March 5, 2013 | Of Filipino Delicacies, Family Errands, and the Curious Case of the Missing Change

I am beginning to suspect that the human stomach has a rather selective understanding of the word enough. It can announce, with considerable authority, that it has reached its maximum capacity, only to reconsider the entire matter upon encountering a familiar restaurant. Apparently, fullness is negotiable when the menu is sufficiently persuasive. I have observed this phenomenon in myself on several occasions, but today deserves particular recognition. If gluttony were an Olympic event, I suspect I would have returned home with a medal, a certificate of participation, and perhaps a complimentary dessert.

My afternoon began innocently enough at around two o’clock, with puto and bibingka. Two perfectly respectable Filipino delicacies that have never personally offended me, unless we count their remarkable ability to encourage second servings. There is something wonderfully comforting about these familiar treats. Puto, with its soft, delicate texture, and bibingka, with its distinctive rice-cake flavour, remind me that Filipino food does not always need an elaborate presentation to be irresistible. Sometimes all it takes is something familiar, freshly prepared, and sufficiently delicious to make a person temporarily forget that moderation is generally considered a virtue.

I ate happily, believing that this would be the principal culinary event of my afternoon. A reasonable assumption, considering that I had already eaten. But as I would soon discover, my appetite had apparently made arrangements without consulting the rest of me.

Later that day, I accompanied my lola and two aunts to the city because we needed to open a bank account at Metrobank. It was the sort of family errand that sounds perfectly ordinary when mentioned in conversation. There would be a trip into town, some paperwork, and whatever other little responsibilities needed attending to while we were already out. Nothing particularly adventurous. Certainly nothing that suggested I would eventually return home questioning the structural limitations of my stomach.

I have always found outings with family rather interesting because they rarely proceed according to the modest plans announced at the beginning. You leave home intending to accomplish one specific task, but somehow the journey develops additional objectives. Somebody remembers something that needs purchasing. Another person suggests stopping somewhere. Before long, what was supposed to be a simple errand has transformed into a respectable little expedition.

And, as is frequently the case in Filipino family outings, food eventually enters the discussion.

After our banking errand, we decided to drop by Jollibee.

Ah, Jollibee. That cheerful red bee has an extraordinary ability to interfere with even the most sensible intentions. There are restaurants one visits because one is genuinely hungry, and then there is Jollibee, which seems to operate according to an entirely different set of biological principles. Hunger is apparently optional. The mere suggestion of stopping there is often enough to awaken an appetite that, only moments earlier, had declared itself completely satisfied.

I had already eaten puto and bibingka, remember?

My stomach apparently did not.

And so there I was, enjoying another round of food as though the earlier meal had been nothing more than a preliminary exercise. I would like to offer a sophisticated explanation involving the psychology of appetite or the influence of familiar Filipino flavours, but I suspect the truth is considerably simpler.

Lami man gud!

There is something about eating with family that makes ordinary food taste a little better. Perhaps it is the conversation, the pleasure of sitting together, or the comfortable familiarity of being surrounded by people who have known you long enough to recognise your habits. My lola and aunts were with me, and our afternoon had become one of those spontaneous family outings that rarely appear significant while they are happening.

Of course, by the time we finished eating, I was experiencing the unmistakable consequences of my enthusiasm.

My stomach was full.

Terribly full.

The sort of fullness that makes you wonder whether standing up has become an unnecessarily ambitious activity. I briefly considered whether I had misunderstood the purpose of eating and accidentally entered a competition nobody else knew about.

Seriously, Anj. Puto, bibingka, and then Jollibee?

What exactly were you preparing for? Hibernation?

Looking at the photographs from that afternoon, I cannot help laughing at how ordinary the occasion appears. There is no evidence of an extraordinary celebration or some grand event deserving a feast. We were simply out in the city, attending to family matters, and enjoying something to eat together. Yet those are precisely the moments I find myself wanting to remember.

There is a particular charm in days that make no attempt to become memorable. You leave home expecting nothing more than a few errands, and by evening you have acquired photographs, conversations, and a story involving your own questionable eating decisions.

Unfortunately, food was not the only thing that occupied my attention that afternoon.

At the market, we encountered a small but irritating problem involving our change. A man had given us the wrong amount after a purchase, and I had not immediately noticed the discrepancy. It was my aunt who checked the money again and recognised that something was not right.

I was disappointed.

There is something particularly frustrating about discovering that the money handed back to you does not match what you should have received. Whether it happened through carelessness or an honest mistake, I could not say for certain. What mattered was that I had failed to check it properly before moving on.

Apparently, while my stomach had been exceptionally attentive to every available eating opportunity, my brain had been considerably less interested in basic arithmetic.

Wonderful.

I made a little promise to myself that afternoon: the next time I purchased something, I would pay closer attention to the change. It was hardly a revolutionary discovery, but practical lessons seldom arrive with elaborate introductions. Sometimes they appear in the form of a missing amount of money and an aunt who has the good sense to count properly.

Thank goodness she checked.

I suppose this is one of the advantages of spending time with older family members. They possess a remarkable collection of practical instincts that younger people occasionally dismiss until those instincts become unexpectedly useful. My lola and aunts have lived through enough ordinary transactions, household responsibilities, and everyday complications to understand that small details deserve attention.

I, meanwhile, was still learning that enthusiasm for shopping and eating should occasionally be accompanied by an awareness of how much money remained in my hand.

A useful lesson, particularly for someone whose financial resources were not unlimited.

As the afternoon came to an end, I found myself thinking about how quickly an ordinary day can accumulate little incidents worth writing about. There had been the familiar pleasure of Filipino delicacies, a trip into the city with my lola and aunts, our stop at Jollibee, and the minor irritation of receiving incorrect change.

Nothing extraordinary had happened.

Yet I enjoyed the day.

Perhaps that is what I like about keeping a personal blog. It gives me somewhere to preserve experiences that would otherwise be too ordinary to deserve much attention. Important milestones are easy to remember because we celebrate them, photograph them, and speak about them for years. But what about the afternoons spent running errands with family? The spontaneous meals? The silly mistakes that become amusing once the irritation has passed?

Those moments make up a considerable portion of our lives, even if they rarely receive the same recognition as birthdays, graduations, and other important occasions.

Someday, I might look back on this entry and find it terribly amusing that I once considered eating too much and receiving the wrong change sufficiently important subjects for an entire blog post. Perhaps I will have experienced far more exciting adventures by then, travelled to distant places, or encountered problems considerably more complicated than an afternoon’s questionable arithmetic.

But I suspect I will still appreciate these little memories.

There is something comforting about imagining my future self reading about this particular Tuesday and remembering the simple pleasure of spending time with my family. I may forget what we discussed or exactly what I ordered at Jollibee, but I hope I remember the company, the laughter, and the ordinary happiness of having my lola and aunts beside me.

As for my appetite, I shall attempt to exercise greater restraint next time.

Although I must admit that promises made after eating too much are remarkably easy to honour while one is still full. Their reliability becomes considerably less impressive when another delicious meal presents itself.

And if I ever find myself returning to the city with my family, I shall remember two very important lessons from March 5, 2013.

Always check your change.

And never underestimate a Filipino woman’s ability to find room for Jollibee after merienda.

Now, if you will excuse me, I think I have eaten quite enough for one day. My stomach has requested a formal suspension of further activities, and for once, I intend to respect its opinion.

Goodnight, everyone. Take care! :*

From an ordinary Tuesday in Cebu, with love for family errands, Filipino merienda, and the aunt who remembered to check the change.

— Just Anj