The only dish that I know how to cook prior to my being married was, umm…..nothing! My mama is a great cook but I was never interested in the cooking part: only in the eating part. My in-laws had this terrible notion that I was a superb cook. Blame the misconception on my cousin Minerva. Now, Minerva she was the cook, baker, gourmand in the Taytay side clan. Having tasted Minerva’s dishes, my in-laws thought the cooking gene was in me. Wrong-O!I was first submitted to the test one rainy-lazy-Sunday afternoon. I was asked to cook champorado or chocolate porridge. My in-laws, (father-mother-sisters-brothers-nephews-transient relatives) were all on the living room watching television.
“How much malagkit and how much dinorado?”. Huh? What are those? Oh, different kinds of rice. I nonchalantly said 50/50. This (50/50) has got to be the safest-ever proportion. If PHI is for art and architecture, 50/50 is for monetary shares, illegal transactions, division of labor, and proportion for malagkit and dinorado in champorado.
“How much do you usually put?”
“Half cup”.
“OK then. I’ll adjust the taste later”.
“What about sugar?”
While the glutinous and dinorado rice, plus the PX coco were happily cooking, I sort of hovered about the kitchen looking busy and knowledgeable. My unsuspecting in-laws, up to this time have not suspected that that afternoon was the first time I “cooked” champorado.
Lesson learned: You can just about bluff your way out of sticky situations.
Now, I still bluff my way in the kitchen.

























