Festive Tea Sandwiches

Green-up barely starting. The first dandelions in the lawn. Two trauma cases stayed with me through the weekend. I cooked through them.

Lourdes is 76. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one.

I made lechon kawali Saturday. The pork belly, the brining, the deep fry, the crackle. The kitchen smelled of hot oil for two days.

I skipped the blog this week. Some weeks the kitchen is enough.

The kitchen window faced the inlet. The inlet was silver in the late light. The light was the inheritance.

Angela texted me a photo of the kids. I texted back a heart. The exchange took thirty seconds. The thirty seconds was the keeping.

I had a long phone call with Dr. Reeves on Wednesday. We talked about pacing and rest and the way the body keeps a log of what it has carried. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The body remembers. The mind forgets. The cooking is the bridge." I wrote the line down. The line is now on a sticky note above the kitchen sink.

Auntie Norma called Sunday to ask if I had a recipe for a particular merienda from Iloilo. I did not. I said I would ask Lourdes. I asked Lourdes. Lourdes had it. The chain.

I took a walk on the coastal trail Saturday. The light was good. The body was tired but moving.

I made coffee at six AM. The coffee was the start. The start was always the same.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced a fundraiser for typhoon relief in Samar. I committed to making three hundred lumpia. The number is the number. The number has always been the number. Three hundred is what I make. The math has stopped surprising me.

I made tea late at night. The tea was the small comfort. The comfort was the marker.

The therapy session this month was about pacing. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The pacing is the love for the future self." I am working on the pacing. The pacing is harder than the loving.

The grocery store had no calamansi. I substituted lime. The substitution was acceptable. The acceptable is the working version of perfect.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. I wiped the stove. I scrubbed the sink. I reorganized the spice cabinet. The cleaning was the small reset. The reset was the marker. The marker said: the week is over, the next week begins, the kitchen is ready.

I checked email at the kitchen table while the rice cooked. There were one hundred and twenty unread messages. I closed the laptop. The unread can wait.

I took inventory of the freezer Sunday. The freezer had: twelve quarts of broth, eight pounds of adobo in vacuum bags, six pounds of sinigang base, fourteen lumpia trays at fifty rolls each, three pounds of marinated beef for caldereta, and a small bag of pandan leaves Tita Nening had sent me. The inventory was the proof of preparation. The preparation was the proof of love.

I sat on the balcony in the cold for ten minutes Sunday night with a cup of broth in my hands. The cold was the cold. The broth was the broth. The body held both.

I read three chapters of the novel Saturday night before sleep. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The nurse was being undone by her work. I knew the unraveling. I had lived the unraveling. I read on. The reading was the witnessing.

Pete and I had a long phone conversation Tuesday. We talked about the family — his and mine. The talking was the keeping.

The tea I made late at night that week was the small comfort — and it made me think of merienda, of Auntie Norma and Lourdes and the chain of women who taught me that something small and careful on a plate is its own kind of love. When I needed something to make for the next gathering, something that could be assembled quietly, held in the hands, shared without ceremony, I kept coming back to tea sandwiches — the kind you bring out and people reach for without thinking, the kind that say the table is ready, the week is over, come and sit.

Prep Time: 25 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 25 minutes | Servings: 24 pieces

Ingredients

12 slices thin-cut white sandwich bread
12 slices thin-cut whole wheat sandwich bread
8 oz cream cheese, softened
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1 medium English cucumber, thinly sliced
4 oz thinly sliced smoked salmon
4 oz thinly sliced deli ham
1/4 cup fresh dill, roughly chopped
2 tablespoons fresh chives, minced
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
Salt and white pepper to taste
Fresh watercress or arugula, for garnish

Instructions

Make the herb cream cheese. In a small bowl, combine the softened cream cheese, chives, dill, lemon juice, and garlic powder. Season with salt and white pepper. Mix until smooth and well combined. Refrigerate for 10 minutes to allow the flavors to meld.
Prepare the bread. Lay all 24 slices of bread flat on a clean work surface. Using a pastry brush or a butter knife, spread a thin, even layer of softened butter on every slice to prevent sogginess and add richness.
Assemble the cucumber sandwiches. Spread the herb cream cheese generously on 6 slices of white bread. Layer thinly sliced cucumber in overlapping rows to cover. Top with a small sprig of watercress or arugula. Cap with 6 more slices of white bread, butter-side down. Press gently.
Assemble the smoked salmon sandwiches. Spread herb cream cheese on 6 slices of whole wheat bread. Layer smoked salmon over the cream cheese, then add a few fronds of fresh dill. Cap with 6 remaining slices of whole wheat bread, butter-side down. Press gently.
Assemble the ham sandwiches. Spread plain softened butter on 6 remaining white bread slices. Layer sliced deli ham and a few leaves of watercress. Cap with the remaining whole wheat slices. Press gently.
Trim and cut. Using a sharp serrated knife, trim the crusts from all sandwiches with clean, decisive cuts. Cut each sandwich into 4 triangles or 3 fingers. Wipe the blade clean between cuts for neat edges.
Arrange and serve. Arrange the tea sandwiches on a large platter, alternating varieties for color. Garnish the platter with remaining fresh dill, a few cucumber rounds, and a small cluster of watercress. Cover with a lightly dampened paper towel and refrigerate until ready to serve — up to 2 hours ahead.

Nutrition (per serving)

Festive Tea Sandwiches — The Small Comfort That Carries You Through