The eyes were staring straight at me, unblinking. I stared back, unsure of what to do. I wasn’t used to making eye contact with my food, but here we were, in an epic showdown. The fact that I blinked first was reassuring. I’m stretching my adventurous eating, but still need to work up to some things. It was a sauce with small, whole fish chopped up and stirred in. It was delicious, but certainly a new experience to feel like you’re being watched by your food. And probably judged. You can’t take everything personally.
“Let’s eat!”
This is one of the most common phrases I hear as I walk through the orphanage. Meal time is sacred. The home gathers together around four groupings of large tables, the littlest kids propped up on double stacked chairs so their chin has a few inches of clearance. House Parents oversee each group. They ensure the kids eat their food, mind their manners, and clean up afterwards. The kids say grace, and then quickly dig into the fresh food served family style.
“Let’s eat!”
Eleven-year-old Daisy* looks at me with a stern urgency, and mimics eating with both hands. Without fail, this is how she greets me every day just before dinner. Daisy has a large smile with one dimple that gives her a distinctive sparkle. She has been at King’s Garden for several years and was transferred to us from another institution. Her father was abusive and her mother worked endlessly, but couldn’t bring in enough money to keep them fed. Her older sister Annie started caring for the family when she was eight years old, watching after the younger kids, cooking the meals, and sometimes doing cleaning and laundry for the neighbors when her mother couldn’t work. When they didn’t have enough money, they would eat one meal a day – rice, maybe mixed with some milk, or oil, or sugar. Annie was proud that she could care for the family. She dreams of being a chef someday.
Daisy is very serious about her food. She recently went on a hunger strike, skipping dinner and breakfast because her snack had been taken away for misbehavior. Her stubbornness is legendary. She is intelligent and enjoys laughing, but has a strong personality and knows what she wants. She finally relented and started joining mealtime again, but still reminds the staff of the snack she missed.
Snack time happens twice a day, at ten and three. The merienda can be sweet or savory, and pasta or noodles is not uncommon. Turon is a banana in a spring roll wrapper and deep fried into deliciousness. Maiz con Hielo is canned corn mixed with sugar and condensed milk over chipped ice, a refreshing snack on an oppressively humid day.
Fish is the most common protein and you haven’t had a real meal unless you’ve eaten rice, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I was out on a shopping trip and was given a large portion of spaghetti as a snack. When I returned to the home 30 minutes later, I declined lunch because I was still full. “But don’t you want some rice?” I was asked, incredulously. A snack is a snack and a meal isn’t a meal without rice. But I was still full.
Michelle and Luz are our cooks, and Lea helps out weekly. They make preparing food for 70 people look easy, which I think is nothing short of pure magic. Sweet potatoes, onions, okra, eggplant, chayote, and tomatoes are staples. Every meal is delicious, with well-balanced flavors and sauces to soak into the rice. I joke with our cook, “Michelle, I’m going to get fat here!” She looks at me very seriously and nods. “Yes.” Then she cracks a smile, “Good thing you don’t have a husband.” We both laughed as she handed me another treat.
The table is set with a large spoon and a fork at each plate. A bit of rice is mixed with the main dish and scooped into the spoon. I’m generally more of a fork person, and it took a few weeks for me to appreciate the efficiency of the large spoon when eating saucy rice. Meats are cooked tender enough to be broken up by the fork and spoon, or picked at with fingers. The staff teased me that eating with your hands makes the food much more flavorful, as they showed me how it was properly done, with the right proportion of rice to flavor.
When the meal is finished, all the children clear their dishes and each grouping has 1-2 people assigned to wash up. Children as young as 5 or 6 will stand on their tip toes, helping the older kids rinse and dry the dishes to be ready for the next meal. Other children wipe down the tables, and sweep and mop the floor in the dining room. They finish up their chores and scatter to enjoy some free time before bed.
After dinner we sit around the kitchen prep table with some of the staff, talking about life in the Philippines, life in America, sharing laughter and good conversation. Nine-year-old Brent, who has trouble in school and doesn’t connect with people deeply, comes in to the kitchen and gives Michelle a big hug. “Did you study in school today?” she asks him.
“No!” he responds, with a big smile.
“What did you do?”
“I played!”
“Ay, what am I going to do with you? You need to study!” She gives him a big hug back, and you can see the bond they have.
Brent goes over to the garlic basket and starts peeling off the papery shell with a small knife. Garlic is used in most dishes, and there is a constant need to prep the cloves for the next day’s meal. Mike, another 9-year-old boy with some behavior challenges, soon joins Brent peeling the garlic. Mike used to visit his family over Christmas, but doesn’t want to go anymore. They never had enough food at home and he had to sleep with the pigs. Mike and Brent don’t always get along, but something about being in a warm kitchen in the early evening is calming.
The conversation turns to Tagalog language tongue twisters, as Hazel and I try to rapidly repeat the sentences we hear. The collapsing laughter echoes through the hallways, and one by one, we’re joined by some of the older boys.
Ethan is 13 and often instigates fights. Gabe is also troubled, picks on others, and doesn’t show any emotion. Kenneth is the oldest, quiet and shy. He’s tormented at school for being an orphan. They sit on the bench behind the table, ignoring our invitations to join us, but still wanting to be there. To belong. Luz beckons Ethan to the other end of the table. She hands him a cutting board and pulls out 3-foot long green beans. She shows him how to trim the ends and cut them into one-inch pieces for the next day’s adobo dish. “He likes to cook,” she tells us. “He often helps me fry the fish and prepare the vegetables.” He works carefully, focused on perfect beans, while occasionally cracking a smile from our overheard conversation.
“Let’s eat!”
It’s a phrase that means so much more than food. It’s connection. It’s sharing life. It’s family. If home is where the heart is, and the way to your heart is through your stomach, then the kitchen is the heartbeat of the home. Let’s eat.
*All names of the children and some details have been changed for their privacy.