good friday grubbin'.
Holy week for my family is an event. No, we don't usually go for out-of-town trips to the beach or to some place cold. Eversince, my family has been engaged with businesses that doesn't allow for long vacations. The word rest only brings meaning on days where there's really no work to be done, which account for only eight days in a year--- Christmas Day, the day after Christmas, New Year's, Jan 2, All Saints' Day, All Souls Day, and tadaaah, Good Friday and Black Saturday. Saturdays and Sundays are only weekdays that begin with 'S'. So as the rest of the country go Boracay, Galera, or Palawan (--- what have you) to bask in the sun, my family goes to our only refuge --- food and sleep! We, like most other Filipinos, celebrate life with food, but as beb puts it, we do it in a way that can put any family to shame. Beb, unfortunately, was the willing victim this year, so he tried his best to keep up with us, but alas, he failed me. He downed inihaw na bisugo (missed those guys), birthday noodles, tapang kabayo (no meat, no meat ka dyan, sige nga point out where it is in the Bible and i'll puke out every last bite of meat i had.), crab and corn soup from scratch (not one of those instant knorr soups, convenient but not as delicious), fried daing na bangus, crabs, chopsuey and a whole assortment of dimsum and dumplings on Maundy Thursday. He was practically dizzy afterwhich. Good Friday came and he, although still stuffed to his nose from yesterday feast, tried to dig in with the spread that included fish steak, chicken sopas, fried tilapia, fried chicken, stir fried veggies and all the talaba you can eat. O, did i fail to mention that my family has a bottomless halohalo tradition during Good Friday? Find the biggest bowl you can carry, customize your halo halo with all the sweet goodies available, top it with your favorite ice cream and try, with all your might, to swallow every last bite on top of everything you ate from lunch, which was just, at least, a good hour ago. Beb, the newbie, had dips for everything he can accomodate in the humongous bowl given to him by my aunt. Goodluck. Being the veteran of many halohalo sessions, i chose wisely, picking a bowl that is proportional to what's left of my appetite, and just filling it with everything small and easy to chew, skipping the ice cream. Being a family with a strong matriarchal hold and with the second and third generations populated by mostly girls, my uncles and male cousins always regarded these events as "initiation rites" for men risking their stomach to 'enter' the clan. After finishing this feat worthy of the Guiness' notice, if you're an invitee, consider yourself one of the family. You've just passed your baptism of fire. Now, sleep it off like the rest of us.