Pop quiz

My mom usually visits me twice a year. Sometimes it is once. If I've been to visit her house, she doesn't come.

I really like that. I like that she makes these trips. She's not just a tinny voice on the phone to my kids. She's the fun grandma who visits and showers them with presents. She's also got the clout to nag them into submission in a way that I just don't have. They'll give me a hard time, but my mother's well honed evil eye is far too biting.

This last time she visited though, she insisted that I cook. A lot. Cook the things that are her signature dishes. And much of it, unassisted by her.

In the past, she's made us stuff. Now it is as if she wants the food but she doesn't want to cook it herself. I get it. That's why we go out to eat in general, isn't it? Who wants to cook all that food? We just want to have it made for us.

So she had me make pancit, lumpia, pinakbet, guinitaan, and atcharra. The lumpia and the guinitaan are her signature dishes. People will ask her to make these for their gatherings. I imagine, I'm going to be called upon to make these.

When I was a little girl, lumpia was always cooked on Sundays. Mom would get up early in the morning and prepare the vegetable filling. She has a couple of rules on the filling -- raisins have no business being in lumpia. It's disgusting. I agree. Potatoes are only put in the filling by people who have no class. Such an obvious filler. (On this, I've had to give some because my haole husband loves potato in lumpia. It's been a source of great conflict.) Get good sized shrimp because the cocktail ones don't taste as good. She'd have the filling sit in colanders on the kitchen counter so that it would drain completely and cool so we could handle it without burning our hands. After mass, we'd be rolling them. If we were lucky and this wasn't for a party, we'd get fresh lumpia with that slightly spicy brown sauce and crispy lettuce leaves. Ah man, now I wanna make some.

The guinitaan is more of a recent signature dish for my mother. Her friends and my Aunty Junette love my mother's version of the coconut pudding filled with sweet potatoes and fragrant jackfruit. For me, this hot dessert was only served at novenas for the elders we had lost. There would be nine nights of prayers and rosaries for those who had passed. The big payoff was a banquet of Filipino pastries and desserts. On the ninth night, there would be a feast. Some people would hold a novena every year for the dearly departed. A full novena -- proving that their grief and love never truly faded. More typical would be one day of rosaries and prayers on the anniversary. But even still, there would be kankanen and this wonderful soupy pudding. When I was little, it was my grandmother's sister who would cook it, Apo Merced. She was arguably the prettiest of the sisters, though they all looked very much the same. Beautiful women, my Grandma and her sisters.

So on this last visit, my mother put in her orders. Told me we were going to Asian market and getting all the ingredients for everything.  She only stayed with us two weeks this time, so time was short. This time, though she did some of the cooking, much of the prep and cooking she left to me. Checking over my shoulder from time to time. Sitting at my kitchen table, close enough to give me direction but not hovering. It was good.

I kind of think it might have been a kind of quiz. Making sure that this kitchen knowledge was passed on. That my mother's lumpia and guinitaan would make it to the next generation and in turn become my signature dishes. That my brothers, if missing my mother when she's gone, can come to my house and have her cooking again.