My Gift To You

I don’t cook often for my boarders, but occasionally, a perfect storm of sentimentality and hunger will strike, and I take over the kitchen. Filipino breakfasts with longanisa and garlic fried rice, bread pudding, glass noodles, and tonight, my mom’s enchilada casserole.

I started preparing yesterday, going to Safeway to pick up the necessaries, then started cooking today at noon, not that it takes that long, but just to make the afternoon a little less hectic. I sauteed garlic and onions, ground beef, cumin, chili powder, smoked paprika, salt, pepper, and though I was tempted, I refrained from using the taco mix. After adding black beans to the meat, I let it cool.

Later, on another visit to the store, I picked up some portobello mushrooms so there could be a vegetarian section, which I would happily eat if no one else did. As the afternoon rolled on, I found some time at the beach, snacked on some poke in bed while watching 72 Most Dangerous Animals in Latin America, and caught the sunset. Then came the layering. Sauce, tortillas, meat/veggies, cheese, repeat. In about 15 minutes, I had two full casserole dishes ready to simmer in the oven.

Forty-five minutes later, we were ready to eat. In the meantime, I sliced avocados, opened a can of olives, and a tub of sour cream. Before I had the assembly line set up, a cluster of hungry teens huddled around me, asking if they could start plating their food. I grinned and said, “Go for it.”

Usually, I get my portion first; in Hawai’i, kapuna (elders) eat first, which is only slightly different from my life principle of “get to the front of the line while others are being nice and letting you go ahead.” As I’m typically the eldest in the house when I cook, I feel a little more justified. Plus, I’m always tasting as I go. Quality control, you know.

I’ve been successful with cooking for the boarders this year. Kids go back for seconds and thirds and will eat the leftovers the next day. They are highly complimentary and extremely grateful. All this is added joy to the fact that I’m eating some of my childhood favorites instead of going to Panda Express.

Then after the meal, after planning and cooking for a day or more, there comes the matter of dirty dishes. The kids all put away their own plates and forks, but the pots, casserole dishes, serving plates and utensils all sit on the counter, soiled and crusted. But I don’t ask or make the kids do them. Instead, I continue the job.

Tonight, as with every night I cook, a boarder approached me while I was cleaning and adamantly insisted the kids do the dishes. I don’t let them, though. Not when I’m cooking. If they swoop in and help, sure, but I’m not going to ask them to. I also genuinely don’t resent it when they go about having a good time with one another after putting their own personal dishes in the dishwasher.

Here’s why.

When I was their age, as well as a bit younger and a bit older, I would often go to parties where someone would spend all day cooking, all party serving, and then do the dishes after everyone had eaten. I remember looking forward to these parties for days in advance, then enjoying my heart out while they transpired, all the while playing with my cousins and laughing with my aunts and uncles. But I’d always see the life of the party in Lola, my beautiful grandma who made so much of the party happen with her cooking. And while many of us would bring dishes to share, it was her house, her gathering, her food, and her gentle, selfless love and grace that would serve us on these evenings. I would tell her to sit and rest – to let me do the dishes. I would tell her to eat and let us do the cleaning. There are some things you cannot tell your grandma to do, and one of those things is cutting short an act of love for her family.

So, as I scrubbed the casserole dishes, scoured the pots and ran the dishwasher, I felt a swell of love. I have a great relationship with my boarders, and in a sense, they are the people I get to love and care of while I’m away from my friends and family. My grandma taught me how beautiful it is to love through service, so I may not have helped her clean back then, but when I host my family, friends, or 11 boarding students, I know how good it feels to give the gift of food and companionship. That’s just one of many of her gifts to me, and now to a group of teens she never even met.

I love you Lola. You’re always in my heart, and I feel it every day.