Merlinda Bobis - Banana Heart Summer

CONTENTS

Approach love and cooking with reckless abandon.

The Dalai Lama

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to Jacqueline Lo, who read with the heart of the palate

to Margaret Gee, who affirmed the taste of a banana heart summer

to Reinis Kalnins, who lured me into the flavors of daily miracles

to Anna Rogers, my gracious editor, and to Juliet Rogers, Kay Scarlett, Diana Hill, Tracy Loughlin and all the believers of Murdoch Books who crafted a little gem

to my family and first home, their tender constancy

to all who appease our hungers

and to the mothers and daughters who taught me that love is prickly sweet on the tongue.

one

For those who love to love and eat
For those who long to love and eat

When we laid my baby sister in a shoebox, when all the banana hearts in our street were stolen, when Tiyo Anding stepped out of a window perhaps to fly, when I saw guavas peeking from Manolitos shorts and felt Id die of shame, when Roy Orbison went as crazy as Patsy Cline and lovers eloped, sparking a scandal so fiery that even the volcano erupted and, as a consequence, my siblings tasted their first American corned beef, then Mother looked at me again, that was the summer I ate the heart of the matter.

So how did it all begin?

With this lesson about the banana heart from Nana Dora, the chef of all the sweet snacks that flavored our street every afternoon, except Sundays.

Close to midnight, when the heart bows from its stem, wait for its first dew. It will drop like a gem. Catch it with your tongue. When you eat the heart of the matter, youll never grow hungry again.

From the site of her remark, I will take you through a tour of our street and I will tell you its stories. Ay, my street of wishful sweets and spices. All those wishes to appease stomachs and make hearts fat with pleasure. And perhaps sweeten tempers or even spice up a storytellers tongue.

Lets begin with appeasement, my first serious business venture long ago. Lets begin with a makeshift kitchen, a hut with no walls, under banana trees in bloom. Here, Nana Dora parked her fragrant wok at two in the afternoon. By three, the hungry queue began.

two

Turon: the melody

The sound of deep frying was a delectable melody. Instantly loud and aggressive when the turon hit the pool of boiling coconut oil, then pulling back. The percussion was inspired to be subtle.

Ay, it sounds and smells like happiness, I said, nose and ears as primed as my sweetened tongue. Happiness that is not subtle at all, I could have added. Such is the fact about the turon, which is half a slice of sugar banana and a strip of jackfruit rolled in paper-thin rice wrapping, then dusted with palm sugar and fried to a crisp brown. How could such fragrance be subtle? My nose twitched, my mouth watered, my stomach said, buy, buy.

So youre an expert on happiness? Nana Dora asked. Her face glowed with more than sweat and the fire from her stove.

Believe me, your cooking is music, Nana Dora.

Hoy, dont flatter me, Nenita. She made a face. But I could see the flush deepening on her cheeks, the hand patting wisps of hair in place and the coy turning of the neck, as if a lover had just whispered sweet nothings to her ear.

I hovered closer, bent towards the wok, no, bowed, paying obeisance to its melody: mi-fa-so-lano, definitely a high do. There were about five turones harmonizing in the deep wok. The aroma climbed the scales, happiness from rung to rung. Can I get one on credit? I wanted to ask, but only managed, Can I help you roll, Nana Dora?

So you want to burn your nose or flavor my turon with your grease? she scolded.

I withdrew the endangered appendage from the woks edge, along with my grease, or sweat, which I imagined was what she meant. She stared at me, sizing me up in my dress that was once blue.

Im just saying hello, Nana Dora, I explained. If you must know, Im actually off to aa business venture. And Ill be earning soon, so can I get one on credit? But the question drowned in the pool in my mouth. I swallowed, but another wave washed over my tongue, my belly made fainting cries, like little notes plummeting, and my esophagus lengthened. When you feel it lengthen, you know its really, really bad. Who said that first? Nilo, my fourth sibling, or Junior, the second, maybe Claro, the third one, or perhaps Lydia? There were six of us, so it was difficult to tell who said or felt it first. Not that we called it esophagus then. We just said it and motioned with our hands from the throat to sometimes beyond the stomach. Then we squatted for a long time, to arrest the lengthening. Better than saying we were feeling too faint with hunger to keep on our feet.

Business venture, hah! Nana Dora snapped.

Of course she meant, leave business to me, girl, as she wrapped a turon in a banana leaf and handed it to a customer right under my nose. I kept my hand in my pocket.

Hoy, arent you supposed to be in school? Of course she meant, school is your business and dont you forget that! But I was unfazed as I listened to the sweet noises behind methe ow-ow-so-hot! then the blowing, then the first crunch, then the customers masticating. This was how the melody culminated.

Iumstopped school

Stopped school? Her huge frying paddleI called it a paddlefroze in midair.

Im on my way to someer, business, thats why, but alls wellso can I get one on credit? My last words were too soft to get me anywhere, but of course she was not meant to hear them.

Stopped school in its last month, santisima!

It was early March, supposedly the end of my sixth grade and the beginning of a very hot summer. Yes, stopped school, I said. Ill be a working girl soon, you know. I pushed out my chest to proclaim my upgraded status. Not that I had anything to show for it yet underneath my blouse.

How old are you?

Twelve.

She stepped back, hands on hips, and squinted at me. And what happened to your arms and foot?

I didnt think she would notice. Accidentcooking

Nana Dora said something under her breath, then curtly, Hoy, sit down and help me roll, while the paddle waved about. She looked angry, but I didnt know why and didnt care as she handed me the hottest, crispiest, sweetest turon that I ever had in my life. And it was not on credit.

My nose twitched with pleasure, my hand burned, my lips cooked. I heard the paper-thin wrapping shatter against my teeth as my mouth pooled and pooled.

three

Shredded heart in coconut milk

Im as barren as soup without water, so dont ask me that question again!

Nana Dora shut me up with this retort when I asked, Why dont you have children?

The customers in the queue had heard. Their ears perked up for more juicy details beyond soup and they shuffled closer. Their bodies leaned slightly towards the bristling woman and their faces glowed with the heat from her stove, while the turones