Remembering Sweet Bread and Salty Butter Far From Home
Remembering Sweet Bread and Salty Butter Far From Home
Pan de Sal in Baguio
I was eating breakfast with my father on a chilly Saturday morning. It felt good to be back in my hometown, Baguio, a fog-laced mountain city north of Manila in the Philippines. The cold here was a welcome respite from Manila’s scorching heat. The morning brought a light drizzle with gray clouds hovering on the horizon and wisps of fog settling on the ground. Papa took a sip from his hot coffee and let out a sigh of satisfaction. “That’s good.”
I took a sip of my warm chocolate drink and scanned the table. There was a plate of scrambled eggs, some pan de sal, and butter. I passed my father the plate of pan de sal.
“Want some?” I said.
“Sure, I’ll have one,” he said. He took a bread roll, dipped it in his coffee, and took a bite of the soaked portion, just as he used to do when I was a kid.
While Papa enjoyed his coffee-dipped pan de sal, I ate mine with butter. I generously spread butter on one side and the warmth of the roll slowly melted the butter. As I took a bite, I tasted the slight sweetness of the pan de sal mixed with the butter’s saltiness.
Growing up, Papa was my constant companion. On Sunday mornings, we walked hand in hand to the nearby bakery to buy pan de sal for breakfast. The smell of freshly baked rolls greeted us. I would peer into the glass display counter and feel its warmth as I watched each roll make its way into a brown paper bag. Papa would give me a hot bun from the paper bag, a treat I ate on the way home.
Back in Manila, pan de sal are often part of my weekend breakfasts. After all, those soft and crumbly bread rolls are the quintessential breakfast bread of the Philippines. But for me, pan de sal will always remind me of my father, and my home.