That was when uncle Tuting, the eldest in a brood of eight surviving brothers, decided to pick up where lolo and lola had left off: He opened his home in Magallanes Village, in Makati, to the clan for Noche Buena and Media Noche, Christmas and New Year’s Eve celebrations, respectively.
A grand buffet was assured: Uncle Tuting was one of the family’s great male chefs, and his wife, aunt Alice, could definitely hold her own. Still I somehow missed some dishes brought to the table as contributions in the holidays of old—the Prawns Thermidor and Strawberry Cream Pie of aunt Noring, wartime widow of our family hero, first son Liling, come quickly to mind.
Speaking of desserts, a family tradition in themselves, those by aunt Nising were hard to top. Her own husband, Pipo, himself a restaurateur and a chef held in high regard even outside the family, didn’t dare compete.
Yet, Nising herself conceded some desserts to aunt Irene, whose husband, Anding, was himself the ultimate desserts man, ever mindful to pace himself for his just ones, in contrast with the brothers who preferred to take their sugar in liquid alcoholic form, although not necessarily to the exclusion of dessert.
Famous on the other hand for special Spanish dishes, like Paella de Rabo, was aunt Carmen of uncle Peping’s. Their youngest daughter, Peewee, now makes faithful patented duplicates on order.
Thus, our parents mostly gone, desserts now come to us marked Sugarhouse, for the food company cousins Ginny, Cecile and Annie, sisters all, had established with partners and sold not too long ago. The sisters still make their desserts to bring to family gatherings or fill orders mostly from family, who simply are hooked.
There have been attempts at reviving and preserving family traditions. Cousin Peachy, a Roces from another line, has, for instance, turned a grandaunt’s home into a restaurant, calling it Casa Roces.
Immortalizing
Even before that, we cousins and some of our children published a book immortalizing recipes from our own family and stories and characters surrounding them. The book, called “Celebrations,” has just won an award. Ginny had her own recipe book out only last month, “Bake Me a Cake.”
But the latest and most sentimental effort has come from cousin Tina. She invited us for Mass at her home on Dec. 3, the death anniversary of her mother, Nising, although the commemoration extended to all family who had passed on—the most recent departed were aunt Loling, who went only last month, at age 101, and uncle Anding, in May, at 84.
Tina asked us to bring framed photographs of our departed—our own saints—to be displayed on a long narrow wooden buffet table. For us living sinners, there were four round tables.
The glass-walled air-conditioned room where the Mass was held, and the tables were set, looked out on an expanse of grass bordered by tall lush trees, a wall-side garden, and a lap pool. In the foyer, visible through the glass, a bar welcomed guests, and in the corridor where it led, a native buffet lunch was set in which a special family weakness rested on banana leaves—an Elars lechon (“Elars” with an “s,” the family has always specified).
As in the old days, the oldest family members tended to settle at one table. It was sad to see only two uncles of the remaining four in attendance—the two others live abroad—and sadder yet to be reminded that five of them nine were gone.
There Marquitos, second to the youngest, sat beside his wife, Marietta; thanks to her, we can still enjoy lola’s bagoong and mango chutney. And uncle Peping, a widower, beside his oldest child, Nena. There, too, was Maco, only son of aunt Loling and uncle Marcos, first cousin to our fathers, and Sylvia, the eldest of us cousins.
The three other tables were shared by the younger generations.
We all thought Tina had hit upon a good idea, one that might just restart family traditions: We could offer Mass to honor our Roces saints and thus be reminded of our own mortality, lest we over-feast.
The buffet was catered, but, no matter, it was all about reunion and remembrance.