#( his dad taught him the art of cooking soups and stews )

[techniiciian]

matt can only cook soups and stews. every batch always turns out delicious. p l e a s e, don't ask him to cook anything else. ( he can't. )

[anounceaweek]

rice, inherited

Rice is one of the simplest and often plainest element of any meal that includes it. It is ubiquitous as a staple food in cuisines around the world. Its versatility as a grain allows it to take many forms such as: risotto in Italy, cooked richly with stock, butter and parmesan cheese; or paella in Spain, cooked aromatically and abundantly in a gigantic paellera, batches enough for a village. Rice can be found rolled in one's hands atop Tsukiji market's freshest slice of red tuna, delicately wrapped like a gift with a strip of seaweed; or slow cooked in a fragrant stock with curry and tomato as a jollof in West Africa.

In the Philippines rice is taken very, very seriously. Any Filipino gathering that fails to produce a large pot of steamed rice is considered ludicrous, even shameful. Every Filipino dish imaginable requires the accompaniment of rice, which claims about three-quarters of every plate. It is the reason why Filipino dishes, called ulam, are generally hyper savoury. The cook, as a part of his or her process, must consider how the dinuguan (a rich pork blood stew) or sinigang (a puckeringly tart tamarind soup) will stretch in a spoonful of rice. Rice not only complements Filipino dishes; it is the primary and most necessary vehicle for that sweet, salty, sour, and sometimes bitter combinations of flavours.

Along with many other Asiatic countries, Filipinos enjoy fried rice. More commonly however, is the silog, which poses as a breakfast item but is usually eaten at any time of the day. A cup of steamed rice is topped with a fried egg, yolk glistening and runny, with crunchy whites that add a layer of texture in a bite. Alongside it would either be a few pieces of longanisa (sweet cured sausage), tocino (sweet cured pork), bangus (fried milkfish) or the most popular tapsi (cured beef with onions). In times of celebration, huge mounds of rice are placed atop a long table lined with banana leaf, sprinkled with an array of fried and grilled items and fruit in a military style of eating called a boodle fight. Rice is often marketed as a selling point for restaurants such as Mang Inasal, a chain that famously offers unli-rice—a deal that means exactly what it advertises—with their signature skewered charred chicken leg. The low price of rice in any establishment is considered an excellent value, particularly among Filipino families or friends dining out, which are often larger in number, and even more than often, larger in appetites. 

History has found that any indigent Filipino household can survive for months, even years on end, so long as there is rice. Due to its low price and its presence in any corner store of any small, obscure barangay in the Philippines, it is a godsend for any underprivileged home. For only twenty-seven pesos (less than $1 CAD), one can feed a family of four: perhaps accompanied by a can of sardines cold or warmed, fried corned beef with a generous amount of onions, or if available, canned SPAM thickly sliced and fried with sunny-side eggs. Filling up a hungry stomach more than any other dish, it can even be eaten with a simple seasoning of just soy sauce, or patis, for those who are truly in a pinch. 

Anyone that calls themselves a Filipino shows genuine love and care through the act of scooping a disproportionate amount of rice on a plate for a guest, a family member, or even the odd stranger that walks through the front door. My family is not exempt in this deeply cultural sentiment with rice. I knew how to eat rice like I knew how to walk: with a fork and a spoon, or my preferred method, with my bare hands. Four fingers scoop the rice and ulam while the thumb pushes the contents into a hungry mouth. My mom and dad and their parents before them were raised on rice and the abundance of it, much as as they have raised me. Rice is so pervasive with my family, it would even be eaten with items that aren't traditionally paired with rice, such as sweet Filipino spaghetti.

My lolo, in his seventy-two years of life, was exceptionally adept at ensuring that the rice cooker was always full. Keeper of rice twenty-four seven, he would often fry what little is left in a pot in order to swiftly replace it with a full steaming pot. My lolo taught my mom that the best part of the rice is found at the bottom of the pot, called the tutong. Encrusted and dried out due to the high heat, and yet still stuck to the soft sticky bit of regular rice, it adds another dimension of texture as well as a toasted flavour when it is eaten with a stewy or savoury ulam. His fried rice hails mighty as the fried rice in the household of twelve. Maintaining the perfect balance of garlic fried to the extent of just before burnt, eggs, soy sauce and patis, and without leaving a greasy residue on the lips; it is the fried rice of everyone's dreams. He has perfected the art of rice so well that after his sudden death in February of 2019, my younger cousin Vincent who grew up watching him cook every single day was pestered on end to reveal the secret of Kaka's fried rice—a secret even I am not and may never be privy of. 

Kaka's fried rice carries on in its legacy for fifteen pesos today in Vincent's binalot stand in Imus, named much after himself: The Big Boy's Kitchen. Silogs are served in banana leaf, wrapped like a present for lunch or merienda (a snack, and indeed, Filipinos have rather large snacks). Its compact and portable nature helped the business flourish during the pandemic with the binalot as a very viable takeout food item. As a small and inconspicuous stand it is now a local favourite, where many return for the value and flavour. Rice, once and still is a main source of subsistence, now provides for subsistence. 

The meaning of rice on the dining table is not dissimilar across families, or even nations. Rice is loved ones gathering. Rice is comfort and warmth. Rice is survival to some, and a celebration of abundance to others. Rice achieves the dual sentiment of transcending boundaries of difference while converging on our similitude as social beings. Yes, rice may be common, and there may not be much to say about rice that has not been said before. But it is often in the particulars rather than the universals that one might find a novel way of perceiving what is overlooked; and that which is overlooked tends to be what is most missed when it is no longer there.