The story of our Christmas ham

The combined love my brothers and I have for our mother is bigger and wider than the sky.

- BUM D. TENORIO, JR.

We could only wish she partook of the family's Christmas ham, from heaven where she is now.

The Thursday before Christmas, my brothers were calling me to follow up if I already had in my hand a bone-in Chinese ham from a store in Quiapo. I was in Makati; they were in Gulod. In between us was a long and winding road of bittersweet excitement. I could almost hear them, "It's not going to be complete without the ham." It was not my style to disappoint them. I also would not disappoint our mother.

The Chinese ham, for over 14 years now, was always my toka (contribution) for our Noche Buena spread. I hushed my brothers' unrest when I assured them that my trusted delivery guy would bring the ham to the house that night—straight from the ham store. I told them I chose the meat as I was on a video call with my trusted delivery man.

The tradition of having a bone-in ham for the holidays started when, out of the blue, after the death of my father in January 2010, my mother requested for Excellente ham for Christmas. Her heart was lonely and the ham was her only request on the first Christmas we were celebrating without our father. Anything that would make Nanay happy, I would go out of my way for. Never mind if the queue at the ham store snaked through the alleys.

The request for Christmas ham came as a surprise because Nanay's tastebuds were trained in simplicity. She knew her hamonado so well that she could cook it in a whim. But that Chinese ham—it had been in her memory ever since she tasted it a long time ago from a neighbor's kitchen.