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Christmas in Tarlac, Tarlac

Appears in
Memories of Philippine Kitchens

By Amy Besa and Romy Dorotan

Published 2006

  • About
Nanay, my maternal grandmother, died when I was ten, and the family ties that had brought us to Iba, Zambales, on a regular basis began to fade. The bucolic picnics floating down the Bangkal river on rafts and riding water buffaloes on the black beaches of Masinloc gave way to the more urban setting of Tarlac, Tarlac, a few hours drive north of Manila in Central Luzon. I distinctly remember this shift from one side of the family to the other.
My father’s oldest brother, Tomas Besa, was the undisputed patriarch of the huge Besa clan, having raised his younger siblings, who were orphaned early in their lives. Tom Daddy, as we all called him, had built a huge, exquisitely intricate home along the main street of Tarlac. The ground floor alone was a warren of corridors leading from my uncle’s office (in a country that likes to convey titular respect, he was referred to as Attorney) to the kitchen opening up to a grand living room with an elevated dining room on the side lined with wide planks of polished hardwood. There were French doors everywhere opening up to gardens and a wide expanse of grassy area where the cousins played softball with room to spare.

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