We found a huge makataan at the farmers' market last weekend and when we did, my mom and I were both giddy with excitement. It has been years since we found a watermelon with a skin thick enough worthy of the effort of making preserve. Makataan is just perfect, as the skin is all you are really after.
My mom took on the almighty task of preserve making this week and by friday she was ready to bottle them. This is not a process for the fainthearted, because it takes a full week of tender, loving care to get the end result in the bottle, but boy is it worth it. Nothing, absolutely nothing compares you for that first bite into the sweet, sticky, gingery, syrupy deliciousness.
For me a smell or a taste, sometimes even a sound can transport me to a different place. I am not talking about anything extra-ordinary or outer-body, just imaginary. Eating the preserve did just that. It gave me a nostalgic glimpse into a past shared with grandparents, aunts and uncles. Making preserves, jams, dried fruit, special biscuits were such a big part of our lives growing up. A huge chunk of my childhood memories consist of us, sitting around a table in our or my grandmothers' kitchens peeling, boiling, tasting and eating. Both my grandmothers were very industrious in the kitchen and their pantries were always filled with jars and cans and tins of goodness. I adored that about both of them. My mother continues the tradition and I hope to fill her shoes one day too.
