Beef Nilaga –“Lauya”/McDonald’s Cheeseburgers

When I was a kid, Inang would bring me and my little cousin Star to Serramonte Mall. There used to be a store there called “The House of Fabrics,” but Inang would pronounce it as “House ob Pubrik.” Inang made her own clothes even when there were hundreds of clothing stores around us. She was old-fashioned. She never utilized an iron with an automatic spraying gizmo. All she used was a damp terry cloth towel and wiped it across the piece of clothing before ironing.

But, when it came to food outside of the house, she stuck with whatever was convenient and fast – which meant McDonald’s. I had always wanted a Happy Meal and Star had always wanted Chicken McNuggets, but Inang always bought us the same thing time after time after time. Cheesebugers. I ate them only because I would have no food otherwise. Star hated cheeseburgers and to this day she refuses to eat them. Poor Star. I remember taking out the pickles and eating them each trip to the mall. No wonder I ballooned into a chubby kid! It’s all that greasy beef!

Speaking of beef, at home, Inang would make the best beef soup known as “nilaga,” but I remember Inang calling it “lauya.” (“Nilaga” is used for the beef version and “lauya” is used for the pork version, but Inang used it interchangeably.) It’s a rich beef broth with big meaty bones, huge chunks of carrots, potatoes, and wedges of cabbage. I loved pouring that hot soup over rice and eating the meat. She had boiled the heck out of the bones that the meat was so tender. It can get cold in the Bay Area, but a bowl of this is pure comfort. I can still hear the sound of Tatay sucking out all that bone marrow that was hiding in the bones. He really got his hands on that bone. Yes, that marrow had no chance.

We were no where close to being “well off” back then. Momma and Auntie Glo were still working out in South San Francisco and Inang took care of me at home in our little in-law along Mission Street. We didn’t have fancy dinners at fancy restaurants. We had the bare minimum – a few pieces of meat and the most basic of vegetables that she would buy from Alemany Farmer’s Market in San Francisco, but Inang would make the most delicious food with what we had. She never once used a measuring cup or a thermometer or an egg timer. She used her gut instinct to make her dish. That’s a real chef right there – taking only what you have available and creating masterpieces with natural talent. Yes, my Inang was the best.

Inang, myself, and Momma in our bedroom in our house on Liebig St.