Pineapple Crunch

Solstice Festival downtown. Midnight kayaking. Midnight tennis. 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. Joseph and Suki sent photos of the kids this week.

I grilled fish Saturday. Salmon, marinated in calamansi and soy. The light at nine PM was still strong.

I drafted a blog post on Tuesday and almost did not publish it. I published it Friday. The publishing was the practice.

I am tired in the seasoned way. The tired is the cost of love. I have been paying the cost. The cost is bearable.

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.

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

A reader from New Jersey wrote in about her grandmother's adobo, which used pineapple. I had never heard of pineapple in adobo. I tried it. It was strange. It was also good. The strange and the good are not opposites.

A blog reader sent me a photograph of her grandmother's wooden mortar and pestle, used since 1962. The photograph was holy. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

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 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 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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

The reader from New Jersey stayed with me all week — her grandmother’s adobo with pineapple, which I tried and found strange, and then found good. I kept thinking about that: the strange and the good are not opposites. It felt like permission. So when I went looking for something easy and a little unexpected to share this week, I came back to pineapple — not in the adobo this time, but in its own simple, golden moment. This Pineapple Crunch is the kind of recipe that asks almost nothing of you and gives back more than you expect, which felt exactly right for a week like this one.

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 50 minutes | Servings: 9

Ingredients

1 can (20 oz) crushed pineapple, undrained
1 box (15.25 oz) yellow cake mix, dry
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into thin pats
1/2 cup chopped pecans or walnuts (optional)
Whipped cream or vanilla ice cream, for serving

Instructions

Preheat. Heat oven to 350°F. Lightly grease a 9x9-inch or 8x11-inch baking dish.
Layer the pineapple. Spread the entire can of crushed pineapple, juice and all, evenly across the bottom of the prepared dish.
Add the cake mix. Sprinkle the dry cake mix in an even layer over the pineapple. Do not stir.
Dot with butter. Arrange the butter pats evenly across the top of the dry cake mix, covering as much surface as possible so the top bakes up golden and crunchy.
Add nuts (optional). If using, scatter the chopped pecans or walnuts evenly over the butter.
Bake. Bake uncovered for 43 to 48 minutes, until the top is deep golden brown and the edges are bubbling. There should be no large dry patches of cake mix remaining on the surface.
Cool slightly and serve. Let the crunch rest for 10 minutes before scooping. Serve warm with whipped cream or a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pineapple Crunch — When the Strange and the Good Are Not Opposites