Your Mileage May Vary: Bicol Express!
Pork Bicol Express - as my mother would say "anak dat is not aw-ten-teek' but who the hell cares, it's still yummy
Vegan Bicol Express - with tofu, for you meat conscious types
I have nothing but fond memories of my mom's Bicol Express.
It used to be that I hated the stuff... until I turned ten or something like that. I'd never even tried it, and I didn't want to - it was pink and looked like chunky barf. How and the hell was that in any way appetizing? But one day my mom decided to shovel some into my gob, no ifs and or buts about it, and I was a changed girl.
My mom cooked a lot for church and always had requests: Bicol Express and its buddy laing, preferably extra mild for all the weenies out there.
I used to watch my mom cook. When it came time to add the chilies, she'd look at me and grin. "How much should I put in, anak?"
"All of it! Dump it all! Dump it all!" I'd egg her on. "Make them cry! Make them run for the nearest glass of water!"
And she'd laugh. "I'll be nice to them this time."
It was always a lot spicier at home. That's actually how Eric earned my family's acceptance: I dared him to try some, he tucked in and devoured what was left of the dish while my mother and I stared at each other in amazement.
I miss my mom. If I'm not working, my parents are working and it's not fair.
I could kill for a bowl of her stuff right now. Mine will never be as good.
Vegan Bicol Express - with tofu, for you meat conscious types
I have nothing but fond memories of my mom's Bicol Express.
It used to be that I hated the stuff... until I turned ten or something like that. I'd never even tried it, and I didn't want to - it was pink and looked like chunky barf. How and the hell was that in any way appetizing? But one day my mom decided to shovel some into my gob, no ifs and or buts about it, and I was a changed girl.
My mom cooked a lot for church and always had requests: Bicol Express and its buddy laing, preferably extra mild for all the weenies out there.
I used to watch my mom cook. When it came time to add the chilies, she'd look at me and grin. "How much should I put in, anak?"
"All of it! Dump it all! Dump it all!" I'd egg her on. "Make them cry! Make them run for the nearest glass of water!"
And she'd laugh. "I'll be nice to them this time."
It was always a lot spicier at home. That's actually how Eric earned my family's acceptance: I dared him to try some, he tucked in and devoured what was left of the dish while my mother and I stared at each other in amazement.
I miss my mom. If I'm not working, my parents are working and it's not fair.
I could kill for a bowl of her stuff right now. Mine will never be as good.