the cooking goddess fights for her throne

while cooking lunch today, i was reminded of a little fight (ok, not really a fight but a small argument), that i had with my mother several weeks ago when she was in my flat for a few days for her monthly medical check-up in the city.

she doesn't trust the doctors (read: albularyos or the so-called quack doctors) in her queendom, so she makes it a point to drop by my fiefdom and consult the medical practitioners  -- who got their phds in harvard and other ivy leagues -- here.

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i was famished when i reached my flat at around seven in the morning from a party that lasted through the wee hours. since the old witch was in the bathroom doing whatever it is that eighty year olds do in the privacy of that tiny room for hours, i decided to just prepare my own breakfast: fried rice, sunny side ups, and whatever was left from the previous night's dinner. i saw adobo on the table. yum!

after a few hours, when she emerged from the bathroom smelling of my kiehl's herbal shampoo and lancome soap, she shouted in horror. i was startled and nearly spilled the tiny slices of tomato on the sparklingly white floor.

what's wrong? i asked, recovering my composure. the witch was wearing my velvet bathrobe, her face shiny and new from scrubbing it with my juara rice facial cleanser. admittedly, she looked a decade or two younger than her eighty something age, which made me smile because that means when i reach her age (bad grass lives longer), i could look forward to looking ageless with glowing skin.

she pointed to the tiny slices of bloody red tomato, their seeds spilled over into the white chopping board. what's wrong with the tomato? they're still fresh, are'nt they? then she pointed to the cheese on the small plate, right beside the white rice and the eggs. what are you cooking? fried rice, i said.

then what do you need tomato and cheese for?

bewildered,  i said i am putting the tomato into the fried rice along with onions and garlic. i will saute them all with cheese.

what?! she shrieked, which i bet reached the ground floor (we're on the twenty-first floor). i was worried the guards might come up soon to find out what was going on. they might evict us for destroying the peace in the building and brand us as security threats!

you don't put tomato and cook fried rice with cheese, she continued, now about to take away the wooden ladle (sandok) that i specially ordered from mountain province from my hand. i held on to it tightly. this is my kitchen, i thought, and i am the goddess here.

why not?

you just don't, she answered. finally giving up on snatching the prized ladle from my hand. have you ever seen me cook fried rice with tomato and cheese?

have i ever seen you cook? i asked and continued cooking. this time, putting the sliced cheese on the frying pan, now spewing smokes into the air. then i threw the chopped garlic into it. a delicious scent filled the room.

what do you mean?

mother, you never cooked for us.

you are delusional, she said.

whatever!

she left the kitchen and went inside the bed room, my bed room, and slammed the door like a teen-ager who was not allowed to go out and party with her equally clueless friends.

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an hour later, while i was eating fried rice with red tomato and cooked in cheese, slices of pork adobo shimmering with fat, and four sunny side ups, i heard the bedroom door opening slowly.

then i saw her, now dressed in her new yellow sundress, her long, lush black hair well combed, her face powdered, with a little lipstick on her lips, hovering over me.

mahatma gandah, she said in a near whispered voice.

yes indira pangit?

she sat on the chair beside me.

can i share your breakfast?

only if you admit that first: you never cooked for us, even when we were kids. second, that you could put tomato and use cheese to fry the rice.

she became quiet.

ok. you don't have to, i said. putting fried rice and sunny side ups into her plate. you want coffee? i brewed some. what about milk? or juice?

no, i am fine with coffee.

i poured coffee into her mug.

we ate in silence. after a few minutes, she said: the fried rice is good. the tomato and cheese made it taste even better.

i smiled triumphantly. not because she appreciated my novel way of cooking fried rice, but because i defended successfully my fiefdom. i am still the kitchen goddess.

that's all!

have a great weekend, fairies, bitches, goddesses, queens, pa-queens and witches!!

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ps: i felt sorry frying jezebel and her ilk for lunch. at least jezebel is having a triumphant comeback on the small screen, but what about her friends -- the tilapia, pikay, gg, salmon, among others? but that's life. in the food chain, the weakest are always the ones eaten first so that the strongest will survive.

song for the day: dildo, i mean dido's white flag.