again and carefully wind the circle of dough with the rolling pin.

Unroll the dough, loosely, over the glass pie pan. Then carefully press the dough into to the bottom and sides of the pan. Trim excess dough that hangs over the pan, leaving about ½ inch.  (If the dough tears while unrolling and or pressing the dough on the pan, simply use the excess dough to patch any tears or holes.)

Crimp the edges by pressing it with a fork or pressing it with your finger.

Using a fork, prick several holes on the bottom and sides of the crust.

Prebaking the Pie Crust for the Lemon Meringue Pie or other single crust pies:

Preheat oven to 425°F.

Line the pie shell with either one of these:  parchment paper, waxed paper or aluminum foil.  Fill the shell three quarters full with dried beans.

Bake pie shell in the preheated oven at 425°F for 10 minutes.  And, then reduce the heat down to 350°F and bake for another 10 minutes.

Remove the faux filling – dried beans and the lining from the pie shell.

Return the pie shell into the oven and bake for another 10 minutes or until light golden brown.

Remove crust from the oven and cool.

The crust is now ready for filling.

Enjoy and Happy Cooking!

Tess

The Road to Healing is Uncovering the Scars from Years Past…

“You were an abused child just like me!” Willie would tell me in one of our discussions.

“No, I was not! My parents did not constantly beat me.  I remember getting beat only twice and that was my fault so I deserved it…” I’d reply.

I never considered myself being abused as a child.  To me, abuse is being physically beaten whenever you make a mistake, do something wrong or say something bad.  I was disciplined and controlled simply by looks… My father was master at this.   Whenever I did something he did not approve, he would tilt his head and shot me a dark, fierce look – as dark as the heavy storm waiting to unleash its fury.  I wouldn’t dare cross those stares.  I wasn’t so sure whether I would come out alive if I dared to.  There were two occasions where I blindly crossed these boundaries.  I said blindly… because I sincerely did not  know what the repercussions were.

I was about 8 years old, left alone to care for my two younger sisters: Elsa, three years old and Ale two.  My parents and my two younger brothers were at the farm, 10 miles away… they left at sunrise that morning and are not expected to be home until early that evening.  At around 11 o’clock in the morning, an old lady acquaintance, I should call her Mrs. Teofilo came…

“Helllooo… ? Anybody home…? A cracking voice outside.

I ran to the door…and stared at the lady… eying her from head to toe.  I saw her before.  She’s from the barrio.

“Is your mom and dad home?” said the old lady, while looking at me.

“No.  They’re away.  They’re at the farm.” I replied.

“What time are they going to be home?” asking me as if she has something urgent to discuss with my father and mother.

“I don’t know.  They usually come home before dark… but, I’d go get them if you watch my little sisters….” I told the old lady.

She sat down by the door, on the bamboo floor and look me straight in the eye… her dark eyes fixed on mine.  She looked around the room and fixed her eyes on my sisters, who were both on the floor playing… she said…

“OK… I’ll watch your sisters while you go get your mom and dad” the old lady assured me.

“OK.” I answered without hesitation and much thought.

I left with much gusto.  I ran across the shallow river… Walked up the hill… hopped and skipped along the way… kicked a few rocks ‘till I reached the farm…

My mom was cooking something for lunch when I announced my presence…

“Nanay! whew… I’m tired. What ya cookin’…? Looking to see what’s in the pot…

Nanay shot me a quizzical and confused look.  “Where are your sisters?” she asked worriedly.

“Ummm… there’s Mrs. Teofilo at the house and she wants to talk to you and dad…” I managed to say while catching my breath.

“You mean, you left Elsa and Ale with a stranger!!!?” My dad came out of nowhere, yelling.

“Well… we know her, Mrs. Teofilo… she’s from the barrio. And she wants to talk to you and mom…” I answered nervously.  By the sound of my dad’s voice I know I was in BIG trouble.

“Stop what you’re doing Vicenta! Jojo! Artem! Get your stop and carry a few bunches of firewood.  We need to go right now!…  Let’s go…!!!”

My dad lead the way… He walked real fast and so were almost running just to keep up with him.  He did not say another word.

My mom was behind me and she kept talking:

“Tessie… why did you leave your little sisters?  What if that old lady takes them away…? What if she gives them to the people that drive the windowless white van… and dump ‘em under the San Juanico Bridge? Why did you left them?”

“But mom… Mrs. Teofilo said she’ll watch them.  She said it’s OK…” I tried to reassure her.

“You know… your dad is very angry right now.  I don’t know what he’s going to do…”

I didn’t say another word.  I kept walking and thinking what’s going to happen to me.  I was trying to guess what my dad is going to do to me.  Is he going to chop me into pieces with his long knife…? Is he going to kill me…?  Or is he just going to spank me… ? I don’t remember getting physically punished before.  I got yelled at.  And I’ve been scared and would shiver in fear whenever he got drunk…

I admitted to myself that what I had done was bad.  My mom was right.  I shouldn’t have left my sisters with that old lady.  But I really wanted to go to the farm.  I always hated being left alone at the house with my little sisters.  We had no neighbors.  The closest barrio is 20 miles away.  I was very scared whenever I was left home.  I’d start crying along with my little sisters when darkness starts to creep in and my parents are still nowhere in sight.  I sometimes wonder if they’re ever going to come back.  What if they don’t come back?  What’s going to happen to me and my little sisters?  It’s already night time… What if there’s a witch out there…? Whoa-hoo-hoo-hoo. We’d cried in chorus.  We’d huddled in the corner and cried… until our parents came home that evening…

Finally we arrived home.

Thank god that old lady did not take my little sisters.  She, the old lady was still sitting in the same spot – by the door, when we got back.

My dad went over to talk to her.  I don’t remember what they talked about.  But she left half and hour later.  And right when she left, my dad pulled a ten foot rattan stick and started peeling the shiny outer skin off it and told told me to go fetch some water.

I did.  The stream was about half a mile away.  I took two plastic gallons and filled them with water.  When I got back, my dad was braiding a five foot whip out of the rattan he had pulled.  I knew what the whip was for.  So I asked my mom what should I do…?

“You do nothing.  You sit there until you father talks to you…” mom advised.

When my dad finished with the rattan whip… he motioned for me to come to him. “On the floor!  Lay down on your stomach… arms on the side!”

I nervously obliged.  I was wearing a short cotton dress that day and my bare legs were exposed… perfect for the rattan whip –  half inch thick and five foot long with a solid five inch handle.

I did something very bad – leaving my little sisters with that old lady and my dad wanted to teach me a lesson – to never ever do it again…

“YOU DON’T… EVER… leave your little sisters…” Weeepppoww!  As he delivered the hardest blow unto my legs with the whip.

“NEVER… EVER… leave your little sisters…” Weeepppoww!  Another blow…

He whipped my legs five more times, while I kept my face down on the  floor.  When he landed his 7th lashing… I took a quick glimpsed at my legs and saw tiny lines of blood dripping from each lashes.  There was not a drop of tear in my eyes when I looked up at my father.  He looked at me with dark, turbulent eyes… piercing through mine…

Because I did not cry… to him… this was a sign of defiance.  NO… NO… NO… He can’t have a defiant daughter!  I must break… I must submit.

He took a step towards his very sharp, well tended long knife… but before he could pull it out of its wooden case, my mom jumped him…

“Please… Felix… DON’T!”

“She is just a little girl… PLEASE… PLEASE…” My mom was crying and begging for my life…

This was my first and worst physical punishment that I can vividly remember.

The second time I was physically punished was when I accidentally dropped and broke a glass bottle that held one of the stones that was part of a series of his “medicine water bottles.”  In a swift response, he delivered a forceful fist unto the back of my head… in front of several  people.  This time I was 10.  I was ashamed and humiliated… which was more painful than the pain I felt in my head…

My half older brother got it far worst that I did…

My mom had two sons with her first husband.  The youngest one died and so she had an eight year old boy when she met my dad.  His name is Benny.  Mano Benny (older brother), I called him.  I remembered when he was 13 years old and started to get beat… a lot.

My dad would order him to take the water buffalo down the water hole so it could drink some water.  But he wouldn’t do it right away.  He gets sidetracked with his friends playing with elastic rubber bands called “pinetek.”  A game where two or three boys agree to bundle equal amounts of elastic rubber bands.  And then each one would take turn in flicking the bundled rubber bands with their index finger, until one by one a rubber band would come loose.  Mano Benny was so enamored with this game that he’d completely forget what dad had told him to do… or maybe he just decided to have fun first and then work later…

Two hours would pass by and my dad would come looking for him, wondering why he hasn’t come home… And the he’d catch him… Not only he hadn’t done what he was told to do… but he’d be occupied with other boys playing games.

So… my dad would drag him home.   He’d tie his feet together with a 10foot rope; tie the rope up on the tree in front of our house, leaving Mano Benny’s body hanging upside down.   While hanging upside down… my dad would punch him several times in the stomach… He’d cry and beg.  “Please dad… I’m sorry.  I won’t do it again… Please… I’ll do what you want me to
do…”

Mano Benny would be good for a whole week.  Before he repeats the same infraction again… and again… and again.  And he’d get beaten the same way, again… and again… and again…

As a little girl… I never understood why he never learned a lesson.  I’d watch him get hanged upside down and beaten… and I’d felt sorry for him.  But what could I do?  Besides… I thought, he was being hard headed.  He did not do what he was told to do, that is why my daddy beat him.  I didn’t know how my mom felt about this… about her first born son getting severely beaten by her husband.  But I did not see her stop my dad.  And I think I know why.  She believed that it was my dad’s duty to discipline Mano Benny and her role is to support her husband and not contradict him.

We weren’t allowed to play when we were growing up, and that’s because there was plenty of things to do in the farm.  On weekends we went to the farm to sow corn, plant sweet potatoes, cassava, and other root crops.  During summer, we’d go up the mountain and make ‘copra’ or worked as hired “rice worker.” We had once planted rice in a muddy rice field, with mud rising up to our waistline.  We were all very young.  I was 11 while my younger brother was 10, and my cousins were 13 and and 11 whom my dad adopted.  Here in America… you call this child labor.  In the Philippines and in other third world countries, this is called survival.  We were obligated to work and bring some much-needed money for the family.

If you read the last three blogs I posted.  You learned how abusive my childhood was though I didn’t think it was… I loved my parents.  My dad is dead but my mom is still alive.  She’ll turn 71 years old in next month.  I don’t hold much resentments for my parents.   My true feelings are pity and sorrow.  I felt sorry for them.  I always say: it’s not their fault.  They didn’t know.  They tried their best in raising all of us… My dad was illiterate.  My mom only finished fifth grade, the most educated in her family.   They were both raised in the same ignorance and abusive environment…

For almost 40 years… I was in denial.  I will never admit to being abused as a child.  I didn’t think I was abused.  At least not regularly, physically.  That’s just how life was.  We were poor and poor people do all sorts of damn, stupid things.  But abuse, I later find out, not only comes in the form of physical but also psychological and emotional and this type of abuse far worst than the physical… It permeates into the far reaches of our minds and soul…

~~~

Chicken Soup For the Wounded Soul

Cooked Chicken and Stock:

2 large chicken breasts – with skin and bones

3 medium size carrots – cut into 2 inch chunks

3 ribs celery – cut into 2 inch chunks

3 large jalapeno peppers – stems removed and cut in half – crosswise

1 medium onion – outer skin peeled and cut into quarters

Half a garlic head – cut in half, crosswise

3 stems fresh parsley

1 teaspoon whole black pepper corns

1 bay leaf

1 tablespoon coarse Celtic sea salt

6 cups filtered water

Wash chicken breast under cold running water and place in a large pot.

Wash all vegetables and cut as directed above and add to the pot.  Add black pepper corns, bay leaf and sea salt.  Add six cups filtered water or enough to cover the chicken and vegetables.  Bring the chicken to a boil over medium heat.  Reduce and simmer for 45 minutes.

Remove chicken and cool.  Removed the skin and tear chicken meat off the bones.  Discard the bones.  Tear chicken into bite chunks.  Set aside.

Strain the broth and discard the vegetables.  Place the broth in a large clean pot and make the soup below.

The Soup:

Chicken Broth (from above) – six cups or more

Cooked chicken chunks – to be added last

1½ cups small macaroni noodles

3 medium size carrots – peeled and sliced into thin rounds

3 celery ribs – sliced into thin round

1½ cups fresh or frozen cut green beans

¼ – 1/2  tsp. freshly ground black pepper

¼ – 1/2 ground hot pepper – optional

½ – 1 tsp. Celtic sea salt or to taste

Bring the chicken broth to a boil.  Add the macaroni noodles, carrots, celery and green vegetables.  Reduce and simmer until noodles and vegetables are cooked and tender, about 12 – 15 minutes.  Add ground black and hot pepper.  Taste if additional sea salt is needed.

Divide chicken chunks into four to six portions and place them in individual soup bowls.  Scope the soup over the chicken.  Serve hot.

NOTE: I do not like overcooked chicken in my soup and that is why I do not boil it in the pot along with the noodles and vegetables.  Instead I place enough chicken chunks in a soup bowl and add the soup and then serve.  This soup has a clean, refreshing taste to it.  Perfect to eat for lunch or dinner.  I even eat it for breakfast.

SHORT CUT: If you are short on time, you could just buy a canned or boxed chicken broth or stock instead of making your own as I have shown above.  And you could also buy a whole roasted chicken at the grocery store.  And then make the soup as directed on the recipe.

Enjoy and Happy Cooking!

Tess

AVOID Pain and Frustrations and SAVE $$$ Next Time You Move

I can’t live in one place for too long. My limit is six years living in the same place. After that, I get bored. I yearn for change. The nomad in me wants to move, she gets restless; she wants to be on the road, to another city, another state, another place…

Moving is in my blood. I was born a nomad, always moving, from one unfinished nipa hut to the next; from one barrio to another; from one island to another. By the time I was six, we have moved more than 6 times.

The fifth house we lived in was by the seashore. A house my dad built but never finished as he has repeatedly done all his life. But this house was different. It was bigger and better than any other house we’ve had before. It had wooden floor instead of bamboo like we’ve always had. I was very young then, not even in school yet. I remember waking up in the morning and running on the white sandy shore, blanketed with fire red crabs. I would run after them, but the crabs were a little too fast for my little feet. Just when I was closing in on them, they would run back to their little dug holes and hide.

And then one afternoon, in this same house, I woke up from my nap, my clothes soaking wet, like I had just bathed in the sea. I bolted onto my feet screaming, calling my mom: “Nay… Nay… Nay! (mom), waah-whooaah…waahh… Naaaahnaaay!” I stopped crying, and slowly opened my tear filled, swollen eyes. I looked around but no one answered. The floor was covered with water five inches deep. Everything in the house was floating: clothes, pillows, plates, pots and pans. I ran and looked out the window; our chickens were quacking while floating on the water. The pigs were floating too! The dog was standing on top of a wooden plank, quietly observing the commotion between the chickens and the pigs. The tide was high that day and our house wasn’t built high enough above the ground to sustain the high tide. While I was asleep, my mom thought it was a perfect time for her to run up the hill to collect some sweet potatoes we were having for dinner that night. I was scared and didn’t know what to do. I stood by the window frozen, and motionless… wondering where everyone had gone…

After this incident, we moved again.

We moved inland into another nipa hut, only a stone throw away from my maternal aunt and grandparents’ huts. We did not live here long. We had to move again. And here’s why:

One day my dad came home, from a plowing job where he was offered coconut wine (tuba), which he happily accepted and drank. And when he’s drank, bad things happened. He was half a mile away from our nipa hut, already we could hear him belching out screams, the same loud, animalistic scream that he does when he is pissed off. He has had enough of my grampa and gramma’s insult, and this day seems to be the perfect day to let them know his feelings. As he was closing into my grandparents’ house, he pulled out his long knife and started striking, cutting and slicing everything on his path. He was only 10 feet from my grandparents’ porch, after he had cut all the banana trees in the front yard, when grampa and gramma jumped out the window, rolled down the green grassy hill to escape my dad and ran to the Barangay Captain 5 miles away.

Few days later, he was tipped off by a friend that several police men are on their way to arrest him. So he hid in the cave all day, and that night he boarded a small motor boat and escaped to Leyte. Few years later, my grandparents dropped the charges against him and they moved to Mindanao.

It would be three months before we join him. During this time, he’s been living with his relatives, moving from one relative to the next. When we came, my dad wasn’t ready for us. His uncle gave him permission to cultivate and live in his land up in the mountains, very far away from the barrio. It would take us from sunrise ’til sundown, by foot, to get there. We lived here a few years before my dad decided that we need to live closer to the barrio so my brother and I could go to school. And so we moved again, and again, and again. From when I attended first grade up until I graduated sixth grade, we have moved five more times.

For most people, moving is a dreadful thing to do. And YES, there are things involve in moving that is not fun – like packing all your household goods and belongings, and then unpacking when you get to your new place. And between all the packing, shipping, and unpacking, your things will get broken. Of course when I was a little girl, we didn’t own much of anything other than a few old clothes which we rolled and tuck into the rice sack and off we went. So moving was effortless. But when I met my husband, an American, he had already accumulated things, and accumulated more things once we were married. By then, moving then became a bit of a task. The furniture we had custom made lasted 17 years, some didn’t even last that long. We learned not to become emotionally attached to our possessions. Because these things come and go.

Each time we moved, we filled a Goodwill truck with books, furniture, clothes, and everything else that seem too bulky to take with us. (My husband is a firm believer of donating to Goodwill or Salvation Army. He believes that the universe will bless him many times over more than what he gives.) When we decided to leave Las Vegas, we had a beautiful, black old Mercedes Benz we gave away to a guy who worked as a mechanic at car shop. His family could use an extra car, and it was far too expensive for us to ship it, and even more expensive to maintain it.

YES, moving is a BIG decision and not an easy thing to do for most people. It’s even more daunting if you have to pay for the move because it is expensive and you are more likely to get ripped off. Like what happened to us when we moved from Las Vegas to South Carolina six years ago.

This was our first move on our own, without the military; therefore, we had to pay. So I shopped around for a moving company we can afford. I found one called Nationwide Moving Company. Their price was several hundred dollars less than the other, more nationally known company, so we decided to hire them. BIG MISTAKE! Lesson #1: Trying to save a buck could cost a lot more money in the long run and a lot more headaches than necessary. It’s better to pay extra if it meant dealing with a more recognized, and more reliable moving company. The key is to ask for references – people who have used them before and find out what they have to say. Another thing to do is research the internet for customer reviews. Back then, internet reviews weren’t as readily available as they are today. You have to invest a lot of time in research.

I sometimes wonder… that maybe it was just because our move got complicated. Our household goods were scheduled to be shipped and delivered to South Carolina, but things did not work out for us in there. In a short turn around, we had to move to Texas. So we had our household goods diverted – shipped and delivered to Texas. This is where the problem came in. Lesson #2: Do not rush into shipping your household goods to your destination. Instead, rent a storage space to store them. You can always get them later once you are stable and firmly rooted in your new location. Nationwide, the moving company, charged us few thousand dollars more to have our stuff delivered to Texas. I was confused and puzzled by this. Commonsense tells me, our household goods were still in Las Vegas, and Texas is several hundred miles closer to Las Vegas than to South Carolina. But Nationwide had the upper hand in this situation. If we weren’t willing to pay the additional money they demanded, they weren’t going to deliver our household goods. They had us by the neck; our stuff held hostage. We if we had to do the whole thing over, we would have just let them keep our stuff and started over. But there were a lot of things that were very sentimental to us. So we coughed up the money and paid. Lesson #3: Don’t let your emotions get in the way because it is going to cost you. Be ready to say: Fuck it and cut your losses while you’re ahead.

When my husband was in the military, the military paid for all the moving expenses, including our travel and temporary lodging. We didn’t have to worry about choosing a mover; the military took care of that. And then when he retired, we could choose a place – another city, or another state where we want to move and retire and the military would move us one last time… But life outside the military is different. Very different.

Years ago, I used to wonder why a lot of people move themselves. This was back when the military paid for our move. We’ll be on the road driving to another state, our new military base, and we’d see people driving huge U-Haul or Penske trucks, sometimes, towing a car in the back. Or the wife drives the family car and follows the husband. We’d say to ourselves: Why can’t this people just hire a mover and ship their household goods? It’s certainly much easier to just drive to your destination, in your car. And when you reached your destination, your new home, your stuff would be there waiting for you, instead of going through all this trouble driving a big U-Haul or Penske truck. Well… now we certainly know why. At minimum, it is $3,000 – $5,000 difference on your pocket, maybe more. And if you move yourself, at least you are guaranteed to have your household goods, in fair shape, when you get to your destination. So moving in a U-Haul or Penske truck with our household goods is now our preferred method. And this is even more so if you have a limited moving expense budget, and cannot afford to ‘pay an arm and a leg’ to the unscrupulous, shadowy moving companies. It’s cheaper and fewer headaches.

Despite of all these factors… moving can be a life changing event. It takes you out of your rut and of stagnation.

~~~

From all the moving we’ve done throughout the years, we learned plenty of valuable lessons that could save you money, headaches and pain. Learn from our mistakes.  Consider these things before you move:

• Research a place, a city, or a state where you are more likely to find a job. The bigger the city the better.

When we were in Las Vegas, a city with over 1.8 million populations, we had a dream of living in a small town. Thinking that living in small town would be so much cheaper and better. WRONG!
We discovered this by living in Abilene, Texas, a city with population just a little over 120,000. The housing – single family homes and apartments are expensive, and not much to choose from. Restaurant prices are no cheaper if not more expensive than the ones located in major cities. Though we found that one of the reasons why small town like this is expensive is because of the military base present here. The businesses – real estate developers and apartment owners knows that the military personnel receive a monthly housing allowance of between $771 – $1,134 depending on rank, for enlisted without dependents (no wife and children), and significantly more – $1,005 – $1,485 if you are married with with children; even more – $946 – $1,824 per month if you are a commissioned officer. So the housing and apartment rental rates in this town are based on these allowances. If you are not in the military and are living in a small town like Abilene, you are pretty much resigned to living in poor areas with the only housing you can afford. My advice? Do not live in a small town with military base. You are better off living in a big city with more job opportunities. Don’t feel like you are stuck. MOVE!

• If possible, it would be very beneficial to visit and survey the city a few months ahead before your pending move. This is called “reconnaissance mission” in the military. While there, make note of important information i.e., nice and safe temporary housing or extended stay hotels and suites, proximity to major interstate highways, parks, shopping center, etc. Anything that will make yours and your family’s life a little easier and convenient in a new city. If you don’t have the time and money to visit the place in advance, it’s OK. Just make sure you do as much research about the place before you move. You can do the rest once you get there.

• Assess your resources. How much money – cash in hand or in the bank do you currently have? What’s your available credit limit? With the money you currently have, how long can you survive with that money before you need to have money to start coming in? Meaning. how long can you afford to not have a job?  With the advent of online banking, where you can access your money virtually anywhere, anyplace and anytime, people can now live anywhere in the United States or any country in the world for that matter.

• How are you going to move? If you’ve sold most of your belongings i.e., extra car, furniture, and other household items, then there’s not that much to take with you. You could just rent a U-Haul and fill it with what you’ve decided keep and your most valuable possessions. Tow your car in the back if you have to. If you are married and have kids, and you own two vehicles, you’re wife can drive the other car with your children aboard. If you are single and moving alone then you have less to worry about.

• Decide where you are going to stay. If you are new to a city, your best bet would be to find an extended stay hotel with full kitchen. There are plenty out there to choose from: Homewood Suites, Candlewood Suites, Residence Inn by Marriott, Budget Suites of America, Homestead Suites, Extended Stay Hotels and Suites, and etc. The whole point of this is to find a place where you can settle temporarily, while you are looking for a job and getting to know the city. So that when you do find a job, you can then find an ideal place for you and your family. I would not buy a house right away. Staying in an apartment with a 3 – 6 six month lease keeps you mobile in case your new job doesn’t work out and you have to move someplace else.

Depending on what city you are moving into, most extended stay hotels will allow you to pay affront, for the whole month, to avoid paying taxes which can range between 12 – 16% or more. But I would suggest paying weekly during the first week or two so you can move to another hotel if you are not happy. And if you are happy with the hotel, you can always ask for their monthly rate. Though keep in mind that once you pay upfront, most extended stay hotels may not be willing to refund your money if you decide to check out sooner.

With extended stay hotels and suites, all utilities are covered. They may charge a small one-time fee to use the internet. Housekeeping may or may not be included; in some cases the hotel will charge you a small amount for a full housekeeping service once a week. Most extended stay hotels and suites have full kitchen with full refrigerator, stove with four burners and ovens (in some places), microwave ovens, kitchen utensils such as pots and pans, plates, forks and spoons, etc. They also have on-site coin laundry. I don’t like to their towels. So I bring my own. NOTE: Be sure to ask if you could see the room before you pay. And check for the items listed above. You do not want to get stuck in a place you don’t like for a whole month.

Before you start searching for an apartment, make a checklist of what’s important to you and your family. For me my checklist usually looks like this:

Kitchen:
• 2 large, deep sinks
• Plenty of cabinet space
• Plenty of counter space
• Good ventilation
• Good oven and stove – not old and rusty
• Good dishwasher

Bathroom:
• Large tub OR strong, good flowing shower
• Large counter space
• Good amount of drawers and cabinets
• Full size toilet – enough room around it
• Good sink and faucet

Laundry:
• Full size washer and dryer connection
• Linen/towel closet

Apartment MUST have good reviews:
1. Good, responsive maintenance
2. Friendly staff
3. Safe environment – Low crime area – In addition to seeing the apartment complex during the day, it is also best to drive by at night to see what type activities going on in the area.
Covered parking and plenty of parking space
4. The newer the apartment, the better.  Apartments must not be older than 15 years! Old apartments mean somethings are going to break more often than not. And unless the apartment leasing employ a responsive efficient staff, it might be too much headache and frustration living here.  Also, old apartments are not energy efficient.  Which means your electric bill is going to be very expensive.

• While you are on temporary housing or living in an extended stay hotel, you could rent a storage space to store your belongings so you can return the U-Haul truck. Unless you’ve left them in storage back at your old hometown and would retrieve them later once you are settled.

• Make sure your computer and printer are easily accessible. You are going to need these equipments while you are staying in an extended stay hotel. In addition to updating your resume, writing thank you and follow up letters, it is much easier to get around if you have a printed map of the local places you need to go such as banks, grocery stores, public parks and recreation areas , etc. Getting maps and detailed directions to local places are readily available from Google Maps.

• Have computer games or PlayStation game console and games, and extra monitor available for your kids to play with. This should keep them entertained and busy so they won’t be bored out of their minds.

• Bring several interesting books for you, your spouse and your children to read.

• Bring plenty of bath and kitchen towels. I do not like the towels in some of these hotels so I bring enough for the whole family.

• Two weeks before you move, fill out a change of address form at the U.S. Post Office. And then rent a mailbox at Mail Boxes Etc. or UPS Stores and have your mail sent here. For additional fees, Mail Box Etc. (MBE) can hold and forward your mail and packages wherever you are. So this way you don’t ever have to ask favors from your relatives and friends, and you’ll get your mail.

Below is a list of food items to buy and cook when you are on a budget:

• rice – white or brown rice. I like to cook my rice the old fashioned way, and I prefer Jasmine rice.
• sardines
• ramen noodles (known to be staples for young adults who don’t have much money and who don’t know how to cook
• baked beans
• Campbell Chunky Stew and Soups
• canned chili
• canned fruit
• microwavable vegetables (Birdseye Steamfresh is good and in expensive
• frozen and microwavable beef and bean burritos
• bottled water (it’s cheaper to buy them by the case at Sam’s Club)
• Panda Express Chinese food – If I’m going to eat fast food, I would rather eat Panda Express. They are available in most big cities. You can have a good satisfying meal, with 2 entrees plus chowmein, fried rice or noodles for only $6.48

This is just a  list to get you going. You could add your favorite foods on this list.

~~~

I usually make this chili with my own blend of spices and seasoning. But when I’m with Ramon, I don’t have access to my varied spices that I have at home. So… I use the good ole McCormick chili seasoning mix. And then very recently, I have been serving my chili with Indian bread called Naan. A bread made from tandoori oven. It taste slightly sweet and chewy. I now prefer to eat my chili like this instead of eating it with corn tortilla chips. Again, I always cook a lot. So this recipe serves six people or more.

Hot Kickin’ Chili Too!

2 pounds ground beef – 96% lean
6 TBSPs. Olive oil – divided
5 garlic cloves – minced
1 large red or yellow onion – diced
3 large jalapeno peppers – seeded and chopped
2 packets McCormick Chili Seasoning Mix (I like the HOT one.)
2 tsps. dried oregano
½ tsp. ground black pepper
2 dried bay leaves
1/2 TBSP. coarse sea salt (adjust according to taste)
1 – 28 ounces can crushed tomatoes
2 – 15 ounces can dark red kidney beans – undrained
Juice of 1 large lime
½ cup firmly packed chopped cilantro
4 stalks green onions
Garnish: grated cheddar cheese and sour cream

Brown ground beef in 3 tablespoons olive in an 8 quart pot. Drain meat and set aside.

Using the same pot, heat the remaining 3 tablespoons olive oil and sauté onions until translucent. Stir the garlic and jalapeno peppers and sauté a few minutes.

Add ground beef into the sautéed onions, garlic and jalapeno mixture. Stir to blend. Add the two packets of chili seasoning mix, dried oregano, ground black pepper, and dried bay leaves. Stir to combine.

Add the crushed tomatoes, undrained kidney beans,and sea salt.

Stir and bring mixture to a boil over medium heat, while stirring occasionally to avoid scorching the bottom. Lower the heat and simmer chili for about 30 minutes, while stirring occasionally.

Taste for additional salt and black pepper.

Add chopped cilantro and chopped green onions a few minutes before serving.

Top each serving with grated cheddar cheese and sour cream if you like.

Serve chili with warm Naan bread or tortilla corn chips and Fritos corn scoops or chips on the side.

NOTE: Follow the heating instruction on the package for Naan bread. Naan bread is available at Wal-Mart in their bakery section, and in other supermarkets.  It cost $2.50 per pack at Wal-Mart and slightly more at other supermarkets.

There are 2 pieces of Naan bread in each pack.  Allow 1 – 2 breads per person.

Enjoy and Happy Cooking!

Tess

Eat Your Rum and Drink Your Pork

“Dad… wake up!” the little girl shaking his father on the left shoulder.

“Huhh…?  ssshhhhhh… ssshhhh…” the father snored while leaning his head on a big rock.

“Dad… c’mon, let’s go!  Let’s go home…!”

“It’s getting dark and I’m scared…” the little girl is now on the verge of crying.

This man is my dad.  He is drunk.  He is too drunk too keep walking and so he laid down right in the middle of the dirt path beside a big rock.  We are about 3 miles from our nipa hut, five miles away from the town.

As a little girl, I always wanted to go with my dad wherever he  went.  And this day was just one of the days I went with him.  He couldn’t refuse his friend and  drank too many shots of Tanduay Rum while we were in town.  He managed to head home with me… but midway to our nipa hut, he couldn’t keep his eyes open and slump right in the middle of the dirt road… This is not the first time he’s done this – got drunk and slept in the dirt path halfway home.  My mother was hoping that because I am with him, he wouldn’t get too drunk.  But she’s wrong.  I am just a little girl, no match to his friend who was offering him free drinks…

At least this time he is sleeping, instead of going to one of his violent and crazy rage…

Five years back… when I was even younger, probably four years old… I remember running with my little brother, while my mom holding my other youngest brother and youngest sister, yelling:

“Let’s go, Eday (baby)! Let’s go… let’s go.  Hurry!”

I was confused… I was dazed…. I didn’t understand why we were running.  And where we running to…? What’s happening…?

Finally… we arrived at the Barrio Captain’s house, all wet  and covered in mud…

I was sitting on the floor, in the corner, still holding my little brother’s hand, shaking… trembling from fear and exhaustion.  We ran through the rice fields,  and across the muddy and wooded marsh before we reach the small town…

“Mrs… what happened? How can I help you?” asked the Barrio Captain.

“My husband… Please hide us.” said Mrs… in tears and shaking.

“Why? What did he do? Why are you so afraid?” The Barrio Captain with a worried look on his face, wanted to know.

“My husband… He is very angry.  He pulled out his long knife and was going to kill us – me… and my children.  Please hide us? Please!” said Mrs, signaling for me and my little brother to come to her.

She pulled me and my little brother closer to her… She, looking at the Barrio Captain, pleading… look at me and my children… I don’t want to die… I don’t want them to die…please help me…

I don’t exactly remember why my dad was angry that night.  Something must have set him off, but I didn’t know what.  Could it have been my mother? What did she said?  I sensed that he came home drunk again and the slightest thing made him angry…

My father did not drink every day. Not even every week.  He got drunk intermittently.  But when he did, he became aggressive… mean… and very intimidating.  He looked for fights and we hoped that no one would engage him.  We hid when he’s drunk because we were scared he is going to physically hurt us.

My mother… she drank occasionally, at party celebrations.  When she did, her face turned bright red and she’d start crying.  She became depressed.  She strummed her guitar and cried uncontrollably.

~~~

I was 16 when I had my first drink.  It was white, clear, liquid.  Very strong, intense and fiery on the tongue.  I was with my cousin who was 18 and my step sister, who was 19.  We were on our way to the big city… to school.  That night, before we boarded a small boat, our friends – much older than us, persuaded us to have a drink…

“Here, drink some!” Said Renato, pushing the small glass towards me.

“What is that?” turning the glass with my finger.

“How does it taste?” I asked curiously.

“Well, try some and you’ll see.” Renato assured.

I picked up the glass and drank the content.  It burned my throat as the clear liquid went down my esophagus.  I felt my stomach burst into fire.  My head felt funny…  my eyes were seeing double… and the wall was spinning.

I don’t like the taste of straight alcohol and my body has low tolerance for it.  I very,  rarely drink, and won’t drink any alcohol unless it is camouflaged with sweet juices or sweet syrup. And even this, I can’t drink that much.

But… I like how some alcohol make certain dishes taste.  So I often use medium dry sherry or white wine in my sauces and marinades.  I use white wine with chicken and pork, and red for beef dishes.

Here in this dish, I used Myer’s 100% Jamaican Rum.  Dark rums are ideal for cooking.  It makes food and sauces very flavorful.

Pork Steaks with Rum Barbecue Sauce

Serves 3

3 large pork blade steaks – about 3 pounds

Sweet RUM Barbecue Sauce:

¼ cup firmly packed brown sugar

½ cup ketchup

¼ cup soy sauce

¼ cup hoisen sauce

2 TBSPs. dark rum

1 TBSP. genuine wasabi or 2 TBSPs. deli style mustard with horseradish

1 tsp. freshly ground black pepper

4 garlic cloves, smashed and peeled

Combine sauce ingredients in a medium size glass bowl.  Stir until well blended and smooth.  Set aside.

Preheat oven to 400°F.

Line a heavy duty cookie sheet with heavy strength foil.

Wash pork steaks and pat dry with paper towels and place them on foiled lined baking sheet.  Using a pastry brush, liberally brush pork steaks, on one side with the barbecue sauce.

Roast pork steaks in a preheated oven at 400°F for 30 minutes.

Remove pork steaks from the oven and pour off excess liquid.

(Usually, I  temporarily transfer them into a large plate, while I pour the liquid from the baking sheet.)

Turn the pork steaks on the other side and again, liberrally brush with the barbecue sauce.

Return pork steaks to the oven and bake for another 30 minutes.

Serve with rice or potato salad.

OR

Chop pork steaks into small pieces, discarding the bones, and serve pork steaks as sandwiches…

Sweet RUM BBQ Sauce

Pork steaks freshly brushed with the sauce

Enjoy and Happy Cooking!

Tess