Monday, December 31, 2007 Memoirs of New Years past By Ian Ocampo Flora
A WEEK after Christmas, just before the year ends, my mother would have us gather the Uraru (Arrow Roots) from the Mula (roughly translated as a big garden space) were the crop grew in abundance despite the shades of fruit-bearing trees that lined the entire space.
It was typical then for rural homes and old families to have vast space of land around the house. The space was usually planted with Siniguelas, Santol, Yangka and others that for some reason would bear fruits during summer. However, during the "off season" when there were no fruits to gather, my grand parents would plant Uraru in between the vacant spaces of trees just in time for the New Year.
Early in the morning, the Uraru crops would be unearthed by a Carabao driven plow revealing the white plum that I and my cousins along with some childhood friends would gather in abundance to the nearby Asug to be smashed into fine pieces by our older kin. The bashed pieces of Uraru would then be placed in large basins with water (most of the time we use the Batya that my grandmother used for washing clothes). The pieces would then be mashed in the water to produce a milky solution. The water would be strained to remove hard particles with the use of a Katsa (cloth) on a larger basin. This process would be repeated for several times until we have enough of the solution that would then be placed in the heat on the sun. As the water is heated, the white particles of the Uraru would settle at the bottom of the basin. Removing the water, we repeat the process until the particles dried up and the result, flour made from Uraru.
This flour, which is the main ingredient in making San Nicolas Cookies (Masa or Uraru Cookies as our old folks call them), is whiter than average flour. It has a silky texture, and this is the main reason the cookies are white when baked.
The next day, in most cases December 30, old family friends most specifically those of my grandmother would gather along the second floor of the old house. They start the mixing the Uraru flour, eggs and sugar for the dough using their hands. The procedure is called Masa in Kapampangan from which the name of the cookie was derived. Sweaty hands were not allowed to participate in this process since my old flock believed that this had an effect on the taste. But the young ones were ushered in when we began setting the mold designs. The dough would be shaped into balls the size of those big P1 coin.
My grandmother would then bring into epiphany one of her prized culinary possessions (that would later pass on to my sisters), which are four sets of antique wooden moulds. Each had circular carvings of different geometric designs the size of P1 coins, forming a conical kaleidoscope into the wood, but the most amazing of all the designs is the large carved spade, as large as an adults palm, with intricate inner carvings of flowers, geometric designs and flourishes. In the middle of the spade is a figure of a saint, which my grandmother would adoringly refer to as Apung Kulas.
Playful as we were then, we began placing the balls of dough into the moulds and hit them with our palms to imbed the design. Copper cutters would then be used to cut the edges of the cookies into flowers, hearts and spades. Placing them into pans, the old folks would begin baking them in the heat of the neighborhood Pugon. Grandmother mother would place the cookies into large crystal jars and distribute the remaining that could not fit into the jars to the folks that helped out.
The jars would be placed on the center of the dinner table. Most of these would be carted away by Inaanaks and relatives who faithfully pay a visit just before New Years Eve. But my grandmother would make sure to keep a jar or two, which would last for three moths or more near the medicine cabinet. She believed that these cookies with the image of San Nicholas could cure fever and that keeping these delicious cookies in the jars is like keeping the best of the preceding year into the year to come.
She would insist to have us eat some of the cookies when we had fever rather than a doze of paracetamol. An act, which often irked my doctor-mother who demanded proofs of my grandmother's claims and delighted us grandchildren who had developed sweet tooth and a dislike for medicines. A baker friend in later years would then explain to me that the belief is not entirely baseless. The cookies being stored he said develops "friendly" bread organism that act as anti bodies when ingested. These same organisms he said form part of the ingredients for the wonder drug penicillin.
Now, whenever New Year comes I could only look back to the memories of New Years past. Our parents have long sold out the old house and the Mula, and those who helped us then are either dead or have their own lives to live. We still make Uraru cookies, though much random now than usual since Lola is no longer around to oversee the process. But whenever we do, I keep a jar or two to remind me of the best memories of the last year and to have something to get me through the "fevers" of the years to come.
