Lessons from My Mother's Kitchen (my Father's & my Lola’s Kitchen, Too!) Part 4 is a reflection series on life, learning, family, and the wisdom hidden in ordinary moments. Sometimes the most important lessons are not found in recipes, but in the people who teach us how to grow. New reflections are published every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday.
“Ang Repolyo… Bow!” The Cabbage Lesson
by Ms. Eugenia C. Martin
One of my earliest attempts to help in the kitchen involved a head of cabbage.
My Nanay was preparing nilaga and, for the first time, entrusted me with a knife and the task of cutting vegetables. I felt proud and important. After years of watching her cook, I was finally being allowed to help. Perhaps that is why the assignment felt so important to me.
I had seen some of my cousins get scolded when they tried to help in the kitchen. Adults then often viewed children as being in the way rather than being part of the process. Being allowed to participate was not something I took for granted.
As an only child, some people assumed I was spoiled. They would jokingly say that I did not need to do chores because there was no one else competing for my parents' attention. But looking back, I realize that my Nanay was teaching me something far more valuable than household tasks. For her, the kitchen was not merely a workplace. It was a place of connection.
She invited me into her world—not because she needed an extra pair of hands, but because she wanted to spend time with me. Preparing meals became one of the ways we bonded. Between washing vegetables, peeling ingredients, stirring pots, and asking endless questions, I was learning far more than cooking. I was learning through relationship.
Confidently, I sliced the cabbage into thin strips, just as I had seen my Nanay do when preparing pancit. When I finished, I proudly showed her my work.
She smiled and gently asked me to get another cabbage from the refrigerator.
It turned out that the cabbage for nilaga was supposed to be cut into large wedges, not thin strips.
My heart sank.
Thinking that I had disappointed her, I burst into tears. (Oh yes, sabi nila, iyakin nga daw ako)
But my mother remained calm. "Huwag kang mag-alala," she said, “hindi yan masasayang. isasahog natin yan sa pansit mamayang merienda.” (Don’t worry, the cabbage would not go to waste. We would simply use it later for pancit during merienda).
Once I had settled down, my curiosity returned.
“Nay, maiiba po ba yung lasa?” I asked. "Hindi naman," she replied. Then she explained, "Hindi kasi makikita pag maliit. Hindi proportion sa laki ng buto, karne, patatas, at saging."
Years later, I realized she was teaching me about balance and presentation. Every ingredient had a role to play, and every ingredient deserved to be seen. But the most important lesson had nothing to do with cabbage. It was about learning.
Looking back, I realize how fortunate I was. Our home was my safe space. The kitchen was my safe space. My parents were my safe space. It was a place where questions were welcomed, mistakes were corrected with kindness, and learning was encouraged rather than feared. My mother corrected the mistake without making me feel like a mistake. She showed me that errors are part of learning and that encouragement helps people grow far more than criticism.
As an educator and counselor, I now appreciate the wisdom in her response. Many people stop trying because they fear being wrong. They associate mistakes with embarrassment rather than growth.
Today, when I work with students, parents, teachers, and families, I often remember that afternoon in the kitchen. Learning flourishes in places where people feel safe. Growth happens when mistakes are treated as opportunities rather than failures.
All these years later, I remember very little about that particular pot of nilaga. But I remember the lesson. And I remember the kindness.
That day, my mother taught me that mistakes are easier to correct than a discouraged heart.
#LessonsFromMyMothersKitchen #TheKitchenClassroom #EugeniaWrites
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| Eugenia C. Martin (Ms. Eugene) is a Registered Guidance Counselor, Licensed Professional Teacher, wife, mother, songwriter, gardener, traveler, and home cook. Her life's lessons have come from many classrooms—the school, the counseling room, her parents' kitchen, the family garden, and the backyard shoe-making business where she first learned the values of perseverance, entrepreneurship, and community. Through her writing, she reflects on mental health, parenting, education, relationships, faith, music, gardening, and the journeys that continue to shape her understanding of people and life. |
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