Coming home from work, I felt like I was suddenly transported to Chinatown. It was Chinese New Year’s Eve and there was a parade, dragon dance and a lot of fireworks, courtesy of Kowloon across the next block. Mygas, buti nalang I was able to get in the house safe since I had to pass by the area. Though I love fireworks, I’d rather keep at a pretty safe distance- and by safe, I mean faaar. It was pretty, I watched the display from right outside my bedroom window; too bad I was not in the mood to enjoy it.
Still feeling Chinese-y, I cooked tikoy for the girls in the office. Yummers, tikoy dipped and fried in egg is one of my superfave comfort foods. It must remind me of my late grandfather from Davao. Most of his clients and friends were Chinese businessmen and being the only apo for quite a time, I was usually at the receiving end of pasalubongs, from classic Hershey’s Kisses, special siopao from a rundown (but famous) Chinese resto, and of course, fried tikoy. One of Lolo’s best friends lived right beside us and you guessed it, he’s Chinese, too. We used to go swimming in their pool, and play in its cavernous emptiness when it wasn’t water-filled. I guess my childhood was a mix of Chinese and Spanish influences (like most), but right now, its tikoy time and all memories are of the tsinoy variety. Those were fun times, my early childhood. It seemed like forever summer, when my business was all about being the fastest to run and hide (amongst my older, male cousins), being spoiled silly by the same older cousins and various collections of titas and titos, biological or not. Those times were all about waking up whenever I wanted to and staying up as late as the mga matatanda. (Ah, there probably goes my early insomniac tendency). I remember creeping in and eavesdropping on their conversations, the hushed whispers that seemed so mysterious to me, as if it spoke of secret strangeness, that if I dared decode, will usher you in the elite world of…adulthood. And all these because of tikoy. I first tasted this delicacy, I remember clearly, after trying to learn how to roller skate one afternoon. Yes, roller skate- not blade! 80’s kids (and perhaps 70’s?) used to go on those roller blades with four little wheels on them shoes, I think. My first taste of tikoy was served after a raucous time of tumbling down the grass and hanging on to dear life to anyone who came near me. I couldn’t seem to get started on those skates and nobody could even push me to go, so we just all ended up on the floor, barely breathing and laughing our guts out. Fun times. Well now, I don’t know about skating but I certainly could make a mean batch of fried tikoy.
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