The beginning of a new year is full of hope for most of us. It can be a new door to many possibilities. I consider each New Year a chance to create a better version of me. I remember looking forward to, and wishing for the good fate and fortune that I was certain 2020 would bring. I had high hopes, so many dreams, and a long list of goals I was determined to accomplish. The year 2020 marked my 48^th year in this world and according to Chinese Astrology, it was the year of the Rat, too. The Rat is the first sign from the 12 animal annual rotation, and the year 2020 was believed to be the year of new beginnings, reawakening, and renewals. And I was ready to restore, revive, and improve in all ways.

Travel was high up on our list for 2020. We were going to do a family road trip to the Grand Canyon for spring break, with many stops along the way and back, creating memories that would be etched in our minds for the rest of our lives. Max just turned 10 and we wanted to spend more time as a family while he still wants to. We figured we only have two years before he realizes that his parents are actually uncool. We also planned a visit to the Philippines in December to get Max and Bobby acquainted with my birth country and relatives. I have not been back to the Philippines in 18 years and I felt it was time to introduce the older version of me to the country I called home for so long. I am certain that both of us have changed in many ways. I only hope that our feelings for each other have not shifted.

I intended to get to know my chef team better. I scheduled an hour weekly meetings with each one of them to discuss business and personal goals, daily challenges and triumphs, needs and wants, and anything else they would want to talk over. Overseeing a dozen chefs in different locations could be a challenge. Time has often been my adversary. In 2020, I planned to defeat it.

Covid-19 impeded my 2020 plans and goals. I spent the entire year traveling only to-and-from work, home, and sometimes the grocery store. I also had to let go of half of my chef team and 95% of my employees. As if living in a pandemic world was not enough, there was also an overwhelming sense of divide in the country, racial and economic injustice magnified to its fullest, and for the first time in my 30 years here, I questioned myself if this really is the best place to be. There are moments when I find myself in a daze feeling afraid and uncertain of so many things. What is happening? Why is this happening? Is this real? Am I having a very long bad dream?

With all this mess and chaos, my luck as a Rat continued to shield me from misfortune and defeat. My family managed to survive the year in good health. We kept the roof over our heads and we if we missed a meal it was only by choice. However, the feeling of depression, loss, and emptiness remain.

As devastating, sad, and lonely the year 2020 was, it did teach me some valuable lessons.

1. Covid-19 is one scary virus and no one is untouchable. No amount of wealth can protect us from it. No designer clothing can armor us from its will. It does not see the color of our skin, nor does it care about our social or economic status. It doesn’t judge us by our looks or our smarts. We cannot outrun it because it is too quick even for the fittest among us. We can’t get away from it because it is waiting at every destination. We can’t see it. We can’t smell it. It is an invisible threat. I have to follow the rules to protect others and myself from the virus. The facemask became part of my usual getup. I could adapt to things that would have seemed ridiculous and uncomfortable to me before the pandemic.

• When there is not much to do and nowhere to go, it is best to take care of oneself and others the best way we can, with whatever resources we have.  I found the following actions to be therapeutic. Treat yourself gently and kindly. Get good sleep. Exercise. Appreciate solitude that allows you to reflect and gather your thoughts.  Cry when you feel like it. Give yourself time to cope with whatever ails it. It’s okay to feel sad because our world is not where it should be. It is okay to binge on television.  Have a candy bar. Afternoon cocktails every now and then can be medicinal. Read a book. Reach out to people and allow them to reach out to you…connection in any form is healing. Buy groceries for someone in need if you can afford it. Lend a hand from afar. I also learned to forgive the past and myself. I realized the pettiness of holding a grudge, hating, and judging. I needed to let go.

• Life goes on. No matter how happy, exciting, tragic, hopeless, and boring our existence may seem, life continues to happen. We continue to age. Kids keep growing. People move on. Time doesn’t stop for anything. Therefore, keeping my eye on the ball is imperative. I cannot lose focus. I stay traipsing the pavement. I continue to take care of my family and myself. I maintain the standards at work. I stay motivated and inspired for my team and myself because the show must go on. 

• There is always hope. Sometimes it is hard to believe, but from what I know, it is always there on the horizon. I see it when we help each other. I feel it when I hold my son and my husband. I hear it when I talk to loved ones. I am encouraged by it when I work with my team. We make it roar when we take a stand and rise up as a community.

• It is good to look forward to a new year no matter how bleak the path seems and no matter how rocky it begins. A new year will always present new opportunities to grow and improve. It gives us courage to restore what was damaged and to restart what has been halted. It is a chance for change. Change can make impossible things possible. Change springs hope.

I don’t have many personal goals for 2021. Mostly, I wish for good health for everyone and for the economy to spring back quickly. I wish for the world to be a stable, just, and safe place for us all. I wish for every young girl to know that they can dream big dreams and that it is possible to realize those dreams. I wish for anyone adrift to find their way. I will visit my mother as soon as I can. I will take my son to the movies. I will go to the farmer’s market. I will have a small gathering of close friends to break bread together and toast as soon as it is harmless to do so. I want big hugs and smiles. I look forward to going outside without a facemask. I look forward to seeing you!

We did not get to visit family for Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s Day this year. We are grateful for social media that allowed us to be together while apart. We were able to see everyone’s faces virtually. My mom and I talked recipes and prep for Christmas dinner over the phone. She gave me tips on how to make my pork shoulder roast extra crispy and I walked her through preparing and roasting prime rib. Both dinners turned out great and we were both very proud. It almost felt like we cooked together. 

I hope you feel inspired to try these two recipes even though the holidays are over. It brought me extraordinary joy knowing that my mother and I could cook and celebrate together while apart. It just proves that as deadly Corona Virus is, there are some things it cannot take away from us. The sense of family lives in our hearts. Love does not have to stop just because it’s not safe to be out. And, I promise that whatever you decide to make with the leftovers, it will be great.

Pork shoulder lechon

Serves 10 to 12

Ingredients:

1 pork shoulder, bone-in with skin on, about 8 lbs.

½ cup distilled vinegar

2 tablespoon kosher salt

1 tablespoon cracked black pepper

1 tablespoon granulated garlic powder

Instructions:

Place the pork shoulder on a roasting pan with a grill rack. With a paring knife, pierce the skin several times in different locations. Pour the vinegar all over the pork skin. Mix the salt, pepper and garlic powder in a small bowl and rub the mixture all over the pork. Place the pork in the refrigerator, uncovered for 24 hours to let it dry.

Pre-heat oven to 200 degrees. Pat the pork dry with paper towels. Do not remove salt mixture. Let the pork sit at room temperature for two hours. Roast the pork for 5 hours. Turn up the heat of the oven to 325 degrees. Roast the pork for 2 hours or until it is cooked through and the internal temperature is at 145 degrees F. Bring up the oven temperature to 425 degrees and continue to roast the pork for 30 to 45 minutes until the skin is crispy.

Remove the pork roast from the oven and let it rest for 15 minutes before slicing. Serve with vinegar dipping sauce. I usually eat lechon with steamed rice, but it is great on lettuce wrap with some pickles, too.

Dipping sauce:

1 cup distilled vinegar

2 tablespoons soy sauce

1 tablespoon minced garlic

½ yellow or red onion, finely chopped

1 teaspoon sugar

1 teaspoon cracked black pepper

1 serrano pepper, finely chopped (optional)

Combine all ingredients in a bowl and mix well.

Prime Rib Roast

Ingredients:

½ rack of beef rib roast bone-in

Thyme sprigs

Rosemary sprigs

Garlic cloves, pressed

Salt

Cracked pepper

Garlic powder

Instructions:

Cut the bones away from the roast, keeping it slightly hinged at the bottom. Your butcher can do this for you also. 

Remove the beef roast from the refrigerator 2 hours before roasting. Season the beef with salt, garlic powder, and pepper generously all over. Place the thyme, garlic, and rosemary between the bones and meat. Tie the roast with butcher twine. Let the roast to sit at room temperature for 2 hours. 

Preheat your oven to 450°F. Place the roast fat side up and rib bones down in a roasting pan. Brown the roast at a 450°F temperature in the oven for 15 minutes.

Reduce the oven temperature to 325°F. To figure out the total cooking time, allow about 11-12 minutes per pound for rare and 13-15 minutes per pound for medium rare. Roast in oven until thermometer registers 115°F for rare or 120°-130°F for medium. (The internal temperature of the roast will continue to rise after you take the roast out of the oven.) Let the roast rest for 20 to 30 minutes before slicing. Cut away all the butcher strings and remove the bones before carving.

These last few months were filled with relentless worry and fear. However, I know that some things remain certain. My little family is intact and we manage to stay positive. My son’s never-ending stories about Fortnite, my dog’s varying degrees of snoring, my husband’s love and hate for football, my in-laws’ and my mother’s love, and my sisters’ unconditional friendships are constants that no global pandemic or catastrophe can alter. Still, the absence of family gatherings, hugs, and other physical interaction with loved ones and friends, playdates, weekend outings, travel, and holiday celebrations have brought much melancholy in our lives. The trivial and the mundane now seem to be the things we miss the most.

I am lucky to still be employed, doing the same work that I love. I am currently operating a much smaller scale of the business given that only one of the 19 units I oversee have stayed open. Presently we are serving an average of 550 guests daily…quite a drop from the 7000 daily average, pre-Covid. We have a skeleton crew of five amazing chefs who happily do everything and anything needed to get the job done. Now that I only have one café and some catering to look after, and with such a small crew, I spend most of my time in the kitchen with the team. My days can start as early as 3 a.m. and can end as late as 5 pm. An average of 12-hour physical workday is no easy feat when one is almost fifty years old and running on six-hour sleep. 

During these early mornings in the kitchen while I get things set up before the crew arrives, I often think of my early days as a cook. It was twenty years ago, but some memories remain deeply etched in my brain. Like the first time I tasted a perfectly ripe heirloom tomato from the Santa Monica Farmers Market. My chef lightly seasoned the sliced tomatoes with salt and told me to eat a piece. I was blown away at how sweet, tangy, and juicy it was. I also remember seeing and tasting hen of the woods mushrooms for the first time. These wild fungi were simply roasted and seasoned with sea salt and fresh thyme. That one bite sent me into a new world of flavor. I remember feeling euphoric. As a new cook, I had to learn everything and I had to prove myself to everyone. I had to learn the kitchen lingo and learn the ins and outs of a big professional kitchen. I had to learn to fit into a crew of 80, who possessed amazing prep and cooking skills. It was quite intimidating. During that time, I was quite fortunate to have two great chefs in that kitchen. The head chef and the sous chef prepared me for the many things that came my way many years later. They prepared me to make the right call in certain tough situations. They prepared me to lead. They prepared me for now. Of course, at that time I did not realize that I was being primed for a career that only existed in my wildest dreams. 

The head chef was a woman who was as sharp as a newly honed knife, and compassionate as an aunt. She was also as tough as a mafia godfather but as loving as a mom. She was the boss but she was also one of us. She was respected, feared, and loved. She wasn’t always in the kitchen, but she showed up when it mattered. She was not perfect, but she was the perfect leader to teach us and guide us during that time. When asked how she was doing, she would respond, “always good,” a mantra that perplexed me every now and then. After all no one is always good. I did not quiet grasp it until years later when I became the leader of the brigade. Always good would be the only right disposition for a leader. It sets the tone for the kitchen. It spreads positivity. And positivity should trickle down from the top.  

She also made a point to talk to each staff member when she did her rounds in the morning. These talks were short and done in passing, but for that brief moment Chef made us feel like there was no one else more important in her world. She made eye contact, she listened, and she gave feedback. She knew me well as a person and as a cook. She saw potential in me and made sure there was a path to lead me in the right direction. She told me when I did a good job and she told me when my work was not good enough. She let me know when I let her down and she let me know when I made her proud. Those truthful conversations in the hallway and office were unforgettable. They often lifted me up, and at times crushed my soul. But those instances also taught me the most. How I organize for catering events, how I write detailed prep sheets, how I take care of my team, and how I always manage to stay two steps ahead of the game were all due to those tearful learning moments. I learned from them that it is important to know each one of my team members by name and to know something personal about them. They taught me the value of making a connection.

They offered me friendship. They were there for me when I needed to restart my life. They gave me the courage and support I needed to refocus my vision blurred by a broken heart. I regained my stance which eventually became steady and balanced. Both of them kept me busy in the kitchen, which helped heal my pain, refined my skills, and paid my bills. They both showed me the importance of building a good team. They both taught me leadership. Twenty years ago was a different time in the kitchen though. Our bonds were shatterproof and there was an infinite amount of loyalty. It was family. I am forever thankful for that feeling of belonging. 

I don’t think I have ever had other bosses like them again. Nor do I think I will ever have that kind of bond with another leader. I don’t think I’ll ever have the same alliance and allegiance. After all, I am now more the mentor than the mentee. I only hope that in the many years since I became a chef that I was able to give my employees what my mentors have given me. I hope I was able to impart some positive lessons to carry them through tough times and to keep them grounded during triumphant moments. I hope I gave them plenty of encouragement and just enough criticism to keep it balanced. I hope I was compassionate and understanding. I hope I was fair and forgiving. I hope I was honest and kind. I hope I was never too proud to apologize when I made mistakes. I hope I gave them my undivided time. I hope I thanked them enough. I hope I made them feel valued. I hope I was able to give them opportunities to grow and find their paths. I hope that the ones I disappointed and discouraged have forgiven me and used those unpleasant moments as weapons against self-doubt. I hope. 

Twenty years ago, I could have never imagined two decades in the future to be such a tragedy and still have a clear vision of what a fortunate life is. Twenty years ago, I didn’t foresee I would be in a position to influence anyone let alone be a guide to someone’s path. Twenty years ago, I couldn’t have predicted where luck and hard work would take me. Twenty years ago, I did not know I would find my humble beginnings in the kitchen to be priceless and the most important learning moments of my professional life.

This Thanksgiving, I am thankful for the training days and lessons learned in the kitchen. I am thankful for all the cuts that took too long to heal; for all the burns that scarred my skin for years; for all the blisters in my fingers; for the sore feet and back. I am thankful for the decisive moments; for the flashes of tears in the walk in and locker room; for every shot of tequila after a successful dinner shift; for every successful event and for the ones that defeated me and deflated me. I am thankful for all the mistakes; for all the new tricks; for the pats on the back; for all the bacon and walnuts I burned. I am thankful for every family meal shared; for the camaraderie; for lasting friendships; for every respect received and given; for every memorable taste; for all the long hours on the job; for the recurring work nightmares; for every proud moment; for the teamwork; and for all the jobs well done. I am grateful for my two chef mentors from the early days and for the opportunity to be a mentor to someone. 

I don’t usually do the turkey roasting in our family because my mother-in-law is quite the expert at this. However, I thought it would be fitting to post a roast turkey recipe in honor of my chefs from the old days and because I am feeling nostalgic of those times spent with them. A turkey roast is also a beautiful tribute to the many wonderful years my chefs and I cooked Thanksgiving dinners at the old folks’ home. 

This year, I hope that you get to celebrate in spirit someone who inspired you professionally. I hope you get to make a feast fit for your wants and needs during this extraordinary time. There is still much to be thankful for despite this global pandemic. We cannot let it get to our hearts. Let us all be thankful for each other and for the life ahead. Let’s keep hope afloat.

Happy Thanksgiving. 

Apple Cider-Brined Roasted Turkey

For the brine:

2 qts apple cider

4 qts water

½ cup salt

¼ cup honey

1 orange sliced

2 shallots, sliced

1 green apple sliced

5 garlic cloves, smashed

6 sprigs of fresh thyme

1 tbsp whole peppercorns

1 tbsp fennel seeds

1 12-14 lb whole fresh turkey, thawed, giblets removed. 

Combine all ingredients in a 12 qt food container or larger. Place the turkey in the brine and cover. Brine the turkey for 24 hours.

Preheat the oven at 350 degrees F.

Remove the turkey from brine. Discard the brine. Pat the turkey dry with paper towel inside the cavity and outside.

Salt and pepper

2 sticks of salted softened butter, mix with 1 tsp orange zests, chopped thyme, minced garlic, salt, and pepper

Orange slices

1 leek, sliced lengthwise, white parts only

½ green apple sliced

1 bunch fresh thyme

Garlic cloves

Place the turkey in a large roasting pan and generously salt and pepper the inside of the turkey. Loosen the breast and thigh skin of the turkey and place some of the melted butter under the skin. Butter the back of the turkey. Sprinkle salt and pepper all over the outside of the turkey. Tuck the wing tips under the body of the turkey and tie the legs together with a string.

Roast the turkey for one hour or until the skin is golden brown. Cover the turkey loosely with foil and roast for another 1.5 hours until the internal temperature reaches 165 degrees F.

Let the turkey rest for 20 minutes before slicing.

Chef tip:

Brining:

Brining gives the turkey more flavor and moisture. The simplest brine is water with salt and sugar. 

Thawing a turkey:

The best and safest way to thaw a turkey is in the refrigerator. Give 24 hours of thawing time for very five pounds. A 20-lb turkey will take 4 days to thaw out in the fridge.

For many of us, it took a global pandemic to realize that our lives are precious and that being here on this planet is a privilege. I have taken it for granted many times. I have complained about trivial and ordinary stuff. I dragged my feet to get things done. I wasted my time. I ignored opportunities to be my best self. I missed chances to lend a hand. I failed to look up and look around. I did not smile enough. I was not kind enough. I was not generous enough. I was not grateful enough. I miss the mundane. I miss being outside without a mask. I miss eating out. I miss going to the movies. I miss the noise.  I miss the people…all of them. I miss the human interaction. I miss the hugs, the handshakes, the high-fives, and even the fist bumps. I miss the gatherings. I miss it all.

Someday we will get back some of our old routines and normalcy will be in place whatever that might be. I hope that with it comes back some of the things that make us a community. I hope that we can share our lives with others without being apart. I hope we can break bread again as a group. I hope life in isolation will be a distant memory. I hope, I hope.

I am thankful, and I recognize the privilege of still being here with you with all my heart. While we cannot dine together, perhaps we can cook together in spirit. I have a few recipes of my quarantine eats that I would like to share. They are quite simple and delicious. I hope you will be inspired to cook these, and remember that, at least for now, we are together, alone.

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Pan-grilled shrimp tacos

Makes 8 tacos

Ingredients

Instructions:

Combine all ingredients in a bowl and let the shrimp marinate for 30 minutes to an hour.

Place a sauté pan over medium heat. Drain the shrimp from marinade. Once the pan is hot enough, sauté the shrimp until both sides are slightly browned or charred. It is important to do this on a very hot pan so the shrimp gets the color quickly. Do not crowd the pan. Shrimp cooks fast, maybe 1 minute on each side.

Paprika cream

   Ingredients

I took a long weekend off from work to celebrate my birthday quietly. I didn’t really have anything planned but my hope was that I would have enough time alone to relax, gather my thoughts, read, and write. My last blog entry was on Thanksgiving of 2019 and a new post is long overdue. I’ve had thoughts and ideas, but putting it on paper takes some effort…plus it also involves a bit of R&D for any food that I connect to any of my writing. I need some uninterrupted time to organize my thoughts to put it on paper.  I am also behind on my reading. Finishing a book takes so long for me these days, as I only am able to read a few pages before bed, because I start snoozing almost as soon as my head hits the pillow. The reason for dozing off is never the book…it’s always me. The affairs of the day always hit me hard at night at the exact moment I might finally pick up that book again and read.

Birthdays are strange. They can lift you up or bring you down. Mine is usually a combination of both. My birthday this year was just right. I finally succumbed to the fact that I am officially old and have decided that I am good with it. The celebrations were varied, too. 1) We had some people over last weekend and I prepared an 8-course meal for some friends and family. I wanted to cook but I didn’t want a birthday party. We invited a dozen people to commune and celebrate. 2) On my actual birthday, my husband also secured tickets to the showing of The Godfather at a theater in Westwood. The Godfather is my favorite movie of all time. We sipped on martinis and Manhattans and enjoyed some grub as the movie played. It was fantastic. 3) My husband also felt, rightly, that the celebration of my birth wouldn’t be complete if we didn’t have the spacca culatello and tomahawk pork chop from Chi Spacca, our favorite LA restaurant. So, we went there for dinner on Friday night and, as always, it was terrific. 4) I had a couple of days to myself for self-care and enjoyed some alone time. It was perfect and I am grateful for it all.

It’s amazing how fast my long weekend flew by. Today was my last day of solitude. I sat in front of my Mac, slowly typing ideas of what to write. As it frequently happens, I thought of my grandmother. She was on my mind all weekend, even more than most days. I thought of her yesterday while I cooked breakfast for the family and saw that I only had a couple of eggs left in the fridge. My grandmother always had eggs at her house. Eggs were a staple in her kitchen, and those eggs fed many hungry grandchildren. Now, at almost five decades old, eggs are also a staple in my kitchen. It is a quick, simple, and delicious go-to for me when I am not particularly inspired to do too much cooking. We always have eggs.

A story as I’ve been told many times was that my maternal grandparents took me home from the hospital when I was born. My parents were so young. My mom was only 19 years old. She was still in college when she had me, and my parents either lived with my dad’s parents, my mom’s parents, or in an apartment in Manila they rented with cousins when they were in school. I can’t imagine how difficult it would be for them to have a toddler (My older sister, Melinda) AND a newborn in that apartment with three other roommates. 

My grandparents watched me while my mom continued going to school. My older sister spent her days mostly with my paternal grandparents. Growing up, she and I were not always under the same roof, and we looked forward to the weekends, when we could spend time with each other. There were times when we only met in school during the week. She was two years ahead of me in school. She would find me in my classroom before the bell rang to give me my lunch money sent by my mom. It was a good setup, but unconventional for sure. My sister and I didn’t mind it. Our grandparents loved us very much, and she and I didn’t miss out on anything. We were given all the attention we needed and more. We went to private schools. We were fed and clothed. We were consoled when our hearts were broken. We were encouraged when we were down. We were taught to be kind and generous. We were taught to take care of ourselves. We were shown how to be independent. We learned the value of family.

As I contemplate the life cards I’ve been dealt, I can’t help but feel lucky to be able to celebrate another year of my life and to be where I am right now. I think that I’ve always had the mentality that I have plenty of time left to do the things I want to do. The reality is that age and time are not linked. I shouldn’t put things off. Not because I am going to die tomorrow, but because time is precious and life goes fast. I am certain that I thought my grandma would see me as an adult with a family of my own. She was only 62 years old when she died and I was only 12. It was sudden and it was heartbreaking. She would have been 98 years old this month. Had I known that I would only have her for the first 12 years of my life, I would have memorized every line on her face and remembered every word she said by heart. I would have been more thoughtful. I would have shown more appreciation for her love and care. I would have spent more time with her.  I would have cherished every hug and would have held on tighter and longer. I would have told her every day how much I loved her and how grateful I was that she was my grandmother. 

“Nostalgia is one hell of a drug,” wrote the latest author I am currently reading. I have these bits and pieces of memories from my childhood that might have been nothing back then, but have become quite meaningful to me now. They are a source of strength and humility. These memories inspire me in many ways, and continue to teach me.  Thirty-six years after her death, my grandmother still dominates the memories of my past. She made a huge impact on my life in such a short time. 

She was also my first culinary mentor. She was a terrific cook and a great planner. I wasn’t the only one who was raised by my grandmother. At any given time, on any given day, there could be a dozen hungry grandchildren and adults needing to be fed at her house. I remember multiple trips to the market in one single day because she had so many mouths to feed, and everything she made was served fresh. She would buy fish and shrimp, still swimming in their bags. She brought home freshly harvested vegetables that were so plump and bright, I can still picture them today.  She’d pick up unpasteurized eggs that were carefully packaged in hay. 

At the time, these market trips seemed like a chore, but the memory is a gift. 

Feeding many people takes skills. My grandmother could stretch her ingredients like nobody I’ve met since. While the meats and seafood were scarce, she could get incredibly creative with rice, vegetables, and especially eggs. She would julienne a ton of sweet onions and sweat them in oil until they were tender and fragrant. Then she would mix in a bowl of beaten eggs and scramble the two ingredients and season it with salt. The dish is simply eggs and onion scramble, but it always appeared to be more onion than egg. She would serve this over hot steamed rice or on a hot roll called “pan de sal.” With this onion trick she would be able to feed all of us before school, or on a Saturday morning, or anytime everyone happened to be at her house. She didn’t fool my uncles though. They knew exactly what she was doing with the onions and eggs, and they complained about the unbalanced ratio of ingredients. But for me, with an untrained palate, an empty stomach, and adoring eyes, my grandmother created a meal fit for a sultan. I was happy to have a full belly, but mostly I was happy that she was there.

I make this egg dish often, but I purposely made it yesterday as an additional birthday treat. It made me feel like I was celebrating with my grandmother. I call it “Economy Eggs,” although my version is far from economical. With the addition of goat cheese, I get my memories…and a delicious breakfast. My husband loves it, too, though my son hasn’t quite developed the taste for eggs and onions that I had at his age. It makes me feel good when I cook this dish, because it reminds me of her influence, even all these years later.

Another egg dish that I learned from my grandmother is a picadillo omelet called Torta. It is one of our favorite egg dishes at home and we often eat it for dinner, too. This dish is traditionally made with ground pork. My recipe uses ground turkey. It is delicious either way. 

In honor of my grandmother who undoubtedly loved me for who I was as a child and would still have loved me for who I am now as an adult, and because it’s women’s history month, I would like to share with you my recipe for Torta, inspired by my grandmother. I also want to express my gratitude to my mother and my mother-in-law for being such wonderful grandmothers to my son, Max. I know that they love him very much. I think Max and I are both lucky in this way.

Whether you make “Economy Eggs” or Torta at home, know that they taste even better when you eat it with someone who inspires you and loves you unconditionally. 

Bon Appetit!

Ground Turkey Picadillo Torta

Serves 1 or 4

1 pound ground turkey

1 tablespoon grape seed or canola oil

1.5 cups finely diced potatoes

1 cup finely diced yellow onions

2 cloves of garlic, minced

½ cup finely diced red bell peppers

½ cup finely diced green bell peppers

6 large eggs, beaten well

Salt and pepper to taste

In a large skillet over medium heat, cook the ground turkey. Once the turkey is completely cooked remove it from heat and drain the excess liquid. Place the skillet back on the stove over medium heat and add the oil. Add the potatoes in the skillet and cook until tender. Add the onions and garlic and cook until tender and fragrant. Add the bell peppers and cook for about 4 minutes until tender. Add the ground turkey and sauté for 3 minutes. Season the mixture with salt and pepper. Remove the picadillo from heat and split into three portions.

Using a non-stick pan, over medium heat, place a tsp. of oil. Add a third of the picadillo on the pan and spread it on the surface of the pan. Pour in two beaten eggs all over the mixture, covering the picadillo with the egg. Let the bottom of the omelet brown a little, then flip it over to brown the other side. Do this same process for the remaining turkey mixture.

You can add cheese if you desire. I like it just as it is over steamed rice or with a salad. 

Ground Turkey Torta with Mixed Greens Salad

Someone told me a couple of weeks ago that we only had six weeks left in this decade. I feel like time is on a bullet train these days. Sure, the year is almost over, but to hear that another decade is about to end is almost unfathomable. I have to admit that the information was hard to take in. I was consumed with mixed emotions. Ten years sounds like such a long time, but it just flew by!

What did I do in the last ten years? Did I reach my goals? Did I grow up? Did I learn my lessons? Am I a better person? Did I give enough? Did I love enough? Was I grateful enough? Did I end up where my not-yet-40-year-old self dreamt she would be?

Ten years ago at this time, I was six months pregnant with my one and only child, Max. It was a happy time, but I was quite uncomfortable, and did not find any moment of pregnancy during my second trimester to be beautiful, charming, or graceful. I’m 100% certain that I never had the “glow” that pregnant women are promised. Any glow I had came from sweat, and being in a kitchen made it worse. I was tired a lot. I didn’t feel like myself.

I think Max knew that I was not having a fantastic time being pregnant, because he decided to come six weeks ahead of schedule. While Max came early, he certainly didn’t arrive quickly. I labored for 13 long hours until my doctor decided that I would have to deliver by C-section. When Max finally arrived, he was beautiful, and made every pain, discomfort, all the crankiness, and the many doubts in my mind disappear the moment I met him. As soon as I held him for the first time, I knew my life had changed for the better. I also knew my life would never be the same again. I did not know that I could love someone so much my heart could burst. I felt lucky and was very grateful.

The year 2019 is also a special milestone for my family. This October, my sisters and I celebrated our 30^th year in America. We arrived on a cold, rainy night in Charlotte, North Carolina, at Douglas International Airport on October 6, 1989. My mother had migrated two years before us to get her life situated before bringing us over. It was an emotional moment seeing my mom after two years. It was an emotional moment to step on a different land and to leave behind the only home we knew. 

We learned quickly, however, that home is a mindset. Wherever I was, as long as it was with family, was my home. 

Leaving the Philippines was not easy for my sisters and me. Looking back at my teenage self, I probably did not want to move here. I probably did not want to leave my friends. I am certain I did not want to leave my boyfriend behind. Somehow, though, my mother knew that a life in the United States was best for us. My mom was only 37 years old, and was told by many friends and relatives that she was making a mistake relocating all of us. She followed her heart and her gut. She was determined. I am grateful for my mother’s courage, smarts, and grit. I am thankful that my mother believed in change. I cannot imagine what my life would have been had she not decided to reroute her life. I certainly would not have met my husband and had my Max.

All actions have consequences. My mom’s big decision to move to the United States led to the life that I have now. Like some/many/most (/all?) people, I went through a series of bad decisions in my early adult life, and I am grateful to have had good luck. At some point (and much later than most people I know) I decided to grow up. That good luck, coupled with my instincts, and the determination I learned from my mother, have been my constant redeemers.

I am still frequently stunned that I have the job I have. Being a chef in Los Angeles is a dream come true, but being a chef for Bon Appétit brings this dream to another level. Being the Executive Chef at the studios brings this dream to a height that is sometimes surreal. How lucky am I to be here, right now, with all these opportunities, with all these people? I am quite fortunate and lucky to even recognize how fortunate and lucky I’ve been.

As I continue to grow up with my husband, we decided to invest in our first home last year. For us, making a decision to purchase a home meant leaving our apartment in West Hollywood (where we’d lived since we were married), and moving to an area where our money could go further. I was sad to leave the city but it was the right thing to do. We needed a bigger place for our family, and it was time. We found a home we all loved and jumped right in. 

Every now and then when I am cooking in our kitchen, I look at the pots and pans hanging from the rack above my beautiful sinks and I feel overwhelmed. I can’t believe I own a beautiful home. I can’t believe I have a beautiful rack dedicated to hanging beautiful pots and pans. I can’t believe I have my own beautiful kitchen! To many that may seem silly, but I never dreamed I would be a homeowner, nor did I foresee that I would have a beautiful family with whom to share it. Owning a home isn’t the essence of this house, it’s the love we have. Home is where the heart is, and my heart is full of thanks.

This Thanksgiving (and every day) I am thankful for many things…for the small and the grand, for the good and the bad, for every decision made, for every opportunity and challenges, for every smile given and received, for every human interaction, for every advice offered and used, for every mistake, for all the steps taken and restful days, for all the jobs done, for all the truthful moments, for all the kindness bestowed and welcomed, for all the dollars saved and spent, for all the butter I ate, for keeping bacon in my life, for all the breads I couldn’t resist, for lessons learned, for trusting my gut, for the tears and all the laughs, for the opportunity to love, for the heartaches, for every moment to be here, and for YOU.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

I was planning to share some simple side dish recipes for this post, but I think most of you are probably set with your holiday menus. This week I was lucky enough to be able to spend some time with my Mother and sisters in Stockton. On my last night with the family, I cooked a traditional Filipino soup called Nilaga. It is an oxtail soup with vegetables, similar to the Hispanic dish Caldo de Res. 

We are a bunch of talkers. My family never shuts up…until the moment some good food is served at the dining table. This time, my Nilaga did the talking. For a few minutes, the sounds of slurping communicated all we needed to say.

Please enjoy this Nilaga recipe with people who are constantly judging you but love you unconditionally for who you are.

Nilaga (Oxtail and Vegetable Soup)

Serves 8

4 lbs of oxtail, cut into 2” to 3” inch pieces

2 tablespoons of olive oil

Salt

Pepper

1 quart beef broth or stock

1 medium onion, cut in large dice

3 large russet or Yukon potatoes, peeled and quartered

2 carrots, peeled and cut into 1 inch pieces

3 celery stalk, large diced

½ green cabbage, cut into thin wedges

8 baby bok choy, quartered lengthwise, washed thoroughly

In a large sauté pan, heat up olive oil. Season the oxtail liberally with salt and pepper. Brown all sides of the oxtail then transfer into a braising pan or slow cooker. Sauté 1/3 of the onion, carrots and celery in the pan that was used with the oxtail. Add the sautéed vegetables on the oxtail. Pour the beef broth over the browned oxtails, cover. The oxtails have to be covered with broth. Cook the oxtails in a 350-degree oven for about 4 hours or until fork tender. If using a slow cooker, turn the setting to high andcook for 6 hours. Skim the fat from the top.

Once the oxtail is tender, remove from the broth. Place the broth in a Soup/stock pot and add the potatoes, cook until tender. Then add the carrots, celery, and onions. Add the cabbage bok choy and cook just until tender. Add the oxtail to the vegetables. Season with salt and pepper. Serve hot.

Nilaga can be eaten on its own but commonly eaten by Filipinos with steamed jasmine rice. You can also replace the oxtail with bone in chicken, but cooking time will vary as the chicken will cook faster.

Bon Appetit!

Chef Tip:

1. Never refuse a chance to share a meal with someone you care about and love. Be kind. We don’t have as much time in this world as we think. The moment is now.

2. Use leftover turkey carcass for making broth. Place the bones in a stockpot, add water, onions, celery,and carrots and simmer for 1.5 hours. Strain the liquid and discard the turkey bones andvegetables. Cool down the broth. The broth is perfect for soups or sauces. The broth is good in the refrigerator for 3 days and can be frozen in a freezer-safe food container for up to 3 months.

For the last four years, my son has been spending part of the summer vacation at my mother’s place in NorCal. It started when he was five years old for just one week. Each year since, he has asked me if I would allow him to stay at grandma’s house a little longer. I pretty much grew up at my grandparents’ house, and spent my childhood summers with plenty of outdoor activities with all my cousins. Many great memories came from those times, and those memories have kept me somewhat close to my relatives, even though we live thousands of miles apart now, and have not seen each other in over 15 years. Those times were precious. They ingrained the importance of family in me, and I learned generosity and loyalty. My cousins and I were a united troop and always had each other’s backs. We were so close in age that no one ever felt left out. Bullies never came our way when we were kids. If somebody bullied one of us, then that bully would have had to face eight defenders, ready to charge.

My summers were very different from my son’s. Summer camps were unheard of when I was a child in the Philippines. Summers were spent at home with very little supervision. Our babysitters were the acres of land my grandparents owned. The advanced electronics available in the current market were non-existent back then, but even if they were around, my parents could not afford them. When Atari first came out, only a few of my schoolmates had it, and I was only able to play with it when I was invited to their homes. Therefore, I spent much of my childhood outside, running around, riding bikes, and just playing.  It is unfathomable to my son that I survived without cellular phones, internet, and cable TV when I was young. A question that comes up frequently (which makes me feel almost as old as fire), “what was life like without a cell phone or video games?” The answers are always the same: life was fine, we managed to have fun, and you do not usually miss things you do not have in the first place. 

Still, my handsome little boy cannot believe that my childhood was exciting without these gadgets. And I think he feels a bit sorry for me.

All my grandparents were quite special. There was unlimited love, care, and attention from them. My sister, my cousins, and I always felt free and safe at their house. For some unknown reason, at my grandparents’ house the food tasted better and the beds felt warmer. As I remember it, we had the best time. We would split twin popsicles, sucked on sugar cane sticks, and shared halo-halo (a shaved ice dessert with milk and fruit toppings). We gorged ourselves on unlimited amounts of ripe mangoes from the backyard. It was simple, but grand. The love we received from our grandparents was priceless. No modern electronics could ever replace that. 

It’s funny how time and memory are both long and short. I remember those summers of my childhood as one long, hazy, wonderful time; memories all bunched up together in a single timespan. As good as it was, though, there were plenty of sad times. Sure, there were the bumps, bruises, and broken hearts that come with youth, but I believe that the bright moments outshine the dark. As much as those summers felt endless, it also was over so quickly. We all grew up too fast.

My grandparents left this earth many years ago. The familial relationships could have easily ended with their leaving, but those shared summer experiences wove a strong cord that seems to stretch, but never breaks. My sisters, cousins, and I are likely forever bound because of our time shared at my grandparents’ house.

This summer Max is spending four weeks at my mother’s house, where my two nieces close to his age also spend most of their time. My mom (now also a grandmother) keeps a house that is very much like my grandparents’ home when we were kids. There is lots of playtime and very few rules. Love and attention never seem to run out. The kids play a lot. They fight, too. Mostly, though, they are building good memories and relationships that, with any luck, will withstand good and sad times of adulthood. I hope these memories keep them grounded and close. 

When I dropped off my son to my mother’s place a few weeks ago, I had imagined all the benefits of this setup. It is good for Max to build strong bonds with his cousins and grandma. It also helps us out financially, since a visit to grandma’s is less expensive than summer camp. I also have a very flexible schedule at work while he is away. Having to rush out of the office to meet the 6 p.m. pick up time can be stressful at times. Plus, some alone time. Solitude. How I miss solitude…

What I did not know was that weeks of silence at home could be deafening on some days. I definitely miss the noise of a nine-year old boy playing and chattering on about video games I do not quite understand or care to learn. I miss his mess. I even miss the occasional whining. For me, no amount of 30 Rock or Veep reruns on the couch with my husband could compensate for the void left by Max’s absence. But perhaps even more importantly, I miss the feeling of being needed. I miss being bothered for every little thing a little boy needs. I guess I just miss him.

Last weekend, I prepared a dish that Max and I usually make together at home. Just like any young kid, he loves chicken tenders. I am proud to say that our homemade breaded chicken is the best we have ever had because of one special ingredient: us. This recipe is fantastic for kids, the young-at-heart, and even real grown-ups. I hope that you get to make and eat this dish with someone who needs you and brings the good kind of chaos to your life. 

Happy cooking and happier eating!

Breaded Chicken Tenders

Serves 2 to 4 

1 lb. fresh chicken breast tenders or breast                                            

2 whole eggs, beaten

1 cup AP flour-seasoned with salt and cracked black pepper

2 cups panko breadcrumbs, seasoned with salt and cracked black pepper

½ cup grapeseed or canola oil

1 lemon cut into wedges

Place chicken tenders flat in a gallon storage bag, place the bag flat on a cutting board, making sure that the tenders are not overlapping. Using a meat mallet, lightly pound the tenders until about ¼ inch thin. If using breasts, cut each breast into three strips and use the same pounding process.

Place the seasoned AP flour in a medium bowl. Place the beaten egg in medium bowl. Place the seasoned panko breadcrumbs in another medium bowl. Roll the pounded chicken piece one by one on the seasoned flour, then dip completely into the egg, lastly, roll the chicken in the panko. Place the breaded chicken on a baking rack over a baking pan. Refrigerate the breaded chicken for 30 minutes.

Heat up the oil in a skillet over medium heat. Pan-fry the tenders, avoid over-crowding, about three minutes on each side or until golden and crisp.

Serve hot with lemon wedges.

Chef Tips:

When doing the three step breading method (flour, egg, breadcrumbs), always keep one hand clean so you can use it to grab anything you might need while doing the prep.

When pan-frying, check if oil is hot enough by dropping a few breadcrumbs in the pan, if the breadcrumbs sizzles, you are ready to drop the chicken. 

I recently had the opportunity to assist at the kitchen where I used to work. It had been three years since I set foot in that kitchen, and I simply did not want to go. I have a full plate at my own stretch of culinary zone. Besides, it would break my heart and bruise my ego too much to see how well the kitchen has managed since I left. I had this dream that the place was now in shambles. How could they have possibly succeeded without me?

I was one of several chefs in this kitchen of about 70 BOH employees. In my biased view, this kitchen was perfect: big and beautifully kept. 

During my tenure there, there were cooks who had been there for over 20 years and there were cooks who had been there for two weeks. The kitchen was diverse in every way imaginable. This was a kitchen with many female cooks and staff. This kitchen spoke English, Spanish, Mandarin, Tagalog, Laotian, Korean, Cambodian and many more. There were cooks who are career line cooks, there were professional prep cooks, there were dreamers, there were aspiring chefs, there were students, and there were “no-experience-but very passionate” cooks. You name it, this kitchen had it.

Many of the cooks in this kitchen were my teachers when I first started cooking. They taught me how to skin and fabricate a whole salmon. This is where I learned to confit, cure, smoke, brine, and season. I learned that good stocks are the foundation for rich sauces and delicious soups. I learned to make large batches of soups from scratch. I perfected my mashed potatoes in this kitchen. I learned to properly wrap and store food. This is where I learned the importance of local food and the connection between eating and the environment. I learned how to eat. I learned teamwork and humility. Without a doubt, this kitchen groomed my character as a cook, as a leader, as a person, and as a chef.

With stomach butterflies that seem to come alive inside me, I drove up the windy hill to the parking structure on a rainy Tuesday morning. I had no expectations, only a task to accomplish.

The kitchen looked as beautiful as ever. It was in order and clean. The kitchen was in its usual busy rhythm, and there was a positive hum. They had managed just fine without me!

People seemed genuinely happy to see me and I was very happy to see them. We exchanged many hugs and smiles, and I reconnected with everyone in no time. 

Four things became evident to me during these two days. 

1) This kitchen will run like a well-oiled machine, not missing a beat. That beautiful hum is no longer my own, but wonderful just the same. It is a solid kitchen with solid foundation. Anyone would be lucky to lead it. 

2) Now an outsider, I realized that the beauty of the place, works of arts, and previous bosses were not the ones that inspired me. I guess I knew it then but it is more apparent to me now that the true inspiration came from the cooks and chefs I worked with. They were my muses. They taught me to be kind and tough in the kitchen. They helped me mend my broken heart and rejoice new beginnings during that time. They were the people who fought with me through many battles, both powerful and petty. They are the ones who gave me love, and whom I loved back wholeheartedly. They are the ones I missed. They are the ones who were difficult to leave. 

3) It was not always good. It was not always perfect. Plenty of very challenging times offset the countless wonderful moments I had in that kitchen. I did not always know what to do. I did not always make the right decisions. I shared this with the new chef when she asked for some tips on how to run the place and wanted to know the secrets of my success. All I could say was that I was always grateful for the opportunity, and I always gave it my best. 

4) A couple of my old cooks were still there, still raising the bar of what great food can be. Manuel Mendoza makes the best soups anyone has ever had, and I will always crave them. Maria Gonzales was, and, I am convinced, will forever be the best line cook I will ever work with. She understands consistency, discipline, commitment, and flavor. There were many days when the only things that made very bad days bearable were Manuel’s posole and Maria’s bouillabaisse.

The drive down the hill on my last day of visit was very foggy and wet, but my vision was as clear as a summer day: I knew that I no longer fit in there. I knew that this kitchen moved on quickly once I started my new culinary journey three years ago, and I am fine with that. My long-time romance with one workplace ended, but I am now in a very promising relationship…one that I look forward to nurturing. 

I was truly happy to see Manuel, Maria, the kitchen, and the grounds. I did not realize how much I have missed them. To honor the memories, last weekend I made pork posole. No, it was not transcendent like Manuel’s, but it was just good enough to keep the delicious memories lingering for a few more days. 

Please enjoy these recipes.

Easy Pork Posole

4 servings

Ingredients:

2 tbsp. chipotle

1 tbsp. tomato paste

2 garlic cloves, smashed

1-cup water

1 lb. pork shoulder, cut into small cubes

1 tsp cumin

1 tsp salt

1 tsp cracked black pepper

2 tbsp. canola oil

½ yellow onion, finely chopped

4 cup chicken stock or chicken broth

2 tsp dried oregano

1 15-ounce hominy, drained and rinse

Process:

In a Blender, puree chipotle, tomato paste, garlic and water. Set aside.

Season pork with cumin, salt, and pepper.

Heat the canola oil in a Dutch pan or small stockpot over medium heat. Add the pork in the heated oil and brown all sides. Add the chopped onions and garlic to the pot and cook until soft. Pour in the chicken stock and chipotle sauce, bring to a low boil and simmer until the pork is tender. Add the oregano and hominy and simmer for another five minutes. Season with salt and black pepper.

Suggested Garnishes: chopped onions, cilantro leaves, shaved radish, shredded cabbage, avocado, lime, queso fresco

Maria’s Bouillabaisse

2 servings

Ingredients:

1 lbs. fresh mussels, washed thoroughly

1 lb. little neck clams, washed thoroughly

1 link chorizo sausage or andouille cooked in oven for 8 minutes or until done, allow to cool, and then slice on a ¼-inch thick bias

½ lb. shrimp, peeled and deveined

½ cup chipotle peppers, pureed

2 cups heavy cream

4 cups clam juice

¼-cup cilantro leaves

3 green onions, thinly sliced

1 orange, cut into segments/supremes

2 tbsp. olive oil

6-8 slices crostini- any day old bread will do, lightly toasted

Process:

In a large soup pot, heat the oil over medium heat. Make sure the oil is hot. Add the clams in the hot oil, cover, and cook for 2 minutes. Stir the clams with a wooden spoon to help distribute the heat. Add the mussels. Cover, and cook another two minutes. Add the shrimp and stock and cover for 4 minutes. Once the shellfish start to open, add the chorizo, chipotle, and heavy cream. Carefully stir all of the ingredients and cook for one more minute. Take off from heat and add in cilantro, scallions, and orange.

Your dish will look like it has a lot of sauce but you will want to dip that up with the crostini.