Kalo Kitchen
My earliest memory is eating at my grandparents house. Sharing a meal together was my families love language. Both immigrants from the Philippines, grandma and grandpa would cook 5-8 dishes which would be beautifully orchestrated in an array of mismatched dishes ranging from floral painted ceramic to containers like country crock butter or cool whip. Some dishes were already set on the table before we got there, so once we arrived, we would gather around their wooden dining room table, laughing or complaining about what happened with so and so around town, and we’d waited for my grandma to finish up her last few dishes. Grandpa would be sitting in his recliner in the living room, drinking coors light, watching the lakers game, and eating his boiled peanuts. My grandma was about done cooking, and as soon as she’d place the last dish on the table, someone would yell, “Okay food’s ready, come eat!”, we would say a quick prayer, then dig in.
Hands would reach in all directions and a buzz would fill the room.
After the mad dash is over, we’d all make our way to our respective spots. I had a seat at the table next to my mom. We’d sit across from my grandparents and next to my Aunt. The end seat of the table was always up for grabs and would either stay empty or be occupied by one of my brothers. In general, all the boys which were three brothers and three boy cousins, would take the entirety of the living room. We’d sit, talk story, get full,begin zip locking food, and then begin heading out. We’d all hug and kiss grandma and grandpa who’d be cleaning up in the kitchen, then go our separate ways. We’d be back to do this all over again at least twice a month.
To be Filipino, is to be unapologetically proud of who you are and where you come from, to have unconditional love for your family which can sometimes translate into what we call “tough love”, and lastly, the strange desire to feed others.
I am cooking today as a reminder for those moments of happiness I reminisce about. Our story began generations ago. Our culture and food are like the pages of an endless encyclopedia. We all travel along different journeys but we come from the same path. To know our food story, you need to understand where we started. For me, that story began in Pa'auilo on the Big Island of Hawai'i. Although I wish I could be back at that table with my family twice a month, an exciting month of Filipino American history month will do.
About Kalo Kitchen
My name is Jasmine and I am the owner of Kalo Kitchen. We are a Hawaiian and Filipino food business at Beaverton Farmer’s market as well as many events in the Beaverton/Portland area. I grew up on the Big Island of Hawaii in a small town called Pa’auilo. My grandparents are immigrants from the Philippines and moved to Hawaii where they started our family. They eventually opened a small restaurant and minimart called TnT Parel minimart. They served Filipino food on the steam table and offered other Hawaiian and Filipino treats, dishes, and many many snacks! Much of my inspiration derives from their story and the dishes and traditions passed down to me from my family.
