Christmas Soup

Ingredients:

half a kilo of red onions
a garland of fresh garlic
A block of cheese
chocolate


1. First, you take a piece of red onion and chop it up finely on a wooden board. Make sure to keep your fingers curled because people get carried away by the saddest thoughts sometimes when chopping onions, and you might get distracted or blinded by the tears that are sure to come.

Unless, of course, you're already in tears before you decided to chop the onions.

Like for instance, some really, really discomfiting news comes in the electronic mail, and you couldn't stop yourself from crying, and the only other thing with which crying is inevitable (and socially acceptable)is chopping onions. In this case, keep your fingers away from your eyes as well. Because if you were chopping onions to blame the tears on them, making your eyes sting some more will require you to prolong the charade. It’s easy to blame things on inanimate objects for a while, but you’ll have to come up with a different excuse sooner or later, particularly when you’re all out of onions.

A funny thing about onions: some people think you need to peel off the skin gently and delicately for whatever reason. But if you go ahead and chop it up without peeling off the skin first, you’ll find that there are less tears and that the skin will just fall off anyway.

It happens sometimes too that when we try so hard to be delicate about certain things, we soon realize too late that it was probably the sudden thrust of the cold steel cleaver slicing through the heart of the matter that would have been ultimately less painful.



2. After you chop the onions, take some garlic. A whole garland if you must.

This time, you may peel them off as delicately and as slowly as you wish. Because each time you pierce their skin, they leave their scent on your fingertips like an unworthy offering. As the kitchen goddess in whose hands their destinies lie, they give and give of their fragrance and you take. It's okay. It's just garlic. So just take. And take. And take some more.

Especially if you have yet to meet a man who will give of himself as willingly and as selflessly to a woman who can peel away his defenses the way she just did to the onions that made her cry.

When he gazes at you with an unspoken apology for the things he cannot help, you realize the hurt is a double edged sword. He hurts too. And the only way to make the fragrance last longer in your fingertips is to peel as slowly and carefully as you can.

Because men are more complicated in their un-complication.

Some of them can see the real reason behind the onion chopping and the garlic peeling and all the other things women do to hide the skeletons that refuse to be locked away in closets. It's just that they have no idea how to deal with a woman in that particular state. Especially when she's holding a cleaver. This kind we can forgive. It's not their fault they're practically clueless.

Others, however, just see a woman with a cleaver. And reflexively worry about what that cleaver can do. So they start judging her that way.

In this case, the next thing you do after you have separated the garlic into cloves is to wipe away the debris from the surface of your chopping board the way artists smooth out a clean white canvas before a masterpiece. Take a clove of garlic and place it in the middle of your board. Then, you place your cleaver flat over it. Gently, because you don’t want to look over-eager. And with the weight of your arm centered on your palm, crush it between the wooden board that was its bed and the cold steel that is your vengeance. (Bwahahahhaha!)

Crush with all your might.

Then take another clove and repeat the process.

After a while when you get the hang of things, you can improvise. You may start pounding instead of just crushing. You can even get rid of the flat side of the cleaver and use a rolling pin instead. Pound like Thor on a thundercloud. Or Hera on a blind and jealous rage.

For all the lies, wack!
For all the lame excuses, bang!
For all the times they made you feel less than what you are, BAM!
And then having the balls to blame it all on you, CRUSH! POUND! BAM! SPLAT!

...Then take a deep breath.

Smooth out your apron like the epitome of grace and composure that you really are.

There.

After all, you are the goddess in this here kitchen. And you’re making up the menu as you go along. And even goddesses lose their composure sometimes. That’s why they pay tribute to Hera when her wrath has been provoked.

Sweat it out a bit.

Until you finally realize that you’re done with garlic.

That it's time to move on.

Garlic is nice on spaghetti and buttered bread. And some people like spaghetti and garlic bread. But the world is full of spices and, like it or not, some spices are just a prelude to a whole smorgasbord of other gustatory delights!


3. A block of cheese should always available in your fridge.

Take it out. It smells like home. Help yourself to a slice. It is wise to taste test your ingredients before you actually use them. Take another slice. You deserve it. After all the effort you just exerted over the garlic cloves. Some ingredients just take a lot more energy than others and it’s not usually their fault. Cheese is not one of them. And you deserve a piece of comfort every once in a while.

Divide the cheese depending on the number of ways you wish to use them. It’s always safe to have a portion for cubes and a portion to be shredded. When you make cheese cubes, they don't have to be even. And you can make as much shredded cheese as your heart desires. There are no measuring equipment in this kitchen except for your senses.

Besides, you don't like lines. They tell you where you are, but sometimes, they tend to limit you to just where you are as well.

So, no measurements on the cheese. They just have to be there. A familiar flavor among the explosion of spices that invade your taste buds.

Cheese and the boy next door types. His secret weapon is familiarity. You can rely on him and on cheese to be constant and comfortable and will none the less make you close your eyes with pleasure.



4. Then there's chocolate.

"What the hell is chocolate doing in a soup?" you might ask.

Mind your own business. It's Christmas. What is Christmas without chocolate? And what is chocolate if not a Kiss? Dark and passionate when shared in the dim candlelight of a midwinter's eve. Mild and sweet when smeared across your cheek by a chubby baby's hand. I will have my chocolate milky when the sun is up. And smooth and dark when the sun goes down. And no more onions and garlic cloves to stress about. Chocolate is the ingredient I will take regardless of the form they come in. Shred them, cube them, crush them, grind them. I will always have them.



5. I am not really a cook. I'm just a woman with a lot on her hands on a wild Christmas day. I'm not even going to turn on the stove, because every time I do that, disaster follows me like a shadow. I'm not a cook. I'm a psychiatrist. I'm not an expert on making gourmet meals. But I do make a living out of finding socially acceptable gratifications to the otherwise repressed desires of the inner child. In this case, the inner angry child. So, the next best thing is to hand over the chopped onions and the crushed garlic and the cheese ( I'll keep the chocolates, thank you) to Manang B and Nanay Ring, who are the real mistresses of my kitchen, and who will, I'm sure, figure out what to do with them. :)

HAPPY CHRISTMAS!