August
14
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Whole branzino, shame on the side. Self-loathing for dessert*
Coming from an Asian family, you get used to your family doing things things a little differently. I suppose that’s true for any kid growing up as a ‘first-generation American’.
I can’t wax poetic about the sociocultural impact of my first generation-ness because there really wasn’t much impact. I’m fairly well-assimilated, but that can probably be chalked up to being only (I use only in a non-pejorative manner here) half-Filipino. The other half being half Bronx-Irish, means I can kick your ass in two languages. I said I was well-assimilated, not well-adjusted.
But, not much impact doesn’t mean my ‘other-ness’ has no impact.
Last week, I went out to dinner with my mom and other family members. She ordered the branzino; she’d been to this Italian restaurant before, and previously enjoyed the dish. Our dishes came, all manner of Mediterranean goodness, but hers was pretty spectacular: one large fish, head to tail, a plate full of crispy goodness. We all tucked into our plates, and I realized throughout dinner that she would alternate between eating with fork & knife, and eating in the Filipino style of kamayan – with her hands. While she was by no means a sloppy eater, there’s really no delicate way of eating crispy fish head with your hands. She was sitting to my left, perpendicular to the window, the rest of the restaurant to my right. I caught myself leaning forward as I ate, as if to block the rest of the patrons from seeing her eat this way. Other than this, the rest of the meal was ordinary.
I am not in the habit of experiencing shame related to my cultural traditions, or even regular old family quirks. I don’t know what was special (not so special) about that night, or what triggered my reaction. All I know is that my braised short ribs went down better than that display of self-loathing. Will I be better than that in the future? I certainly hope so.
(*Technically, dessert was crème brûlée. That it didn’t go down very well can be chalked up to my lactose intolerance.)
The Smell of My Own Poop 
Hope you manage to let it go.
Nothing wrong with enjoying a good meal, however that enjoyment may be obtained.
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Great post. Sorry about the creme brûlée. How nasty was it on the other side? Worth it i hope.
Please provide for me and all the other readers the reasoning for difference in spelling your maternal homeland and those inhabitants of said homeland. As a non Filipino I have embarrassed myself on a number of occasions by asking natives and descendants this question. I mean can we just settle on either a PH or an F? Do we really need both?
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Thanks. It’s gone, really. Just surprised that it was there at all…
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All custards are worth it. As for the Ph/F issue, sorry. There are almost 200 dialects. I don’t think there’s any hope of resolving this conundrum. We could always blame colonialism. Spain and the U.S. really phucked us up.
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Touché. I realize that the Philippines/Filipino conundrum is not a Tagalog issue. I should have stated as much. My apologies.
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No worries! I just like blaming stuff on colonialism.
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Even the lactose intolerance?
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Well, let’s put it this way. I don’t think there’s a Tagalog equivalent “lactose intolerance”
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It’s all the GMO and hormone infused stuff. Either that or the human race is breaking down genetically. And don’t get me started in peanut allergies. They didn’t exist in the 1960s. Or if they did we just chalked childhood mortality to St Darwin just thinning out the herd.
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