Missing my mom’s cooking

Months after moving out of the house, this is another thing I’m missing from back home.

When we were kids, we really grew up with our mom’s cooking, to a point that if we knew it was the househelp who cooked it, we wouldn’t eat it. Yep, another definition of “picky eater.”

I admire my mom’s cooking. Be it sinigang, caldereta or spaghetti to mongolian bowl and paella (my favorite). She even took classes to learn how to make desserts (which we were able to sell for a while) and even huge siopaos. She collects recipe books and leaflets, and even keeps can labels with recipes written on them. When she would make pastries and desserts, I was her assistant. It was from her that I learned to make no-cook/no-bake desserts.

My mom never fails to cook dishes we siblings have grown to love.

That’s why moving out of the house meant missing on a lot, even her salads.

And now that I’m pregnant and too sensitive about food, I’m craving for her home-cooked meals more.

Last night, when I went to the house, I told her I was getting tired of buying food from the Jolly Jeep outside the office. I didn’t even finish my lunch yesterday.

“Pero gusto mo nung lumpiang togue, diba?” She asked.

I told her it didn’t taste good. I wanted a real home-cooked meal.

She told me to drop by the following morning so she could give me my lunch.

I can’t wait to taste my mom’s version of chicken nuggets with mixed veggies later.

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