Baka pwede per family magdala ng isang dish na recipe ni Lola?”
The idea came from my cousin Felice. We had planned a big Secret Santa this year: a group of 20 people—cousins, aunts, uncles, all of whom had been affected by the death of Lola Charit in January.
Lola Charit, my paternal grandmother, was always a big part of our Christmas. Her house—both the ancestral one we grew up in, and the family apartments she moved to later in life—were central to the celebrations each year. Her food, of course, took center stage—dishes she had been cooking for decades and decades, a number of which she would only make during the holidays.
“We’ll bring Lola’s relleno,” I wrote in the group chat. “But if it fails, it will be Lola’s embotido.”
I had only made her rellenong manok once, eight years ago. It was a success—but only because I had done it under the watchful eye of Lola Charit. When she tasted the stuffing and said, poker-faced, “Pwede na,” I knew I had nailed it.On my own
This time, I’d be on my own. “I hope she guides me through this second attempt,” I told my family.
First order of business: get the ingredients. It was Lolo Bojie who ordered the chicken for me. He’s my grandpa on my mom’s side, but even he loves Lola Charit’s cooking. I remember her always making extras of his favorites and sending it to him. One of those favorites is the relleno—and so I was making extras for him, too.
Because I don’t have Lola Charit’s knife skills, we ordered the chicken deboned already. (Sorry, Lola.)
Lola Charit was very selective about the ingredients that go into her relleno. The ham could only come from Excelente or Majestic Ham. Not wanting to go all the way to Quiapo, I headed to the Majestic Ham stall inside Tropical Hut Foodmart on Panay Avenue and was relieved to find ham still ready for the taking. I spotted hunks of wrapped ham bits and knew they wouldn’t do. “Miss, saan yung totoong ham?”
She replied, as her coworkers laughed, “Ma’am, lahat po yan totoong ham.”Then I spotted them—beautiful slabs of glazed ham all wrapped and ready to go. I only needed one kilo of ham to make four chicken relleno but I knew I had to get extra because my family loves Christmas ham. I chose carefully, picking a nice chunk that was a little over two kilos.
While I was there, two dads/grandpas stopped by the stall too to pick their own ham. And it made me realize that the men in my family never needed to do that—Lola Charit was the one who did it all.
I got the queso de bola, too—Marca Piña, her preferred brand.
The rest of my ingredients—chorizo Bilbao, ground pork (kasim), pickle relish, butter, etc.—were already waiting back home.
I washed the four chickens carefully, rubbing them with rock salt and then rinsing them. Then I marinated them in a lemon juice-and-soy sauce mix.
Stuffing It was time to make the stuffing. I grated the queso de bola and chopped the chorizo Bilbao really, really finely, like Lola would have wanted.
Then, I unwrapped the Majestic Ham and cut off a kilo of it, measuring it with my new kitchen scale, and making sure to leave behind the delicious glaze and glorious layer of fat for my family to enjoy.
The next part was the one I was dreading: chopping all that ham into teeny tiny pieces. The last time I did it, it took me hours, my hand cramped and I got bored.
Let me confess something: Lola Charit was no longer around to help me but I actually had a secret weapon—Melinda, her longtime cook and also the keeper of her kitchen secrets. She was just a video call away. And luckily, I had called her just before I started chopping all the ham, because she told me something that made my jaw drop: For years and years and years now, she and Lola would ask their suki to grind the pork with the chorizo and the ham. There was no need to spend hours chopping!
But Lola Charit never told me that! I guess she wanted me to try doing it the hard way first. “Gee, Lola, thanks for the initiation,” I thought.
I was still willing to chop the way she told me to but it was Virgie, who you can consider my Melinda, who convinced me to work smart. (I guess she was worried she’d be roped into chopping for hours, too.) We borrowed my aunt’s food processor and the ham was magically shredded in seconds.
I mixed the queso with the pork, chorizo, ham and pickle relish and popped a little bit in the air fryer for tasting. Then I added more queso de bola and did another taste test.
My stuffing was ready. I lifted the chickens from their marinade and stuffed them one by one, remembering this time not to overstuff the chickens because, as Lola said, “Puputok yan.”
I sewed them up, once again hearing Lola’s voice telling me to “close all the holes.”Not cooked The chicken was supposed to go into the oven for 90 minutes. But my oven is so old and apparently so weak that after 90 minutes, the chicken still wasn’t cooked.
“Crap,” I thought. “I’ll be up all night waiting for these to cook.”
Luckily, my aunt, who lives just steps away from us, has a massive new oven, one that could fit three chickens comfortably.
The first chicken continued slowly cooking in my crappy oven while the three roasted away in the new one.
Last time, I made the mistake of making the relleno the same day I was serving it. “Pambihira ka,” Lola Charit told me back then, in disapproval.
This time I learned my lesson, making the relleno a couple of days ahead and then keeping it in the freezer.
The next day, I used the drippings to make gravy, adding Lola’s secret ingredient: cooked chicken liver. I also made a gluten-free version of the gravy for my uncle who couldn’t eat wheat.
Then came the best part: slicing the relleno and seeing the result of all the work. It looked like Lola’s for sure, but did it taste like Lola’s?
It was my mom’s side of the family who got to try the relleno first. But the true test would be my paternal family—people who spent decades eating the relleno and would know in a heartbeat if it tasted off. To say that I was nervous would be an understatement.
The day after Christmas we arrived at Tita Tessie’s house, bearing the relleno and my mom’s binagoongan (another family favorite).
I looked at the delicious spread of dishes often served by my grandma: Russian salad and potaje by Tita Ester, callos by Tita Tessie, lengua by Felice, leche flan by Tita Lynn and Ina.
Favorites The others paid tribute to Lola by serving her favorites: Chrissie prepared glorious charcuterie, Tito Jun brought Betty’s Sans Rival and my brother, who changed his mind about attempting Lola’s Mario’s-inspired Caesar salad, brought Ube and Double Dutch ice cream from Selecta.
We dug in, raving to one another about the food. “Tita Tess, I love your callos.” “Fifi, the lengua is so tender.” “Tita Ester, your potaje smells exactly like Lola’s.”
My relleno got the thumbs-up too, with my cousin Chrissie already asking me to make it again. She even gave me a prize for “best ulam”—a gift basket from Bacchus.
But it was my uncle Jun who said the best thing that day, “Matutuwa sa ’yo ang lola mo.”
Funnily, it was eating the leche flan that made me emotional. It tasted just like Lola’s. I almost started crying over dessert but Lola isn’t a fan of crying, and so I choked back my tears. I miss her, of course, I miss her still. I’m sure we all did as we worked away in our kitchens and made panicked calls to Melinda.
Tito Jun said, “Imagine, Mommy used to cook all these dishes on her own and we never heard her complain.”
It’s true. Days before Christmas, Lola Charit’s preparations would begin. For days, she’d be whipping up dish after dish, making it look so easy each time. I have renewed appreciation for the Christmases of my childhood, when delicious food just seemed to magically appear on the table for everyone to enjoy.
Seeing our holiday spread brought Lola back to life for me. She does live on, in the recipes she left behind, and in the delicious food that continues to bring our family together.