Growing up, I was always surrounded by incredible cooking. My mom was the go-to chef in our small town. Any big celebration – weddings, birthdays, you name it – people would call her up, and she’d cook up a feast in exchange for a small fee and some delicious leftovers. She’d never say no! To this day, I’m convinced my mom is the best cook in the world. My dad could cook, too, though his talents were limited to one signature dish, ginataang galunggong (fish in spicy coconut milk). This was not an everyday affair; he’d only make it when there was extra cash to splurge on ingredients. Whenever he cooked it, we knew it was a big treat – extra spicy, just how he liked it, and everyone loved it.
My older siblings inherited their talents, too. As for me, the youngest, cooking skills just… skipped right over me. I loved to eat, of course! But cooking? Not interested. It wasn’t until I moved abroad that I had to figure out cooking for myself.
Thailand was my first stop, and it gave me a serious wake-up call. I thought I knew “spicy” food thanks to my dad. But Thai spicy? That’s a whole different universe! So I started cooking just to keep my taste buds safe. It was mostly for my son, who was young enough at the time to think anything I cooked was edible (or maybe he was just too polite to say otherwise!). I’d try my best to recreate Filipino dishes, though they rarely measured up to the legendary meals from my childhood.
Take adobo, for instance, one of the simplest, most foolproof dishes from the Philippines. It’s just soy sauce, vinegar, and garlic, right? But in Thailand, there were about 100 types of soy sauce, and I had no clue which one was “adobo-approved.” Let’s just say my early attempts were…not exactly inspiring. I’d blame the soy sauce and try again. Eventually, though, with enough practice (and enough taste tests from my very patient son), I figured it out and actually made good adobo! I even got brave enough to try cooking Thai food, too.
When I moved to the UAE to live with my sister, I was thrilled to share my “new skills.” I proudly served up Tom Kha Gai (a Thai coconut chicken soup) made with authentic ingredients I’d brought all the way from Thailand. But…my sister and her daughters took one taste, and I could see their polite smiles trying not to reveal the truth: it wasn’t even close to my mom’s cooking. They found my soup bland and – let’s be honest – not delicious. All my hard-earned confidence? Gone. Back to relying on my sister’s cooking and giving up my career as the next family chef.
After my sister moved back to the Philippines to care for my parents, I didn’t exactly leap into cooking. Instead, I lived with friends who happened to be fabulous cooks. My own culinary “journey” became…dormant. I mean, why mess with perfection when my friends were already cooking gourmet meals, right? My only contribution was the occasional fried egg, hotdogs, or instant noodles for my son. Those were good times, and I miss it – zero cooking stress, just endless great food!
But then, we moved to Germany, and everything changed. Eating out here? Not exactly cheap. And on top of that, my limited German made ordering even harder than cooking. Imagine trying to order a meal, but you’re not sure if you’ll get a salad or a schnitzel! So, I dusted off my old cooking skills (with emphasis on dust here) and decided it was time to start cooking again. German food, though, wasn’t quite like what I was used to. Sure, I’d worked with chilli peppers and lemongrass, but Parsley? Dill? Marjoram? Caraway seeds? Rosemary? Let’s just say that European herbs felt like a new language to learn, on top of German.
At least this time around, I had YouTube. It’s like having an army of personal chefs showing you every possible way to make a dish. That’s when I fell in love with cooking in a whole new way. Instead of making “survival food,” I started to embrace the whole process: picking a recipe, gathering ingredients, chopping, stirring, and tasting, all to the backdrop of my favourite music. In Germany, I was blessed with a fantastic kitchen – an actual oven and all the fancy tools you could imagine. My son became my official food critic, and he’d give my dishes a “10 out of 10” every time (although, he may have been a tiny bit biased in those early days).
As he got older and more adventurous with food, though, my scores started slipping. “Hmm…maybe an 8, Mom. I mean, it’s good, but…” Eventually, he wanted to start cooking himself, which I fully supported. And that’s when I knew – he was getting serious about food. Suddenly, I was the sous chef, and he was the head chef in our tiny home kitchen! Those times were priceless. Even if it stung a bit when my “10” turned into a “9,” it was worth it to watch him get excited about food and cooking. I knew he was growing up when he no longer needed a “taste test” from me but could actually teach me a trick or two in the kitchen. But to this day… for him: “I’m the best cook ever!” I still don’t think I am… well as compared to my mom.
Now, one of the things I love most about cooking is the freedom to make things exactly how I want. Take baking, for instance: I’m not big on overly sweet cakes, so now, I can make just the right level of sweetness. Learning to bake wasn’t easy (there was a lot of burnt cake along the way), but it’s become one of my favourite ways to treat myself. And cooking itself, I’ve realised, has become almost meditative for me. Spending time in the kitchen is my “me-time.” With some music playing, a warm oven, and a fresh recipe to try, I’m perfectly in the moment. Cooking has a way of centring me, helping me let go of everything else and just be.
For anyone else looking for a bit of mindfulness, I highly recommend cooking. You don’t have to be a pro; it’s more about enjoying the process, slowing down, and letting yourself focus on the ingredients in front of you. Some people find their peace in a yoga studio or on a quiet walk; for me, it’s in the kitchen, especially on weekends. Whether I’m learning to cook a new dish, experimenting with spices, or just making a simple meal, it’s a time I look forward to, where I get to enjoy each moment as it comes.
Each time I cook, I feel a little more connected to my mom’s memory, her love for cooking, and the quiet dreams she held. As I grew up, I wished one day I might see her open her own restaurant. Her dishes were loved by everyone in our hometown. She never had the chance to realise that dream before she passed away, but her love for cooking continues to inspire our family. One of my nephews has even become a chef, and perhaps someday, we’ll honour her legacy by bringing her cherished recipes to life for others to enjoy.
For now, each time I step into the kitchen, I feel a part of her world – and I know I carry her passion forward in my own way.