Revelations + Destinations

Living on potatoes

This story originally appeared in the Philippine Daily Inquirer on December 13, 2005.

Cooking corned beef is fairly easy. You open the can, pour its contents onto a pan and let it fry in its own fat. 

But this is not just unappetizing; the result amounts to a small platito of ulam(platter of viand). To make this ulam increase and feed more people (or last for more than just a single meal), we usually add cubed potatoes. 

A potato that fits in your fist is just about the right size for a can of corned beef. You peel it and slice it into cubes. You then take the cubed pieces and fry them in oil, and when they’re golden brown, you add sliced onions. You continue to sauté this mixture until the onions turn pale and then you add the corned beef. You stir everything until the beef darkens and has absorbed the flavor of onions. And—voilà!—you have corned beef with potatoes. 

At home, my dad cooks our corned beef with young corn and green peas to make it more enticing. Sometimes he tops it with grated cheese, and he serves all these with scrambled eggs on the side and a steaming cup of sinangag rice. It makes for a heavenly breakfast. 

Since I was born and raised in Manila, going to Baguio for college caused a lot of stir in our family. My parents, scared to leave their one and only child—their hija mia—up in the mountains, gave me more pocket money than was necessary when I left. 

I was overwhelmed with my new-found wealth. But being the sucker that I am for books, I blew almost all of my money in bookstores. Before I knew it, I only had P300 in my wallet and I had to stretch it out for a week. I was too ashamed to ask for more. 

What was a girl like me to do? I went to Tiong San and the palengke. In Tiong San (SM had not opened yet), I took my favorite from the shelves: Palm Corned Beef with Chili. But it cost more than P80! I couldn’t afford it. 

I scanned the cans down the aisle and saw a teeny can. It was the Argentina corned beef budget. I grudgingly took three cans, and got a kilo of sinandomeng (goodbye dinorado) rice, paid for them at the counter, and left. 

Then I went to the wet market. Vendors were blocking the sidewalks, but I found one who was selling potatoes for P10 a kilo. I was so happy. 

When I got back to the dormitory, I decided that I ought to cook what I bought. I opened the can of beef, and looked at its contents in horror. But never mind, I had my potatoes. And this was when the magical transition took place: corned beef with potatoes became potatoes with corned beef. The princess became a pauper. 

I started laughing. I, the self-confessed brat, was on my own. No one was going to cook and wash the dishes but me. No one would wash my clothes but me (or Spin City if I had money tucked away from all those bookstore expeditions). No one else would clean my room but me. No one would look after me when I got sick. No one would buy my Flixotide for asthma. I was all alone. I had to fend for myself. It was a strange feeling altogether. 

Although I am in third year now, I still haven’t cured myself of my “bookstore-itis,” as my blockmates call it. “Si Drea bookstore na nag-korteng tao,” they say. I guess I’ll just have to live with it. After all, I can always eat potatoes with a sprinkling of corned beef.

Maria Andrea Lei T. Equipado

Maria Andrea Lei T. Equipado, 20, is majoring in Language and Literature at the University of the Philippines Baguio.

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