On Typhoons and Thermidor

In 2006, my piece On Typhoons and Thermidor won a runner-up prize at the Doreen Fernandez Food Writing Awards. As a former student of Ma’am Doreen’s, it was particularly touching to me that I wrote a creative food essay that perhaps she would consider good, especially since she had to sit through a godawful three-act play I wrote under her tutelage in 1998.

Reading this New York Times piece on her brought back so many memories. So I’m putting this up in honour of her.

ON TYPHOONS AND THERMIDOR

It is always with much anticipation that I await the arrival of August, traditionally time for typhoons, when monsoon rains pound the city into submission and paint the metropolis a gloomy gray. Not too many allow themselves to see silver linings in the storm clouds; I, however, have always looked forward to cold gusts of wind and sheets of rain, as typhoons inevitably inspire my mother – soul food cook extraordinaire and possessor of warm arms that wrap oh-so-comfortably around shivering shoulders grown numb with cold – to prepare her family specialty, shrimp thermidor.

My father would joke about how it was raining cats and dogs, and how Mom should run outside and collect a couple of felines for homemade siopao, prompting my brother and me to protest his otherwise cruel trains of thought.

While the wind outside rattled our windows and rain hammered angrily against the windowpanes, Mom would gather her boys – John and me – around the kitchen table, wrap a blanket each around us, and prepare the ingredients for this heart- and body-warming dish. Dad lingered in the next room while he finished his crossword puzzle, and in the background played Sinatra, Astrud Gilberto, or Robert Goulet, the family’s having lost interest in the AM radio after the announcement that classes were suspended. Those days were most precious of all; if our family had to have soul food, this was it: hot and flavorful, with a helpful heap of memories to add that extra zing.

Shrimp thermidor is not a traditional Filipino culinary creation, but Mom always made international cuisine an adventure for our family, as most great cooks are wont to do. One can adapt thermidor to suit a variety of tastes, but the heart of the thermidor beats around seafood, usually lobster, shrimp, or prawn, cooked in a béchamel sauce, and flavored with herbs and spices, the usual selections being tarragon, white wine, shallots, and a hint of mustard. Often, the shells of the seafood are left intact – lobster and prawn shells are best – so that, upon cooking, the thermidor can be scooped back into the shells, and make for a delightfully elegant presentation. To do this, however, the thermidor must be temptingly thick, and the thicker and hotter the thermidor, the more hearty and appealing. Legend has it that the French conqueror Napoleon gave it its unusual name, after he first tasted it sometime between July 19 to August 17, during the French Revolutionary calendar‘s eleventh month, Thermidor, which was incidentally, considered the month of heat. During those cold and rainy nights, truly, my mother’s shrimp thermidor lived up to its heritage.

My mother’s version of shrimp thermidor always began with a stack of unshelled large shrimps, about half a kilo’s worth. Mom would remove them from their shells, slice off their tails, then run a knife gently along their backs so they would open – flower, really – upon cooking. Once the shrimps were ready, she would julienne an onion, then melt three-fourths of a cube of butter in a medium saucepan to gently cook the onion slivers to a very light brown. The distinct aroma of buttered onion – annoying to many, heaven to my brother and I – would fill the kitchen, and many fond memories have I of buttered carrots, corn, peas, and onions prepared on many a cold night while
studying, Mom peering over my shoulder to ensure the correctness of my answers.

As soon as the onions were soft and cooked, my mother would put the shrimps into the saucepan, and cook them until they opened, like soft pink flowers, and smelled wonderful. At that point, she would put in a can of Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup, and a canful of water, and bring all of that to a boil. By this time, the kitchen would be filled with laughter, as Dad would come into the room, having finished his puzzle, and run us around the table. Mom would scream, “Tama na, baka mabuhos ang thermidor!” and my father would tickle her incessantly. “Nicholas!” she’d scream.

The piéce de resistance was a whole block of cheese – Eden or Ques-O, my mother didn’t care for Quickmelt – diced and gently added to the mixture. Flavors consisted of light sprinklings of salt, pepper, or tarragon; on certain days, Mom would transform the thermidor into thick and flavorful chowder with the addition of potato cubes. When the shrimp thermidor was ready, my mother would serve it in a large soup bowl, for scooping over hot white rice or steaming pasta, usually colored twists, macaroni, or linguini. The four of us would sit at the dinner table, help ourselves to the piping hot thermidor, and crack jokes about how cats and dogs never really seemed to fall on rainy August days.

Bridging the gap from hope to faith

Hope (/h??p/), noun, “a feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen.”

When I was younger, I hoped a lot of things for myself. I hoped I’d have a long career in education. I hoped I’d become an award-winning or bestselling author. I hoped I’d become a successful stand-up comic. I hoped I’d become a successful YouTuber.

The dictionary tells us hope is a feeling. The thing about feelings is that they, like movie schedules or the cellulite on your thighs, are subject to change, and sometimes without prior notice. This is why it’s important to know the difference between hope and faith.

Hebrews 11:1 tells us, “now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”

When all we have is hope, our foundation is feelings, and that’s not always the most stable foundation to have. When we have faith, we have more than just feeling, we have an assurance of that for which we hope, and conviction in something that has happened yet.

The context for Hebrews 11:1–where in the previous chapter, we learned the early Christians were able to sacrifice and love others and accept the seizure of their property as part of the persecution they were experiencing–is essential to taking in the full weight of this verse. In Chapter 10, people were called to sacrificial love; in Chapter 11, we are introduced to several people whose lives showed the impact of a great faith, that is, the assurance of things hoped for.

They were able to overcome their current circumstances because they had faith–not just hope–that God would see them through. And no matter what happened, that for which they were expectant–the glory of the Father through their situation, whatever it was–would happen, either in this lifetime or the next.

Thing is, the transition from hope to faith is a journey that every person takes at his own pace. The fact that I’m older–with so much more white hair to prove it–sometimes makes me question if these hopes are still worth nurturing in my heart. Then, when I look at these hopes through the lens of faith–will it glorify God?–it becomes clear what hopes need to be nurtured and what hopes need to die to themselves.

Whatever you’re hoping for in life, I have faith that God will open your eyes to see which are worth praying for, and which need to be laid to rest. Have a great day!

#InspireEncourageCheerUp

Richard Marx, “Another One Down”

Today, I was looking at the new website of MB Logistics when my Spotify Release Radar started playing a voice I recognised from way back.

To my surprise, it was Richard Marx! He’s back! His new song “Another One Down” sounds very contemporary, but that chorus is vintage Marx, and immediately likeable! Absolutely loved this song, and any 80s or 90s kid should totally check it out!

Australian Veef is a win!

Last night, Nicola and I tried Fenn Foods‘ Australian Veef.

This is a vegan burger patty that promises great texture and heaps of umami.

Well, guess what? We were BLOWN AWAY. My twelve-year-old is a little picky with her food but she liked the idea of trying a vegan burger. I airfried the patties to reduce fat content, but the burger stayed relatively moist. The texture of the burger was pretty close to beef, but what won both of us over was the flavour of the patty. It was spot on. As I try to introduce my little girl to more vegetarian options, this one was a clear winner. Yay!

Glad for saviors

Over the past few weeks, I’ve struggled with several work-related tasks that were assigned to me because the person who’d previously done them was no longer affiliated with the company.

When assigned these tasks, the first objective obviously is to try to secure information that will help me complete this tasks. But a few of them are simply beyond my ken. Today was one such task, when a particular client requested pfx files for his SSL certificate. (Sounds Green to you? Yeah, me too.)

After several attempts to try to figure it out, I shouted for help on Facebook, and one friend helped me through it. We were able to make it happen, and I now have a method to help me replicate it should another request for it come through in the future.

I was very, very grateful for Jakob’s help, and relieved that this was yet another task I was able to knock out of the ballpark. It’s a great feeling.

What a blessing to know we have people who can come to our rescue when we need it. Fewer things remind us of how blessed we are than when friends come to our rescue in times of deep need.