Last Sunday, the family and I celebrated my youngest sister Valerie Mayor Sotto’s birthday in her home. It was an after-party of sorts, as she had a golden bash with all the frills and the frous at the Peninsula Manila a few days earlier.
Sunday was the second day of September, and Jose Mari Chan’s soothing Christmas voice was already hogging the airwaves.
On my way to the informal buffet table in the kitchen of Val’s home, I saw a pan of freshly baked Apple Pie sitting pretty in one corner.
“Oh yummy, Apple Pie!” I shrieked. For Val and me, and probably our sisters Mae and Geraldine who are both in the US, Apple Pie isn’t just a scrumptious dessert.
It’s an edible photo album of cherished memories. Each chunk of Apple Pie tastes and smells like the happy Christmases of our childhood — when Dad drove us to school, when Mom was waiting for us at the gate when we got home. When we believed Santa Claus came from the North Pole.
Apple Pie was always a staple of our Christmas Day table (our dad Frank preferred to attend Mass on Christmas Day and wasn’t a fan of Noche Buena feasts, he slept through them).
To me, Apple Pie (which my Grandma Mary taught my mom Sonia to prepare, not just bake, when she was a young bride), represents the simplicity and innocence of our childhood and despite the fact that we have our own precious children now, Mom’s Apple Pie reminds me about the time in our lives when we were the children, the center of the adults’ universe.
Even when apples were expensive (P60 each) during the late Marcos years, Mom would serve Apple Pie at Christmas. Even just one 9-in. pan.
Frank Mayor with daughter Valerie in the ‘70s. She would grow up to be the family’s star baker and entrepreneur.
When Dad was assigned to Legazpi City and we spent Christmas there, Mom prepared several pie plates brimming with French Apple Pie. But she told us to pace ourselves. Dahan-dahan.
Then a typhoon struck that rendered the Bicol Region without electricity for weeks. The refrigerator was useless. And the silver lining? We could eat as much Apple Pie as we wanted! Morning, noon and night. Walang dahan-dahan. Walang tipid-tipid. I guess to a slot machine player, it was like gold raining on your tub. But to me it was like gold lining my tummy.
That Apple Pie abundance in what could have been a bleak Christmas spiced up our holiday. It meant more gems locked up in my vault of happy memories. Without ration.
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To this day, the smell of cinnamon, nutmeg and sugar blended with tart and juicy apples tells the story of joy. A scent, they say, is the most potent reminder of a past happy experience. I just had to walk into Valerie’s kitchen to miss Dad and remember Christmases past with the aroma of Apple Pie.
So I thought that on Val’s golden day, with Dad in heaven and my two sisters in the US, we were going to punctuate our meal with baked memories. With Apple Pie! (Val improved further on the family recipe, I dare say!)
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“Sorry, but someone has ordered that Apple Pie already,” Val said apologetically when she saw me eyeing the pie. “But we have chocolate cake, prune cake, carrot cake,” added my youngest sister, who is also an accomplished baker. (Valerie’s Kitchen may be reached at 0917-8902255.)
I tried to hide my disappointment. “Carbs,” was my lame excuse when I took only a tiny bite of the heavenly cakes sitting enticingly on the table.
It was a happy party, with cousins (Karen Parungo, Aimee Ferrer, Gillian Caballero and family friend Didit Castro) fighting for air time with stories and jokes and more memories. The revelry continued till afternoon merienda. But what happened next almost made me fall off my seat.
Val suddenly emerged from the kitchen with a plate of freshly baked Apple Pie!
As her guests were enjoying lunch, Val sneaked into her working kitchen to bake a pie of memories. Then she surprised us with it.
And with the first bite of Apple Pie, I hugged my Mom and said, “Merry Christmas.”
Truly, memories are sweet, and aren’t just made of moments by the Eiffel Tower. They’re also made of apples.
Happy birthday, dear sister! Thanks for the memories.
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Woman of service: Stalwarts of Zonta Club of Makati Ayala present their hardworking outgoing president Rita Dy, formerly with Singapore Airlines, with a unique plaque, a stunning photo of herself on a mock-up of the cover of Time. Presenting her the award are (from left) lawyer Lorna Kapunan, businesswoman Nini Licaros and award-winning graphic designer and publisher Marily Orosa.
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(You may e-mail me at joanneraeramirez@yahoo.com.)