The Quiet Language of My Father's Kitchen: When Love Was Served in Large Pots

 The Table That Raised Me: Lessons from My Mother's Kitchen (My Father's & My Lola's Kitchen, Too!) Part 17  | Every Monday • Wednesday • Friday | Sunday Feature
Because every meal has a story, and every table has a legacy.

 

The Quiet Language of My Father's Kitchen: When Love Was Served in Large Pots

by: Eugenia C. Martin

 

    When people ask who taught me how to cook, I almost always say, "My mother." After all, she was the one who spent most of her days in the kitchen. She prepared our daily meals while Daddy was busy working. Growing up, I seldom saw him standing over the stove. 

    But if I listen closely to my memories, I realize Daddy was always in the kitchen somehow. I can still hear his voice. "Lagyan mo pa ng bawang." "Konti pang asin." "Pakuluan mo pa." He always seemed to know what a dish needed, even without holding the ladle. Then there were the days when he actually took over the kitchen. Those weren't ordinary days. Those were the days the biggest pots came out. Daddy never liked cooking in small portions. If he made pancit, it was enough for relatives and neighbors. If he cooked nilaga or sopas, everyone was welcome to have a bowl. When he prepared pinapaitan or marinated barbecue, it always felt like there was a celebration waiting to happen. During rainy days, we even sold hot bowls of mami, and I can still remember the comforting aroma of the broth filling our home.

    Looking back, I realize Daddy didn't simply enjoy cooking.He loved feeding people. He found happiness watching others enjoy what he had prepared. There was always enough for one more plate. One more bowl. One more guest. Perhaps that was his way of saying, "You're always welcome here."

    I didn't understand it then. I do now. Some people express love through words. My father expressed it through food. He rarely said, "I love you." Instead, he asked, "Kumain ka na ba?" Or he would quietly place another serving on your plate before you even realized you wanted more.

    Today, I sometimes catch myself cooking more food than my family needs. Old habits have a way of staying with us. Then I smile. Maybe I'm not simply following Daddy's recipes. Maybe I'm continuing his way of loving. The older I become, the more I understand that the most meaningful conversations in our home didn't always happen around the living room. They happened around the table. Over steaming bowls of soup. Over pancit shared with family. Over barbecue fresh from the grill. Over simple meals prepared with generous hands. 

    That was the quiet language of my father's kitchen. He taught us that love doesn't always need to be spoken. Sometimes, it is served... one generous plate at a time.

 

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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.