It is not a secret among everyone who knows me that, before I got married, I couldn’t even boil water. Yes, I was pretty spoiled by the kapampangan matriarchs in my family who ruled over our kitchen.
Anyway, that all changed when I got married. It was either I learned how to cook, or we would live on re-heats of my husband’s cooking and microwave dinners. Or divorce, haha!
And like everything I set my mind to, kinareer ko ang pagluluto. 
Who would have thought that by the time my Ninna turned two years old, I was confident enough to whip up such a spread? 
Proud of my spaghetti, cocktail hotdogs with mallows on toothpicks (hehe), menudo, lasagna, cupcakes, embutido, and lumpiang shanghai. Pwede na, di ba?
By the time she turned three, my kapampangan genes broke through, took over, and settled comfortably. I was seasoned as any fiesta cook could be.
On Ninna’s third birthday, I prepared all of the food I cooked for her second birthday PLUS a few more, including my husband’s lechon kawali request, hehe.
Admittedly, it took me a while to get used to my role as the primary meal magikera of my family. During the first few months, my husband endured anything that emerged from the kitchen – too salty, too bland, too burnt, rare, extra rare. I guess my cooking and I were my husband’s natural appetite suppressants. Now, though, I can safely say that I have made my lolas and aunties proud.
~~~
The wives are talking about food over at FoodieWednesday at WifeSpeaks.Com. Join us!
