Lechon in my dreams
For three weeks I was fine-dined; filled to the brim in hole-in-the-wall diners; seated in sidestreet food stalls, waiting for the grilled food I ordered to be served on Joveknows how the serving plates were washed; and toured around the island of Bohol.
Vacation is sweet when friends (German and Imma) invite you to stay with them and refuse your financial contribution. The more I tried to help them, the more they gave. In the end, I gave up and let them do what they do best: making people happy and full.
I had an eye-opening trip through history and natural science after days of traveling around the green island that’s shaped like a turtle. For instance, I got my balance checked in Sevilla, Tagbilaran, after crossing the Sipatan river through the bamboo hanging bridge; and became pensive after visiting famed churches, or what’s left of them, because a big chunk of the past is gone to rubble.
My hosts also took me to birthday parties of one relative after another, and fiestas where the center of the table was reserved for the lechon. It’s a wonder my heart held out those three weeks of having lechon almost every other day or so. We never left a party without our host insisting we take a leg of lechon as a take-home gift. And so it was lechon in the morning, lechon at lunch, lechon for snacks and lechon in the evening. Rehashed Pig. I’m not complaining and so let me share how Imma rehashed lechon.
Never did I imagine that cubed lechon and the flavorful green onions used as stuffing could be added to monggo soup. Imma also made menudo or stew using lechon; Philly cheesesteak sandwich using lechon; and green salad topped with fried lechon.
There are evenings now as I drift to sleep, I see little piggies circling my head and chanting “lechon” to the tune of Pasko Na Naman. That’s how deeply lechon made an impact on me, and how much I thank German and Imma.