I cannot, for the life of me, cook Paksiw na Bangus. I first learned how to eat this classic Filipino comfort food at the dinner table of my grandmother, Lola Saleng. At home, we cooked bangus either crisply fried or simmering in sinigang sourness.

When Lola Saleng first served me paksiw, gradeschooler-me got curious. It had a zesty yet biting aroma. I could see ginger. I could see eggplant. The first bite fascinated me. I’ve always loved the comforting acidity of sinigang, but this paksiw was tarty, playful even. I loved it!

As an adult, I tried to recreate my Lola Saleng’s paksiw, but it was never the same. I can make Kare-kare, Tortang Talong, Chicken Curry, Chopsuey but Paksiw na Bangus? I can never get it right. My version lacked a certain fullness in flavor, so I rarely cook it.

When I saw a kaldero of Paksiw na Bangus at the corner carinderia where my colleague and I buy lunch, I was low-key thrilled. I didn’t want to get my hopes up—after all, nobody could cook paksiw like my Lola did—but I wish it would taste kind of the same.  

The verdict: It was not the same but it was close enough for me to smile at the end of the meal and thank my lucky stars for cooking traditions passed down from one generation to the next, present in every corner carinderia.

I’ve always had a favorite carinderia. At every stage of my motherhood journey, it has saved me from countless domestic debacles.

There were days I could not fathom cooking dinner when I had just finished washing the dishes from lunch. At times, I didn’t have the energy to manage the kitchen after working on deadlines. There were instances too when I just didn’t know what the hell to cook! Recipe books don’t help when you’ve cooked hundreds of meals and can’t seem to muster the idea of making another.

It was during those times that the carinderia saved me—sustaining me, nourishing my children and at affordable prices too!

When we lived in Manila, my favorite carinderia was located on the ground floor of a corner building. Its narrow counters and low stools spilled out onto the sidewalk. Beyond it, commuters chased after jeepneys and street vendors hawked goods while a traffic cop tried to keep order. It was quite a sight, but nobody had the time to look; everybody was busy eating.

I was younger then so I had no qualms ordering Inihaw na Baboy—the meat glistening, the skin charred to perfection. While I fed my eldest mashed vegetables, I rewarded myself with the carinderia inihaw, drizzled with toyo and kalamansi, alongside a piping-hot serving of white rice. My, oh my!

We’ve moved houses since then, and my current go-to carinderia is a few steps away from church, the perfect vantage point for observing the comings and goings of the village. It’s always busy, with lines three to four people deep all ordering to go.

There is the standard fare of Lechon Kawali, Menudo, and Adobo, but I prefer dishes that I don’t know how to make or don’t usually make like Pangat na Salay, Ginataang Tilapia, Kilawing Puso ng Saging, Laing. A year or so ago, I became obsessed with their Kare-kare, which they served only on Sundays. We had it every Sunday for a month!

Sometimes, I get a table and have a serving of giniling. If you don’t know what I’m talking about then you’re missing a lot! It’s the carinderia version of the picadillo, pork ground to bits in a rich, oily tomato sauce, diced potato and bell pepper thrown in. It’s sinfully delicious!

That the carinderia began offering delivery services was a godsend. I could only surmise the number of working mothers sighing in collective relief.

I welcomed the convenience but every now and then, I walk a couple of blocks to the carinderia and grab a seat. I order giniling and Ate quickly puts a plate, utensils, a glass, and a pitcher of water on the table. The matriarch who runs the place gives me a smile; she’s seen me here many times before.

The kitchen is busy. It is close to lunchtime after all, and my neighbors, too tired or occupied to cook, are here. I am amazed at how quickly they run out of fried chicken; a favorite among kids perhaps. It doesn’t matter as there are plenty of dishes to choose from.

I hear the incessant chopping of vegetables, ingredients being tossed in a pan. There is quiet, friendly chatter as orders are taken and packed away.

I remember the many other times I’ve been here, harried and hurried. Now I sit back, enjoy my giniling, and have some leche flan while talk turns to the rising cost of fuel. Life can still be sweet.