It's the Lunar New Year once again, which means at some point in the past few days Shalla and I went tikoy-buying for our families.
It's the time when Shalla would tell me about how the people who would hurl Chinese stereotypes at her would be the same persons who would wonder loudly if they'll be getting tikoy this year.
It's also the time when I would insist on getting our families tikoy that's not widely available. I mean, the stuff available in malls do it in a pinch, but I remember a few years back, when I found myself roped into a Binondo food crawl with Shalla's former work colleagues, smack in the middle of Lunar New Year celebrations. The place was really crowded - I'm sure someone tried to slash my pockets, which is a shame because it was a new pair of shorts I wore on that day - but you wouldn't see Chinese-Filipinos. Apparently they skip the day because of the crowds.
Anyway, I digress. I've told this story before, of how we ended up at the Diao Eng Chay store there to get some tikoy (and for her to get some taro milk, a childhood memory, unfortunately out of stock at the time). It was the better tikoy, she insisted, and I agree. It is different, especially if you buy the brown ones. I vowed to buy tikoy there next time. It appealed to my show-off-y, I-know-my-shit nature, whenever it does pop out. (Then again, should I be giving away my secrets?)
Luckily enough there's another branch near the flat, just a ten-minute drive or so. There are only two branches, and the one at the fringes of Greenhills is where a lot of the district's old rich get their holiday essentials - or at least, their house staff does. Amidst the shelves of preserves, condiments, quekiam and stacks of tikoy, you'd hear the staff ask, "para kanino 'yan? Ah, kay Mr. Gatchalian?" They know their customers, and they know their regulars. I don't. I just picked a random, rich-sounding family name out of thin air for that quote.
The first time we were there - just a month or two before all this madness - the staff were trying to recognize if they knew Shalla from somewhere. They don't. It was our first time there, after all.
The second time was last week. I don't know if they recognized her, or had to do that look again. I had to stay in the car. Parking is difficult, as you'd expect, but also, only five people are allowed inside at a given time.
This year Shalla had a different story. She told me about how folks would ask her about cooking tikoy. She would give her answer, and those folks would not pay attention, and then, at the end, go, "yes, I know that already." Fast forward a few days later, when she'd bring over cooked tikoy, and everyone would go, "wow, this is sooooo good, how do you do it?" I'm sure it's not just because of the brand she buys.
You slice the tikoy thinly. You're better off putting the box in the fridge a day before so it isn't difficult to slice when you're cooking it. Then, you dip the slices in beaten egg. Then, you fry it in oil, but it must be at the lowest possible heat. Wait until it darkens and gets soft, then serve.
I learned this the hard way. I myself told her I knew how to cook tikoy - it's because I asked my mother - only to burn the slices and make a sticky mess out of my formerly non-stick pan. She salvaged it and we had a good time eating it. The washing up, however, was an extra pain.
We got a new pan this year - a wok, sort of. But more importantly, I'll have her cook it.
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