From Survival to Splendor, Ginamay

Before I had to endure cold rice and ready to eat food in college, I grew up to my Mother’s love expressed through food. 3 years ago when my Mom didn’t have to work abroad, I would always go home sensing the moisture of the stew in the air. She would cook different dishes but of course, we all end up having favorites, mine happened to be Ginamay, a tomato based pork stew. Inviting me home like it was waiting for me. 

I remember looking at the clock from our classroom just so I could count how many hours until I could eat Ginamay. “Kaulion nako kay lami among sud-an.” 

I even had a silly notion that if I don’t eat my lunch snacks, I will have more room for Ginamay, that’s how much I loved it for a  picky eater like me. But back then, I didn’t have the choice to be picky—heck! I can’t be picky. 

As a single mother, my mother didn’t have the luxury to feed me menudo whenever I want to, not even any dish because where would she find the money to buy basic ingredients we can barely afford? To at least ease the hunger, we would only eat rice during breakfast and dinner. We used to only eat 5 pesos sabaw sa isda (without the fish) and 15 pesos pancit to save expenses. So the first time she got her paycheck from the first company that hired her after all that job hunting after my father left, our celebration was the Ginamay. In the dimly lit table of our boarding house, a mother and a daughter, gleefully ate Ginamay. That was the first time, with conviction, I would say that I had a taste of luxury at that dinner table.

For every paycheck since then when I was younger, Ginamay became a staple dish to eat, a sign that my mom got her salary, but when cuts happened because of other expenses, Ginamay was nowhere to be seen. To relish the moments where I get to eat one, every time my mom cooks, I carefully watch every process, from the preparation of washing the potatoes and carrots up to the way she simmers the pork. I ended up coining the term ‘Ginamay’  myself because of the way it’s cut. Cut into small pieces, but extravagant in taste. 

My mother used to laugh at me, “Pwede raman gud na Menudo.” Even if I named it silly, maybe one of the manifestations of my mother’s love is through the way I called it Ginamay, and vice versa, my response to her love.

It’s been a while since I last ate it, I missed it badly but not more than I missed my mother. The smell of the food is already inviting as is, but the orange-y almost red look of the food made me want to dive in, the soup of the Ginamay tomato paste is not watery but thick, for some reason, it still managed to perfectly glide on the tongue and especially better when mixed with rice before eating, truly a soup haven. By choosing the correct brand, I end up tasting the savory and rich tomato as if it mixed in their raw without the paste. The squares cut tenderly and so soft I could taste the corners of my mouth with the way it just melts right in and blends with the rest of the ingredients. Even if I hate carrots, the vibrant color of it mixes well with the orange-y red look of the Ginamay soup but still shines on its own without going unnoticed even with the same sizing as potatoes. Of course, the belle of the ball, and what I like to call the main character, the meat. Different versions of the dish like Afritada or Menudo have chicken or even pork liver, but the Ginamay that I grew up with will always be pork. With the little ingredients from pepper, bell pepper, pork cubes, salt, soy sauce and garlic, all of which embraced the softness of the lightly brown meat, perfectly balancing resulting in a  savory yet soft taste of love.  

When we have hotdogs left in our refrigerator, my mother, like the experimental person she is, adds some, while it doesn’t alter the taste, it poses as a sort of accessory that completes the look of the food. An orange-y red goodness waiting for me to cave in. For me, it is a grave sin not to eat Ginamay with rice. The warmth of it together with the diced ingredients is just heaven on earth, each taste dancing perfectly like it knows every rhythm. As I chewed gently I could feel the softness of each grain. 

Menudo is popular, one can see it in restaurants or even the carenderia. But no matter where I will be, nothing will ever replicate the love Ginamay cooked by my Mother has soiled in my taste buds, not only did it make me feel full, but I know that once my mother comes home and I get to taste her version of ginamay again, I’m not the 1st Year college Rhamcess, I am the child Rhamcess, eagerly waiting for my Mother to announce her paycheck so I could eat Ginamay. A dish that not only satisfies the need to eat, but also strengthens relationships. Once my mother comes home to the Philippines, I hope that I get to eat Ginamay again, with her welcoming me through the door this time, a hug so tight, and food so delicious.

“Nak, nagluto ko ug ginamay.“ and I can feel like a kid again in that dimly lit boarding house, happy and content. 

Ginamay to me will always feel luxurious more than any 5-star restaurant dish will be.