The night garlic, onions & tomatoes danced in our kitchen

It’s hot in the kitchen. But the more I discover my way to it, the more I get a kick out of life.

Each day, ever since I have decided to become pesca-vegetarian for one year now, I discover more and more the domesticated side of me. Lately, I have been cooking my own food in the place where I stay in the city. I enjoy the freedom I get in the kitchen. It’s hot in there, yes, but the heat gives me a certain kind of high.

Last night, while alone again in the house, my inspiration to cook spicy tuna pasta was courtesy of a couple of gigantic two-week-old tomatoes in the ref. Two more days, I thought aloud, and those tomatoes would have served their allowed shelf life. Because I had no business waiting for those tomatoes to rot and go to waste, I quickly drew the chopping board and the kitchen knife out of the cupboard. After washing the tomatoes, I sliced each into eight. I washed them again. Oops, the seeds went down the drain.

From our golden tray in the kitchen, I got two onions and a bulb of garlic. Before I thinly sliced the onions, I soaked first the garlic cloves in a bowl of water so it would be easy to peel them. (That’s one kitchen lesson I learned from my father, who, when he was still alive, was an expert kitchen magician. I learned my first few routes to the kitchen simply by watching him and my mother concoct delicious potions in our humble abode in Laguna.) Instead of crushing the garlic, I decided to cube each clove.

When the ingredients for sautéing were ready, I set them aside first. I picked a pot and boiled water for the spaghetti pasta. While it was boiling, I readied everything.

Olive oil. Check. A pinch or two of salt. Check. Half a tablespoon of sugar. Check. 200 g of tomato sauce. Check. Two pieces of siling labuyo, thinly sliced. Check. Tuna from a can. Check. Pan. Check. Wooden ladle. Check. The minute I turned on the stove was the moment I had a show in the kitchen.  

The garlic danced like dainty white ladies in a pan generously filled with olive oil. Long before they turned golden brown, I added the onions; they, too, seemed to strut in the pan. It felt good to cook because, like a conductor, I heard the musical orchestration of my characters in the kitchen. The upbeat sound continued when tomatoes entered the scene. But, perhaps because of the water that seeped into the slices of tomato, the music in the pan simmered down.

When the tomato was almost half-cooked, I put the tuna flakes. One tiny flake became so excited it jumped out of the pan and landed on my hand. Ouch! (Now I have a plump blister!) But one blister was not enough to send me packing up from the orchestra I was conducting in the kitchen. I could very well stand the heat and no way would I stay out of it.

The tomato sauce silenced the scene. When everything simmered together, I thought I heard an aria both inviting and appetizing. When my symphony players were already quiet, that was the time I added a pinch of rock salt, the siling labuyo and a speck or two of brown sugar in lieu of MSG.

By the time the sauce was cooked, the pasta, too, was already al dente. I set the table. Just for one. I got a wine glass but instead of wine because I stopped drinking in 2001 I poured cold water. I allowed Charlotte Church to regale me that moment. In the middle of the night, one happy soul was relishing on spicy tuna pasta. There was peace. I felt the bliss.

* * *

I turned pesca-vegetarian (I only eat fish, shellfish and vegetables) when for almost two months in the early part of 2010 I exhibited signs of hypertension. My normal BP of 110/70 or 120/80 became 130/100 to 140/110. In those days I would frequently see stars as my world would turn into a spinning black and white existence because of my bout with vertigo. My doctor-friend told me it was caused by post-traumatic syndrome as that time I just lost my beloved father. (My father died of stroke. He was also hypertensive.) My silent grieving was taking a toll on me so my doctor-friend advised me to relax. He also cautioned me to go on a low-salt diet. And when he found out I was a very heavy meat eater, he told me to lessen my meat intake. But I did the extremes when I just dropped meat in my diet, cold turkey. Just like that.

All my life, I lived a high-protein diet, which meant I ate all kinds of meat. I was a carnivore who knew where to eat the best steak (Highlands Steakhouse, Masimo’s and Madison), the best callos (in the house of Jamaican Consul Mike Guerrero), the best adobo, hamonado and sinigang na baboy (in our house in Gulod), the best rack of lamb (Tivoli) the best fried chicken (Jollibee and Max’s), the best Peking duck (Peking Garden), the best lengua estofada (Vargas Kitchen), the best lechon (Zubuchon) or the best lechon paksiw (in Casa Celestina).

All the best I put to rest when I consciously chose to be pesca-vegetarian. It only took me two weeks to adjust to a no-meat diet. It took another week for my BP to normalize. After a month of not eating meat, I felt light. And then I lost weight. I have never felt this good. (Of course, I recommend that one should be under the watchful eyes of a doctor before turning vegan or pesca-vegetarian.)

Clearly, the sudden extreme shift in my diet was done for health reasons. But more than that, it was because of my great love for my family that I turned pesca-vegetarian.

I am the breadwinner in my family. My responsibility includes making sure my 66-year-old mother is showered with my love and caring. And as I promised my brothers who gave up their opportunities to shine just so I would be able to go to school, I lovingly support all my six nieces and nephews with their education. I don’t say it to brag about it. I mention it to prove that when things are done with a loving heart that does not count, everything becomes a blessing, a grace from God.

When I began showing signs of hypertension, my instinct was to protect myself to be able to protect my loved ones. After all, everything that I do, every accomplishment I earn will mean nothing if it is not dedicated to my family. It is because of my love for them that I live.

So, even if it gives me blisters from time to time, I endure the heat in the kitchen. It gives me more meaning to live.

(For your new beginnings, please e-mail me at bumbaki@yahoo.com or my.new.beginnings@gmail.com. You may want to follow me on Twitter @bum_tenorio. Have blessed Sunday!)