“In typical Filipino fashion, my aunt expressed her love not through words of encouragement or affectionate embraces, but through food. Food was how she communicated. Food was how she found her place in the world. When someone rejected her food, they were really rejecting her heart.”
Have you ever been to a Filipino bakery? If you have, you know that they, not Disneyland, deserve to be named “The Happiest Place(s) on Earth” — the sweet smell of freshly-made pandesal, little towers of hopia, and bright splashes of purple in various ube desserts are almost unmatched in their ability to bring me comfort and joy.
Despite ARSENIC AND ADOBO being a murder-mystery, with dead bodies and vicious attacks galore, Mia P. Mansala’s food writing was so evocative and immersive that the smell of a Filipino bakery never left my mind as I read. (I may have come to find out who committed the murder, but I left with a recipe for ube crinkle cookies.) I bring up Manansala’s food writing because it was one of my favorite aspects of this book — I had numerous issues with the plot and mystery itself, but the way she writes about dishes like almondigas and mamón was truly stunning, with entire lines dedicated to describing a food’s appearance, scent, texture, and taste.
This care and attention made clear that, to our protagonist, Lila Macapagal, Filipino food is more than just sustenance. Like for Michelle Zauner (Japanese Breakfast), the author of CRYING IN H MART, cultural food is a deep source of comfort to Lila — whether she’s making it herself or eating it, it’s practically its own language, grounding her and re-connecting her with her roots and flooding her with feelings of family, home, and safety.
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