When I was a kid, every month of May, our family would always make a trip to Antipolo (Philippines). My parents used to do a lot of travelling, transporting harvested vegetables from the farm to Manila, and being the religious people that they are they have made a petition to visit the shrine of "Our Lady of Peace and Good Voyage" in Antipolo Church every year.
It was always an exciting trip for me. It would start really early in the morning because it takes about three hours from where we live to the Shrine. Most often than not, I would fall asleep on the journey but my Dad would always wake me up when we pass by the Pier in Manila as he knows that I am always fascinated by ships and sail boats.
Once we arrive in the Church the family would go and hear Mass and afterwards, for me as a kid that's when all the fun begins! Outside the church is an open market selling lots of novelty items such as: toys, souvenir t-shirts, hats, fruits and cashew nuts! For me the taste of cashew nuts is the equivalent of summer. It means school vacation has officially started and me and my cousins can hang around the farm going about our own little business. As cashew nuts are very dear to buy, me and my cousins have improvised on how to make this...
The art of preparing cashew nuts was handed down to us by our older brothers/sisters/cousins, and to them by the older ones and so on. In short, it's like our own little "mischievous tradition". Early in the morning we would congregate and gather every cashew fruit that we find in the farm. The fruit grows in trees and the boys would climb up and pick the fruits while the girls stay in the ground to catch the cashew fruits with their skirts. We would then walk as far as we can in the middle of the field where no chicken could smell the aroma of our culinary adventure (it was said that the scent of cooking cashew nuts gives skin disease on chickens, probably one those old wive's tales). Equipped with an empty can of formula milk (bottom pierced) we would toss the nuts in it and balance it on three stones and make fire under it. The anticipation is unbearable... there is only silence and sweats pouring out of our foreheads. After a few minutes the cashew nuts are ready, we would crack it open with a stone and there it is, the mighty cashew nut.. as black as it is from the smoke and as burned as our fingers tips are in opening it - it just have the most distinct taste of all, a taste like no other, it was the sweetest and the most delicious cashew nut you could ever taste. Ah well, that's how I remembered it anyway.. but that's the joy of being a kid, all your memories seem to always be the greatest, the biggest, and you always remember all the details.
I wonder if any of my younger cousins or children of my cousins have done this as well... I hope some of them did. But most of all, I hope the cashew fruit trees in the farm are still there.
