This is for the Mga Ninuno
an exploration of food, family and identity
We try to tell her to sit down and rest. She gives us this piercing look that translates to “don’t even try to tell me what to do.”
Perched in front of the sink, she begins to wash and peel the chayote. Strips of peel flay off the flesh of the vegetable and using her index finger and thumb she guides the knife to the center to remove the pit.
My Tita Di moves with an exasperated sigh from the counter bar stools toward the stove to begin prepping the meat. I slice the onions and garlic. We give each other a knowing look… Bold of us to try to stop lola.
Chopping. Whoosh of water. Sizzle of oil. Steam of vegetables. Lola’s humming.
I stand next to my aunt, looking over her shoulder as she slides the meat off the packaging into the pan and inhales the tantalizing aroma that is simply meat, garlic, onion and oil.
“This is how it’d go,” Tita Di says, peering over her glasses at me and then at the stove. “I’d be where you are. I’d be watching.”
Both Ana Cabato’s and Salvador Flor’s fathers served in the Navy for World War II and immigrated to the U.S. through the service. Like my lolo (grandfather), their fathers were stewards, also known as cooks. So it wasn’t just their moms who taught them to cook but their dads too.
“He learned to cook there. He was a good cook and my mom was a good cook too,” Cabato said.
“Lechon, pancit, siopao, kare kare, dinuguan, adobo and anything fish—fried fish,” she said with particular emphasis.
Salvador Flor recalls watching his mother cook in the kitchen, growing up in their home in National City.
“Those of us who have parents who immigrated from the Philippines, who actually cooked, benefit from watching them,” Flor said.
Cabato chimed in with her mother’s specialities as well, after Sal lists off some of the things his mother would cook or bake, like siopao.
“The biko, sweet rice and brown sugar covering,” Ana said, words tumbling out in haste. “My dad would always cut the banana leaves from the backyard; he would put it over the fire and that would be the bottom of where you put the biko.”
As they spoke of their upbringings and memories of food, I was taken back to my own childhood: plucking loquats from my lolo's trees in his backyard, kicking my heels as I sat at the kitchen counter eating arroz caldo, playing mahjong with my cousins and eating ube ice cream.
This conversation flowed with ease between Cabato and Flor as they racked through years of memories, sharing the food and moments that mattered most. It was a conversation that felt like old friends reuniting on a park bench after years. Not because they actually hadn’t seen each other in years but because the memories were the old friends making themselves acquainted again.
Cabato’s and Flor’s parents were part of regional and community clubs. The regional clubs were not derived from the regions of San Diego but the regions and religion of the Philippines. Sal’s parents who were from Biko, Bulucan were part of the Biko club. Ana’s mom was part of the Filipino Woman’s Club.
The regional clubs often also followed the Catholic religious calendar with each regional club having their own patron saint.
“I don’t think my parents participated on fiestas, but they did participate in a lot of community gatherings with the Filipino Women’s Club by providing dinner for the military during Thanksgiving time,” Cabato said. “My mom was part of the visayan circle and my dad was part of the Bulacan club.”
While they’re no longer part of these associations, Cabato is now the executive director of PASACAT, a local Philippine dance company, and Flor helped run the Filipino club on San Diego State University's campus.
My Tita Di found an old program from the Salinas Fiesta last week. My lolo was president of the Salinas Association in 1981.
He wrote in his opening remarks, "In honoring our Patron on this day, it gives us the unity of the 'Salinians' and the very wonderful and precious gifts we received through the years. I sincerely hope this Fiesta celebration becomes of value to the cause of our unity within our Community and help us to preserve meaningful tradition."
Each year, the Salinas Association crowns a young person "Miss Salinas" to represent their region and compete for the "queen" title and an opportunity to travel to the Philippines. Tita Di was Miss Salinas in 1979, but we had found the program from 1981. She was banking on being crowned queen in ‘79 and came up short.
“It was a big deal,” Tita Di recalls, no longer upset but still sharing her competitive edge. “I missed it by that much.”
She was also part of the youth association and in 1981 won a prize. You can see her rocking the 80s shorts, plaid top and ankle socks.
My dad was also part of the group. He was in the Rosario Band. They would take part in the karakol procession in honor of the patron saint.
Throughout the program you can also see the food, fiesta and advertisers: all Filipino, all wanting you to eat.
Lechon, pancit, siopao, kare kare, dinuguan, adobo and anything fish—fried fish. A child hitting a piñata at the Christmas party.
Food played a significant role in these celebrations. Tita Di recalled the Christmas parties and coronation balls and the moments after the annual procession of their saint Senora del Rosario.
“I will say, Filipino parties, like birthday parties, or even our own gatherings, especially growing up, food was an important part of my family. We’re carnivorous, right? My whole family is. Meat is an important part of our celebration,” Cabato said.
The food is usually congregated on one or two tables at family gatherings, three or four if it’s a big one. The lolas can usually be found lingering near the kitchen and the tables adjusting the foil to make sure the food stays warm. For Cabato who is now in her 60s, she understands the importance of these gatherings.
“It’s an important part, for sure, dinner with the family,” Cabato said. “It’s like a reunion now that we have so many generations.”
Flor jokes about one of his most vivid memories of eating Filipino food growing up.
“When I went back to the Philippines in ‘76, a relative told me to eat balut, which I had never eaten before,” Flor said. “So, I had to eat, I was forced to eat a balut with a San Miguel. That’s when I realized it had its own toothpick in it.”
An airy laughter comes from Ana, she covers her mouth composing herself.
“That was kind of, when you think of Filipino food, you think of what’s unique,” Flor said.
Cabato and Flor both have children of their own. Cabato said her daughter said she cooks even more Filipino food than her. Flor said it’s harder for his daughter in Virginia. But, he makes it clear: Food is the one grounding force that keeps her connected to her culture.
“She searches for Filipino restaurants in the Virginia area so as soon as they open or she hears about it, she’ll go to it just to check it out. She doesn't cook Filipino food but she definitely still likes it,” Flor said. “When you live in an area where there’s not a lot of Filipinos and all of a sudden a Filipino restaurant opens, that might be a certain amount of connection to the culture that only food would bring because that’s the only thing she has back there where she lives, the few Filipino restaurants.”
I assume I’m close in age with Sal’s daughter.
“Let the liquid disintegrate...reduce,” Tita Di murmurs to me, stirring the chayote, ground turkey, tomatoes and tofu. She’s making ginisang, or a stir fry. On the right burner, the adobo broth burbles, waiting for the vinegar, soy sauce and bay leaves to be added.
My lola now sits at the counter, having finished preparing the chayote, and watches us, like a captain ensuring her crew is ship shape.
Tita Di adds some oyster sauce to the ginisang and she pours the vinegar into the adobo pot, rushing steam and sizzle gives way to bubbling and simmering.
“I never taste test,” Tita Di tells me. She explains she’s never felt the need to.
“When I cook Filipino food, I don’t measure anything,” Tita Di says.
We swap stories and share longer conversations in front of the stove than I’ve had with her ever before in my life.
“When I’d come home from high school with my friends, your dad would cook for us or bring us a snack,” she recalls. “He liked to serve. He’d put out milk and cookies for my friends”
I smile, it’s nice to be let in on the history; it helps me better understand him in the present.
This reminds me of something Ana said to me: “I think a lot of Filipinos stewards were very compliant. Service is their thing. It made it easier for Filipinos to join the military.”
My dad tried to join the military, in fact he was tracked to join a prestigious nuclear program, defying the history of Filipino stewards. Discovering he was color blind disrupted the dream and the footsteps his father laid before him. But he still chose a career of service: the United States Postal Service.
My lola shuffles to the kitchen from her sitting position to grab the table settings. Even though her hip has been hurting her, she can’t seem to sit still. She hums as she grabs the plates. That need to serve her family shines through her too. I now know where my dad gets it from.
In Ana and Sal’s faces, I see familiar attributes with my Tita Di, father and Tito Dennis: round faces, golden skin only just beginning to show signs of wrinkles. Though, I won’t pretend they are the same as my family. I can’t make the comparison too strong and disregard the truth that we discussed in our interview: Being Filipino has to be more than looks because if you’re Filipino, you know what it’s like to have someone size you up and not figure out what you are.
Being Filipino, as I see it now, is knowing your history and knowing your food.
What you are, Ana would say, is God’s child.
What you are, Sal would say, is Filipino-American.
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