Slug: A Silva Spoon
While it is doubtless that each one of us that special chef
that we hold dear, the one whose cuisine warms the very cockles of our
heartstrings and bellies, we find ourselves ever so often returning to the hand
that rocks the cradle (or is it ladle?). Home is where the heart and hearth is.
From our earliest recollections of food and all the comfort it provided, our
memory draws us back to our mothers, and it is these special women and their
signature dishes that I salute today; not just mine, but everyone’s. I have had
the distinct privilege of knowing the mothers of a few f my friends closely,
and as such, I have had the distinct honour of similarly spending time in their
kitchens and dining rooms.
Let us start as close to home as possible, by actually beginning at home. I come from a family that shares a belief that spice is an unnecessary evil, that ‘Hell’s Mouth Chilli Sauce’ is produced precisely where the name suggests. The exception to this rule was my father’s love for excessive spice. The hotter food was, the better and strolling through a serving of Hell’s Mouth was as easy as a walk around Garcia da Orta on a winter’s day. And this is what home-cooking is all about. Good old-fashioned TLC. I spent my growing years watching my mother, Augusta pore over recipe after recipe trying to work out two batches of whatever she was making, in an attempt to find out how to best balance mealtimes in such a way that everyone managed to keep the peace and at the same time not break into an almighty sweat over the spicy after-effects of what was served. She eventually got the trick down and learnt that some things are best tempered half-way; which brings us to the crux of her tale in particular. She eventually managed (much like the Hindu and Catholic variations of a Xacuti) to put together her interpretation of Bacalhau. For those uninitiated to it, Bacalhau is the Portuguese word for cod and—in a culinary context—dried and salted cod, and a popular ingredient used in certain dishes in Goa. The secret to keeping the peace was sprinkling a handful of chopped chillies over the plate of the pater (which in Portugal would be blasphemous, no doubt).
But this little balancing act and creating a speciality dish got me to thinking and made me realise that whether working professionals or not, more of than not, it is the mater that controls the gastronomic goings-on of the household. Take for instance, Bettina Gera. The mother of renowned DJ and Producer, Aneesh Gera has a production all of her very own, that with all due respect to Aneesh, is a hit in its own right: a slow roasted chicken. Succulent on the inside while retaining a crisp exterior, this is one of the biggest draws at dinner parties at the Gera household and has been for years, and is Betty’s (as she is affectionately known) culinary claim to fame.
In the very heart of Margao’s heritage area, a young Finnish girl, Sinikka Jussilainen married one João Costa in the summer of 1965. While João’s nephew Antonio is currently a frontrunner to become Portugal’s next prime minister, his wife holds all the votes as to who is the best chef in the house and has done so for the last 50 years. From an exemplary lemon soufflé that is straight out of heaven to the first quiche I ever experienced at the tender age of 7, this woman has been at the very core of my need to understand how good food can mould one’s day and disposition.
Moving closer to home once more, I look to where my source of inspiration, my mother drew hers from. It would be remiss to not assume her mother. The creator of what is reputed to be one of the best Bebinca’s in the southern half of the state, Verna’s Filomena Mendonça vehemtly sticks to her guns that any Bebinca containing under 7 layers cannot possibly pass muster.
At the end of it all, with a cross-section of examples (and several that I have regrettably had to leave out, for no fault of theirs but space constraints) it stands to reason that indeed, as author Tenneva Jordan has pointed out, “A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie.”