I'm preparing my presentation for tomorrow's talk for the College Editor's Guild of the Philippines. Since they want me to discuss fiction in two hours as part of a workshop, I thought I'd delve into flash fiction. While searching for some of my old samples, I stumbled on this story:
"Why do you spend so much time making that? Can't you just buy it from Aling Siony?"
Carding always asks me that question each time I go through my weekly ritual. It's not so much petulance, I think, as it is concern. Boiling rice over our woodfire stove, pounding ginger, adding a dash of chocolate and pinipig.... It's a long process, molded by years of tradition.
I say nothing, though, I only smile, and Carding shuffles off to another household chore, as if to show what else I could be doing. I calmly wrap the rice in the banana leaves and put it on the clay pot.
But I know in an hour's time, when the fragrance of the sticky rice wafts through the house, his mood will mellow down. When I remove my work of art from the pot, he will be at the table waiting silently.
Then he will say: "Ah, Neneng, this brings back memories of mother you know. Aling Siony could never really get it right."
And I know it will all have been worthwhile. Suman latik, just like mother used to make.
According to my blog, I wrote it back in 2005. Somehow I can't believe I did. The words just seem so different.
"Why do you spend so much time making that? Can't you just buy it from Aling Siony?"
Carding always asks me that question each time I go through my weekly ritual. It's not so much petulance, I think, as it is concern. Boiling rice over our woodfire stove, pounding ginger, adding a dash of chocolate and pinipig.... It's a long process, molded by years of tradition.
I say nothing, though, I only smile, and Carding shuffles off to another household chore, as if to show what else I could be doing. I calmly wrap the rice in the banana leaves and put it on the clay pot.
But I know in an hour's time, when the fragrance of the sticky rice wafts through the house, his mood will mellow down. When I remove my work of art from the pot, he will be at the table waiting silently.
Then he will say: "Ah, Neneng, this brings back memories of mother you know. Aling Siony could never really get it right."
And I know it will all have been worthwhile. Suman latik, just like mother used to make.
According to my blog, I wrote it back in 2005. Somehow I can't believe I did. The words just seem so different.
Is Suman latik different from budbud?
ReplyDeleteHi, Bob,
ReplyDeleteThey're basically the same, though the presentation might be different. One suman latik I tried in Manila was flat and round, like a disk. I suppose it varies from region to region.
Nothing beats budbud kabog, though.