Arsenic And Adobo Quotes

In typical Filipino fashion, my aunt expressed her love not through words of encouragement or affectionate embraces, but through food. Food was how she communicated. Food was how she found her place in the world.

Even someone like me felt utang na loob, that impossible to quantify sense of indebtedness and gratitude, to the people who’d raised me. But where was that magical line between selfishness and independence? Between my family and myself?

Her greatest nightmare was holding a party and not having enough food for everyone.

I made it to Adeena’s fifteen minutes late, which in Brown People Time (BPT) meant I was actually a little early.

I’ve never met people so enthusiastic about their food before.

So even though I was an only child, I had enough godmothers, cousins, aunties, and uncles to populate a small village. Or at least a relatively small town that began to feel smaller and more suffocating the older I got.

All that time and money for your fancy education, you’d think your vocabulary would’ve improved by now. English isn’t even my first language and I’m practically Shakespeare compared to you.

the group of fiftysomething-year-old women I privately referred to as “the Calendar Crew.” Their names were April, Mae, and June

Romeo and Juliet are not relationship goals.

almost said “just friends,” as if romantic partnership was superior to platonic friendship, but stopped myself. Adeena hated that term and idea. And I’d learned, time and again, she was right. There was no hierarchy to love.

To my family, who’ve always encouraged me to go after my not-Asian-approved career choice of writing. Especially you, Mommy—you introduced me to the world of mysteries and shared your love of culinary cozies with me. This whole series is for you. Daddy, I will never bring the care and attention to cooking that you always did, but I hope you tasted the love all the same. I miss you so much, but I hope I did you proud.

I could ignore my godmothers’ first two comments—while being told you looked like a witch would bother most people, I considered it a compliment. I loved natural remedies, dark color palettes, and made bewitchingly delicious baked goods, so I’d learned to lean into the bruha image.

Besides, I hate seeing someone unsatisfied with their food. It means they’re going unnurtured. Unfed.

He wanted to ruin you,” she said. “That’s how I knew he wasn’t over you. And why I thought you were the one that killed him.

Don’t get it twisted. You’re still pretentious and full of yourself. But you’re not like, a bad person or anything. And you are not the reason Janet’s in a hospital bed. So stop pitying yourself and figure out who put her there.

FOOD Adobo (uh-doh-boh)---Considered the Philippines's national dish, it's any food cooked with soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, and black peppercorns (though there are many regional and personal variations) Almondigas (ahl-mohn-dee-gahs)---Filipino soup with meatballs and thin rice noodles Baon (bah-ohn)---Food, snacks and other provisions brought on to work, school, or on a trip; food brought from home; money or allowance brought to school or work; lunch money (definition from Tagalog.com) Embutido (ehm-puh-tee-doh)---Filipino meatloaf Ginataang (gih-nih-tahng)---Any dish cooked with coconut milk, sweet or savory Kakanin (kah-kah-nin)---Sweet sticky cakes made from glutinous rice or root crops like cassava (There's a huge variety, many of them regional) Kesong puti (keh-sohng poo-tih)---A kind of salty cheese Lengua de gato (lehng-gwah deh gah-toh)---Filipino butter cookies Lumpia (loom-pyah)---Filipino spring rolls (many variations) Lumpiang sariwa (loom-pyahng sah-ree-wah)---Fresh Filipino spring rolls (not fried) Mamón (mah-MOHN)---Filipino sponge/chiffon cake Matamis na bao (mah-tah-mees nah bah-oh)---Coconut jam Meryenda (mehr-yehn-dah)---Snack/snack time Pandesal (pahn deh sahl)---Lightly sweetened Filipino rolls topped with breadcrumbs (also written pan de sal) Patis (pah-tees)---Fish sauce Salabat (sah-lah-baht)---Filipino ginger tea Suman (soo-mahn)---Glutinous rice cooked in coconut milk, wrapped in banana leaves, and steamed (though there are regional variations) Ube (oo-beh)---Purple yam

NORA AND LIBBY’S ULTIMATE READING LIST Incense and Sensibility by Sonali Dev The Roughest Draft by Emily Wibberley and Austin Siegemund-Broka Yinka, Where Is Your Huzband? by Lizzie Damilola Blackburn Arsenic and Adobo by Mia P. Manansala A Special Place for Women by Laura Hankin A Thorn in the Saddle by Rebekah Weatherspoon Just Last Night by Mhairi McFarlane An Extraordinary Union by Alyssa Cole The Editor by Steven Rowley The Siren by Katherine St. John A Lot Like Adiós by Alexis Daria Verity by Colleen Hoover The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang Portrait of a Scotsman by Evie Dunmore The Fastest Way to Fall by Denise Williams So We Meet Again by Suzanne Park By the Book by Jasmine Guillory Payback’s A Witch by Lana Harper A Week to Be Wicked by Tessa Dare

I was hoping we could fix things between us. But now it’s too late.” She shook her head. “Make sure you fix things when you can. Sometimes you don’t get another chance.

Eww, first of all, Romeo and Juliet are not relationship goals. Second, in that story, it was the parents who did all the shady stuff. Romeo and Juliet were innocent.

Since I’d moved back home, I’d mostly been eating my aunt and grandmother’s cooking. Don’t get me wrong, I loved it and I’d bet good money my family could cook circles around anyone in town, but once in a while you crave something different.

But her refusal to try anything new and insistence on me being a “real” Filipino grated on me. As a second-generation member of a colonized country, born and raised in the Midwestern United States, what did that even mean?

I scrolled through my personal accounts, but nothing really caught my eye, so I switched over to the Instagram account I'd made for Longganisa. She was way more popular than I was, but I hadn't uploaded a new pic in a week and her fans were not pleased. I made a quick post of her splayed out on the sidewalk the day she gave up mid-run. A quick caption of "My human is mad I stopped running to sploot, but doesn't she know it's important to stretch?" and there we go. Enough to appease her fans for a couple of days, at least.

Filipinos were all about family. My whole life I’d had the concept of “family first” drilled into my head, and it’s how I’d lived until I went away to college. It’s not that I disagreed with it, exactly. Even someone like me felt utang na loob, that impossible to quantify sense of indebtedness and gratitude, to the people who’d raised me. But where was that magical line between selfishness and independence? Between my family and myself?

don’t know if you’ve ever been stared down by an elderly Asian woman, but It. Is. Terrifying. Don’t be fooled by the cute florals and jaunty visors—these women will end you, wielding nothing but their sharp tongues, bony elbows, and collapsible shopping carts.

Lila, this is what’s wrong with your generation. All you care about is yourself—your dreams, your needs, your independence. What about your family?

I've never known anyone with the capacity for sugar that Adeena has. She'd demolished her waffles, which she'd drowned in syrup, and then ordered a slice of triple chocolate tuxedo pie, another sugar bomb. If I ate the way she'd did, I'd have lost a foot to diabetes by now. Martha slid our desserts in front of us, and Adeena and I hummed in appreciation after taking our first bites. The lemon icebox cake was cold and creamy, with a background sweetness and a whole lot of tang. As I often did when sampling delicious desserts, I tried to deconstruct what was in it. Graham crackers, cream cheese, whipped cream, and a ton of lemon curd seemed to be the basis of the recipe. Similar to the ginger calamansi pie I'd made, but simpler and no-bake, if I decided to buy the graham crackers instead of making my own. Definitely worth experimenting with, as I had a jar of calamansi curd tucked away in the fridge just begging to be used. I made a note on my phone later, maybe as a summer offering. As per usual when eating out, Adeena and I swapped plates so we could taste each other's desserts. "What do you think, girls?" I grinned at Martha. "Delicious. I love how the lemon cake is sweet and tangy, but you don't go too far in either direction." Adeena added, "It's the perfect counterpoint to my chocolate pie, which is divine, by the way. Rich, creamy, and so satisfying.

Would it kill you to say something nice?

Hmm, that setup smelled fishier than a barrel of patis left out on a summer day.

Incense and Sensibility by Sonali Dev The Roughest Draft by Emily Wibberley and Austin Siegemund-Broka Yinka, Where Is Your Huzband? by Lizzie Damilola Blackburn Arsenic and Adobo by Mia P. Manansala A Special Place for Women by Laura Hankin A Thorn in the Saddle by Rebekah Weatherspoon Just Last Night by Mhairi McFarlane An Extraordinary Union by Alyssa Cole The Editor by Steven Rowley The Siren by Katherine St.

A painting of the Last Supper graced the wall where we seated large parties, so our diners could eat awkwardly below it as they contemplated their sins.

Adeena was the afterthought. Sure they loved her, but not a day went by that she wasn’t reminded of what a disappointment she was. They hated her clothes and hair.

I’d almost lost a tooth due to some shoddy biscotti, the final betrayal.

We both paused, knowing that wasn’t quite true. The law tended to work differently for people like us.

I almost said “just friends,” as if romantic partnership was superior to platonic friendship, but stopped myself. Adeena hated that term and idea. And I’d learned, time and again, she was right. There was no hierarchy to love.

The egg rolls were time-consuming to make, but the bean sprout filling was cheap and tasty. Besides, a party just isn't a party without lumpia. Fried tofu braised with soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, and peppercorns wouldn't exactly break the bank, and neither would the bitter melon and vegetable stir-fry. The mung bean stew was traditionally made with pork and topped with chicharon, but knowing Tita Rosie, she'd use some kind of pork substitute and leave the pork rinds on the side.

I hustled back to the kitchen to prepare some salabat. The hot ginger tea would cure anything that ailed you, and I'd made a few modifications to boost the flavor and health profile. I set the electric kettle and pulled out the jar of ginger, turmeric, honey, cayenne, and calamansi, the last ingredient adding a refreshing hit of citrus tang.

I hate seeing someone unsatisfied with their food. It means they’re going unnurtured. Unfed.

In typical Filipino fashion, my aunt expressed her love not through words of encouragement or affectionate embraces, but through food. Food was how she communicated. Food was how she found her place in the world. When someone rejected her food, they were really rejecting her heart. It crushed her.

Oh my gulay . . .

I almost said “just friends,” as if romantic partnership was superior to platonic friendship, but stopped myself. Adeena hated that term and idea. And I’d learned, time and again, she was right.

Don’t be fooled by the cute florals and jaunty visors—these women will end you, wielding nothing but their sharp tongues, bony elbows, and collapsible shopping carts.

The inside lacked the musty carpet smell most clinics had, and all of the magazines were less than a year old—a sure sign of quality.

When I grabbed the untouched bowl of ginataang bilo-bilo, Derek stopped me. "I haven't tried this yet. I can't write a full review if I don't taste everything on offer." I shrugged and slid it in front of him. "Knock yourself out. It's one of my favorite cold-weather treats, so I hope you enjoy it." Usually consumed for breakfast or at snack time for meryenda, it had all the comfort of a warm bowl of oatmeal but enough sweetness to qualify as dessert. While it wasn't the most Instagram-worthy dish, the various textures of soft and chewy with a bit of bite, combined with the sweet creaminess of the thickened coconut milk and my lola's deft touch made it the Filipino culinary equivalent of hygge. Pure coziness and warmth in a bowl.

Hey bruha, about time you came to visit me. You been with Tita Rosie for what, two or three months now? And you're only coming around now that you need me for something?" She made a noise with her lips and gestured to Amir. "Even Mr. Big-Time Lawyer here knows how to make time for his family. What's your excuse?" I pasted a smile on my face as I screamed on the inside. "Missed you too, Ate Bernie. And in case no one told you, I've been busy helping Tita Rosie and Lola Flor run the restaurant. Maybe if your ex-boyfriend stopped being trash and came to help his mom, I'd have more free time.

So that's why you're here. You're trying to help out Tita Rosie." I looked her in the eye. "Just because I left doesn't mean I was never there for my family. We all help in whatever way we can. Not all the Macapagal kids are deadbeats.

You heard, right? Terrence and I are getting married. He's mine," she added unnecessarily. "Yup. Congrats." She waited for more, but that's all I had to say on that matter. "That's it? After you tried to steal him from me senior year, I figured you'd have more to say." Don't take the bait, Lila, don't take the bait. This woman is in charge of pretty much all patient information and she could easily get Bernadette fired. Don't push her. When I didn't respond, she said, "You always had such a smart mouth. Why are you so quiet now?" I fought the urge to roll my eyes. "Because that all happened, what, seven years ago? Maybe even eight? How are you not even over it yet?" She scoffed, so I added, "And if you recall, he came to me when he saw you for the bully you were. Besides, I remember you getting pretty cozy with Derek as well." Her hand flew to her chest and literally clutched at her pearls. "How dare you! Just because you got dumped by your fiancé doesn't mean you have to lie about mine." As usual, good news traveled fast around Shady Palms. "Forget it. I was a fool to think you'd help me." I started to walk away, but knew I couldn't leave it like that and turned back around. "Congratulations to you and Terrence. He's a good guy and there aren't many of them left. I hope you make each other happy. Truly." She stood there with her mouth hanging open as I walked away, trembling but proud. I'd witnessed a tragedy, been interrogated by the police, reconciled with Bernadette, told off Amir, and confronted Janet all in one day. And it wasn't even dinnertime yet.

A pound of butter and Lord knows how much sugar later, my head was clear, my spirit was calm, and I had a delicious calamansi-ginger pie cooling on the counter. I twisted shut the lid of the jar I'd filled with the excess calamansi-ginger curd and sighed in satisfaction. Now this was bliss. The sweetness of the coconut shortbread crust scented the air, interspersed with the zest of citrus and zing of ginger. If I could bottle this scent, I'd wear it forever.

My chubby dachshund, Longganisa, pranced around my feet, waiting for her share of my experiment. I tossed her a bit of the crust I'd trimmed off and waited for her reaction. Nisa was always my first critic. If it didn't pass muster with her, it was a no go. She snapped up the shortbread in record time and got up on her hind legs, begging for more. A good sign for me, but disappointment for her. "Sorry, baby, you know you can't have more than that. It's not good for you." I poured out some of her diet kibble and set it in front of her. She looked down at her bowl, then up at me, and I swear, if a dog could raise an eyebrow in disgust, she would've. Go figure I'd pass my food snobbery on to my dog.

My lola had made a few jars of her specialty, matamis na bao, or coconut jam, to spread on our pandesal and kakanin. The fragrant smell of coconut cream, caramelized sugar, and pandan leaves wafted through the room, the intoxicating aroma of the dark, sticky jam making my mouth water. I scanned the contents of the fridge, waiting for inspiration to strike. Whatever I made had to be small and snack-y, so as to complement but not draw attention from my grandmother's sweet, sticky rice cakes. Maybe some kind of cookie to go with our after-dinner tea and coffee? Coco jam sandwiched between shortbread would be great, but sandwich cookies were a little heavier and more fiddly than what I was looking for. Maybe if they were open-faced? As I thought of a way to make that work, my eyes fell on the pandan extract in the cabinet and everything clicked into place. Pandan thumbprint cookies with a dollop of coconut jam! Pandan and coconut were commonly used together, plus the buttery and lightly floral flavor of the cookies would balance well against the rich, intense sweetness of the jam.

I piled the cookies, their lovely violet color peeping through a light coating of powdered sugar, on a plate. I studied the offering, then added a small bowl of vanilla ice cream as well as a serving of my ube halaya, the purple-yam jam I'd used to create the cookies, to the dish. Perfect.

I handed her one of the little chiffon cakes, the top slathered in butter and sugar, and helped myself to one of the cheese-topped mamón. I tore it in half and a faint curl of steam rose up, as well as the smell of sweet butter and the sharp tinge of cheddar.

So for the first course, we have flounder sashimi served with green onions and momiji oroshi, or daikon radish with chili pepper." The fish was delicate and subtle, with a nice, firm texture. What followed after this opening course was an onslaught of fantastic nigiri, small balls of pressed sushi rice with various toppings, served two at a time so I could fully appreciate each perfect morsel. Sea bream was followed by sweet shrimp, tamago, yellowtail, salmon, soy sauce-braised octopus, crab, grilled eel, and the final two pieces were otoro, or tuna belly. The richest, fattest, most melt-in-your-mouth pieces of tuna I'd ever had.

Lola Flor pointed to the suman, saying, "Sweet sticky rice cooked in coconut milk and steamed in banana leaves. The banana leaves give the rice its distinctive flavor. They're garnished with latik. Caramelized coconut curds," she added at Derek's confused look. "In the bowl is ginataang bilo-bilo. Chewy rice balls, tapioca pearls, jackfruit, purple yam, and saba banana cooked in sweet coconut milk. The best thing to eat on a cold day like this.

said “just friends,” as if romantic partnership was superior to platonic friendship, but stopped myself. Adeena hated that term and idea. And I’d learned, time and again, she was right. There was no hierarchy to love.

Was this dude seriously shoveling down the entire dessert platter despite insulting my food—to my face—a mere five seconds ago?

Oh, come on. Would it kill you to say something nice for a change?” He responded by convulsing violently, then face-planting right into the dish.

he was a boy, therefore free to live his own life. Not to say that the rest of the family never lobbed guilt his way—he just managed to dodge it while I took nothing but direct hits.

Too soft to ask her son Ronnie, my good-for-nothing cousin, for help—he was a boy, therefore free to live his own life.

You don’t know that. What if he was suffocating while I yelled at him? All because I thought it was a joke? What if there was food blocking his airway and I could’ve done something to clear it before Ninang June took over? What if my actions were the only things between Derek living and dying?

I told him, yes, Lila and Derek had a fight before he died, but everybody fought with Derek. Many people didn’t like him, such a difficult young man. God rest his soul,

Jonathan, I have a business to run. How can I pay my bills if we’re closed that long? I just got a shipment of fresh produce. What am I supposed to do with it?

Too soft to go after her estranged, alcoholic husband who’d run off with most of her savings. Too soft to ask her son Ronnie, my good-for-nothing cousin, for help—he was a boy, therefore free to live his own life. Not to say that the rest of the family never lobbed guilt his way—he just managed to dodge it while I took nothing but direct hits.

Detective, this is outrageous. You’re grasping at straws trying to paint my client as some drug kingpin, but you have no proof.” Amir put his hand on my shoulder. “If you’re done insulting Ms. Macapagal and wasting our time, we’d like to leave now.

She’s pretty old-school, but my dad stepped in before it became an issue. As a compromise, I moved to a building that’s only five minutes away. I let them think I was making a big sacrifice, but I do like being closer to them in case of emergency. I just don’t need to, you know, actually live in the same place.

You act like I’m gunning for you. Just because I don’t tell you who or what I’m investigating doesn’t mean that I’m twiddling my thumbs while I sit on my ass at the station. I don’t need to clear my actions with you. I go where the evidence points me.

The number one stupidest thing I’d ever done in my life? I’d stayed with him after that whole mess. It had taken his cheating for me to finally realize how terrible he was and cut him loose.

But before coming here, he worked Vice. Busting up drug rings was how he made his name back in Chicago. It’s starting to feel like a personal vendetta against you, Lila. He thinks you’re messing things up in his quiet little town.

Derek had turned informant for me. His suppliers were the ones I wanted, and the big-time distributors as well. He was trying to get out of that life, but was afraid of what would happen to him and his mom. We were trying to take them down little by little so they wouldn’t get wise to him. And then a mere two weeks before we were supposed to do our big bust, Derek gets murdered. You don’t find that suspicious?

Hey isn’t it weird that my ex is dead, your fiancée is in a coma, both of them were possibly involved in the drug trade, and now I’m being accused of murder, assault, and drug trafficking? Wild, right?

And I hope you find out who is so obviously trying to put my clients out of business that they’re willing to not only trash their restaurant, but also frame one of them for murder.

Two Mexican boys from Cicero beating up a White boy from Shady Palms? How you think that’d go for them?

My mind swirled with questions at this revelation. Was the person who stabbed Mr. Long the same one who poisoned Derek? Bludgeoned Janet in her office? Vandalized our restaurant? How many would-be killers and criminals were running around quiet little Shady Palms? And if the Long family was being targeted, did that mean Mrs. Long was next?

Oh my God, are you serious right now? Why does everyone accuse me of running away?! Why can’t you all accept that I’m just trying to do what’s best for me?” Adeena gave me a pitying look. “How long you going to keep lying to yourself?

That was my sister, Jo. She’d worked so hard to get clean, and once she got her life together, she moved here to Shady Palms to start over. But then she met Derek. And he got her using again. Using and selling, actually. This place was their base of operations. After she died, I moved down here to find out what happened to her. She left me this place, so I took it over to learn more.

Derek knew she was a recovering addict, but he didn’t care. They killed her. They may not have pulled the trigger, but they sure as hell gave her the gun. And they got what they deserved.