Homicide and Halo-Halo (Tita Rosie's Kitchen Mystery #2)(9)
Everyone agreed that sounded wonderful and ordered the dessert, including Sana, who said, “I’ll probably regret it come yoga time, but it sounds too good to pass up.”
Large fountain glasses arrived at our table, layered with sweet beans, caramelized saba bananas, jackfruit, palm fruit, nata de coco, and strips of macapuno topped with shaved ice, evaporated milk, a slice of leche flan, a healthy scoop of ube halaya, and a scattering of pinipig, the toasted glutinous rice adding a nice bit of crunch. This frosty rainbow confection raised my spirits every time I saw it, and both Sana and I pulled out our phones to take pictures of the dish.
She laughed. “This is almost too pretty to eat, so I wanted to document its loveliness before digging in.”
“This is for the restaurant’s social media pages. My grandmother only prepares this dish in the summer, so I need to remind our customers to come while it lasts.”
“How do we go about this?” Rob asked, looking at his rapidly melting treat in trepidation.
“Up to you. You can mix everything together like the name says so that you get a bit of everything in each bite. Or you can tackle it layer by layer. I’m a mixing girl, but you better figure it out fast or you’re going to be eating dessert soup.”
We all dug in, each snowy bite punishing my teeth and making me shiver in delight. I loved the interplay of textures—the firmness of the beans versus the softness of the banana and jackfruit mingling with the chewiness of the palm fruit, nata de coco, and macapuno. The fluffy texture of the shaved ice soaked through with evaporated milk, with the silky smoothness of the leche flan matched against the creaminess of the ube halaya and crispiness of the pinipig. A texture eater’s (and sweet tooth’s) paradise.
“This is so strange,” Valerie said. “I never would’ve thought of putting all these things together, especially not in a dessert. But it works. I mean, I don’t love the beans, but they’re certainly interesting. And what are these yellow strips?”
“Jackfruit. When ripe, they’re yellow and very sweet and fragrant, so they make a nice addition to lots of Filipino desserts. They were also in the turon I brought to the meeting earlier. Unripe jackfruit is green and used in vegetarian recipes, usually.”
The rest of the meal passed in inane chitchat—anytime I tried to get Valerie or Rob to talk about themselves, the conversation devolved into a bragfest with the siblings trying to outdo each other with their various academic (on Valerie’s part) and business (on Rob’s part) achievements. Sana seemed used to this and spent the rest of the time alternating her attention between her dessert and her watch, probably wondering when she could finally escape. Rob graciously paid the bill at the end, and neither Sana nor I bothered fighting him for it. Considering how much the Thompson family was worth, he could afford it.
When Joy came to clear the table, he grinned and slipped her a thick, folded set of bills. “Great job, sweetheart. Your recommendations were top-notch.”
Joy gave him a tight smile and slid the tip into her apron pocket. “Thank you, sir. See you later tonight for the kickoff event. I hope you all have a great day.”
Sana glared at Rob, then turned toward me. “It was great meeting you, Lila. Why don’t you stop by my yoga class later? The first week is free and I think it’d be good for you.”
Before I could reply, Joy said, “Are there student discounts? My friend Katie loves your classes and I’ve been thinking about joining. Just thinking about all the exams I have to take this year stresses me out, but I want to deal with it in a natural way.”
“My six o’clock class is open to all ages and levels, and I accept payments on a sliding scale, so we can talk about that.” Sana paused, choosing her next words carefully. “Yoga, and exercise in general, is wonderful for both physical and mental health, but I hope you know it’s not a cure-all. It’s just a way to help deal with the symptoms. If you—”
“Your class ends way before the potluck tonight, right? I don’t want one of our own judges showing up late to the event,” Valerie interrupted.
“I’m surprised you’re holding the event so soon. You only notified the contestants a few days ago,” I said. I was hoping for a bit of downtime today, but they were really throwing me into the deep end with this position. When I was a contestant, there were a few weeks between the announcement of who made it in and the kickoff event. I also remembered the pageant being a whole month long. Seemed like they were running behind on planning this year and trying to make up for it by packing everything into a shorter time frame.
“Everyone knows the pageant potluck is how we kick things off, so they should’ve planned for it if they were serious about competing. We start at seven p.m. sharp and I expect you to be there, Lila. As the newest judge and a former winner, I’m sure the girls are dying to meet you.” Valerie grinned, tenting her fingers. “I bet the moms are, too.”
A flashback to what my mother and Ninang June were like during my and Bernadette’s pageant days had me crossing myself and offering up a prayer: Heaven save me from Shady Palms’s scheming stage moms.
Chapter Four
Before I knew it, seven o’clock had rolled around and it was time for the annual “Getting to Know You” potluck for the contestants and their parents. Just like all those years ago, I entered the community center with huge trays of lumpiang shanghai and pancit—meat-filled fried spring rolls and stir-fried noodles—courtesy of Tita Rosie, and a small tray of Lola Flor’s cassava bibingka, a treat I’d carefully marked “gluten-free” for Valerie.