Getting my just desserts

By Pennie Azarcon Dela Cruz, Executive Editor
Sunday Inquirer Magazine

THE THING is, I was raised to scrub the toilet. With five girls in the family and Nanay being the scourge of hired help, the household chores were evenly divided among us siblings. Ate got to cook and was soon attending night courses at a nearby public high school learning to bake cakes, make embutido from scratch and concoct commercial-type goodies. A younger sister was in charge of setting and clearing the tables; the fourth sister was the designated dishwasher, and the youngest girl was the all-around go-fer.

I don’t remember if we drew lots, or if this was payback for my incredible good looks and brilliant mind that surely must have stirred terminal envy among my other siblings, but I wound up being assigned to clean the bathroom, the toilet and kitchen floors. This was fine for my Cinderella complex for some time, but soon enough, my Bella Flores nature began to surface and I was Herr Bella to anyone who dared cross the kitchen threshold or had to use the bathroom while I was scrubbing them. I swear you could eat off my toilet floor. Why, even Adrian Monk would approve of the antiseptic gleam that my labors induced from these ghetto areas.

Things were fine — until I got married. With us living with my in-laws, I had to somehow prove myself domesticated enough to stir the pot. In my previous forays in the kitchen, I had been known to burn a hole in the ozone layer when I attempted to cook gumamela jelly in a classmate’s house in Pampanga. But being a type A personality, I immediately sought to rise above the scorch marks and tackled other fancy dishes meant to impress my in-laws. To dismal results. Fortunately, the hubby was complicit enough to help me get rid of the evidence — until his rapidly expanding belly literally became Exhibit A. Realizing that her son could only do so much for love, my mother-in-law soon planted a simplified cookbook among the dishtowels. Thus began my delicious adventures into gastronomy and my enduring affair with the Lifestyle Network’s Wolfgang Puck, Giada de Laurentiis, Nigella Lawson and oh joy, the “Iron Chef”!

So imagine my excitement when Unilever Foodsolutions invited us media folk to the launch of its new product (Aromat seasoning) by recreating the “Iron Chef” challenge, complete with a chef’s jacket and Crocs non-slip chef’s clogs. The jacket and clogs were two sizes too big, but the event itself stirred my gastric juices into a foamy broth. Real chefs for every team! A secret ingredient! A two-hour time limit! Several dishes to prepare! Judges! Rolling cameras and interviews like we’re really on TV! The only thing missing was the chairman’s somersault. Otherwise, it was “Allez, cuisine!”

With Chef Martin guiding us, we made off with all the ingredients we could cart in our market basket to turn the secret ingredient — lamb — into two appetizers and two main dishes. To my disappointment, I was assigned to fry the potatoes and chili strips. Hey, I wanted to protest, I make excellent callos and pochero, not to mention Vietnamese lumpia and sukiyaki, and my New York-style cheesecake is to die for! But I guess even that “Ratatouille” rodent started with the garbage detail, so if the chef tells you to peel potatoes, you shut up and peel. Alright then, perhaps I could plate our creations in what humorist David Sedaris describes as the very trendy skyscraper style, like the plate is prime real estate so the only way to go is up? Well, Chef Martin got to do that too.

In the end, because we didn’t win the cooking challenge, my fellow sourgraping teammates and I took to gossiping about our youngish-looking chef. “What? You’re already 26! I swear you look like a high school kid!” my seatmate exclaimed. Yeah, and I bet he wants to look older too, I said mournfully, looking at the only other teammate older than me. Talagang no justice in this world, we both grumbled, stuffing our face with the desserts that came with the Unilever lunch.

Some weeks later, as we were preparing this Sunday’s issue of the Magazine, cover guy Chef Paolo Sia confirmed what I had learned from that “Fearless Kitchen” experience: contrary to what you see on TV, being a chef is never a glamorous job. I know, I know. Two hours before a sizzling nonstick pan and I wish I had ordered out.

Sunday Inquirer Magazine’s July 6 issue dishes out more “Kitchen Confidential” stories and sizzling secrets behind the toque. Get it free with your copy of the Philippine Daily Inquirer.