To the kitchen she has returned. And the happiness on her face is indelible. Magical, even.
With the ladle as her magic wand and the pan as the vessel of her potions, Candida, 78, is at it again, creating sumptuous dishes in our kitchen at home. The kitchen is her favorite spot. It is her wonderland. It is where she feels more relevant in the lives of her loved ones.
After two months of convalescing from her angioplasty, she is now back on her feet. And before she underwent her heart procedure in May, she raised her kitchen concern to the doctors.
“Pagkatapos ho ba ng operasyon ay makakapagluto pa ako (Can I still cook after the procedure)?” she asked her doctors. Her only question. Her only concern. She did not ask if the angioplasty was painful or how long it would take. She knew in her heart that she would survive the procedure but she wanted to be assured that she could still cook after she had recovered. In her kitchen. In her happy place.
Only when she was promised that she could still perform her magic in the kitchen after two months of rest did she fully smile and look forward to her procedure.
Truth is, because of the massive blockages in my mother’s heart arteries, the doctors broached the idea of open-heart surgery for better results. But my mother knew what she wanted and what her body could take and tolerate.
We had a family meeting and Nanay said, because she could still very well decide for herself, she was opting for an angioplasty over bypass. “Kung anuman ang mangyari sa akin, kargo ko. Hindi kayo. Walang sisisihin (Whatever happens to me is my own decision, not yours. You will not be blamed for my decision),” she told her children in a teleconference.
“Hindi ko ho maipapangakong lalabanan ko ang bypass (I cannot promise that I will fight out the bypass operation),” she told her doctors, giving her final decision for the angioplasty. “Mahina na ang katawan ko. Pero ang angioplasty, kaya kong labanan. Uuwi akong buhay (My body is already weak. But the angioplasty, I can fight it out. I will go home alive),” she said.
And on the day of her procedure, we had a sendoff for her. All her five boys were present outside the operating room. Nanay was obviously weak from her already two-week confinement by the time of her procedure but her spirit was upbeat. (She stayed in the hospital for 19 days.) She was clutching onto her small image of St. Clare.
She told us she was singing in her head “Padre Nuestro, Nazareno” while she was still half-awake at the beginning of her procedure — the lyrics of which she memorized because she would always attend the online Sunday Mass in Quiapo during the strict two years of the pandemic. Even before she was brought to the OR, she already was at peace because she had said her prayers: “O, Diyos ko na kahit kalian ay hindi ko nakita, naniniwala ako sa Inyo at naniniwala akong ililigtas Ninyo po ako. Pumasok Kayo sa katawan ko at ituro sa mga duktor kung ano ang dapat nilang gamutin, ang dapat nilang makita. Salamat po (Oh, Lord, whom I did not see even once, I believe in You and I believe You will protect me. Please enter my body and lead the doctors to see what they should treat in my body. Thank you).”
Before she was wheeled in to the operating room, she reminded us: “Siguraduhin ninyong malutong ‘yung tulingan. At mainit yung kanin. At may isang pisngi ng hinog na mangga. Iyon ang gusto kong kainin pagkatapos ng operasyon (Make sure the fried fish is crisp. And the rice is hot. I also like a cheek of ripe mango. That’s my meal after my procedure).”
She got her wish — and ate it with gusto.
That’s classic Candida. She knows her battles well. She knows she will survive. Like how she survived poverty when she was in her prime.
At home, in her kitchen, she is a picture of bliss. Her silent happiness can’t be contained. She’s getting there — steady, sturdy steps, no more cane; strong arms that can hold the broomstick and sweep the yard of fallen leaves. When she turns the stove, the ignition is the ignition of her soul, warm, fierce yet delicate fire. When she dices, minces or chops her ingredients — say in tochong bangus, a soupy fish dish with tahure or fermented soybean curd, which was the first dish she cooked when finally she gained the full strength to lord it over again in the kitchen — there’s rhapsody in her movement. There’s melody in her voice. There’s excitement, palpable excitement, when she holds the kitchen knife; even the ginger, the first ingredient she tossed to sauté in the pan, seemed to have its own life and was happy to be part of my mother’s rekindled joy in cooking tochong bangus. The two pieces of tahure, an important ingredient to season her tochong bangus, didn’t seem to complain as Candida mashed them in her clean hands, her revivified strength slipping away from the sleeves of her colorful duster.
The kitchen is her haven, a paradise to her cooking savvy that knows no measurement. It’s called tancha-tancha when she just knows if the salt, fish sauce, soy sauce or sugar is too much or too little by her gut feel. Like how much pineapple juice should go to the hamonado she cooked last weekend so the juice would complement the bite-size meat and finely chopped pork liver. (By the way, my brothers and I know that our mother is back in her kitchen-goddess element because her hamonado is exactly how we truly want it — fork tender, the sliver of fat slightly holding on to the meat, ready to break away. The taste of pickled relish is just a hint, not overpowering. And the sauce, sauce-maryosep, is already a meal when mixed with piping hot rice. And we know it was Nanay’s original hamonado recipe because no matter how many times we reheat it, the sumptuous, savory taste does not change. Just like her steadfastness, her love for her children and grandchildren will never change.
Candida is back in the kitchen. And the joy in her heart is as open as the sky.