Puto ug sikwate

Netnet Camomot

WE always stay in this particular hotel whenever we’re in Cebu City for two reasons: It’s near Ayala Center Cebu, and the hotel’s yummy breakfast buffet.

Last Friday night, we dropped by the hotel’s bar to listen to the band there, and only went up to our room sometime before 10 pm.

At about 10 pm, fire trucks began to pass by. We ignored them at first, and only wondered if the fire was nearby when we continued to hear sirens, but my sis said it’s far, no need to worry. I don’t know how she was able to confirm that — by looking out the window I guess.

It was only much later when I was checking out Facebook updates that I saw the breaking news on the fire at Ayala mall’s Metro Gaisano.

My sis’ first question was, How’s Collage? Since she was already talking about going to Collage to look for baskets for her sardines. It’s located right beside the third-level entrance of Metro Gaisano, and it sells clothes, accessories, decors, and souvenir items from other Asian countries. We always drop by the store to see if it has new piggies and other items that we could bring home as pasalubongs. There’s this particular fan — paypay — that Collage sells, my sis always buys that and a few years ago, she bought some more as gifts to her friends.

I have several piggies that are from Collage, and one piggy made of coconut husk from Metro Gaisano.

There are other piggies bought at Rustan’s and other stores also in Ayala Cebu. So, yes, the mall is our preferred one-stop shop for anything and everything whenever we’re in Cebu City.

On Saturday morning, we woke up to the sound of more sirens. By then, firemen had been trying to put out the fire for almost 12 hours, they were already tired and calling for reinforcements.

Our initial plan for the weekend, which began last Friday for us, was to go island-hopping instead of malling. But the weather said, Not!

Beachesort hopping then. But it was raining the moment we arrived at the resort. Oh, well.

The hotel’s swimming pool can be viewed from the upper floors not only of the hotel but also of the other hotel across the street. Swimming during the daytime for this body and its spare tires and cottage-cheese thighs can be kind of, hmmm, dangerous to the viewer’s eyes. That is, if the senior-moment age still has an audience. Haha!

Night swimming then. But torn between the hotel’s dinner buffet while listening to the band, and diving into the pool right beside that buffet venue, hmmm.

So, what to do on a Saturday morning when swimming, island-hopping, and the nearby mall cannot be included in the day’s to-do list? Well, there’s the breakfast buffet, with puto maya, mango, and sikwate. Yum!

A few days ago while we were having yet another yummy meal at Dad’s ancestral home in Carcar, my cousin was asking his elder bro if the latter could have some puto made by their suki. An important guest was going to arrive the next day, and my cousin suggested for them to serve puto, to be paired with sikwate.

For a while there, my thought bubble hovered over this: Puto and sikwate? Because my favorite partner for puto has always been dinuguan.

That afternoon, puto did arrive, topped with cheese. I thought that was it, the puto.

The important guest arrived the next day, I presumed he had that puto and sikwate. He and his companions together with my cousin then left for the Mass and interment for Tito Lolong (Msgr. Teofilo Camomot) to be held at the Mother House of the Daughters of Saint Teresa (DST) at Valladolid in Carcar.

We also left for that Mass and interment a few minutes later.

After the ceremonies, we went back to the ancestral home for dinner where I saw this somewhat purple-colored rice, and asked, Unsa na? A cousin replied, Puto na, Dai, lami na iparis ug sikwate. Oh! Since I’m always a stickler for details, I commented, Dai, puto maya man na. And she replied, Puto, puto maya, pareha ra na, Dai.

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Puto, puto maya, whatever, it was indeed the yummiest especially when paired with sikwate.

Last Saturday morning, we could see fire trucks passing by while seated at one of the tables nearest to the hotel resto’s wide and tall glass windows. So, we spent more time staring at the dishes displayed on the buffet tables for breakfast. Talk of breaking a fast, this hotel definitely knows how to. Do I have to bore you again with one of the reasons why I love staying there?

It was on my second round that I saw these triangles that were wrapped with banana leaves. I asked one of the chefs, Unsa na? And she replied, Puto. At least this time I knew what she meant. But the stickler for details in me couldn’t help react with, Ay, puto maya! She smiled, and said, Oo, ug naay sikwate. And mango slices were on a large plate next to the puto and sikwate–yum!

Yes, I call it rounds. I pretend I’m Sen. Manny “Pacman” Pacquiao in one of his boxing fights, with first round, second round, etc.

My first round would be fried rice with the usual cholesterol fare — bacon, hotdog, ham, corned beef, dried fish, eggs. Second round would be pandesal, rolls, pastries, croissant, donut, French toast, pancakes. Third round is for fruits.

For last Saturday, the second round included the puto, mango, and sikwate.

My sis is my usual “ako ang iyong konsensya” as she says, Hoy, sakto na. Must be like Pacman’s coach who advises for him to quit once he has had too much in a fight.

At Dad’s ancestral home for the Thursday dinner after Tito Lolong’s Mass and interment, the dining table had lechon, humba, hamonada, embutido, and chicharon. I couldn’t remember having an all-pork menu in any other meal. This was definitely a first. Pork galore. Kaluoy sa piggy. But while savoring all that, I noticed two cousins who didn’t join us, they were seated at the kitchen table. It was when I approached them that I noticed the purple-colored puto maya and sikwate — those were the two reasons they preferred to sit there.

Cebu will always be our second home, and we will be going back there often now that the cause of sainthood of Tito Lolong is at a faster pace. We, his pamangkins, still can’t believe that all these are happening. We sit there at a Mass or a ceremony, and we cry as we remember Tito Lolong and our parents and how it was then when they were still around.

And I remember this. Dad was berks with his bro Tito Pedio since they were the youngest among the boys. We always dropped by Tito Pedio’s office whenever we were in Cebu City way back when I was a little girl, before proceeding to Pardo or wherever Tito Lolong was assigned then, and then to the ancestral house in Carcar where Nanay (our paternal grandma), and Tita Medios and her family lived. We would stay there for several days before going back to Cagayan de Oro.

Dad and his siblings are all in Tito Lolong’s biography, and I noticed one thing: Dad’s birthday is not correct, and I pointed that out to the DST mother superior. Need I bore you again with the fact that I’m always a stickler for details? Hehe. She did note down the correct date.

We are now the family’s representatives when our presence is needed for the Masses and ceremonies for Tito. At Domus Teofilo, the museum that houses some familiar items like the large glass tumblers that I used while in his Pardo convent, I sit on the pews inside the Domus, and think, He’s Tito Lolong, he’s Dad’s elder bro, and I’m his niece. Each time I attend a Mass or ceremony for him, it’s always like I’m attending his funeral again.

Well, I tend to stick with family and the familiar, so, there’s Carcar, and there’s this hotel in Cebu City.