By The hot crossings of the Coastal Trail. The mountains still snow-capped. A quiet shift Saturday — appendicitis, a fishhook in a thumb, a college student's alcohol. The quiet was the gift.
Lourdes is 75. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one.
I made lumpia Saturday. Sixty rolls. I delivered some to Lourdes. The rest went into the freezer for the week.
The blog has four hundred subscribers now who get the posts via email. The subscribers are the loyal core. The loyal core is the chorus.
I read for forty minutes before sleep. The reading was the small surrender. The surrender was the rest.
I taught a Saturday morning Kain Na class on basic adobo proportions for new cooks. Eleven people in the kitchen. Half of them had never cooked Filipino food before. By eleven AM the kitchen smelled the way it should smell. By noon they were all eating. The eating was the lesson landing.
I read a chapter of a novel before bed each night this week. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The novel was good. The novel was, in some way, my own life adjacent.
The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.
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.
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 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.
The salmon in the freezer is from August. Joseph's catch. The bag is labeled in his handwriting — "for Grace." I will use it next week.
The break room had cake Tuesday. Someone's birthday. We ate the cake. We did not ask whose birthday. The cake was the cake.
The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.
Auntie Norma called Sunday afternoon. She is now seventy-nine. She wanted a recipe. I gave it to her. She wanted to know how my week was. I told her, briefly. She told me about her week. The exchange took eighteen minutes. The eighteen minutes was the keeping.
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 drove the Glenn Highway out to Eklutna on Saturday. The mountains were the mountains. The lake was the lake. The body needed the open road. The open road did its work.
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.
The grocery store had no calamansi. I substituted lime. The substitution was acceptable. The acceptable is the working version of perfect.
Lumpia is the food I make in quantities that stop surprising me — sixty, three hundred, however the week asks. But when the freezer is already full and the week still needs feeding, I reach for something faster: a batch of Mummy Poppers, crescent-wrapped and ready to pull out on a Tuesday when there is no time and someone still needs to eat. The logic is the same logic. The batch is the batch. You make it before you need it, and the needing always comes.
Mummy Poppers
Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 24
Ingredients
- 2 cans (8 oz each) refrigerated crescent roll dough
- 24 cocktail sausages or mini hot dogs
- 1 egg, beaten
- 1 tablespoon water
- 48 small candy eyes (optional, for decoration)
- Mustard or ketchup, for serving
Instructions
- Preheat. Heat oven to 375°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.
- Prepare the dough. Unroll crescent dough and press the seams together to form two flat rectangles. Using a sharp knife or pizza cutter, cut each rectangle into 12 thin strips, roughly 1/2 inch wide and 4 inches long.
- Wrap the sausages. Take one strip and wind it loosely around a cocktail sausage in overlapping spirals, leaving a small gap near one end for the “face.” Press the ends of the dough gently to seal. Repeat with remaining strips and sausages.
- Apply egg wash. Whisk together the beaten egg and water. Brush lightly over each wrapped sausage. This gives the dough a golden color and helps it hold its shape.
- Bake. Arrange on prepared baking sheets, spacing 1 inch apart. Bake 12–15 minutes, until the dough is golden brown and cooked through.
- Decorate and serve. While still warm, press two candy eyes into the unwrapped gap on each mummy. Serve immediately with mustard or ketchup alongside. To freeze, cool completely, then arrange in a single layer in a zip-close bag. Reheat at 350°F for 8–10 minutes from frozen.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 88 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 7g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 218mg