RIP: Galunggong

‘You murdered Nemo!’

That was my dad's reaction when he saw the pitiful galunggong I tried to fry. That, and a judgmental, ‘Tsk tsk tsk.’

My dad is the best cook in the world, (at least in my world). Mom, a close second, with Ate Con and Ate Deb rounding up the 3rd and 4th spots. Being the bunso, I never quite acquired the talent.

My childhood was filled with food, cooks and more food. My parents then owned and ran a mid-sized carinderia that catered to hungry government employees, our place being strategically located in front of the municipal hall. That was how everyone in the family learned and mastered cooking. Everyone, that is, except me.

I’d be in jail for murder. ‘Murder’ is what we call epic failures in the kitchen, or failure of any kind. What my two Ate’s do to Jolina Magdangal songs in the videoke, I do to food.

What happened to the galunggong? Well, without me even getting the chance to taste it, it simply lost all its meat during the frying process. So what used to be ‘galunggong’ was now just brown goo. How was I supposed to know that I needed to sufficiently heat the pan before pouring in the oil?! And how was I supposed to know that I needed to sufficiently heat the oil before dumping the fish?! No one told me.

Not until Christmas 2011.

You see, last Christmas, I made the pesto chicken penne and buffalo wing above. Believe it! For New Year’s, I concocted spaghetti carbonara and baked macaroni. And they all tasted heaven! (Sworn statements from family.)

How did I do it? Simple. Google.

I Googled the recipes and zeroed in on the foolproof ones. Plus, I had one glorious discovery: cooking videos. I obsessed over those clips and watched them over and over. Whenever I chanced upon concepts that, to me, sounded like foreign rap artists, ( ‘cubed’, ‘minced’ and ‘chopped’), I Googled my way out.

My culinary efforts looked like this:

With the whole table as my canvass, and with the laptop blasting images on an adjacent desk, I chopped and watched. I minced and diced and cubed as I religiously replayed those videos. I clicked and stirred and mixed like the Martha Stewart of Quezon City.

Thank God for the Internet! Now I can redeem myself and cook for the family that for so long ensured the yummy in my tummy. Now, it's my turn to do them that favor.

Next recipe in line?

Boeuf Bourguignon

Diana Lutgarda P. Bonilla, Entry #3