by FranLl

Created on: May 23, 2010

I never really understood why my parents kept drilling me with kitchen stuff until I had to live on my own. In Asia, most women are taught to cook even before they hit puberty. In my case, I was expected to learn kitchen chores even before I could write in cursive.

It's not that my parents are into cooking or we enjoy gourmet cooking throughout the week or something like that. Both my parents worked so I had to learn to fend for myself and make my own snacks during the day. We did have a house companion who took care of me and my other siblings. Sort of like a nanny in hyper multi-tasking mode. She was the one that taught me the basics of cooking.

First off, I had to learn to cook rice. Rice is the staple food in our country. Back then, very few families had a gas stove, much less a rice cooker. Good thing we had a gas stove. I had to step on a stool before I can reach the stove switch. My greatest fear was I'd fall over into a searing pan or boiling pot. Luckily that never happened to me. Besides, despite her pretending that she's letting me all do those things alone, our companion was never out of sight.

Next, I had to learn boiling stuff. This was the easiest. I had to boil eggs, boil chicken, boil everything in sight. I started out using a clay cooking set that my mom brought home one time.  Me and my siblings would sneak around the back of the house and start a little bonfire of our own. Then we'd put three big stones set apart around the bonfire. They were arranged in way that they were close enough to each other so that the bottom of our clay pot will stand over our little fire. Our usual recipes would include guava leaves, hibiscus flowers, beetles, dragonflies and sometimes real tomatoes from our backyard. Of course, right about when we have to serve our little creation for tasting, we would each find some other important thing to do. Mine usually was I had to go to the bathroom.

Learning how to fry was the scariest part. And yet, it was the most important skill that got me through living alone. Oil jumping from the pan is one of my pet peeves. It hurts. But without it, I would not be able to enjoy hotdogs, fish, pork chops and even calamares. Along with rice, the staple meal in our province would include fried dried fish. You would know when your neighbors are in a hurry to prepare lunch or dinner because the aroma would really waft its way to your house. Even when if you're about three houses apart.

As my parents got older, and we got a little

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