On Family, Friends, and Food: And Why We Keep Feeding Our Guests Even When They're Full

Auntie Leila with Lola Fe and Tita Gina who flew in from the US.

When Filipinos who've migrated abroad return home for a visit, they get subjected to a series of food assaults, usually involving local delights. Everyone they meet, family and friends, will keep offering food, on and on. And if they so no to one thing, they'll be offered another, until they accept something at last. And they can't refuse by saying they aren't hungry, or that they've just eaten. Because being full is not an option. That's just the way it is. We say "welcome back" with the food we serve, and we say "good bye and God speed" with the pabaon to match.   This weekend, we had family and friends from the US, and I haven't recovered from the experience just yet.

Vivacious Lola Fe, our honoree for the night (in the middle, in black).

"I dare you to eat more lechon" said my grand aunt, Lola Fe to me. This was last Friday, at my Auntie Leila's house, where an intimate despedida dinner was  held for our US-based relatives who were in town for a quick visit.  One would think my Lola Fe, who's seen thousands of clogged arteries in her long career as an accomplished surgeon in the US, would dare me to eat less, not more! But she's a true De Lima. And in this family, hearty eating is rewarded with praise. According to legend, my great grandmother, Lola Piling, the family's strong-willed matriarch, frowned upon her lean grand children who ate small portions. She apparently preferred those members of her brood with a robust appetite.  Eating a lot is seen not as a weakness, or lack of discipline and self-restraint (as is the case with other families). On the contrary, eating con mucho gusto is  seen as a sign of strength! It is indicative of a forceful spirit, a lust for life, of indefatigability and drive, and bullish energy.  "You are looking slim" Lola Fe told our hostess.  "It's unintended. I still eat a lot. It must be the stress" said Auntie Leila, who's impossibly busy these days as she serves as Secretary of the Dept. of Justice.  I find it funny that in this family, when someone says you have slimmed down, it is a mere statement of fact, and not necessarily meant as a compliment.

When in the presence of this side of the family, I feel as though I need to follow a silent command:  "Eat like you mean it!" The command to eat emanates from the table itself, where a serious spread of killer dishes dares the diner to put up a valiant effort.  There were crabs and shrimps, pinangat with fish, veggies, the ever present pansit - then the pork offerings: lechon, bbq, dinuguan, bopis and inihaw na liempo.  For desert, there were local fruits, and buco pandan, leche flan and polvoron.  It's a deliberate selection of Pinoy recipes that are hard to come by abroad.  Auntie Leila sent her guests bags of polvoron in assorted flavors to take with them on the plane. When at last, it was time to go home, I felt several kilos heavier.  And that wasn't the end of it. 

Our party of 12, my sister's work barkada from the mid-1990's, with the
addition of kids. Robert, Cyd and Noel (right most) are visiting from the US.

The next day, my mom and sister hosted a brunch for our beloved friends, Cyd and Robert, who are visiting from the US.  Cyd was my sister's best friend from the mid-1990's to early-2000's and we used to see her everyday. She'd often sleep over at our house, and join us for meals. She and Robert got married and settled in the US and  I last saw them a decade ago, when my sis and I visited them in LA, and we took a road trip to San Diego, to cross the border to Mexico. We sure had a lot of good times.  Brunch stretched on to lunch, and even to merienda cena, from 10:30 am to past 5 pm - it was as though ten years worth of missed meals together was compressed in one sitting. Over tocino, tapa, corned beef, and kesong puti with pan de sal, the process of re-befriending began. Lunch crept in stealthily, in the guise of Russian potato salad, lasagna, and that humungous cake from Conti's. 

Puto, kutsinta, and Magnolia's "Best of the Philippines" collection.

Soon, it was time to bring out ice cream brought by another friend, Kay, the Magnolia "Best of the Philippines" series with local fave flavors: Ube Keso and Mangoes and Cream. It came in patriotic (tourist-friendly) packaging, which I found absolutely fascinating!  The Filipiniana ice cream  went well with my purchases from Katipunan: palabok from Lola Idang's, and puto calasiao and kutsinta, bought off the road near Temple Drive.  My mom also prepared Filipino sweets for the kids: polvoron, macapuno, and pastillas de leche rolled in paper, which they just loved to unwrap.  

The 3-year-olds: Narra and her guest Patricia, and a big bowl of sweets.

And as "brunch" was declared over at last, and our good-byes were being said, Cyd presented my mom with a thank you gift for hosting the party in their honor. She gave my mom a Nifty picnic carrier, made of fabric with insulated inner lining, and aluminum frame with rubber-padded handle. The carrier was full of "stateside" goodies - crackers and cookies, chocolates and candy, and a fun pair of tumblers.  An appropriate gift, really. Fun foodstuff for my mom who hosted a fun afternoon stuffing her guests with food.  

My mom, and the "thank you" gift from Cyd.

"Let's have a picture, Narra. The next time I see you, you'll be all grown up na" said Cyd to my daughter. Wow. I remember meeting many of my parents' old friends and relatives on trips abroad, and they'd say "the last time I saw you was when you were this small" and they'd gesture with their hand, to give an indication of my height when they last visited Manila.  I never fully understood the sense of loss behind such innocent statements.  To me, those people were just strangers. Not close family, or best friends of my parents. To me, they were just random individuals who took us out because we happened to be in town. I realize now, that these "not so random" people spent precious time and money to tour and feed us, not just out of a sense of obligation to be hospitable to guests, but out of love and longing for company much missed through years of separation. My dad's former co-pilot from earlier days in the military saw us every day of our stay in Vancouver when we first visited Canada - oh how he took us to so many places. While my aunties and uncles drove us from Ontario to Montreal and back - treating us to theater shows, museums and theme parks, along the way.  It was the same in LA, with my dad's siblings showing us around from San Francisco to Las Vegas, through the Arizona dessert - all the while treating us to restaurants, and bringing us to theme parks - Disneyland and Universal Studios. I never bothered to reflect on what could have motivated them to go out of their way, to make the most out of our visits. Back then, I had no idea about what kind of estrangement was involved in transplanting one's entire life to another country.  It was only when I lived abroad for graduate studies that I had an inkling. There were days when I couldn't sleep, and there's a pain in my chest, a longing so strong I felt it physically - and it's a longing not for someone in particular, or something specific - but for everything, all of it - the entire Philippines, its food, its places, its people, its music and noise, and scents and stench, its splendor and squalor - everything. And visits from home were precious!

Cyd and Noelle, and me, Narra, and my sister Marion.

When family and friends migrate elsewhere, our brains make the necessary adjustments, to accommodate the new configuration - time apart and distance from one another is factored into the equation, and the amount of food we feed our guests is commensurate to the degree of closeness we wish to recover. Migration has its perks - but also its permanent pains. And food is a panacea for all ills of the heart. A means to cure homesickness. So we heap on the servings of comfort food to exorcise any lingering longing for home. A balikbayan visiting Manila is showered with a deluge of offers for food, to make up for all those moments when they've craved something from home so badly, and nothing from hundreds of rows of products on sale at their neighborhood superstore could give them that taste from home they're looking for.  They will complain about this seemingly senseless practice, of being asked "have you eaten", all the time, by everyone. But it's an affectionate pesky gesture. Pesky, for sure. But affectionately so. And I am sure, on a cold and lonely day, in minus twenty weather, it would be these kinds of memories of Pinoy peskiness, that will bring them warmth from across the sea.