"Takaw-Mata" ka ba?: A Lesson in Stewardship
by Ms. Eugenia C. Martin
The cabbage incident did not end with my tears. After reassuring me that the shredded cabbage could still be used for pancit, my Nanay explained why it was not the proper cut for nilaga. Years later, I realized she was teaching me a lesson that extended far beyond food presentation.
In a pot of nilaga or bulalo, every ingredient has a role to play. The large pieces of meat, potatoes, saba bananas, corn, and cabbage each contribute something unique to the meal. If the cabbage were sliced too thinly, it would disappear among the larger ingredients. Oh, every ingredient deserved to be seen.
My mother understood something that chefs and marketers often emphasize today: people eat with their eyes first. Before tasting food, we notice colors, shapes, proportions, and presentation. A well-prepared dish creates anticipation. It invites us to the table.
Then she introduced me to a phrase familiar to many Filipinos: "takaw-mata ka". Literally translated, it means "your eyes are bigger than your stomach." She would say it with a smile whenever someone took more food than they could finish. The food looked so inviting that a person forgot how much they could actually eat.
The concept of takaw-mata was not unfamiliar in our family. We often gathered for family meals, especially during celebrations and weekends. Sometimes the food was served boodle fight style, spread across long tables lined with fresh banana leaves. The colorful arrangement of rice, grilled meats, vegetables, seafood, fruits, and sauces was enough to make anyone's appetite grow before the meal even began. The presentation itself was part of the experience.
The vibrant colors, the abundance of food, and the aroma of freshly prepared dishes invited everyone to gather around the table. Before a single bite was taken, the meal already communicated hospitality, generosity, and joy. Perhaps because of this, takaw-mata was a common sight.
In a boodle fight, there were no plates. Each person claimed a small area on the banana leaves and gathered food in front of them. Sometimes, excited by the sight of so many delicious choices, people would take more than they could comfortably eat. Their eyes had made promises their stomachs could not keep. 😀
Nanay Etang would gently remind me that I could always get more if I was still hungry. There was no need to claim a large portion at the beginning.
Food left uneaten on the banana leaves was difficult to save and often ended up mixed together. Rather than throwing it away, the leftovers would become kaning-baboy. We would bring them to Lola Lilay, who raised pigs. What could no longer be enjoyed at the table still served a purpose.
Even then, my Nanay preferred that as little food as possible ended up in the pail for kaning-baboy. Not because feeding the pigs was wrong, but because food was meant first to nourish people. Every grain of rice, every piece of meat, and every vegetable represented effort, time, and resources.
Taking only what we could finish was one way of honoring that gift.
As I grew older, I realized that takaw-mata extends beyond food.
We are often drawn to what looks attractive, impressive, or abundant. We buy things we do not need. We accumulate more than we can use. We confuse appearance with value and abundance with satisfaction. Yet my mother's lesson was not against beauty. She believed food should be appealing. A thoughtfully prepared meal reflected care, hospitality, and love. But beauty carried a responsibility.
Enjoy it. Appreciate it. Be grateful for it. Do NOT waste it.
Looking back, I realize that what began as a lesson about cabbage became a lesson about stewardship.
Good stewards recognize the value of what has been entrusted to them. They take what they need, use what they have wisely, and avoid waste whenever possible.
Long before sustainability became a popular topic, my mother was already practicing it in simple, everyday ways. Food was planned carefully. Ingredients were used purposefully. Leftovers found their way into another meal whenever possible. Even the uneaten food from our boodle fights became kaning-baboy rather than being thrown away. Nothing was taken for granted.
Today, we often discuss sustainability in terms of environmental responsibility, responsible consumption, and reducing waste. My mother may not have used those terms, but she lived those principles. She understood that resources are finite and that gratitude is expressed not only by receiving blessings but also by using them responsibly.
There is wisdom in making things beautiful.
There is wisdom in enjoying them responsibly.
And there is wisdom in remembering that true satisfaction comes not from what merely looks good, but from what genuinely nourishes.
Perhaps the opposite of takaw-mata is not deprivation, but stewardship—the ability to appreciate abundance without wasting it and to enjoy blessings without taking more than we need.
#LessonsFromMyMothersKitchen #TheKitchenClassroom #EugeniaWrites
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Lessons from My Mother's Kitchen (my Father's & my Lola’s Kitchen, Too!) Sunday Feature 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.  |
| 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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