Tangled Noodle

The Full Montadito: Topped Up Tapas

2012-01-29T23:40:00.000-06:00

Tres Montaditos de Tangled

"Man does not live on bread alone." (Deuteronomy 8:3)

You can't argue with the Old Testament, which is why this woman knows well enough to pile on other good stuff, too.

Bread is inarguably a universal food found in nearly all parts of the world. If not made from grains such as wheat, rye, spelt, oatmeal and corn, then tubers like potato and cassava provide the flour power. Formed into baguettes, boules, braids, twists, rings, knots, rolls and flats, bread is baked in earthen pits, wood-fired hearths and electric stainless-steel ovens by home bakers and commercial food producers alike.

Bread nirvana at Circles Café, Shangri-La Manila

On its own, bread is fine nourishment, yet when a little extra is added, it turns into another state of being. For instance, plain toast is all well and good, but when slathered in butter, glazed with honey or mortared with peanut butter or hazelnut chocolate spread, it becomes a sweet treat for the tummy. Even better, bread can be transformed into a self-contained meal. Simply add a bit of meat here, some vegetables there, a dash of that seasoning and a dab of this condiment, and it becomes one of myriad alimentary aliases - sandwich, wrap, bánh mì, torta, muffaletta, panini, croque, bocadillo...

However, there are times when your appetite wants something... in between. What to do when you're struck by this hard-to-pin-down craving that hungrily straddles the pleasure of a small bite and the satiety of a full feast?

Mount Up...!

Montaditos
(Photo credit: Savesavour/Flickr)

...As in the Spanish verb montar ('to ride'), the root of the word montadito, a type of the popular bite-sized bar snacks in Spain collectively known as tapas, in which small slices of bread are topped, or 'mounted', with a variety of ingredients. Montaditos are essentially small open-faced sandwiches, although some consider a miniature version of the standard 2-slice sammie as an acceptable form. Also known as pintxo/pincho in the Basque region (meaning 'spike', as they are often skewered with toothpicks), these appetizers are countryside kin to canapés. But where those crustless hors d'oeuvres are elegant, manicured cocktail appetizers, montaditos are rough-edged, rustic finger food.

Long a part of the tapas lineup, the montadito is rapidly establishing itself as a stand-alone food concept, having recently been named among the 10 Trends for 2012 by consumer marketing firm and global trendspotter JWTIntelligence. Meanwhile, Spanish restaurant chain Cerverceria 100 Montaditos*, which has over 200 locations across Spain, France and Portugal, launched a New World invasion last year with its first American outlet in Miami, Florida. The small bites purveyor is thinking big with plans to open 4000 U.S. restaurants within the next five years (source: Businessweek.com).
*The chain subscribes to the mini-sandwich model of montadito, value-priced at $1.50 to $3 per order.

Monta-Do-It-Yourself

Fortunately for those of us not yet within the encroaching sphere of Cerverceria 100 Montaditos, this savory snack is only as far as the nearest Spanish restaurant, tapas bar or your own kitchen. With a few ingredients and some creativity, you can have a vicarious tapeo (tapas bar crawl) minus the crowds or the multiple bar tabs.

Montaditos menu board in Barcelona, Spain
(Photo credit: Marcos Esperón/Flickr)

It all starts with bread - ideally, a baguette. Why a baguette? It provides the perfect-sized base for montaditos, which are meant to be consumed in a couple of bites. It also stands up well to the sauces and oils of various toppings, soaking up the flavors without becoming soggy. Cut a nice crusty baguette into slices no more than 1/2" thick. The slices may be lightly toasted or grilled first, but do try to avoid an overly crisp base.

Next, add your toppings. For montaditos, pretty much any variety and preparation of vegetables, seafood, meats, cheeses and condiments that you can gather are suitable. Try to combine at least two ingredients with complementary flavors and textures, like the marvelous Montadito de Pan con Tomate, Chorizo y Huevos made by Yummy columnist and food blogger Joey of 80 Breakfasts.

Although Mr. Noodle and I are within walking distance of our favorite Spanish restaurant, we're content on occasion to put together a platter of montaditos on our own and enjoy them with a favorite bottle of fruity granacha-tempranillo at home. A recent selection:

Montadito de Longganisa con Queso Manchego

Inspired by the montaditos de sobrasada de mallorca served at Barcino Wine Restaurant and Bar in Metro Manila. The sausage is finely chopped, lightly fried then topped with melted Queso Manchego.

Bread: Pain à l'ancienne
Toppings: Garlicky, black pepper-y longganisa recado from Nueva Ecija, Manchego cheese and a garnish of micro-tatsoi.

Montadito de Alcachofa con Alioli

Bread: Plain baguette
Toppings: Alioli, a garlic and olive oil emulsion sauce (I used a jarred alioli made with egg), marinated artichoke hearts and romesco sauce (see recipe below)

Montadito con Sardinas y Romesco

Bread: Pain à l'ancienne
Toppings: Sardines in olive oil and romesco sauce garnished with micro-tatsoi.

Roughly Romesco Sauce

Romesco, originally from Northern Spain, is a piquant sauce made with nuts, roasted red peppers and olive oil, among other ingredients. It's best served at room temperature and is excellent when paired with seafood.

Being the spontaneous (i.e. unprepared) cook that I am, some substitutions were required - hence, it's roughly a traditional romesco sauce.

Ingredients

1-2 dried chiles such as guajillo, New Mexico red or other medium-heat chile
2 slices baguette, toasted
2 whole canned tomatoes
2 Tbsps nuts (your choice, just not peanuts! I used mix of almonds, pecans, hazelnuts, pistachios & cashews)
4 cloves whole garlic, peeled
1/4 cup olive oil
2 Tbsps red wine vinegar
Salt to taste

For milder heat in your sauce, cut open the chiles and remove the stem, seeds and inner pith. Soak in water for 30 minutes or until softened.

In a food processor, combine all ingredients, except salt, and give it a good whir until the sauce is relatively thick and smooth. Add salt to taste. It may be refrigerated for up to one week but is best served at room temperature.

Montadito de 'Pinas

Another variation of the montadito de sobrasada de mallorca, this one also takes the form of the more sandwich-like variety of montadito and is made with fully Filipino goodness.

Bread: Pan de Rizal, tiny rolls about the size of an extra-large egg
Fillings: Longganisa Vigan, a garlicky sausage with a hint of yellowish hue, from the province of Ilocos Sur; and kesong puti, or white cheese, made from fresh carabao (water buffalo) milk.

What would you put on your montadito?

¡Buen Provecho!

'12 by the Dozen: New Year Eggs

2012-01-02T11:30:00.000-06:00

Olive Oil-Poached Egg

"Ex ovo omnia" (Everything from an egg)
-- William Harvey (1578-1657)

All I got for Christmas was a dozen eggs.

Well, I did get a bit more than just eggs and nearly all of them were also food or drink-related: a jar of fudgy chocolate crinkle cookies; a llanera (oval mould) of the creamiest, smoothest leche flan; and several bags of Filipino-grown coffee. But none could match in meaning the humble dozen of perfectly-shaped ovums from Abra province that my mother gave to me.

Packaged in a beautiful basket of hand-woven nipa palm leaves, each copper-colored egg was surprisingly hefty in weight, compared to their anemic, plastic-ensconced supermarket counterparts. Though cozily nestled within individual circlets, they hardly needed the extra coddling: when it came time to cook one, its supposedly delicate shell proved surprisingly resistant to all but the firmest tap against the pan's edge to crack open. Inside, the translucent albumen surrounded a gloriously orange yolk, making a breakfast fried egg look more like sunrise on a plate.

In an age when people will camp out in the freezing cold for holiday bargains or risk a faceful of pepper spray during a retail frenzy to grab the latest iGadget or 'It' product, a dozen eggs may not inspire such effort and enthusiasm as a gift. But as the new year begins, they proved to be a perfect present to represent a hopeful future...

New Day Around the World

The egg is a universal symbol of birth and rebirth, of new life and new beginnings. As an icon of a special holiday, it is more closely associated with the Christian tradition of Easter and spring than with New Year and winter. However, recognition of January 1 as the standard first day of the calendar year in Western culture has actually been in place for less than 400 years; before then, New Year's Day was also celebrated during springtime. By moving it from the vernal equinox to winter solstice, we ceded the season to Eastertide and left behind the egg as a symbol.

Today, many other cultures continue to usher in the New Year during springtime and the egg is an important object in their celebrations. During the Persian Nowruz (meaning 'new day'), which coincides with the first day of spring, painted eggs are part of the Haft-Sin (or Haft-Seen), a traditional table setting featuring 7 symbolic dishes beginning with the letter 'S'. Although the eggs now represent fertility, when taken with another item in the setting - a mirror - an older meaning emerges. At the hour of transition from old year to new, known as sa'at-i tahvil, family members gathered around to observe the display:

"Each one imagines a huge bullfish in the ocean of time carrying the world on one of its horns. Any moment now, the bullfish will toss the world over to the other horn, resulting in a tremor that will dislodge the egg and send it rolling to the side of the mirror. As soon as the egg rolls, [family members], rejoicing, kiss each other [and] exchange Nowruz greetings - eid-i shoma mobarak! (May you have an auspicious new year)...

"The first thing to eat [at sa'at-i tahvil] should be an egg, because it is believed that eggs ensure good fortune. In fact... the patriarch of the family must eat all the eggs that have accompanied the candles placed for each offspring on the sofreh!" (Bashiri, n.p.)

Nowruz Haft Sin with eggs and mirror.
(Photo from Wikimedia.org)

Spirited Celebration

Eggs are also prominent in the New Year celebrations of the Hmong people, an ethnic group originally from the mountainous areas of Southeast Asia. Raw eggs and incense sticks are displayed in a bowl of rice, then later cooked for a special ceremony called Hu Plig ('Calling of the Soul'). Part of many Hmong occasions, the Hu Plig summons spirits, both of the living and the departed, for different reasons: during a wedding, it joins the souls of the bride and groom, and encourages household spirits to welcome the new family member. In times of illness, which is believed to be caused by the soul wandering from the body, performing Hu Plig calls it back to corporeal health.

(Photo from Mekong&ChiangKhong/flickr)

For the Hmong New Year, usually celebrated in November or December, the ritual is a way for families to invite the souls of all loved ones to join in the festivities. As part of this Hu Plig, plain hard-boiled eggs are cooked, representing both blessings for the living and as offerings to the hungry departed. Afterwards, each (earthbound) person in the family receives an egg/blessing to eat. [Check out this video for a glimpse into a Hmong New Year Hu Plig.]

Science, Myth and Dreams

The symbolic power of the egg is recognized in other, even more mystical areas. In alchemy, which may be described as the philosophy- and metaphysics-influenced forerunner of modern chemistry, the philosophical egg was the vessel in which alchemical processes were created. The ovum is also a symbol of Prima Materia, "the original material from which the universe is created", with which one could make the Philosopher's Stone - the mythic substance that, among other powers, can supposedly turn lead into gold.

In dream interpretation, eggs represent many things, depending on what is being done with it. If an egg is being consumed or prepared as food, then it can symbolize nurturing, self care, fertility and birth. However, if it is viewed as a non-food object, then it can mean creative potential and new beginnings.

(Photo from Wikimedia.org)

Are You Eating Lucky?

In last year's post about Filipino New Year celebrations, I touched upon the tradition of gathering certain foods - usually in shapes and colors mimicking those of currency - to represent good luck and to invite prosperity in the coming months. Eggs were absent from this list and yet, from what I have learned above, they would seem to be equal, if not better, harbingers for a hopeful and successful twelve months.

The way I see it, an egg does not simply invite good luck to fall into our laps, as coin-shaped fruit or leafy greens seem to suggest. Instead, as its dream symbolism suggests, it is already heavy with the potential for success and good fortune enclosed within its shell, waiting to be cracked open and released. Even then, as with an alchemical process, a transformation must occur and extra effort still needed: an egg is an omelette only after it is beaten and cooked, or a cake after it is mixed into the batter and baked. Similarly, I can wish all I want to write a bestselling novel or make a million dollars, but in the end, it is up to me to make the effort and write the words or seize the lucrative opportunity in order to realize the potential. Blessings, gold or prima materia, something special awaits us in the New Year.

All I got for Christmas was a dozen eggs - and twelve months of exciting possibilities ahead.

Sources

Bashiri, Iraj. "History of the Persian New Year." Farsinet.com

Becker, Udo. Continuum Encyclopedia of Symbols. NY: Continuum, 2000. pg 94.

Moua, Ze. "Hu Plig Ceremony for the New Year" and "Hu Plig Chicken Foreshadow". Mouzemoua [blog].

O'Mally, Julia. "Spirit Gatherer: Shaman Plays Important Role in Hmong New Year's." Anchorage Daily News (via Anchorage School District). 26 Nov 2006.

Scripter, Sami and Sheng Yang. Cooking from the Heart: the Hmong Kitchen in America. Minneapolis: U of MN Press, 2009. pg 126.

Olive Oil-Poached Egg

What can you not do with an egg? Whether on its own, as an equal component in a dish or rendered invisible as a utilitarian ingredient, the possible uses for an egg in cookery are too numerous to list here. So, I'll share just one.

Last summer, I had the pleasure of interviewing Jaume Viñallonga, Executive Chef of Barcino, a multi-location wine and tapas restaurant in Metro Manila. A graduate of culinary school in Girona and trained in acclaimed restaurants, including the 3-Michelin star Akelarre in San Sebastián, this young Spanish chef is well-versed in modern cuisine, but prefers to eat simple and traditional Spanish fare at home. His vivid description of a favorite meal - egg cooked in olive oil - inspired me to try it myself, with some help from this video.

Except for the egg and olive oil, feel free to change up any of the seasonings to achieve your preferred flavors.

Ingredients

Olive oil
Egg
Pinch or two of dried herbs, such as oregano and thyme
Pinch of red pepper flakes
One small bay leaf
One garlic clove, peeled and smashed
Salt
Fresh herbs, minced (optional)

To make:

In a small fry pan (ideally about 4-5" in diameter), pour enough olive oil to cover about half of the egg and add dried herbs, pepper flakes, bay leaf and garlic. Heat over low temperature (according to the video, the oil is ready when it is hot but you can still touch it without getting burned).
Crack the egg into a small bowl then slide it into the oil. Cook until the egg white is firm, flicking the oil with a spoon or spatula to reach the yolk and other spots that are above the oil.
Remove egg with a slotted spoon. Sprinkle with salt and fresh herbs, and served with baguette slices.
Reserve the now-flavored oil for later use.

A couple of other egg dishes I hope to try soon:

Baked Eggs from Liren at Kitchen Confidante

Fried Egg in Aligue (Crab Fat) from Joey at 80 Breakfasts

Off the Shelf: Okashi by Keiko Ishida

2011-12-10T11:30:00.000-06:00

Chocolate Almond Cookies

Creatures of nature do not need a glossy calendar to tell them what time of year it is: Subtle changes in temperature, the positions of sun and moon, and pure animal instinct all serve as natural cues to the changing seasons and signal the start of primal behavior, especially during winter.

Birds fly south. Bears hibernate. Squirrels hoard nuts. Noodles bake.

No matter where I am - humid South, frigid Midwest, tropical Asia - the last months of the year bring about a familiar thrumming in my system with every holiday season, urging me to sift flour, cream butter and beat eggs. This year, that sensation is accompanied by a subtle word: Okashi.

Sweet Meanings

(image: marshallcavendish.com)

I don't recall from whom I first read about Okashi: Sweet Treats Made with Love (Marshall Cavendish, 2009) by Tokyo-born, Singapore-based pastry chef and instructor Keiko Ishida. It may have been from Singaporean Ann of Ancoo Journal, who turns baked goods into edible works of art, or maybe it was Sydney blogger Lemonpi's review for Gastronomer's Bookshelf. Whomever is to be credited - or blamed, depending on how much weight I eventually gain - this book quickly became an obsession.

Okashi is the Japanese word for 'confections', 'snacks' or, as the rest of the title goes, 'sweet treats'. And there is no shortage of them in this book, starting with the striking monochromatic Black Sesame Chiffon Cake on the cover. It sets the tone for what readers will find inside - uncomplicated recipes and unfussy photographs of cakes, cookies, pastries and other delectables, whose simplicity belies an elegant fusion of classic French technique and minimalist Japanese style.

The author's acknowledgments and introduction concisely explain the childhood inspiration (baking with her mother), personal influences (husband, friends and instructors) and professional experience (extensive culinary training in France) behind the book's concept, leaving the subsequent recipes uncluttered by sentimental anecdotes. In fact, Ishida makes it clear that this book is not about her, but rather about the joy of baking:

"[N]othing beats the pleasure of baking simple sweets in the comfort of your own home... More than anything else, it is sincere desire that you will make your family and friends happy with your baking, just as I have!" (Okashi, 9)

Simple By Design

So that even the most novice of bakers might share in this pleasure, Okashi is designed to be a beginner-friendly cookbook. The first chapters offer a helpful glossary of equipment in text and photos, and a list of all ingredients used. Most of these should be familiar items in any kitchen, while a few, such as the blow-torch and agar-agar (a.k.a kanten, a seaweed-based gelling agent) may require a visit to a specialty store or some sort of creative substitution. The recipes are mostly composed of gratifyingly short ingredient lists and methods, and are easily contained in two pages, one of which is a full photograph of the finished treat.

Basic Recipes are the foundation components for more elaborate desserts, from a genoise sponge used in a Japanese-style Strawberry Cake to a custard sauce that forms the base for both Green Tea and Black Sesame Ice Creams. Under New Creations, Ishida puts an Asian twist on classic Western desserts, such as Bean Curd Cheesecake, while All-Time Favourites, from Blueberry Crumble Muffins to Mont Blanc (Chestnut Cake), retain their original essence.

Not everything in Okashi is rich with butter and eggs or sweetened with refined sugars, and some aren't even meant for humans. Ishida presents two chapters of alternative baked goods: Special Recipes offer more than a dozen essentially vegan recipes that look just as scrumptious and decadent as their egg- and dairy-laden counterparts, while Bonus Recipes for Pets include a carrot cake-like confection that honestly looks good enough for both two- and four-legged eaters.

If at First You Don't Succeed...

Okashi is indeed a lovely bakebook, but it apparently was not always the case. Published in late 2009, the book inexplicably disappeared from shelves and online vendors for a period of time shortly after it came out; I recall searches on Amazon.com resulting in 'no copies available', while a bookstore in Manila told me it was out of print. A hint as to the reason why came when I finally got around to baking from my first-print copy. The chosen recipe had just six ingredients but one helluva typo that called for a whopping 100 grams of baking powder! I'm no Ruhlman, but I know enough to realize that the correct ratio of leavening to flour is NOT one-to-one, unless you are baking a brick.

A comparison between the original 2009 edition and a 2011 reprint of Okashi reveals an overhaul of the entire book that mainly simplified the text in some parts while clarifying methods with extra steps in others. The above error was corrected (it now calls for a mere pinch of BP), but I must note that ingredients or measurements in a half dozen other recipes were also changed, which may yield different results between the first and subsequent editions.

Though it may seem unfair to bring attention to errors that have since been addressed by the publisher, I haven't done so in order to magnify the book's old faults. Instead, I hope to highlight its virtues. Not knowing what costs are involved in publishing, I imagine it's not an inconsequential sum to pull** a product from the shelves, re-edit it entirely, then print and market it all over again. In doing so, publisher Marshall Cavendish seems to be saying that Keiko Ishida's work is well worth the effort and expense to try again. It is a statement of faith in the essential quality of her book and recipes, and although I have made only one other Okashi recipe so far, it is enough to convince me of the same.

If you have ever admired the effortless elegance, subtle sweetness and sublime simplicity of French-inspired Japanese bakery, and would like to try recreating it for yourself, this may be the book with which to begin.

For sweet treats made with love, Okashi is the word.

**Correction 12/12/11: I suggested above that Okashi: Sweet Treats Made with Love was pulled from booksellers in order to correct errors and to re-edit the book. In fact, the first edition was SOLD OUT; publisher Marshall Cavendish then made the corrections during the second printing. I would like to apologize to Keiko Ishida and Marshall Cavendish for my erroneous assumption and to thank Tammy Rip of Marshall Cavendish for setting me straight. TN

Chocolate Almond Cookies
(From Okashi: Sweet Treats Made with Love by Keiko Ishida. Reprinted with publisher's permission)

Of all the recipes in Okashi: Sweet Treats Made with Love, it figures that the first one I picked had the most egregious typo. If only I had this kind of luck with picking lottery numbers...

Fortunately, my backup choice resulted in greater success: These Chocolate Almond Cookies are classic refrigerator cookies, so-called because they are meant to be chilled in the fridge before being sliced and baked. This is the epitome of the go-to treat, keeping beautifully in the freezer until needed, then yielding irresistible fresh-baked biscuits when surprise company calls on short notice.

These baked bites have a buttery crispness like an airy shortbread and are studded with a smoky, salty flavor from the almonds. More importantly, they taste of cocoa - not chocolate, mind you, but rather a dark, intense richness that makes them more than simply a cookie version of a chocolate bar. Even rolled in granulated sugar, they retain just a hint of sweetness, making them too dangerously easy to nibble on dozens before the appropriate blood sugar level is finally reached.

Makes about 40 cookies

Ingredients:

40g sliced and blanched almonds
150g pastry flour or top flour
20g cocoa powder
120g unsalted butter, softened
70g icing (confectioner's) sugar
A pinch of salt
1 egg yolk
Granulated white sugar for dusting

Method:

Preheat oven to 150C. Place almonds on a baking tray and bake for 20 minutes. Sift flour and cocoa powder together once.

Beat butter, icing sugar and salt until softened. Add egg yolk and mix well.

Fold flour and cocoa powder mixture into butter mixture using a spatula. Add toasted almond slivers and fold through. Cover dough with cling wrap and refrigerate for about 15 minutes.

Divide cookie dough into two portions. Place each portion on a sheet of parchment paper and shape it into logs about 4cm in diameter. Wrap logs with parchment paper and refrigerate. If not baking cookies immediately, wrap logs again in cling film and freeze for up to 2 months.

Preheat oven to 160C.

Slice cookie dough log into 7mm thick pieces. Roll side of cookies in granulated sugar and place on a baking tray lined with parchment paper or a non-stick baking mat. Bake for about 20 minutes. Remove from heat and leave to cool on a wire rack.

Serve or store cookies in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 10 days.

An Okashi Gift

Blogger's Note:
This blog post was originally conceived as a review of my personal first-print copy of Okashi. Many thanks to Marshall Cavendish Asia for sending me a complimentary updated copy after I inquired about permission to reprint a recipe for this post.

Irresistible treats

Luntiang Lunes: Filipino Meatless Mondays

2011-11-20T02:43:00.001-06:00

Alugbati at Tokwa (Malabar Spinach & Tofu)

Vegetables and I were not always friends.

As a child, I disliked anything that might remotely be considered produce. Of course, this was decades before the recent pizza-as-vegetable brouhaha, which would have been a game-changer, and the subsequent debate about what constitutes a 'vegetable'. Back then, anything that wasn't a hamburger or made of sugar was a dreaded veg, as far as I was concerned (though I did make exceptions for corn and potatoes).

As a result, the normally dutiful child that I was [ahem] became recalcitrant and rebellious at dinner time. Carrots and peas were hidden under chicken bones or wrapped in the table napkin, while steamed cauliflower induced violent gagging that threatened to ruin everyone's appetite. It was no use making me stay at the table until every bit of vegetable was eaten - my tearful obstinacy often outlasted my mother's pique, or at least until it moved my sympathetic ya-ya to finish off the offending plant matter on my behalf. But muleheaded stubbornness was only partly to blame for my early anti-vegetable stance: genetics may have also played a significant role.

Better than broccoli: Vegetable pizza or pizza as vegetable?

During a 2005 study¹, researchers observed that a taste receptor gene known as TAS2R38 heightened the sensitivity to bitter flavors in 79% of an ethnically diverse group of subjects - 143 children and their mothers - who carried one or more variations of it. It turns out that what is sometimes attributed to a child's pickiness may actually be a natural reaction. Extrapolating this data, it would mean that 4 out of 5 kids the world over are likely to turn up their noses at broccoli, cabbage and their ilk. See, Mom, everybody does it!

But nutritionally-minded parents need not despair that their offspring are doomed to a lifetime sans an appreciation for the joys of roasted Brussels sprouts. The study further noted that the mothers who shared this genetic trait with their children did not also share their food aversion and could re-direct these tendencies toward some acceptance of vegetables. It would seem that over time, nurture trumps nature. Our tastes change with exposure to new foods that expand our scope of sensations and perceptions, absorbing cultural as well as personal influences that affect our food preferences². Like schoolyard perceptions of the opposite sex, many of us eventually outgrow our poor opinion of bitter (i.e. veggie) flavors as our palates become more sophisticated.

This has certainly been the case with yours truly as I've learned to enjoy the taste and textures of various produce, from delicate leaves down to hearty roots. Now, I'm just as likely to have broccoli with my beef or forgo animal protein altogether in favor of a refreshing summer salad. But to paraphrase a famous frog, it's not easy eating green, especially in a meat-loving country like the Philippines.

Alugbati (Malabar Spinach)

Tastes Just Like Pork...?

Filipino cuisine has more than its fair share of gulay (vegetable) dishes, from the tender-crisp fronds of pako (fiddlehead fern) salad to the ultimate umami-ness of pinakbet, a stew of okra, eggplant, bitter melon, squash and other vegs flavored with bagoong (shrimp paste). Vegetables are abundant here and considered an integral part of the Filipino meal, along with meat or fish and, of course, rice.

The national love of pork is unquestionable, while chicken and seafood are not far behind, but if one man has his way, Filipinos will be eating more vegetables as an alternative to meat instead of just an accompaniment. This past July, molecular biologist Custer Deocaris launched Luntiang Lunes (Green Monday), the Philippines' version of the Meatless Monday international campaign that encourages less meat consumption for better nutritional and environmental health³.

Dr. Deocaris takes the initiative one step further with an 'eat it to save it' approach. He encourages Filipinos not only to eat vegetables, but specifically native specimens that have long been part of the cultural foodscape yet are now being overshadowed by non-indigenous and imported produce. Among the 10 indigenous vegetables identified by Dr. Deocaris are familiar names, such as ampalaya (bitter melon), malunggay (moringa) and the aforementioned pako, while others required some online research to identify and may be more readily found at farmers' markets rather than supermarkets. With this information and my newfound appreciation of vegetables, I decided to take up Dr. Deocaris' Luntiang Lunes challenge and prepare a Filipino Meatless Monday dish.

Dr. Custer Deocaris' List of 10 Indigenous Filipino Vegetables⁴

Alugbati (Malabar spinach)

Ampalaya (Bitter Melon)

Himbabao (Alokon - related to mulberry)

Kulitis (Amaranth)

Labong (bamboo shoots)

Malunggay (Moringa)

Pako (Fiddlehead ferns)

Saluyot (Jute leaves)

Talinum (Jewels of Opar)

Upo (Bottle gourd)

Notes:

1. Menella, Julie and Yanino Pepino, Daniell Reed. "Genetic and Environmental Determinants of Bitter Perception and Sweet Preferences." Pediatrics. v115, no2. Feb 1, 2005. (via About.com/Nutrition)

2. Ibid.

3. Salaverria, Leila. "Meatless Monday Drive Launched." Philippine Daily Inquirer. 31 July 2011.
4. Ibid.

Alugbati at Tokwa (Malabar Spinach and Tofu)

Looking more like a houseplant than an edible vegetable, alugbati (Basella alba) is actually chock-full of healthy stuff. As its English name suggests, it may be prepared like spinach although its okra-like mucilaginous quality also lends itself as a thickener in saucy dishes.

I opted for a simple dish of alugbati and lightly fried tofu, stir-fried with tomatoes, red onions and soy sauce, then garnished with fresh edible flowers. That's it.

What are some heirloom vegetables that you would enjoy for a Meatless Monday meal?

Starstruck: A Michelin Meal in Mongkok

2011-10-26T04:45:00.000-05:00

Red Clover in Honeyed Gulaman

Perdue: "Let us make this easier. Suppose you get a reservation. And let us suppose you come down to the restaurant and we honor it. What do you think you might order?'

Harris: "Well, um, I might like to have the duck."

Chef: "He can't have the duck."

Perdue: "You can't have the duck."

Harris: "Why?"

Perdue: "You think with a financial statement like this you can have the duck? [Pause] Where do you spend your summers?"

Harris: "Right here."

Chef: "He can have the chicken."

In the 1991 comedy LA Story, TV weatherman Harris Telemacher, played by Steve Martin, nervously faces a withering financial inquisition from an imperious maître d' named Perdue (a mustachioed Patrick Stewart). His transgression: Daring to request a dinner reservation at a snooty eatery called L'Idiot, in hopes of impressing a nubile starlet in image-conscious Tinseltown. [Watch the full scene here.]

The scene satirizes hyper-exclusive restaurants whose nosebleed-inducing menu prices may be chump change for the One-Percenters, but require selling of a firstborn or extraneous limb for everyone else. It's film fiction played for laughs, yet Harris' trepidation is very familiar to those of us who have Noma aspirations on a Pizza Hut budget. While Mr. Noodle and I have enjoyed some fine dining in the past few years, we still lack a certain heft to our wallets that would make the prospect of eating at a Michelin-starred restaurant more than just a hunger pang.

Or so I've always assumed.

Star Grazing

It turns out that the fine folks at Michelin Guides have seen fit to award one of their coveted stars to a humble little dim sum joint called Tim Ho Wan in Hong Kong's Mongkok district. Michelin could have bestowed its respected Bib Gourmand recognition, given to restaurants that "represent the best hidden culinary value that [a] city has to offer", as it has done for such celebrated establishments as A16 and Slanted Door in San Francisco, and both Momofuku Noodle Bar and Ssäm Bar in New York. Against such calibre, garnering a stellar distinction is quite an accomplishment for a 20-seat venue where the most expensive item on the menu rings up at a budget-friendly HK$22 (approximately US$3).

An unassuming storefront

The irresistible combination of delicious, inexpensive food validated by one of the culinary world's most exclusive stamps of approval is obvious by the crowd gathered in front of Tim Ho Wan's doors every day. Tales of hours-long wait times give way to rhapsodies over Chef Mak Pui Gor's skillful touch with classic dim sum fare, such as steamed chicken feet with black bean sauce and pan-fried turnip cakes.

Since it first earned that precious star in 2009, Tim Ho Wan has added two locations - in Sham Shui Po just north of the Kowloon original and, most recently, across Victoria Harbor at the International Finance Centre (IFC) Mall. These branches offer more seating, shorter lines and a slightly expanded menu (although the prices at IFC are reportedly higher due to its prime locale), but it was the first restaurant on Kwong Wah Street that earned the accolades and it was there that Mr. Noodle and I headed on our first afternoon in Hong Kong.

It was nearly 4 o'clock when we arrived - well past lunch and comfortably before dinner. Perfect timing, I thought. Getting a table should be so easy...

The Invisibles

"Claw, you're welcome." --Restaurant hostess on the phone, Date Night (2010)

Yet another popular stereotype about fortresses of haute cuisine is the haughty gatekeeper. Like Monsieur Perdue of L'Idiot, maître d's and hostesses are often portrayed in caricature - fashionably-dressed human barbed wires whose intimidating presence keep the hungry rabble at bay. But on occasion, the portrayal comes to life and if a fierce front of the house is the hallmark of a fine dining establishment, then Tim Ho Wan's Michelin star boasts a fearsome guardian.

Rare photo of SWSRTY (in white),
taken from a safe distance

The process in concept was simple: Let the hostess (heretofore known as She Who Stares Right Through You) know how many will be dining and she, in turn, will let me know how long the wait will be. With only a half dozen people milling about, I thought our chances of quickly getting in were high.

The process in practice, however, was comical: Not two feet from SWSRTY, I was bobbing and swerving, desperately trying to stay in her line of sight. It was like playing dodgeball, except I wanted to be hit by the ball - at least it meant she saw me! When her shark's gaze finally focused on us, I meekly held up two fingers. SWSRTY scanned her seating chart and jotted down a number on a piece of pink paper, which she held out in my general direction. Eye contact broken, I gratefully took the ticket and resisted the urge to back away bowing.

In the Pink

That rose-colored* sheet bore not only our number in the queue, but also our food order. During the twenty-some minutes Mr. Noodle and I waited to be seated, we huddled in serious discussion over what to choose, occasionally peering at photos of their food from magazine pages taped to the windows. Finally, SWSRTY barked out our number and we handed back the slip to her. Seconds later, we were seated and sipping hot tea while our piece of paper was transformed into a parade of dim sum delicacies. (*Pink denoted the English-language version, while green slips were in Chinese.)

There were the usual suspects: fragile steamed shrimp dumplings, or ha jiao, and piquant spareribs with black bean sauce. Mr. Noodle preferred the steamed bean curd sheets filled with meat and tofu while I hogged most of the vermicelli roll stuffed with pig's liver. The braised pig's knuckles were excellent - meltingly tender fatty skin, tendon and meat (what little there was) had absorbed a savory-sweet brown sauce. I regretted not ordering a small bowl of rice to sop up every bit of it.

But the stellar dish that really earned Tim Ho Wan its Michelin star were the baked buns with BBQ pork. Chef Mak's masterpiece bao were unlike the usual golden-brown bread-y buns of previous experience. Dainty, pale and more like pastry, they had a wonderful sugary crust that gave way to a delicate crumb and a saucy filling of tender sweet pork. It was a perfect balance of flavor and texture. Although the restaurant offers its menu for take-out, it would be a shame to risk the chance that these fresh-from-the-oven buns could turn cool or soggy.

No ordinary buns

(Apologies for the lack of photographs. We were hungry.)

Afterglow

So, does Tim Ho Wan deserve its star? Having no other Michelin-starred experience to which I can compare, all I can say is that we enjoyed every moment and each bite. It was fun wandering through Mongkok, looking for a restaurant whose name we couldn't recognize in its native language; chatting with fellow diners waiting in line, admitting how silly our enthusiasm seemed to be, but excited nonetheless; and simply taking in the fact that we were eating our first meal in a new city.

The sun was just beginning to set as we walked out of Tim Ho Wan and began meandering down the street in exploration. Stars appeared in the sky and ahead of us was even more good food, waiting to be found.

Star light, star bright, my first Michelin star tonight...

Tim Ho Wan (original location)
Shop 8, Taui Yuen Mansion Phase 2
2-20 Kwong Wah Street, Mongkok
Tel: 23322896
Hours: Daily 10:00am - 10:00pm

Red Clover in Honeyed Gulaman

Content as we were with our early dinner, Mr. Noodle and I skipped dessert at Tim Ho Wan. But I did catch a glimpse of the next table's order - ruby-gold cubes of jelly with little blossoms floating inside. Listed on the menu as tonic medlar and petal cake, it is a very popular Hong Kong dessert more commonly known as Osmanthus Jelly. Osmanthus fragrans, or gui hua, is the apricot-scented flower of an ornamental evergreen shrub and is used to make teas, jams and wiggly-jiggly desserts.

Although I was curious about it and had ample opportunity to order during our visit, we returned to Manila without having a taste of Osmanthus Jelly. Until our next trip to Hong Kong for another shot at the real thing, I decided to make my own quasi-floral gelatin dessert using dried red clover blossoms, honey and gulaman*, a seaweed-based gelatin also known as agar-agar, carrageenan and kanten, among other names. Unlike animal protein-based gelatin (such as that used to make Jello), gulaman remains firm at room temperature and has a more 'chewy' composition.

The clear gulaman took on the warm hue and subtle sweetness of the Palawan honey I used, resulting in a refreshingly light dessert that looked for all the world like blossoms suspended in amber.

Ingredients:

90g unflavored gulaman powder
1 2/3 cups water*
2 Tablespoons honey
1 Tablespoon dried red clover blossoms
*If you prefer a firmer jelly, reduce the amount of water by another 1/3 cup

To make:

In a small saucepan over medium-high heat, dissolve the gulaman in water. Stirring constantly, bring the mixture to a boil. Continue at a low boil, still stirring, for another 5 minutes then remove from heat. Stir in the honey and allow the mixture to cool for a bit. When the gulaman has slightly thickened, stir in the red clover, making sure to distribute the blossoms as evenly as possible. Pour into an 8x8 glass dish, individual ramekins or small decoratively shaped moulds. The gulaman will set firm at room temperature in approximately 45 minutes, or may be chilled in the refrigerator for more rapid setting.

To serve, loosen from the sides of the dish or moulds using a knife, or place inside a cake pan and add warm water until halfway up the sides of the moulds. Invert onto serving plates and gently shake loose. If set in a large dish, slice into cubes or diamonds before serving.

Menudo Monday: A Guest Post

2011-10-17T02:10:00.002-05:00

Monday Menudo

Monday is rough.

It's the morning when we're jolted awake by a blaring alarm rather than gentle sunlight. It's the day when we drag ourselves back to the nitty-gritty of the workweek, trying hard to concentrate while the buzz of a fun weekend lingers teasingly in immediate memory. And it's the night when we realize there's still another four such days to trudge through, until it's weekend again...

But every once in a while, Monday is easy.

It's the day when the transition between weekend and weekday is smudged, like when you go from being a guest at one party and move right along to another. It's that kind of Monday for me, as I segue from wedding guest to guest blogger today. Last week, just before Mr. Noodle and I headed for a whirlwind 48 hours in Hong Kong to help celebrate our friends' nuptials, I put together a short (for me) guest post for another great friend, Betty Ann of Asian in America.

The Mango Queen, as she's fondly known in the Twitterverse (@Mango_Queen), is a double-food blog threat: in addition to AIA, she also shares recipes and food stories in The Queen's Notebook. Whether they are Filipino classics, fusion cuisine or family meals created from love and memories, Betty Ann's recipes come from the heart and soul of a prolific, thoughtful writer and cook. The details of when and how we met have dissipated into the ephemera of the blogosphere, but what remains is our shared love of food, story-telling and Pinay pride that brough us together in a virtual world and will hopefully bring us together in the real world some day.

Betty Ann asked me to share a favorite Filipino dish that is both budget friendly and adaptable to Western kitchens and palates, and I found the perfect candidate in Menudo. Although it shares a name with a better-known Mexican dish, Filipino menudo is distinctly different. The recipe I use is one that Mr. Noodle and I have enjoyed at my parents' home and which I now make in my own kitchen. Easy on the wallet and tempting to the tummy, I hope you will enjoy it.

Please head over to Betty Ann at Asian in America for some Manila Menudo: A Family Recipe!

P.S. It's been a good kind of busy for me lately, as I'm getting more freelance writing work here in Manila. Unfortunately, Tangled Noodle has suffered a bit of a dry spell as a result. I'm working on revamping my blog - some cosmetic work on the old girl, as it were. On tap are some design updates to freshen up the look as well as to share some of my recently published articles. I hope to finish soon and that you'll come back to see for yourself!

Of Freudian Tweets and Doughnut Plants

2011-08-21T09:45:00.002-05:00

A doughnut plant

Several years ago, I was working at a university library during a hectic midterm week. Faced with long lines of impatient, stressed-out students, I went into full autopilot mode, checking out books, searching the database and generally hustling each patron along with a firm, "These are due on..." before turning back to the queue with a crisp, "May I help the next person?" When the phone rang in the middle of a transaction, I deftly answered and put the caller on hold before they even got to the '-oh' in 'hello'. I was a model of rote efficiency.

Then the phone rang again. I picked it up and asked with impersonal friendliness, "How may I hold you?" Aside from the hot flush creeping up my face and the sound of my incoherent stammering, I don't recall much after that...

Your Slip is Showing

Parapraxis. Lapsus linguae. Fehleistung. Slip of the tongue. These are some of the terms used for what is most commonly known as a Freudian slip. Named for Sigmund Freud, the esteemed father of psychoanalysis who first identified these 'meaningful errors' in language, they are the inadvertent substitutions of words in speech or writing that supposedly reveal our subconscious thoughts or desires. I was immediately aware that my verbal stumble sounded more like a come-on than a customer service greeting and I wonder how the good doctor might have interpreted it. A latent desire for physical contact, perhaps? A repressed need to dominate or restrain others? A cry for mother?

Freud's First Slip
(Image credit: Doug Davis)

More likely, it was just a benign utterance from a stressed-out library clerk. Somewhere between my brain and my tongue, an unconscious mash-up of what I meant to say ("How may I help you?") and what I intended to do (put the caller on hold) was let loose. As intriguing, and admittedly more juicy, as it may be to blame a salacious subconscious à la Dr. Freud, my spoken error may have simply been a momentary technical difficulty:

"[T]alking is a hard thing to do! In fact, fluent speech articulation has been called our most complex motor skill...

"A speaker is under time pressure, typically choosing about three words per second out of a vocabulary of 40,000 or more, while at the same time producing perhaps five syllables...per second, using more than 100 finely-coordinated muscles...

"Given the complexities of speaking, it's not surprising that about one slip of the tongue on average occurs per thousand words..."
(Liberman)

Did I Just Tweet That Out Loud?

It may not be remarkable that slips of the tongue happen with normal frequency in verbal language, but it seems rather surprising that they occur in written language as well. Generally dismissed as 'typos', such mistakes may also be the result of the same catalysts as spoken errors - an escaped subliminal thought or a blip in our grasp of language. But one would think the time required to write (or type) a sentence would automatically result in a greater awareness of the words and their intended meaning, precluding such lapses. Surely, the time pressure found in the immediacy of speech is not present in writing - or is it? Dr. Freud would have had a field day with the slips, blips and assorted brain burps in modern communication.

Take Twitter, for example, which encourages real-time yet silent conversation conducted entirely in digitized word. You want pressure? How about trying to convey a coherent, meaningful thought in 140 characters or less, which will then be disseminated to potentially hundreds, if not thousands, of virtual receivers in less time than it takes to clear your throat? And once you've tweeted, there's no going back: even if you choose to delete it from the Twitterstream, chances are that at least one of your followers has already read it. Under such circumstances, committing a lapsus calami (slip of the pen, as it were) is not only very possible, but the embarrassment and amusement that follows is also magnified in the Twitterverse. Thanks to re-tweets (RTs), your slip may transmit long after the blush has faded from your cheeks.

A screenshot selection of such Freudian tweets reveal honest, hilarious mistakes that nonetheless seem to support old Sigmund's theory that deep down inside, we're just a bunch of horndogs. [Some Twitter handles have been altered to protect what remains of these folks' dignity.]

And this instant classic:

[This is a case of a Freudian tweet resulting from the sender regrettably assuming that readers are possessed of the same vocabulary and references as his own. His subsequent tweet explained that 'humping' is a common term used in the railroad industry. You learn something new every day.]

Not all Freudian tweets are inadvertently naughty, but they may still reveal some deep-rooted ambivalence, whether it's about the newest member of the family...

... or reassuring a friend that a food concept is more delicious than it sounds.

"I Led the Pigeons to the Flag..."*

Such amusing language outtakes are not always the fault of the writer or speaker - often, a contextual word or perfectly expressed thought is misunderstood by the listener or reader. Mishearing words, particularly song lyrics, is so common that it has earned its own term - mondegreen. The word is borrowed from a 1954 essay by author Sylvia Wright, who recounted how, as a child, she unintentionally created a new character for an old Scottish ballad in the belief that the final lines read "They hae slain the Earl of Amurray/And the Lady Mondegreen". Years later, she would learn that it correctly ended "And laid him on the green" - not of the earl's ladylove joining his tragic fate. Yeah, I thought it was more romantic the other way, too...

Author, photographer and mondegreen-compiler Gavin Edwards further explained:

"Mondegreens can be found in every area of the spoken word... [and] tend to be about primal concerns: food, sex, animals. Any misheard lyric is an impromptu Rorshach test...

"Songwriters take note: There is a large, untapped market for songs about food."
(Edwards, n.p.)

It's not only slips of the ear that focus on food; slips of the eye are just as hungry. Several months ago, I came across a series of tweets from someone visiting New York City. One of the messages mysteriously included a reference to "having doughnut plant". While I failed to save that particular tweet, this one expressed my exact thought:

There's a reason why I describe myself as having food on the brain: Even if just for a millisecond, the rational part of my mind was totally overpowered by absurd excitement that DOUGHNUTS GROW ON PLANTS! Later, with sanity restored, I would come to terms with the fact that the Doughnut Plant about which people were rhapsodizing is actually a gourmet bakery in NYC. But reality didn't stop me from fantasizing about a harvest of doughnuts from my own little plant...

Notes and Sources:

*From Gavin Edwards' "Mondegreens: A Short Guide": a mondegreen of the first line of the American Pledge of Allegiance.

Edwards, Gavin. "Mondegreens: A Short Guide." Personal website. [no date]

Liberman, Mark and Ellen Prince. "Language Production and Perception." Linguistics 001. University of Pennsylvania, 1998. Online.

My Doughnut Plant

In the words of Captain Jean-Luc Picard, "Make it so." Armed with a Muji silicone mini-doughnut pan, some chocolate rocks and a little craftiness, I brought my zany wish to edible life.

Using Muji's recipe for baked yogurt doughnuts, I dipped them in a simple glaze flavored with rosewater and another with a hazelnut-cocoa spread, then sprinkled with nuts, sugar beads and pinipig (toasted rice). Unfortunately, I don't have permission to reprint Muji's recipe; however, the company has posted one for baked chocolate doughnuts. Also, a Google keyword search will yield enough recipes for a bumper crop of doughnut plants of your own.

To assemble the plant, I folded colorful candy liners and trimmed them to form petals, while I made leaves from ordinary green construction paper. Large sandwich toothpicks made perfect stems, which I stuck into a piece of cardboard and placed in a small bowl and a plastic take-out tray. To finish the look, I covered the pots with chocolate rocks. And that's how my garden grows!

Care to share any of your most memorable Freudian slips, tweets, mondegreens or misreads?

Fragile History and the Art of Pabalat

2011-07-18T11:55:00.001-05:00

Candy wrapper art: Pabalat ng Pastillas de Leche

Not long ago, I read with great interest an article about Tukluhan, an obscure festival unique to the village of Santa Cruz in Marinduque Province, which takes place every May 15th on the feast day of San Isidro de Labrador (the Laborer), patron saint of farmers. The central event is a religious procession for which residents decorate fences, trees and other structures along the route with garlands of fruits, vegetables and various foodstuff. Parade-goers then eagerly collect¹ the hanging comestibles as they trail behind the passing procession, in what sounds like a rural Filipino hybrid of Mardi Gras, the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade and a self-service Halloween.

As I read, I hoped the article would satisfy my need for details: When did this tradition start? Was it some cool pre-colonial pagan harvest ritual adapted to Catholic themes? Most importantly, why was it done in the first place? Unfortunately, I came across a paragraph that pained my history-loving heart:

"Librada Ricamata, 75, who gathers and sells edible seashells for a living, said villagers can't remember when and how Tukluhan originated. 'By the time we were born, Tukluhan was already celebrated here,' said Ricamata. She said the festival has been held since the time of her parents. 'The tradition was passed from their generation to ours, and knowing its origin is not our concern anymore,' she said."

from "Marinduque Villagers Reach Out for Tukluhan" (PDI 5/26/11)

A Question of History

I couldn't disagree more with Ms. Ricamata's final statement - our histories should always be our concern. Why is knowing the origins of Tukluhan or any other tradition so vital? The answer is in the question. All other queries record factual details: Asking what defines the tradition and how tells us the manner in which it is done; who reveals the participants while when and where establish time and space. But why is a glimpse into elusive meaning - the answer shines a light, albeit dim or filtered, into the needs and motivation behind our customs, which in turn helps us to understand their importance to our personal and group identities. The answer to why allows us to look at ourselves from the perspective of the past.

Young folk musicians in Gasan, Marinduque, Easter '11

If the why is forgotten or brushed aside as irrelevant, then traditions may lose much of their powerful symbolism and risk becoming irrelevant themselves. How long might Tukluhan last if no one knows or seems to care why they participate in its festivities? Already, the custom is changing: according to the article, the foods displayed along the parade route traditionally came from the town's agricultural bounty. Now, they are slowly being replaced by packaged, processed items such as chips and candies. How has the festival's meaning been changed by this development? We can't know because without knowing its history, we have little reference to evaluate.

Celebrations and Crafts

In a kind of cultural Darwinism, unique traditions fall by the wayside all the time, unnoticed because they are so little known, much less practiced, beyond the communities in which they first developed. Happily, some find a measure of outside fame to ensure their continuation, like the Moriones Festival, which originated in a tiny Marinduque parish and is now world-famous. That such a local cultural event can remain vibrant may be due, I believe, to an important distinction that the Tukluhan lacks: an active interest in its history that remains central to its tradition.

The Moriones Festival is celebrated during Easter Holy Week in municipalities throughout the province and has inspired similar festivities all over the Philippines, but the townspeople of Mogpog proudly preserve the story of how their own Father Dionisio Santiago staged the first re-enactment over 200 years ago. Furthermore, even as their tradition becomes a tourist attraction, the residents who participate in it do so in faithful practice to the event's original intent as a time for penance and prayer.

Moriones parading through Mogpog, Marinduque/Easter '11

Such festive occasions stand a fair chance of survival, if only because everyone, including 'outsiders', has an opportunity to participate in some way, whether as players or spectators. More precarious, however, is the fate of small traditions such as time-consuming and skillful craftwork that have many admirers but dwindling numbers of practitioners. Without subsequent generations willing to learn about their histories or perpetuate the art, some craft traditions may suffer the sad indignity of being met with an indifferent shrug of the shoulders and set aside.

Paper-Cutting: Folk Art and Candy Wrappers

That is the possible future facing the Filipino folk art form called pabalat². This lovely example of decorative paper-cutting is unique not only for being practiced primarily in one area, but also for its singular purpose - to make colorful wrappers for pastillas de leche. In a previous post, I discussed how the history of this Filipino milk candy is rather fuzzy for lack of recorded details; unfortunately, it extends to the special way this confection is presented. What little is known (or remembered) about how pabalat began is closely related to the origins of pastillas de leche in the town of San Miguel de Mayumo in Bulacan Province. But the reason behind why this particular candy, among all the many other treats and sweets, deserved such special wrappers has been lost.

Decorative paper-cutting is popular in the Philippines and its most recognized form is the famed parols, or Christmas lanterns, that sport fluttering 'comet tails' of delicately cut paper, of which pabalat is reminiscent. Filipino papercraft was likely adapted from Jian Zhi, the 1500-year old Chinese art of paper-cutting. Interestingly, jian zhi may have arrived in the Philippines via two routes - one direct, the other quite circuitous. Chinese traders and settlers probably brought paper-cutting directly to the islands, but a distinct influence may also have come from Mexico by way of the Manila-Acapulco galleon trade.

In pre-Hispanic Mesoamerica, Aztecs made a form of paper called amatl (Sp. amate) from mashed tree bark, on which images of deities were cut out with stone knives. Spain's own history of papercraft³ began in the 12th century when the material and art were introduced by Muslim rulers and Arab traders who brought the practices back to the Middle East and Europe from Asia. After the Spanish conquest, the Aztec craft, influenced by its European colonizers, evolved into Mexico's distinctive papel picado ('perforated paper'), used to create festive banners for special occasions. The influence of Mexican papel picado on Filipino papercutting is strongest in the colorful flag garlands called banderitas (from Sp. bandera, 'flag'), which add festive decoration to local pistahans (festivals).

Papercut candy wrapper

Preserving the Past

Neither parols nor banderitas, however, are as closely related to a specific place and purpose as pabalat. Presumed to be as old as pastillas de leche, these pretty candy wrappers are made from papel de japón and were traditionally used as decorative table centerpieces in Bulacan's fine homes⁴. Sadly, this unique Bulakeño craft - once taught in local schools and practiced in many families - is slowly disappearing. Most practitioners are now elderly, their ranks dwindling, and pabalat is now often made only by special order in association with local pastillas-makers and retailers.

Concerned by the possibility of losing this folk tradition, master pabalat-maker Luz Ocampo⁵, affectionately known as Nanay (mom), still tirelessly practices and promotes her craft through media interviews and attendance at art shows and craft fairs, despite her nearly 90 years. Having learned the art at the age of twelve in her hometown of San Miguel (where pastillas de leche originated), Nanay Luz is determined to pass along as much of its history as she knows in hopes of keeping it alive for new generations.

Fascinated by the delicate beauty of pabalat and feeling a particular affinity because of my personal ties to Bulacan, ancestral home of my father's family, I was inspired to try my hand at it. I had never previously seen an actual pabalat, other than photographs on the web, but with some online guidance, I gave it a go. I hope that, in some small way, I can help preserve a small part of our history.

Colorful candy

Notes:

1. Tukluhan ostensibly means "to reach". However, I could not confirm to which Filipino dialect this word belongs, and my mother - born in Marinduque and a native Tagalog-speaker - is unfamiliar with it.

2. Pabalat comes from the Tagalog word balat, meaning a covering (e.g. skin, bark, peel, husk, etc.)

3. Although Spain does not have a specific, named tradition of paper-cutting (at least, none that I could find online), the introduction of paper and papercraft to the region by Muslim traders was apparently the originating point for vibrant paper-cutting arts in other European cultures. The oldest may be the Jewish form, which is traditionally used to decorate mizrachs (a wall plaque indicating direction of prayer) and ketubahs (marriage contracts). Other papercut art forms include Scherenschnitte ('scissor cuts') in Germany and the Polish wycinanki.

4. Mapanoo, Sherwin. "The Pastillas Papercut Tradition" n.p.

5. Read more about Mrs. Ocampo in articles from Balikbayan Magazine and The Philippine Star.

Other sources:

Instrument of Karma blog - "Disposable Art"

www.jewishcraftcuts.com

Museum of International Folk Art: Papel Picado

Pabalat ng Pastillas de Leche

No recipe today! Instead, check out my earlier post about Pastillas de Leche for a recipe, then try crafting some pabalat for the candies you make or, as a quick alternative, use store-bought pastillas and other small candies such as Tootsie Rolls.

Materials and Tools

Papel de japón (tissue paper) in different colors
Ruler
Pencil
Fine-tipped scissors (curved cuticle scissors work beautifully!)

To make 2 wrappers:

Cut 1 sheet of tissue paper to 13.5 inches long by 10 inches wide. Fold in half lengthwise, then fold in half again lengthwise. The folded sheet should now be 13.5" long by 2.5" wide. Using a ruler, mark off a 4" x 2.5" section: this will be portion where the pastillas/candy will be wrapped and should remain uncut.

With a pencil, draw your pattern! A workable design is part trial, part error and all personal creativity.Start by drawing simple shapes such as flowers or stars all over the area. Then, 'connect' the shapes together by drawing 'bands' between them. For best results, keep the cut-out sections small but numerous to get a more lacy look. I also suggest keeping the edges intact to give the pabalat more structure and support.

With fine-tipped/cuticle scissors, begin cutting, starting inside and working out toward the edges. Don't worry about perfectly following your pencil lines - they will show up only on one panel. Besides, I think it adds a quaint roughness, a hand-made quality to the pabalat.

When done, open the sheet and cut in half lengthwise to make 2 panels. Take one half-sheet and cut in half again, beginning at the top of the cut-out section and stopping just at the untouched 4" x 2.5" portion.

If using homemade pastillas, wrap each piece in wax paper or plastic wrap to keep any moisture from saturating the paper. Place the candy lengthwise on the uncut portion of the pabalat and roll up, then gently twist both ends to close.

Place the pabalat-wrapped pastillas in a bowl or glass jar to show off your handiwork!

A bit of self-indulgence...

Starry, Starry Bento: A Twitter Challenge

2011-07-03T12:05:00.001-05:00

Tangled Bento

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

How I wonder what you are."

The answer to this innocent musing depends on one's preference: warmly sentimental or coolly factual.

On the warm and fuzzy side, a star is something we wish upon, thank for our good fortune and observe intently in hopes that our fates are revealed in its movement. Stars represent secret dreams, auspicious destinies and plain old good luck, and we gaze upon them with a twinkle in our own eyes.

On the cool and practical side, a star is actually an enormous flaming ball of gas, floating in the infinite inkiness of outer space. No fairy dust here: the shimmering, glittering pinpoints in the evening sky are just the result of visible electromagnetic radiation distorted by the Earth's atmosphere. As a couple of astronomers have observed, apropos of the rhyme above:

"Opaque ball of hot dense gas

Million times our planet's mass

Looking small because you're far

I know exactly what you are.

"Fusing atoms in your core

Hydrogen, helium, carbon and more

With such power you shine far

Twinkle twinkle little star."

Read the rest of this scientifically-accurate nursery rhyme by Julia Kregenow, PhD & Jason Wright, PhD.

While dry scientific fact and other scholarly studies provide utmost value to our store of knowledge, they can put a damper on more starry-eyed perspectives.

Constellation Bento

Bento: Lessons in Cuteness

For instance, consider bento (formal: obento), the Japanese boxed meal for one consisting of rice, protein, fruit and vegetables, arranged with varying degrees of intricacy in a sturdy container. While many bentos made for adults may be as aesthetically regular and mundane as any home-packed lunch, those made for children are les enfants adorables of the food world - sometimes too cute to stand, often obviously labor-intensive and always 'awww!'-inducing.

Just as we gaze upon a clear night sky a-glitter with stars and see magic, not nuclear fusion, we can marvel at the unbearable cuteness of bento without discerning hidden meanings in its composition. But just as a powerful telescope reveals the true nature of stars, somber interpretation of bento uncovers a lot more to these kids' meals than cartoon characters rendered in artistic edible form.

In an article for The Japan Times, Makiko Itoh of the superior bento resource, Just Bento, wrote of how these school-bound lunches provide not only necessary nutrition, but also valuable social lessons for little Japanese kindergarteners. Referring to a national education directive known as Shokiuku Kihon Hou, or Basic Law on Nutritional Education, Itoh explained:

"Presently, the term 'shokiuku' has come to mean educating yourself by being aware of what you eat . . .

"'It really isn't just about eating a nutritious lunch, though that is very important, of course,' says [kindergarten principal Sumie] Kato. 'The children learn about appreciating their parents for providing and preparing food they are given. They learn basic etiquette, such as saying itadakimasu and goshisosama [expressions of gratitude before and after the meal] properly. And most of all, they get to experience how fun mealtimes can be.'"¹

Boxed In: Childhood, Motherhood

But in an essay considered essential reading for students of sociocultural anthropology and gender studies, Duke University anthropology professor Anne Allison argues that bento represents much more than early childhood training in food appreciation and etiquette in Japan. Writing in "Japanese Mothers and Obentos: The Lunch-Box as Ideological State Apparatus", Allison posits that this very common foodway serves as a tool of cultural and gender indoctrination aimed at children and women, as situated in the context of kindergarten education.

For the child, it is a comforting bridge between the familiarity of family and home, and the strangeness of the outside world, while also helping to teach "the rules and patterns of 'group living' (shudanseikatsu), a Japanese social ideal that is reiterated nationwide by political leaders, corporate management, and marriage counselors, [that are] first introduced to the child in nursery school."²

For the mother, bento represents her primary societal role - that is, the responsibility of positioning her child on a course toward lifelong success. As summed up by Allison, "If the child succeeds, a mother is complimented; if the child fails, a mother is blamed."³ In this regard, bento during nursery school is a first step. Expectations are simple and straightforward: a child should eat his or her meal in its entirety, and a mother should ensure this by preparing an appetizing, easy-to-consume bento. Their mutual cooperation in this endeavor is key to their successful joint conformation to social expectation⁴.

Reaching into her own family's experience as foreigners in Japan, Allison recounts being taken aback by the emphasis her son's teacher placed on her youngster's eating habits. In time, she began to understand that his complete consumption of bento wasn't as trivial as it seemed:

"David's teacher marked his successful integration into the school system by his mastery not of the language or other cultural skills, but of the school's daily routines... My American child had to become, in some sense, Japanese, and where his teacher recognized this Japaneseness was in the daily routines such as finishing his obento."⁵

That's putting a heavy load of meaning in some heart-shaped carrots and a ball of rice shaped like a panda.

Allison emphasizes, however, that very few of her informants expressed any unhappiness or sense of oppression from bento-making⁶. In fact, most of them found great satisfaction in it, not only as a way of nurturing their children, but also as an expression of their own creativity and playfulness. And that's precisely what I see in the boxes displayed by bento-making blogger moms and aficionados such as Sheri of Happy Little Bento and Yuri of Chef Pandita - artistry and fun combined in edible form.

It was also the directive when my dear friend Jenni of Pastry Methods and Techniques set in motion a Twitter event: #bentocuteness (and its off-shoots #badassbento and #halfassbento), in which we were challenged to muster as much food imagination and cuteness that could fit into a lunch box. So, while I can appreciate a factual and theoretical perspective, it's so much more fun to look at the world with stars in my eyes.

Starry, Starry Bento

Although #bentocuteness' only guideline was to enjoy our bento-making, I couldn't help but take note of Allison's observation of three 'codes' of food preparation in Japan. The first calls for "smallness, separation, and fragmentation"; the second, for opposition in color, form, texture, etc.; and finally, for naturalness, or evoking nature⁷. With these in mind, I put together my two-tier bento.

The bottom tier held three molded stars made with steamed white rice mixed with a bit of soy sauce and garnished with bits of celery, julienned carrots and black sesame seeds, and surrounded by mini-star cut-outs of cucumber and carrot.

In the larger section of the top tier, I made a simple omelette accompanied by sliced cucumbers and carrots, and more star cut-outs made from vegetable-studded Lyoner (a type of German bologna). For dessert, fresh kiwi flanks two satisfying bites of strawberry cream-filled sponge cake.

For more #bentocuteness, please visit Yuri's round-up of all the contributions.

Itadakimasu!

Notes:

1. Itoh, Makiko. "The best kindergarten lessons are at lunch time" The Japan Times Online. 7 Apr 2011.

2. Allison, Anne. "Japanese Mothers and Obentos: The Lunch-Box as Ideological State Apparatus" Anthropological Quarterly. 64:4 Oct 1991: pp. 199

3. Ibid., 203

4. Ibid., 200

5. Ibid., 201

6. Ibid., 203

7. Ibid., 197

Wrap It Up: Furoshiki

In the course of reading about bento, I came across mentions of this traditional wrapping cloth used for everything from gift-wrap to shopping bag. While paper and plastic have replaced them for most uses, furoshiki are still used to carry bento, with the added convenience of serving as place mat for the meal. If you're interested in an eco-friendly alternative to paper or plastic bags and wraps, check out this handy diagram on how to use furoshiki. Thankfully, there is no specific standard for size or material - it just needs to be large and sturdy enough for the purpose in mind, such as the rectangular cotton dishcloth used here. Have cloth, can wrap!

Sugar Pills: Pastillas de Leche

2011-06-08T22:15:00.002-05:00

Cup of sugar: Pastillas de Leche à la Mila

*Update: Read about the special paper-cutting art of pabalat, decorative candy wrappers for pastillas de leche here.*

"Just a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down,

In a most delightful way."

--From 'A Spoonful of Sugar' in Mary Poppins,

Music & lyrics by Robert M. Sherman and Richard M. Sherman

Long before it was enshrined in saccharine song by a practically perfect nanny, sweetening bitter pills and potions has been a mother's best strategy when nursing fractious youngsters back to health. I remember my own childhood bouts of sickness, when Mama would mix crushed baby aspirin with a teaspoon of milk and a sprinkle of sugar to mask the chalky medicine taste. It was still awful, but choking it down was made easier by that little bit of sweetness.

The idea of making medicaments more palatable with pleasant flavorings is as old as pharmacology itself - not surprising given that some concoctions found in ancient pharmacopoeia sound worse than any ailment:

"The compilation of remedies in the Papyrus Ebers [ca. 1550 BC] consists of 700 drugs and 800 prescriptions... From the plant kingdom, the Egyptians obtained peppermint, saffron, lotus flower, linseed, henbane*, anise, colocynth*, and other items, while the animal kingdom supplied lizard's blood, swine's teeth, putrid meat, stinking fat, milk, moisture from pigs' ears, and excreta from humans, donkeys, antelopes, dogs, cats and flies." *poisonous plants

[Ethel Thompson in 'Doctors, Doctrines and Drugs in Ancient Times', n.p.]

From medieval pharmacy . . .
(Photo credit: Wikimedia.com)

It's doubtful whether any amount of sugar-coating would have made these medicinals remotely agreeable. Thankfully, 21st century pharmaceuticals have relegated such noxious nostrums to ancient history and replaced them with easy-to-swallow caplets and fruit-flavored syrups. However, one form of sweetened medicine, minus the dubious ingredients, endures as - what else? - an actual sweet.

Pastilles: From Cures to Candies

Today, the word pastille brings to mind chocolate drops and fruit jellies, an affiliation which some sources credit to the popular sweetmeats of Giovanni Pastilla, a 17th century confectioner in the court of French queen Marie de Medici. However, a more likely etymology of the term traces further back, to the Latin pastillus ('small loaf' or 'little roll'), which fits well with an earlier and more widespread use of the word to describe both a type of incense and medication - small oblong or round pellets consisting of compressed herbs for burning and of viscous liquid solidified in sugar-dusted moulds for ingestion.

. . . to modern candy shop
(Photo credit: filippo_jean/flickr)

The jump from cures to candies wasn't a stretch: food historians agree that many of today's confections were cooked up from medicinals, such as marshmallows, jujubes and licorice. Unlike these tidbits, which are now best known as sweets, pastilles continue to straddle the line between remedy and treat. Products such as throat-soothing Gerther's Pastilles and the digestive aid Pastilles de Vichy are marketed as much for their candy-like characteristics as for their original medicinal properties, while brightly colored Rowntree's Fruit Pastilles still bear the term, though the tablets are now strictly for sweet tooth satisfaction. And don't forget chocolate: Droste Pastilles, in their distinctive hexagonal packaging, are the perfect convergence of health and happiness - what better way to pep up low energy or a heavy mood than with some cocoa therapy?

Pastillas: Soaps, Soups, Tweets and Sweets

In addition to its translation as pill, tablet, lozenge, etc., the Spanish cognate pastilla is used to describe various non-medicinal items shaped in bar or cube forms, such as soaps (pastillas de jabón) and soup stock cubes (pastillas de caldo). It is also the name given to a traditional Moroccan squab (pigeon) pie.¹ But in the Philippines, pastilla has a singular, significant connotation.

'Our Own': Tasty pasalubong for sale

Ask a Filipino to name his or her favorite native sweet and chances are that many will pick pastillas de leche. Made from a simple mixture of sugar and milk (preferably carabao, or water buffalo) boiled down to a thickened paste and rolled in more sugar, pastillas are practically synonymous with pasalubong - a special gift or souvenir, usually representative of indigenous Filipino culture and often a food item. Although it bears a strong similarity to dulce de leche and caramel candies in base ingredients and cooking technique, a pastilla de leche is neither as smoothly viscous as the former nor as chewy as the latter. Instead, variations can have consistencies ranging from soft cookie dough to the granular firmness of maple sugar candy. But is this sufficient difference to make pastillas de leche a uniquely Filipino sweet?

Boiling It Down

The history and origins of pastillas de leche are somewhat murky. Many references I found online categorize this confection as a native adaptation of a Spanish food, but it seems more of an assumption based on the Spanish name than on actual provenance. I could not find a similar candy bearing the same label in any Hispanic-based cuisines, other than 'pastillas de leche de burra', or donkey's milk tablet. Though it sounds promising as a possible precursor to Pinoy pastillas, what little information is available describes a hard candy that first appeared in Spanish pharmacies between the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and was marketed as a nutritional supplement and cough drop for children. In contrast, Filipinos may have been making pastillas de leche well before this period and descriptions do not mention any palliative purpose, other than as a cure for homesickness.

Perhaps the name is only a borrowed tag, to give a simple native sweet a bit of colonial cachet, as theorized by Jaime Veneracion in his paper "The 'Hispanization' of the Filipino":

"But because [Spanish dishes] came as the food of the colonizer, they entered at the level of domination. To the Filipinos, these thus symbolized status or 'class' that may only be consumed during special occasions such as fiestas and anniversaries... In some instances, when the Chinese and other Filipinos wanted to create the impression of being exotic, Spanish names had been given to what appeared as common dishes."²

While it's possible that pastillas de leche were so named to give it a more sosyal (elite) connotation, the more likely explanation is rather benign. One need only think back to the etymology of pastilla, then look at the Filipino sweet's traditional shape: an inch-long piece of confection rolled into a small, sugar-covered loaf... Still, why a Spanish name and not a native one? Though the candy recipe itself does not appear to have a direct Spanish antecedent, it is rooted in Spanish colonial influence.

Elite Filipino mestizos
(Photo from Wikimedia.org)

Nearly everyone³ agrees that pastillas de leche originated in the province of Bulacan, located north of Manila. This proximity to the seat of colonial rule in the Philippines made it an important source for the city's supply of various goods, which were produced on large estates owned by Spanish Catholic friars. The province was also home to many of a class of Filipino intellectuals called Ilustrados, who were expected to be educated in Spain and speak fluent Español in order to claim this social status⁴. Given that it was essentially a lingua franca of Bulacan, it is really no surprise that a Spanish name would be bestowed on a food created there.

Saints Alive! Or Make One Up...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia.org)

Speaking of names, a tangent to the story of pastillas de leche is worth sharing. By all accounts, this candy originated specifically in the town of San Miguel de Mayumo, which translates to 'Saint Michael of Sweets' (mayumo means 'sweet' in the Kapampangan language). This heavenly moniker is quite fitting for a place that is known as a confectionary capital, but it's not quite what you think. The original name was actually Miguel Mayumo, after its founders Miguel Pineda and Mariano Puno; the latter's famously kind disposition apparently inspired the 'sweet' part. Fast forward a few years after the town's founding in 1763, when a resident discovered a natural stone figure resembling St. Michael the Archangel in a nearby cave. Taking it as a miraculous sign from God, the citizens decided to add 'saint' to their town's name in proper tribute. Thusly did San Miguel de Mayumo come to life and be occasionally, if erroneously, declared the 'patron saint' of sweets. Sadly, despite this colorful story, the town is known today simply as San Miguel.

As for the confection itself, the only thing religious about it is the devotion shown by many Filipinos for its sweet taste. Pastillas de leche production is thought to be as old as the town of San Miguel and today, Bulacan remains the center of pastillas-making, with as many as 200 producers province-wide. Most of them are home-based businesses - a vestige of how the candy came about as a way for local farm families to use excess carabao milk, which spoiled very easily in the days before pasteurization. The traditional recipe calls only for milk, sugar and dayap zest (native lime) to be slowly cooked in a copper pot until the mixture is reduced to a thickened paste, which is then cooled, shaped into small 'loaves', rolled in granulated sugar and wrapped in colorful cellophane or papel de hapon (tissue paper) wrappers.

(Photo credit: Lucius Catalan/flickr)

Aficionados will insist that pastillas made with carabao's milk are the best tasting: richer, thanks to a higher fat content (compared to cow's or goat's milks), and more flavorful, with a salty undertone that heightens the sweetness. Nowadays, shortcuts abound with the use of sweetened condensed and powdered milks, while flavors and textures have gone beyond the soft, milky, hint-of-citrus original. As with so many foods in the Philippines, there seems to be a different variation of pastillas for every town or province.

The following is just a sample of those variations:

A Parade of Pastillas

Pastillas de Ube at de Langka
from Bulacan Sweets in Quezon

Essentially flavored pastillas de leche, these are made with the addition of purple yam paste (ube halaya) and jackfruit. While the flavor of ube is lovely, I'm always more enamored of the deep violet hue it gives to food, while langka has such a delicious mango-pineapple taste that I can't resist.

(front to back) Pastillas de Langka, Ube & Leche

Pastillas de Yema
from Sevilla Sweets in San Miguel, Bulacan

It's a perfect union between two of the sweetest and most beloved Filipino confections. Pastillas are made with egg yolks, giving them a light golden color and the rich egg custard flavor that is the hallmark of yema - an unequivocally Spanish confection that was enthusiastically adopted by sweet-tooths all over the Philippines.

Pastillas de Leche
from Rosie's Home Made in Boac, Marinduque

These pastillas are traditional in taste and texture, but are notable for their delicate shape. I can only imagine how long and with what skill it takes to roll out these impossibly slender sticks...

'
Pastillas de Patatas and de Kamote
from Maring's in Boac, Marinduque

In addition to the usual milk and sugar, mashed potatoes - both regular and sweet - are used in these versions. Their texture was not much different from classic pastillas, but the potatoes did impart a rather unappealing greyish tint to the candies. While I enjoyed the patatas version, the kamote had an odd, musty taste that I could not pinpoint. I wasn't a fan, but I'm willing to try from another producer if given the opportunity.

Pastillas de Leche, Zambales-style
from Gabriel & Rayn's in Nagcarlan, Laguna

Pastillas come in both a soft form and a more firm, brittle type that is achieved by cooking the mixture for a longer period of time. I learned that these candies are called Zambales-style, after the province of that name; unfortunately, I have not found any information to explain the connection. This particular product had an assertive caramel flavor and darker color than most pastillas, which leads me to wonder if it uses muscovado (unrefined brown sugar) instead of white sugar. Looks like I need to do some more research...

Mila's Pastillas de Leche
from Mila of Mogpog, Marinduque

These special pastillas were made from a family recipe and my first taste of them came during Holy Week last April, when Mila gave them as a gift. I loved them so much, she made another huge batch just for me. Spoiled! The special ingredient in this variation is coconut, but not just any coconut. Mila uses fresh bingi (meaning 'deaf'), the stage of coconut between the jelly-like buko (young coconut) and chewy niyog (firm mature coconut). Identifying a coconut at the bingi stage is left to seasoned coconut-pickers and the best chance to find one is when they are being harvested. Otherwise, they are nearly impossible to source in a grocery store. But don't despair...

Which pastilla would you like to try?

Notes:

¹ Moroccan pastilla is pronounced bis-TEE-ya and is alternately spelled bstilla or bistiyya, among many other variants. It is perhaps closer in root to the Spanish word pastel, meaning 'pie'.

² Veneracion mentions pastillas de leche in reference to fiesta food; positing that it was so named for the purpose of appropriating the social cachet of the Spanish elite in colonial Philippines is my own opinion.

³ 'Everyone', that is, except for some people in the neighboring province of Pampanga, who cite the fact that the founders of San Miguel de Mayumo, where pastillas originated, planned for the town to be located in their province, as well as its partly-Kapampangan name.
⁴Cullinane, Michael. Ilustrado Politics: Filipino Elite Responses to American Rule, 1898-1908. Manila: Ateneo de Manila U P, 2005. p30.

Other Sources:

Province of Bulacan Website, General Information and History of San Miguel
Wikpedia.com/Pastille

Pastillas de Leche à la Mila

Confession: the gallon-sized container of Mila's pastillas that I brought back from our Easter vacation didn't make it past the end of April. She has promised to share her recipe the next time we visit, but with no such prospects in the near future, I couldn't wait. Starting with a basic no-cook recipe, I considered reasonable substitutes for the special bingi - using buko might add too much moisture that would prevent the mixture from setting firmly enough to roll, while niyog could alter the texture and make the pastillas too lumpy. Happily, I found a compromise that provides just the right amount of coconut flavor. Depending on how long it is cooked, Mila's pastillas can turn out either soft or brittle in consistency; my version yields a more fudgy texture.

Ingredients

1 small can (168ml) sweetened condensed milk
140g powdered milk
150g powdered coconut milk
1 Tbsp grated dayap or lime peel
1-2 Tbsps butter
granulated sugar
cellophane sheets

In a metal or glass bowl, combine condensed milk, both milk powders and grated peel; stir well. Set bowl over a pot of gently boiling water, add butter and stir mixture until well-blended. Remove from heat and allow to cool. Refrigerate until mixture is firm enough to scoop one tablespoon and shape into small log. Roll in granulated sugar to coat then place candy diagonally on a 3"x3" square of cellophone. Wrap tightly and twist ends to secure.

Pastillas de leche will keep in the refrigerator for about two weeks.

If you'd like to try a traditional recipe, check out this recipe for classic Pastillas de Leche from the Carabaos Milk website.

There's Always Room for Cake

2011-05-31T23:59:00.007-05:00

Banana-Mango Yogurt Cake

Let sleeping dogs lie - or in this case, dormant blogs. Sage bit of advice though it is, I'm about to completely ignore it.

It's been quiet hereabouts for the past six weeks and for no reason other than I've had nothing terribly interesting to offer. When I started this blog, I resolved never to toss out some random scrap of a post for the sake of filling a blank screen. So, there have been a few months featuring just a single entry as well as my first zero-post period last November, during our big move to the Philippines. That hiatus resulted in plunging statistics and lost visitors, but that's the way the unattended porridge burns. When I was ready again, I simply scraped the pot clean and started anew. But six months later, another goose egg is about to be laid and this time, I'm not OK with it. Faced with a posting gap that I fear could turn into a blogging sinkhole, I've decided to suspend my moratorium on placeholder posts.

I thought it might be difficult to go against my own rules, but it turned out to be a piece of cake . . . several whole cakes, as a matter of fact.

Cakes I Have Known

In my last post, I noted that serving cake means it's a party; judging from what follows, I've been partying very well. I didn't realize how many fabulous cakes there have been in my recent past until I reviewed my photo files. Rather than consign them to eternal digital code purgatory where their frosted glory will languish unseen, I offer this tangled gallery of les gâteaux délicieux.

Grocery Store Cakes

For years, my birthday cake of choice has been a white-frosted vanilla 'bar' cake from SuperTarget. A small rectangle sliced from an industrial-sized sheet cake kept frozen in the store's bakery freezer, it boasts a half-inch layer of shortening and sugar (a.k.a. icing) tinted in the most garish primary colors. How I miss that cake! Bakery buffs may sniff, but I have a soft spot for grocery store cakes, like the German Chocolate my in-laws served for my birthday last year, and the Black Forest confection that made an appearance at a family reunion this past February.

German Chocolate (left) and Black Forest cakes

Too-Beautiful-to-Eat Cakes

Sometimes, I'm content just to stare at fantastically decorated cakes, such as these amazing creations from Marta's Cakes in Serendra at Fort Bonifacio, Taguig City. It really doesn't matter what they taste like - I doubt I could bear to cut into one of them...

Entertaining Cakes: Film, Theater and Literature

Trendy Fashion and Classic Style

Whimsical Confections
('Take One' cake from Little Miss OC's Kitchen at YummyEats)

Ice Cream Cakes

When I think of ice cream cakes, I think of Carvel's Fudgie the Whale and the early-1980s low-budget commercials that would run incessantly just before Father's Day, touting it as a perfect treat. For the longest time, I thought a cetacean-shaped cake was as traditional a gift for Dad as flowers are for Mom. With Father's Day coming up but no Carvel stores in the Philippines, perhaps my dear paterfamilias will be content with frozen desserts from local restaurants, such as the Mango and Cream Cake from Oyster Boy at MetroWalk or a Frozen Brazo de Mercedes from Red Crab Alimango House at Fort Bonifacio.

Mango (left) and Brazo de Mercedes frozen desserts

Buffet Cake Bites

Though I've sworn off buffets, I can't completely avoid them since they're the food arrangement of choice for large family events. Buffet table seems to bring out the glutton in everyone: despite there being two other cakes and a large bowl of fruit salad during a cousin's recent birthday luncheon, I witnessed the merciless hacking of a magnificent cake when hungry guests were left to serve themselves. Thankfully, more savvy caterers know to offer pre-portioned servings to avert a dessert massacre, like Chef Jessie Sincioco, whose eponymous restaurant in Rockwell, Makati City offers a bite-sized yet regal pistachio Sans Rival called Princess Carmen. And at our Noche Buena a few years ago, a lovely Croquembouche was a delectable centerpiece from which we could all enjoy a cream puff.

Croquembouche and 'Princess Carmen' pistachio Sans Rival

Homemade Cakes

When I bake a cake, it's inevitably of the Bundt- or coffee- variety: easy, fool-proof and no messy frosting required. While I certainly hope to expand my repertoire and improve my skills by trying more complicated recipes, these simple cakes have never let me down.

This Honey Saffron Christmas Cake with sugared citrus peel was actually made for our Thanksgiving dinner in 2008 from a recipe by my friend Cris, who blogs at From Our (Brazilian) Home to Yours.

The Chocolate Angel Food Cake was a quickie dessert, perfect for the summer strawberries and whipped cream I had on hand.

Craving-Just-a-Slice Cake

When I'm not feeling greedy for a whole cake, I'm thankful for BreadTalk, a carb-lovers paradise conveniently located nearby. This Singapore-based bakery offers a delicate Chocolate Mousse Cake in single servings, for those moments when I need an emergency chocolate cake fix.

Birthday Cakes

During one birthday, just a few years ago, I didn't get a cake. I will only say that I made my disappointment known and that Mr. Noodle quickly rectified the situation with a requisite SuperTarget Vanilla Bar cake. Spare me the flowers and balloons, but never - ever - forget the cake! As if to make up for that blip, the past year has seen a happy parade of celebration cakes in my family:

From rich chocolate to whimsical princess....

Blue candle for him, pink flowers for her

Hers (Fruit and Cream topped with Macarons) and His (Chocolate Feuillantine), from Patrick's Bakery in Edina, MN - sweet gifts from my sister-in-law KEP...

French bakery cakes, topped with macarons and edible gold foil

The Best Birthday Cake - EVER!

Estrel's Original Caramel Cake is the kind of perfection that will ruin you for any other cake. The most sublime chiffon cake, of such delicate sponginess and subtle vanilla flavor, is covered with a thin layer of what the bakery calls 'caramel' icing but is really more like a spreadable leche flan - impossibly creamy, rich without being heavy, sweet without being cloying. Decorated with pure buttercream roses and lacy patterns, this cake was so beautiful, there are more photos of it than of me on my birthday. Thank goodness Estrel's Caramel Cakes are made to order and found in just one location - it keeps me from planning a daily trek for a piece of cake...

It was a very happy and delicious birthday indeed!

Banana-Mango Yogurt Cake
(from a recipe by Kristen Anderson, Good Taste magazine 2/97)

This may be a placeholder post, but it would seem incomplete without a recipe to offer. I haven't been baking much - as you may have noticed, it's almost too easy to find good cake here. However, it's nice to have something home-baked, especially when my parents stop by our apartment for some coffee and dessert. Just a few minutes out of the oven, this cake is moist and sweet, with a delightful sugar-crisp top. After it is completely cooled, store in the refrigerator. Although the crisp crust will soften, the cake's dense texture improves when chilled!

As I mentioned, coffee cakes are my go-to baked goods (other than cookies) to serve company and I was pleased to find this easy recipe online, to which I made just a few of substitutions. For complete ingredients and instructions, please check out the original recipe here.

Ingredients

Butter
Caster sugar (I reduced amount in recipe by 1/5)
Eggs
Ripe bananas, mashed
Plain yogurt (I used a sweetened yogurt with mango chunks)
Flour
Baking Powder
Chopped walnuts (instead of shredded coconut)

Preheat oven; butter a 8x8 square cake pan. Cream butter and sugar, then add eggs one at a time. Fold in mashed bananas and yogurt. Sift together flour and baking powder, then fold into the batter until just combined. Spoon mixture into buttered pan and sprinkle with chopped walnuts. Bake for about 40-50 minutes, or until toothpick inserted comes out clean. Remove from oven and let cool before serving.

Which of the cakes shown here do you like the best?

An International Incident: Cake Pups

2011-04-17T00:19:00.001-05:00

A Pack of Cake Pups

"Serve food and it's a meal; serve cake and it's a party." -- TN

After my most recent posts featuring two rice recipes in a row, a long exposition on milking a giant seed, and an attempt at de-freaking balut, it was high time I offered up some sweet simplicity. An opportunity to do just that came in the form of a standing invitation to the monthly International Incident, hosted by Penny of Jeroxie. For April's theme, we were invited to create Cake Pops, the roly-poly treats on a stick that many are calling the Next Cupcake.

The invention of these bite-sized cake-and-frosting amalgams of adorableness is widely credited to blogger Angie Dudley of the extraordinary Bakerella, who has parlayed these relentlessly cute confections into a popular book and spawned an Internet universe of cake-popping. A fun way to express crafty creativity in edible form, cake pops are just as easy to make as they are to eat and eat. And eat. And eat.

Easy to make, yes, unless you're a certain Unmotivated Noodle.

Lazy, Hazy Summer Daze

With summer fast descending on Manila, I have been less than enthusiastic about firing up the stove or oven to cook, doing so only because Mr. Noodle can't live on Rold Gold pretzels and San Miguel beer alone (though he's indicated a much too eager willingness to try.) At the same time, I really wanted to join the fun of this International Incident Party and switch gears to indulge my sweet tooth after several savory-serious posts. Cake pops were just the thing, with just one tiny problem: what to do about the 'bake a cake' part?

Although it gets a bad rap, laziness has its merits - for instance, it was the driving force behind my search for the path of least resistance toward cake-poppery. I did not want to bake, not even a boxed mixed as is often suggested. Solution #1: buy a ready-made cake. Unfortunately, it seems that bakeries hereabouts love chiffon cake - an admittedly delicious type but wholly unsuitable for the task at hand. Solution #2: buy cake donuts. Inexpensive and abundant, donuts were the perfect answer not only for accessibility, but also for portion control - I could buy only as much as I needed to make a small batch of cake pops. Having dodged the baking bullet, I turned my attention toward decorating; if I wasn't willing to demonstrate some creativity with the cake itself, then at least I could go all out in presentation.

Tribute to a Sourmug

For inspiration, I turned to our beloved pets. Many of you are familiar with the young pup with a cookie on his nose who serves as my Web avatar, but before this goofball, we had another darling dog: a grumpy old bulldog that someone once wryly nicknamed 'Mr. Happy'. Ornery as a bull in his senior years, he was our first baby and it was a devastating moment four years ago when we received a call from the vet's office that he had passed away during a routine procedure. Having lived to a very old age for his breed, we were grateful for the many years of happiness he gave us (and, I hope, we gave him). When it came time to decide on a cake pop theme, our big bully came to mind. He always did like cake...

And so, may I present Cake Pups - motivated by a lack of motivation and sweetly inspired by a sourmug. Now, how's that for a recipe?

Cake Pop Puppies

Who better to explain cake pop-making than the woman who started the madness? Check out Bakerella's video tutorial for simple instructions on how to make cake pops.

What I Used

4 Cake donuts in assorted flavors (chocolate, vanilla and peanut butter for these)
Cream cheese frosting (see below)
White chocolate melts
Semi-sweet chocolate chips
Plain M&Ms
Yogurt-covered mini-pretzels
Sugar-coated Gummi worms, cut in half then lengthwise
Roasted cashew halves

Our big bully was fawn (tan) and white with a dark muzzle, so I wanted to approximate his coloring for this cake pop tribute. But you can certainly switch it around using different chocolates and candies to make darker Pup Pops or even colorful canines. I did not actually make 'pops', as my first plan to use chocolate-covered cookie sticks, such as Pocky, failed (they snapped easily). I didn't have enough time to search for lollipop sticks, but will do so for next time.

My one homemade element was the frosting - did I mention that I'm cheap as well as lazy? Imported canned frosting costs as much as an entire decorated cake, so I decided to make my own. The following yielded approximately 1 cup of frosting that was just the right amount for this batch.

Easy Cream Cheese Frosting

4 oz cream cheese, softened
2 Tbsps butter, softened
1 tsp vanilla
1 cup powdered sugar

In a small bowl, beat cream cheese, butter and vanilla until smooth. Add 1/2 cup of powdered sugar and beat well, then add remaining 1/2 cup. Mix until smooth and creamy.

To Make a Pup

Roll a cake ball and dip it in melted chocolate, per Bakerella's instruction.

Place on a wax or parchment-lined cookie sheet and begin decorating: gently press a Gummi 'tongue' in the lower, center part of the cake ball. For the 'muzzle', press a pretzel over the tongue to keep it in place, then set a brown M&M in the small, center hole for its nose. Place 2 chocolate chips (pointy part in) above the muzzle for eyes and stick cashew halves on top for ears.

Makes a pack of 6-8 Pups

For more cute confections, please visit the International Incident Cake Pops Party!

How to Milk a Coconut: A TaytoRiCo Challenge

2011-04-01T07:35:00.000-05:00

Purple Rice, Sweet Potato & Shrimps in Coconut Sauce

You say potato, I say . . . how about adding some rice and coconut?

That was pretty much the gist of the Twitter exchanges between an award-winning Irish Spud (@DailySpud), a video-creating Online Pastry Chef (@jmfield) and this rice-loving Noodle (@TangledNoodle), which gave rise to the Great #TaytoRiCo Challenge of 2011. The task: to cook up a dish incorporating potato, rice and coconut, any iterations of which - e.g. sweet potato, rice flour, coconut milk - were also acceptable. Seeing as how I had a hand in concocting this event, it seemed only right and proper that I should make an extra effort with my entry.

A 'Nutty Idea

Since moving to the Philippines, Mr. Noodle and I have enjoyed many a coconut milk-drenched dish, from savory adobong manok sa gata (chicken adobo in coconut milk) to sweet ginataang bilo-bilo (coconut tapioca pudding). While I've made my fair share of recipes using this ingredient in canned form back in the US, there was something different about the flavor in the dishes here - more subtle yet distinctly and unmistakably coconut-y. The secret? Freshly squeezed coconut milk! Now that I live and cook in the world's top coconut producing country, there are nearly 20 million tons of reasons why I need to ditch the can and go straight to the source.

So, I learned the rudiments of coconut milk extraction from my parents' housekeeper, then made a few technical adjustments, resulting not only in a successful first try, but also an opportunity to kill two #TaytoRiCo birds with one stone. Not only did I adhere to the parameters of the challenge with what was made, I also followed them with how it was made. Unabashedly thrilled with how well it worked out, I simply had to share.

Secret weapon...

How to Milk a Coconut with a Potato Ricer
(Tah-dah!)

Why milk a coconut when I can open a can?

Wielding a can opener is certainly much easier than the process I'm about to describe. In fact, there are some very good canned coconut milk products on store shelves that will do justice to your recipes. The differences between freshly extracted and canned are admittedly very fine and difficult to describe. I find the flavor of fresh coconut milk when used in a savory dish to be subtle yet distinct - you can taste coconut, but it acts to enhance the other ingredients, becoming part of the flavor profile rather than dominating it. While good quality canned products can achieve the same, I find that many seem too processed and strained of any bits of coconut meat. Devoid of such texture, canned coconut milk sometimes has an oddly thick mouthfeel. This is likely due to thickeners added to some brands, especially their 'light' versions, to keep the milk from separating and produce the creamy consistency that consumers expect.

Is it difficult to milk a coconut?

Photo credit: Kevin.Souza/flickr

Not really, but the hands-on method as practiced in the Philippines and elsewhere requires a very firm grip to exert a good deal of pressure. Finely grated coconut meat is taken by the fistful and squeezed until every drop of liquid has been wrung out of it. As you can imagine, this takes an incredible amount of hand strength, which is a problem for people such as myself, who barely have enough gripping power to pry open a bag of chips, much less extract a sufficient amount of coconut milk to fill an eye dropper. As such, I came upon a handy bit of mechanical assistance.

But first things first - you can't get coconut milk until you have the right kind of coconut.

The 'right kind'? Aren't all coconuts the same?

Notwithstanding varieties within the species, all coconut palm trees are Cocos nucifera. So, yes, all coconuts are the same - except when you want to milk one. I am not referring to the species variations, but rather to the appropriate stage of a coconut's development. Contrary to what its name implies, a coconut is not a nut; it is, in fact, a drupe - a type of fruit that includes peaches, plums and cherries. Unlike the juicy flesh of those delicious drupes, however, it is the seed which is edible and what we recognize as a coconut. Depending on its stage of maturity, this seed yields meat and liquid of entirely different textures and consistencies.

Choose the right kind of coconut!
('No!' Photo credit: Puck777/flickr)

In the Philippines, a young coconut is called buko and is characterized by a thick green outer husk, a thin, almost gelatinous white interior flesh and a sweet clear juice referred to as coconut water. None of these are suitable for our purpose of coconut milking. Leave those green coconuts to be adorned with a tiny paper umbrella and for sipping with a straw while on your next tropical island vacation.

Instead, look for the mature coconut, called magulang in Tagalog, that looks like, well, a coconut: small, round, brown and hairy. At this stage, much of the coconut water has been absorbed, although there's still some left, and the jelly-soft flesh is now more firm 'meat'. Make sure to look for any cracks in the shell, which might indicate that the meat inside is dry - not good. This is where all that lovely coconut milk will come from, so it should still be moist after you've managed to open the shell. Now, gather your tools and let's get a-coconut-crackin'!

What tools do I need?

The well-equipped coconut milker should have the following:

A large sturdy cleaver, butcher, or chef's knife
Two to three bowls, big enough to hold several cups of grated coconut
One wide-rimmed shallow bowl or baking pan
A kudkuran, aka kabayo (a coconut grater)
A fine mesh strainer (mine is 6" diameter)
A potato ricer
Measuring cups or liquid containers
Some lukewarm water (1 cup per coconut)

All of these, with the exception of one, are items you likely have in your home. If you do not already have a potato ricer, I would enthusiastically recommend buying one, and not just because it's the star of this blog post. If nothing else, it produces the fluffiest, creamiest, unchunkiest mashed potatoes known to spud-kind and puts the masher to shame.

The wild card in this deck is really the kudkuran, or coconut grater, as it is known in the Philippines. Also called kabayo (from Sp. caballo=horse) for the way one straddles it, this simple contraption that looks like a wooden footstool with a metal tongue is very much an integral tool in the Filipino kitchen. I brought back one of the round, serrated blades after my first visit to Manila several years ago and attached it to a wooden stool from a craft store. Later, I found kudkurans at our local Asian markets, selling for about $15US.

But a kudkuran is such a one-task, novelty item. Do I really need one?

Yes. Although there are other means of grating coconut meat, such as using a food processor or cheese grater, you may not achieve the necessary consistency for pressing out milk as you would with this simple little workhorse.

Alright, I've got all the tools - what's next?

First, let's get that coconut open! Coconuts sold in US supermarkets are sometimes scored with a thin line or crossmark to help crack it open. Start by holding the coconut firmly in one hand, with the scored section up, if any, over the sink. There will still be some coconut water left - you can simply drain it out or save for later. Then, with the blunt side of your cleaver or knife (for the love and continued good health of your appendages - USE THE BLUNT SIDE!), give the coconut a sharp thwack or two to crack it. Give it a quarter turn and another hard thwack, then repeat until the coconut splits in half. Watch this video for a helpful demonstration [fast forward to the 1:04 mark].

Lay a rug or some newspapers on the floor and set your kudkuran on top, with a large shallow bowl or baking pan beneath the grating blade. Before you hop on and start grating, check out this post on Thai Coconut Grater by Leela at She Simmers, or watch this demo for tips on technique:

(Please excuse the vertigo-inducing camera angle)

Done! The grated coconut is so soft and fluffy. How do I get the milk out of it?

That snow-like mound of coconut (niyog) holds more moisture than you think, but you'll need some help to draw it out. As mentioned earlier, the traditional but messy, inefficient and cramp-inducing method is to simply grab a handful of niyog and squeeze it in your fist with as much force as needed to turn a piece of coal into a diamond, while the precious milk seeps out between your (hopefully clean) fingers.

A better option: say hello to your shiny little friend, the potato ricer! Place the mesh strainer over a bowl, then open your ricer and fill it to nearly full with niyog. Hold it over the strainer and bowl, and firmly press the grated coconut, letting the milk run through the strainer to catch stray pieces, until no more liquid comes out. Scoop the wrung out coconut into a separate bowl and repeat until all of the freshly grated niyog have been pressed.

Potato Ricer/Coconut Milker

How much milk will I get?

One coconut will yield approximately 1/2 cup to 3/4 cup of extracted liquid on your first go-round. This first pressing is called kakang gatâ, or coconut cream, and is the pure, rich essence of coconut. Transfer the cream into a small bowl or measuring cup and set aside. Now, there is still plenty left in the niyog you've just squeezed, but once again, a little help is needed to extract it.

Pour 1 cup of lukewarm water for every coconut you've grated and stir well into the niyog. The water will be quickly absorbed by the grated coconut; just let it sit for about 5 minutes, then repeat the potato ricer method above. This time, you'll notice that more (about 1 and 1/4 cups) and thinner liquid will be extracted - this second pressing is simply called gatâ (milk). Transfer the milk to a bowl or cup, separate from the cream.

Why are the cream and milk kept separate?

While gatâ/coconut milk is essentially kakang gatâ/coconut cream with more water content, they are best used in different kinds of dishes: the cream is perfect in rich desserts and thick sauces, while the thinner milk is great for soups, like my favorite Tom Kha Gai. They are also optimal when added at different points in the preparation. When coconut cream and milk are combined, they can separate when cooking at high heat; though it won't taste bad, the texture of your soup may look clumpy or the consistency of your sauce too thin. I noticed this problem when using certain canned coconut milk, which are often a mixture of the first and second extractions, and can contain 25% or more water.

Fortunately, when milking fresh coconut, you can control for this - simply use the milk/second extraction for general cooking on higher heat, then add the cream/first extraction at the very end of cooking (or after you've turned off the heat) as a thickener.

Cream of the crop: kakang gatâ (first extraction)

What should I do with the wrung out coconut meat?

If you're like me, you'll find yourself nibbling on the leftover. And like me, you'll probably notice that it's pretty much flavorless sawdust at this point. However, it's still usable - try toasting it lightly in a dry pan on the stovetop. But keep in mind that there's not much moisture left, so watch carefully that the coconut does not burn.

If I don't use the coconut cream and milk right away, how do I store them?

One coconut will yield approximately 2 cups of liquid in all (both cream and milk), which is just the right amount for most recipes. If you do have any left over, then store the cream and milk in separate, tightly-lidded jars or containers and refrigerate. For best results, use within a couple of days of extraction.

And with that, consider yourself a Coconut Grater Extraordinaire! Now, how about trying out your fresh coconut milk in this #TaytoRiCo recipe?

Tapol, Kamote at Suahe sa Gata
(Purple Rice, Sweet Potato and Shrimps in Coconut Sauce)

In spite of the spontaneous nature of #TaytoRiCo's genesis and Jenni's call to 'think outside of the box', my dish is quite conformist - a simple sauté of kamote (sweet potato), talbos ng kamote (sweet potato leaves) and suahe (shrimps) in a savory coconut sauce served over rice. But such sauciness begged for something more than pure and virtuous white rice, something dark and passionate . . . something like tapol (also called pirurutong), a variety of purple/black rice commonly used in sweet desserts such as Thai Rice Pudding and the Filipino Christmas favorite, Puto Bumbong. Less sexy but good to know information, tapol shares many similarities with brown rice in its nutty flavor, firm and chewy texture, long preparation time and beneficial nutrient content. However, these dark violet grains have something that their more drab counterparts lack: potent antioxidants called anthocyanins, the pigments that give blueberries and other fruits their vivid colors.

Although purple/black rice is most often used in dessert dishes, I've wanted to use it in a savory preparation since I first tasted it over a decade ago at the now-defunct Cendrillon, the celebrated SoHo Filipino restaurant run by Amy Besa and Romy Dorotan, currently of Purple Yam fame in Brooklyn, New York. I don't recall many details about the dish other than it was made of black rice and had shrimp in a coconut sauce. Based on that bit of memory, I made cooked up the rice, locally-caught shrimp, sweet potato from a bishop's garden in Bataan (a gift to my mother) and coconut milk which I proudly extracted with my own two hands and a potato ricer.

Serves 4-6

Ingredients

2 Tablespoons canola oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
3 small shallots, sliced thin
2" piece of ginger, peeled and slivered
2 medium sweet potatoes, peeled and diced into 1/2" cubes
1 lb fresh shrimp, peeled, deveined and each chopped by thirds
1 small bunch potato leaves, rinsed and large stems removed
2-3 teaspoons patis (fish sauce)
12 to 14 ounces (1.25-1.5 cups) freshly pressed coconut milk (gatâ)
4-6 ounces (1/2-3/4 cup) freshly pressed coconut cream (kakang gatâ)

1 cup tapol (purple/black rice), uncooked

(Clockwise from top left) Tapol, Kamote, Coconut, Talbos ng Kamote

To make:

Prepare the rice in advance as it will require from 35-50 minutes to cook. To cook, please check out these excellent directions that I used on how to make perfectly-cooked purple/black rice from Jackie at Pham Fatale.

Heat oil in a large sauté pan over medium heat and add garlic, shallots and ginger. Cook just until they begin to soften, then add the potatoes. Sauté until potatoes begin to soften and everything starts to brown, stirring to keep from sticking to the pan;
Add the shrimp and cook until they turn pink;
Add the coconut milk/gatâ and patis, and bring to a low, very gentle simmer;
Add the potato leaves, stirring into the sauce; cover and let cook for about 5 minutes;
Uncover the pan and turn down heat to low* so that the sauce stops simmering, then add the coconut cream/kakang gatâ and stir well to blend into the sauce. Leave the sauce for about 5-7 minutes, allowing the cream to thicken the sauce.

Many thanks to my tweeters-in-arm Jenni of Pastry Methods and Techniques (PMAT if you're nasty!) and Aiofe of The Daily Spud, and to all our Twitter and blog friends who joined us for this potato, rice and coconut extravaganza. Please be sure to check out the round-up of delicious #TaytoRiCo entries for a bit of dinner and dessert inspiration!

Bale Dutung, Part II: A Feast of Flavors

2011-03-29T10:01:00.000-05:00

Claude's Talangkâ Rice and Inasal Pork Belly

For a sense of the surroundings for this extraordinary meal, please read Bale Dutung, Part I: Setting the Table...

There are bound to be high expectations for a meal when it involves making reservations several weeks in advance, choosing a multi-course menu enjoyed by a certain famous gastronome, then hiring a large van to ferry a dozen hungry diners to another province an hour and a half away just to eat lunch. In between, there are the articles and blog posts, all raving about the cook, his wife, the food and their love of art and cuisine, to sharpen anticipation to a keen edge. With that kind of set up, a modicum of disappointment is inevitable.

Or not.

While failing to live up to the hype is a risk for many restaurants du jour, Bale Dutung in Angeles, Pampanga is no fly-by-night eatery. Part art gallery and collector's museum, it is also home to artist, author and chef Claude Tayag and his wife, Mary Ann Quioc Tayag. Since 2000, the couple have welcomed diners to experience their innovative take on authentic Kapampangan cuisine in a setting that is as much a feast for the eyes as it is for the appetite. Few dining establishments can call themselves true food destinations, but surely Bale Dutung deserves that claim, especially after a visit from Anthony Bourdain put it within range of every global foodie's radar. Though being featured on No Reservations shone the spotlight on the Tayags' place, it is the quality of their food and the totality of the eating experience that are certain to keep it there indefinitely.

We'll Have What He Had...

The Tayags & Guest

After soaking up Bale Dutung's serene setting, we finally settled at the table for our luncheon. By popular decision, our group of twelve had chosen the Anthony Bourdain Menu, a ten-course set comprised of the dishes that Claude and Mary Ann served their eponymous celebrity guest to showcase the ingredients and cooking styles that define Kapampangan food traditions. In fact, we would have the opportunity to one-up Mr. Bourdain - included on the menu was one dish that his schedule apparently did not permit enough time for him to enjoy.

Our meal began with a cool glass of dalandan juice with muscovado ice cubes and a warm welcome from Mary Ann. While Claude was in the kitchen preparing the food, his wife commanded the front of the house. A slender, youthful figure in a crisp white top and colorful sarong skirt, she was lively and charming in her welcome remarks, setting a festive tone for our luncheon. But the meal did not begin without some trepidation on my part, as I silently fretted over my lack of self-control when faced with copious good food. Could I go the distance and not slip into a food coma well before dessert? As if reading my mind, Mary Ann addressed what is apparently a familiar concern for Bale Dutung guests. "This is a long lunch that requires patience, so don't rush," she said, her disarming smile gentling the admonishment. "You're in my house - I will pace you."

Claude and Mary Ann Tayag

Indeed, as the meal progressed, we would come to see her not only as our hostess, but as a docent on this edible tour of Kapampangan cookery and guiding us through its highlights. "Don't look at this as a buffet," explained Mary Ann. "Look on this as a dégustation of different flavors. It is, more than anything, about flavor." She continued by noting what tastes and senses we should expect: refreshing citrus, piquant spice, delicate sweetness and the strong pungency of what she cautioned may be 'acquired tastes'.

L-R: Talangkâ, pesto & balo-balo
(Photo courtesy of Joy Valero)

With that, Mary Ann invited us to start with a pre-appetizer of crackers and a selection of house specialty sauces and spreads (which are bottled and sold under their Claude '9 brand). There was a classic basil pesto made with indigenous pili nuts in place of pignolas, while orange-hued taba ng talangkâ was nothing but pure, unadulterated crab fat. One of the 'acquired tastes' mentioned by Mary Ann was undoubtedly the balo-balo (also known as burong hipon and tagilo) - a regional delicacy of fermented rice and shrimp cooked in garlic and ginger, resulting in a tangy, almost cheddar-like flavor. Tastebuds primed by these condiments, we were off and eating...

Pananghalian sa Bale Dutung (Lunch at the House of Wood)

Anthony Bourdain Menu

1st Course: Ensaladang Pakô (Fiddlehead Fern Salad)

Photo courtesy of Valerie Valero

With nary a lettuce leaf in sight, this fiddlehead fern salad was a bowlful of tender leaves and crisp curled fronds. Picked from the gardens surrounding Bale Dutung, it had a fresh flavor that was enhanced by a sweet-tart Honeymansi (honey and calamansi) dressing and a pleasant pop of sourness from pickled quail eggs. Mary Ann noted that before fiddlehead ferns found their way onto gourmet menus, pakô was considered an abundant yet common vegetable, suitable for consumption by household help but never served to special guests. My, but how the frond unfurls...

2nd Course: BBQ Paldeut at Claude'9 Talangka Rice

(Grilled Chicken Tails with Lemongrass Marinade and Crab Fat Rice)

"No Pampango eats talangkâ rice without grilled meat," declared Mary Ann, as plates of crab fat-studded rice and a skewer of reddish-gold grilled chicken were placed before us. But eating one without the other was not the faux pas we committed: Instead, our table was a bit too impetuous with the vinegar. Mary Ann quickly set us right by explaining that Claude marinates the puldeut (Gr. pygostyle) in a special mixture that already includes vinegar, as well as lemongrass and atsuete (annatto). To add more of the souring agent - even if it is Bale Dutung's own aged aslam atbu (sugarcane vinegar) - might overwhelm the subtle flavor of the marinade. Go ahead and dip it in vinegar later, she said, but implored, "Give me the first bite!" And she was right - without additional flavoring, a hint of tartness cut through the rich fattiness of the tails and complemented the delectable taste of barbecue char.

3rd Course: Adobong Pugo (Adobo-style Quail)

Photo courtesy of Joy Valero

Next to this dainty bird, a roast chicken would be positively elephantine! Then again, these fist-sized fowls can defy dining etiquette - I hesitated, fork and knife hovering, unsure how best to carve my miniature morsel. Thankfully, Mary Ann let us off the hook: "Sige, kamayan na!" [Go ahead and eat with your hands]. As we nibbled on wee wings and tiny thighs, she noted that quail and its eggs are ordinary ingredients in Kapampangan cookery. The meat was tender and infused with a harmonious blend of adobo flavors - not too salty, not too vinegar-y. The accompanying pan de sal, specially made for Bale Dutung by a local home baker, added an element of sweetness when sopping up the adobo marinade, and the stewed chicken livers had just a hint of bitter finish, to round out the trio of panlasang filipino (Filipino taste).

4th Course: Hito at Balo-Balo and Talangkâ Sushi

(Catfish & Balo-Balo and Crab Fat Sushi)

Pampangan Sushi
(Maki photo courtesy of Joy Valero)

An amuse-bouche of talangkâ maki, topped with a slice of kamias, was reminiscent of uni (sea urchin), but the hito at balo-balo was Claude's Pampangan take on temaki (hand roll) - in place of a sheet of nori (dried seaweed), he used mustasa (mustard greens), which has a mildly peppery, wasabi-like flavor, while balo-balo substituted for vinegared sushi rice. A strip of crispy fried catfish was added, then the whole thing was rolled into a handy and delicious appetizer.

5th Course: Lechon Tortilla** (Roast Pig Tortillas)

Why mess with the juiciness of tender moist lechon? Because. That was all the explanation I needed after biting into this hybrid of iconic Filipino and Mexican foods. Lechon meat is finely shredded and fried into golden filaments, then placed on a warm flour tortilla and topped with fresh tomatoes, onions, Claude's Oriental Sauce, and piquant kimchi for a crunchy, chewy, spicy, savory fusion of flavor and texture. This was the dish that Anthony Bourdain missed and I would recommend that he promptly return and fix that. It was only after our meal, when I had a few minutes to chat with Claude, that I got a hint of the inspiration for his lechon tortilla. The Spanish influence on Filipino cookery was indirect, he noted. "The influence is really from Mexico. We were ruled by Spain through [the Viceroyalty of New Spain in] Mexico." With the addition of kimchi and the Thai green chili-inspired sauce, this course seemed to best illustrate Claude's observation that food and flavors of the Philippines draw from both sides of the Pacific.

**Lechon Tortilla, along with Pan de Bagnet (Claude's porchetta-inspired sandwich), is now available every Saturday and Sunday from Bale Dutung's stall, run by Claude and Mary Ann's son Nico Bailon, at Mercato Centrale in Bonifacio Global City.

6th Course: Papaitan Soup (Goat Meat Sour Soup)

Whereas the previous two courses drew inspiration from other national cuisines, Papaitan is uniquely Filipino. Nevertheless, Mary Ann pointed out that many Filipinos have never tried, or may not even care to try, this specialty. The name comes from the word pait [PAH-eet], meaning bitter, and the bitterness in the broth comes from goat bile, which in Pampanga is normally served separately and added to taste; however, Bale Dutung's version was served Ilocanos-style (added directly to the soup) for a more gentle introduction to this unusual ingredient. The thin broth was full of pieces of goat liver and tripe, making for a pungent aroma and a distinctly gamey flavor, but it also had a pleasant tingle from macerated green chilies. Perhaps proving that food preferences are from nurture, not nature, my mother could only manage a small sip of Papaitan, whereas Mr. Noodle enthusiastically requested a second serving.

7th Course: Bulanglang Kapampangan na may Tian ng Bangus,

Ulang at Tadyang ng Baboy

(Pampangan Stew with Milkfish Belly, Crayfish and Pork Spareribs)

Talk about splitting hairs - or in this case, soups: Bulanglang (pottage) is a particular specialty of Pampanga and neighboring Bulacan provinces, and is sometimes mistakenly interchanged with siningang and dinengdeng, two other soupy dishes, due to similarities in ingredients. Like sinigang, it uses bayabas (guava) as a main flavoring agent, but not for souring; instead, the fruit imparts a sweet taste that reminded me of banana. (Mary Ann cautioned that the bayabas must be at a perfect stage for bulanglang - too raw and the sourness would turn it into sinigang, too ripe and it would lend a bad smell to the soup.) Like dinengdeng, it is chockful of greens, such as okra and kangkong (water spinach), but while the Ilocano specialty is primarily a vegetable dish, bulanglang is served with meat and seafood. Really setting it apart from the other two, however, is its texture: Bulanglang is thick and creamy, thanks to starchy gabi (taro) and the addition of steamed rice.

From experience, Mary Ann recognized the signs of rapidly stuffed bellies and called for an intermission at this point in the menu: "I tell my staff, 'When you see our guests staring up at the ceiing, slow it down."

8th Course: Sisig Babi (Sizzling Pork in Onion and Liver Sauce)

Bourdain called sisig a "divine mosaic of pig parts" and I couldn't agree more. The unctuousness of pig cheeks was saved from sheer oily saturation by a squirt or two of calamansi, while the cartilege-crunch of pig ears satisfied my snack-y impulses. Best known as pulutan, or bar food, sizzling sisig actually evolved from a simple Kapampangan dish of boiled pigs' cheeks and ears traditionally given to pregnant women. In the mid-1970s, local restaurateur Lucita Cunanan, aka Aling Lucing, adapted the recipe, put it on a hot iron platter and created what most Filipinos consider the unofficial national dish. It is such a popular food that variations from tofu to bangus (milkfish) can be found on many Filipino restaurant menus here and abroad. But it will always be a Kapampangan dish and that, said Mary Ann, means making it only with cheeks and ears.

9th Course: Kare-kareng Laman Dagat (Seafood Stew in Peanut Sauce)

A literal translation of the Kapampangan name is 'essence of the sea' (laman=essence, dagat=sea, ocean) - so much more poetic, isn't it? And it mostly definitely was poetic in presentation and flavor. This final savory course was by far our favorite and even drew a crowd of admirers from other tables when it was rolled out from the kitchen. Mary Ann acknowledged that this dish is best known and traditionally made with oxtails, but in now way was Claude's seafood version a mere substitute. New Zealand mussels (the only imported ingredient in the entire menu), lumot (cuttlefish) and prawns were bathed in a rich sauce of coconut cream, ground peanuts and taba ng talangkâ that was equal parts sweet, nutty and salty, then served with steamed rice wrapped in banana leaf and a generous dollop of bagoong (fermented shrimp paste). Not wanting to aggravate a mild peanut intolerance, I only meant to have a small taste, but ended up cleaning my plate - it was that good.

10th Course: Tibok Tibok (Pure Carabao Milk Pudding)

Are you stuffed yet? True to her word, Mary Ann did a masterful job of pacing the meal while the waitstaff served perfectly portioned plates that allowed us to fully taste a dish without overwhelming the belly. As a result, I had just enough appetite left for this lovely dessert. Tibok tibok is a mild-flavored Kapampangan pudding made of carabao (water buffalo) milk, sugar and cornstarch, and topped with latik (which blogger Jun Belen perfectly termed Toasted Coconut Milk Crumbs). Creamy but with a slight jelly consistency, it was lightly sweet and delicious paired with a post-meal cup of strong dark coffee.

As we enjoyed the last bites of our luncheon, Claude and Mary Ann graciously posed for photographs and chatted with their guests, completing the first impression that a meal at Bale Dutung is a meal shared among friends. While the setting was exquisite and the food beyond expectation, there were also small, thoughtful details throughout the experience: Mary Ann taking a moment to learn each of our names; the small bowl filled with fresh water and kamias to rinse off our fingers between courses; Claude personally wrapping porchetta for a guest; the knotted long beans in the kare-kareng, looking like small wreaths; frozen towels to cool off in the afternoon heat; and a special commemorative menu with a one of Claude's illustrations of Bale Dutung's open kitchen. It's that kind of caring, personal attentiveness that set the Tayags and their beautiful home apart from conventional restaurants.

There's no need to ask: I will most definitely return. After all, there are two other menus to try...

Scenes from a Kapampangan Kitchen

Bale Dutung is located in Villa Gloria Subdivision, Angeles, Pampanga. Dining is by appointment only. Inquiries and reservations may be emailed to reserve@baledutung.com or by calling 09175359198. For more details about the menu and Claude '9 products, please visit the Bale Dutung website.

Claude's Talangkâ Risotto
(from Food Tour: A Culinary Journal by Claude Tayag, with the author's permission)

While a meal at Bale Dutung is well-worth the trek from Manila to Pampanga, the Tayags have made it easy for me to enjoy the same flavors back at home with their line of Claude '9 bottled sauces such as Inasal BBQ Marinade (BBQ Paldeut), Burong Hipon (Hito & Balo-balo roll) and the decadent Taba ng Talangkâ. While I loved the talangkâ rice served with grilled chicken tails, I was thrilled to find a recipe for creamy crab fat risotto in Claude's book Food Tour - a collection of his food and travel writing. Keeping in mind Mary Ann's statement that Pampangos always have grilled meat on the table, I served it with pork belly marinated in Claude '9 inasal mixture. Now, if only they would bottle that kare-kareng sauce, too...

Serves 4 to 6

Ingredients

1 Tbs minced garlic
1/4 cup chopped onions
2 Tbs butter or olive oil
500 g round grain rice* (preferably Italian arborio)
1/2 cup white wine
Approximately 1 liter chicken stock, heated
4 Tbs Claude's Taba ng Talangka**
Grated cheese
Fried crablets (if available)

Sauté garlic and onion in butter or olive oil. Stir in uncooked rice and white wine. Let the mixture simmer, adding ladles of hot chicken stock at intervals until all the liquid is used and absorbed (around 28 minutes). The risotto should be tender, glossy, moist and rich. Add Claude's Taba ng Talangkâ, then stir in grated cheese and top with fried crablets***.

Notes
*With no arborio on hand, I used Japanese sushi rice instead, to quite satisfactory results.
**For taba ng talangkâ, or crab fat paste, outside of the Philippines/Asia, check your local Asian market - it may be found in the refrigerated section.
***Instead of fried crablets, I topped the risotto with a small dollop of talangkâ and served it with grilled pork belly.

Bale Dutung, Part I: Setting the Table...

2011-03-24T12:20:00.007-05:00

Ready for guests at Bale Dutung

We clambered out of the van and huddled in the driveway, a dozen eager diners of varying ages hungry for a promised feast but uncertain that we were in the right place. There, in the middle of a tidy, quiet residential neighborhood in Angeles, Pampanga, was where we'd been told we would find Kapampangan cuisine unlike any served in Manila restaurants. Yet, it felt as if we had arrived for lunch at a relative's home. Only the colorful carved wood sign above the gate confirmed that we had found the spot: Bale Dutung [BAH-leh Doo-TOONG].

If it seemed as if we had simply been invited for a home-cooked meal, there's good reason. Bale Dutung, or House of Wood in Kapampangan, is first and foremost the home of Claude Tayag, whose list of talents and accomplishments reads like a Renaissance man's resumé: painter/sculptor/furniture maker/collector/food writer/author/world traveler/chef. In 2000, he and his wife Mary Ann opened Bale Dutung's gate to diners searching for a multi-sensory food experience that presents the traditional with a modern sensibility. At first, they did so only once a month, but as they gained renown for their authentic preparations of classic Pampanga cookery and became an epicurean's destination, the couple began offering more openings, though still strictly by advanced reservation. But make no mistake: Bale Dutung is not a typical restaurant and what they serve is no ordinary meal.

Home & Garden: Bale Dutung
Photo courtesy of Joy Valero

Entering an Oasis

Photo courtesy of Joy Valero

Stepping through the front gate, we left behind the manicured suburban setting and found ourselves in a verdant garden shaded by a canopy of trees and lush foliage. As we approached the house, we passed artifacts from Claude's carefully chosen collection of farm implements: old clay pots, an ancient wheelbarrow and what appeared to be a giant wooden corkscrew (the purpose of which is still a mystery to me). The pebbled ground beneath our feet brought to mind a dry riverbed leading to a small oasis guarded by a Pan-like sculpture playing a silent serenade to the House of Wood. Framed by snaking vines and darkened from the inside, the building's weather-worn façade belied the fact that its construction was completed just over a decade before. Claude, ever appreciative of beauty and utility in all things, used salvaged material - wooden beams, adobe blocks, intricate wrought-iron - to build his home, giving it an aura of gentle antiquity.

Collector's items: Antique farm implements chosen by Claude Tayag

Wood steps and spiral staircases leading to the Tayag's living space on the second floor bore discreet signs reading 'Pribado' (not public), but the silong (lower level) was fully open to guests. From outdoors, we stepped directly into the airy dining room, where cool stone and warm wood carried the garden's ambiance inside. The space was suffused with subtle light from fixtures made of bamboo and seashells set into the rafters overhead and from the sunlight outside, glowing softly and unobstructed by walls. Columns of stone blocks were plainly adorned with a feng shui mirror here, a framed photo of our hosts and famous guest Anthony Bourdain over there, but along the periphery of the room, there was so much more to see.

Inside Out, Outside In

The wide open space invited exploration as varied objects on display caught our eyes and drew us away from our table. Ghostly white parols (star-shaped paper lanterns), their delicate streamers fluttering, were luminescent as sunlight filtered through their intricate paper-cut design, while an old sorbetes (ice cream) cart added a touch of bright-colored whimsy. On several shelves sat a medley of large glass jars, decorative albeit dust-covered, containing what we later learned was Bale Dutung's own aslam atbu (sugarcane vinegar), some aging for as long as 10 years. Tucked away in the back, we found a wooden plow mounted on a wall behind a clay jar with a spigot, which in turn was flanked by unusual wood-carved animal shapes, worn down to a smooth finish and equipped with rounded, serrated metal pieces jutting from the front like curved tongues. These were kudkurans (also known as kagoran or kagud), which were used to grate coconuts and still are essential tools in the Philippine kitchen. [Yet another name for them is kabayo, the Tagalog word for 'horse' (derived from Sp. caballo), alluding to how one straddles the grater as if riding a horse.]

Collecting antique farm tools and cooking utensils is one of Claude's passions and as we continued to meander about, we came across even more unique items he has accumulated and displayed in an equally unique space. In the kitchen, a long rack filled with a fascinating array of antique spoons, ladles and other tools hung above a very utilitarian sink, while across the way, large carved platters were mounted alongside a hearth and chimney. Bale Dutung's open kitchen is just that, in the truest sense: not only can guests saunter freely through the area, the divide between inside and outside is marked only by a stand of palayoks, or clay cooking pots, and a variety of blackened pans and woven baskets hanging overhead. Just past them and under the open sky, we watched as a kitchen staffer stood over a no-frills grill, turning and basting skewers of chicken as fragrant smoke billowed above, and the sound of sizzling fat and the sharp aroma of marinade suddenly awakened our appetites.

There was so much to see, we had nearly forgotten that we were there to eat!

We quickly took our places at one of several long tables, which were beautifully set with brightly colored linens and centerpieces of vivid orange blossoms, freshly cut just moments before in the kitchen by a young woman who told me that they were santan (although they may actually be saraca tree flowers). Small votives were set inside pottery to heat fragrant oils that lightly perfumed the air, while bottles of Claude's specialty sauces and marinades, which we would be sampling, were placed alongside them. No other condiments graced the table, hinting that all the flavor that we were seeking might be found already well-infused in the dishes.

Then, our hostess Mary Ann Tayag appeared, looking lovely in a crisp white blouse and printed sarong skirt. As the waitstaff placed glasses of refreshing juice by each setting, Mary Ann introduced herself and offered a warm, charming welcome to her home. Reminding us that we were about to embark on a 10-course, hours-long meal, she encouraged us not to rush through the food and assured with a smile that she was there to help: "You're in my house - I will pace you!" Before she left our table to welcome the other parties, she invited us to try Bale Dutung's welcome beverage of dalandan juice and 'dirty ice' - ice cubes made with muscavado sugar.

As I sipped on the sweet citrus drink and waited for the first course, my eyes wandered to the garden outside, where a rattan hammock beckoned from the shade, its gentle shape curved like a knowing smile. Soon, it seemed to say. Soon, you'll be wanting a nap...

Beckoning...

Coming next.... Bale Dutung, Part II: A Feast of Flavors

Bale Dutung is open only by reservation, required well in advance and preferably for large groups. The menu consists of three multi-course sets, chosen in advance and served to the whole party. For more details on the menu, reservations, contact information and directions, please visit the Bale Dutung website.

Dirty Ice Cocktail

Our Bale Dutung meal kicked off with a cool, refreshing glass of dalandan juice. The deep green peel of this citrus makes it look like a large lime on the outside, but its bright orange interior is definitely, well, orange-like. This split personality is further exacerbated by the confusion surrounding its scientific classification: while some have categorized dalandans as Citrus aurantium, a.k.a. bitter oranges (which include the Sevilla), others place it under C. sinensis, to which navel oranges belong. Still others lump it with mandarins under C. reticulata. Whatever it's called, I find this sweet fruit to be a little less acidic than other types of orange juice.

Bale Dutung's 'welcome drink': Dalandan juice with 'dirty ice'
Photo courtesy of Valerie Valero

Bale Dutung's 'welcome drink' contained what Mary Ann called 'dirty ice' - ice cubes made of water and muscovado sugar, a minimally processed cane sugar that has retained its natural molasses. As the cubes melted, the drink was gradually infused with a pleasantly rich caramel flavor. Our hostess also noted that 'dirty ice' would make a great addition to cocktails, at which I immediately perked up. Just as soon as Mr. Noodle and I returned home, I decided to make my own rum-spiked 'welcome drink': a Dirty Ice Cocktail.

Dirty Ice

Muscovado sugar (dark brown sugar will do in a pinch)
Water

Using a 1 to 2 ratio* of sugar to water, place ingredients in a small saucepan over medium heat and stir well. Continue stirring as the mixture heats up, until the sugar is dissolved. Let cool for a few minutes, then pour into an ice cube tray and freeze until needed.

*Unfortunately, the mixture did not fully freeze, resulting in a firm slushy cube that quickly melted, and I suspect that my ration was too high on the sugar end. I have yet to try it again with a 1 to 4 ratio, so please let me know if you find a measurement that will yield a more standard ice cube.

Cocktail

Dalandan juice (orange juice will do in a pinch)
Tonic water
White rum

In a highball glass, add equal amounts of dirty ice and regular ice cubes. Pour equal measures of juice, tonic water and rum, and stir well. Feel free to adjust ratios to taste.

Again, probably due to a flawed ratio of sugar to water, my version of dirty ice cubes was more 'slushy cubes'. As a result, they melted quickly when placed in the cocktail. On the bright side, they formed a nice layer of sweet caramel flavor which, when stirred into the drink, gave the cocktail a deeper, richer taste.

Please check back for Part II of our Bale Dutung experience and the main course...!

Celebrating St. Patrick of Ireland and Iowa: Oaten Honeycomb

2011-03-17T01:55:00.004-05:00

Oaten Honeycomb

An Irish Recipe

(from Cooking at the Irish Settlement, Parish of St. Patrick's Church, Cumming IA)

4 cups love

2 cups loyalty

3 cups friendship

Take love and loyalty and mix thoroughly with faith; blend with tenderness, kindness and understanding. Add hope, sprinkle abundantly with laughter and bake with sunshine. Serve generous helpings daily to family, friends and all you meet.

It is St. Patrick's Day, but instead of wearing the green, I am feeling blue.

In a country where practically every barangay, village, town, city and province has a patron saint (or two!) and a festival to match, one would think there would be plenty of room for one of the most well-known in the world. Alas and alack, St. Patrick of Ireland and his feast day barely register in the Philippines. Hereabouts, the only green is on palm trees, Guinness can't hold a glass to San Miguel and corned beef comes in a can. So, on this day when everyone claiming membership among the Irishforaday is hoisting a pint, I sip from a mug of nostalgia as I reach back across the Pacific and into the heartland of America for a bit of Irish inspiration.

Ireland in Iowa

I shouldn't be so surprised to find that Paddy's Day is less than a big to-do in the 'Pinas. The great era of global Irish emigration in the mid-19th century saw those fine folk scattering to all corners of the globe, including Mexico, the Caribbean, South Africa and Australia, but sadly stopping short of the Philippines. The vast majority, escaping the hardship brought about by the Irish Potato Famine during the 1840s, crossed the Atlantic Ocean and settled throughout Canada and the United States. Most Irish newcomers flocked to America's urban centers, particularly in Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Chicago and San Francisco, but a significant and hardy portion chose to build new lives and communities in the open fertile plains of the Midwest. Among them were intrepid farming families who settled in the Madison and Warren counties of Iowa in the mid-1850s and formed what would come to be known simply as The Irish Settlement.

The Settlement was not a town per se, but rather a cultural, social and spiritual community comprised of residents from four towns in two counties:

"It will now be seen that the Irish Settlement is not a very small place.... Of course there are many people of different nationalities in their midst, Americans, Germans and others, all living in harmony and brotherly love together, as all men should do... Cheerful hospitality can be found among the Irish settlers and their descendants, and as freely given as on any part of the globe."

-- James Gillaspie, one of the earliest Irish Settlement residents, 19 March 1907

St. Patrick's Church in Cumming, Iowa

The heart of the community was Irish, however, and the soul of this Irish community is the Catholic Church. As the Settlement grew, a place of worship was needed to serve the families' faith and, in 1853, St. Patrick's Church was built. What was a simple structure of logs was rebuilt in 1868 and still stands to this day - a plain whitewashed building, unadorned save for the stained glass window set into its steeple and an iron across atop it. Inside, the sanctuary has served parishioners in countless baptisms, communions, weddings and funerals, while outside, in the wide expanse of the churchyard, well-tended gravestones mark the resting places of the Settlement's first residents and their descendants. Perhaps the parish's most shining moment came in 1979, when Pope John Paul II chose to visit what he called "a small, unpretentious church [at] the center of a group of family farms, a place and a symbol of prayer and fellowship, the heart of a real Christian community..." during his American pastoral visit (Cooking).

A Family Place

For over 140 years, St. Patrick's has been a cornerstone in the lives of its congregation, including Mr. Noodle's family. My mother-in-law was born and raised in this community, in a small farmhouse just beyond the church. Among a record of the Irish Settlement's earliest residents, there is a 'Jas. Davitt' - her mother's maiden family name - who arrived before 1860; though I have not confirmed it, perhaps he is the earliest Davitt in the area. Although it is inevitable that new generations move away in search of their place and fortune elsewhere, just as their pioneering ancestors did, many of the Irish Settlement's young return to keep the community as vibrant and strong as it has been. Mr. Noodle, his siblings and his cousins, though scattered throughout the United States, still find their way back to Iowa on special occasions both joyous and somber to reconnect with each other and their history.

The family farm house

Church and Kitchen

In the meantime, there are other ways to keep those bonds intact. Several years ago, my mother-in-law gave me a copy of Cooking at the Irish Settlement, published by the parishioners of St. Patrick's Church and containing favorite recipes from their families. Among the stalwart recipes for Sweet Potato Casserole, Potatoes and Pepper Steak, and Rhubarb Pudding, there's a lovely anecdote about St. Patrick's famous Chicken Dinners that captures the essence of this tight-knit community:

"Each family would provide 6 chickens, fried, no larger than 4lbs each, 5 pies, double crust only, and 1 gallon of cooked and peeled potatoes... The children of those years remember lots of fun [and] Father Jim Kiernan remembers this dinner as the best food he ever had!" (Cooking, 177)

Though there was plenty to choose from, I turned to the very first chapter, entitled "Irish Favorites", for a Paddy's Day dish and found the intriguingly named Oaten Honeycomb, a steamed pudding made with oatmeal, flavored with raisins and orange peel, and sweetened with honey. With all the ingredients readily available, I knew that it was the perfect recipe to make for this day celebrating all things Irish. So, in honor of St. Patrick's Day, I'd like to honor St. Patrick's Church and the Irish Settlement in Iowa with this Oaten Honeycomb.

In addition to being a tribute, this steamed pudding proudly marches in the 2nd (hopefully) Annual Paddy's Day Parade 2011, hosted by the Über Tuber herself, Aiofe of The Daily Spud! There's plenty of room along the parade route, so please head over to see what Guinness-fueled inspiration can create. And if that's not enough to sate your appetite for Irish goodies, be sure to check out the inaugural parade of 2010.

Erin go Bragh!

Sources:
Cooking at the Irish Settlement. (compiled by the parishioners of St. Patrick's Church). Deep River, IA: Brennan Printing. 1999.
History of Des Moines Diocese. Diocese of Des Moines (Iowa) website. www.dmdiocese.org
History of the Irish Settlement. IAGenWeb Project website. www.iagenweb.org
Wikipedia/Irish diaspora

Oaten Honeycomb
(from Cooking at the Irish Settlement, Parish of St. Patrick's Church, Cumming IA)

There was little information to be found online about this honeyed dish, other than it is of Northern Ireland provenance and is served either for breakfast or as a dessert. However, I did find a website with a recipe very similar to the one given in Cooking at the Irish Settlement; it credited the dish to one Roberta Colbert (b. 1884) of County Offaly, Ireland, as found in the classic cookbook of traditional Irish fare, A Taste of Ireland in Food and Pictures, by Theodora Fitzgibbons. The exact same recipe also turned up in yet another website, this time attributing its origins to an unnamed monastery and dating back to 362 AD! Unfortunately, as I do not have access to Ms. Fitzgibbons book, I can't confirm the accuracy of either attribution and have found little else on the web. If you are familiar with this dish or have access to a copy of A Taste of Ireland, please feel free to shed some light on this honeycomb.

As mentioned, this is a steamed pudding made of oatmeal, raisins, citrus zest and honey. Unlike many traditional puddings, such as the spectacular Auntie Ev's Plum Pudding made by Jenni of Online Pastry Chef, which require hours and hours of steaming, this recipe calls only for about an hour and a half. I do not have a proper 'pudding basin' (essentially a high heat-resistant bowl that serves as a mold for puddings), so instead I used small glass bowls in which to steam the mixture, using online instructions to convert them for that use. The result was a delicately flavored and satisfyingly moist dessert with a bit of oat-y chewiness. Best of all, it is only as sweet as you'd like - simply drizzle honey over it to your taste.

Unfortunately, I do not have permission to reprint the complete recipe from Cooking at the Irish Settlement. Instead, please check out the very similar recipes in the links above or try this one.

Ingredients

Oatmeal
Milk
Ground almonds
Sugar
Cinnamon
Egg yolks
Honey
Raisins
Butter
Orange zest
Egg whites, beaten to stiff peaks

To make:

Bring the milk to a boil and add the oatmeal, stirring for about 5 minutes. Let cool, then add the remaining ingredients except egg whites; mix very well. Gently fold in egg whites, then pour mixture into a buttered pudding basin (or other high heat-proof bowls). Place in a large pot and add water until it reaches halfway up the bowl; cover and steam for 1 and 1/2 hours. When done, remove from the water bath and turn out onto a plate. Serve hot, topped with cream and a generous drizzle of honey.

Cracking the Shell: Balut Revealed

2011-03-13T10:10:00.002-05:00

Balut a la Pobre

Take a look at any list of the weirdest, funkiest, hell-no-I-won't-eat-that-unless-I'm-on-a-reality-show foodstuff in the world and chances are that balut is at the very top. Few foods provoke such strong reactions as this Filipino snack with a surprise inside, arousing either passionate devotion or abject disgust. But there is much more to eating balut than just a double dog dare. Many consider it a lowly street food, yet it is highly prized as an aphrodisiac. Eating it can signal your membership as a proud Pinoy or bestow an honorary one; it might even turn you into a supernatural creature. So, before you crack open a balut, know that there is a lot going on inside that innocuous eggshell.

A Fertilized Duck Egg by Any Other Name...

Balut is a true street food, meant to be eaten the moment it is handed over by the wandering vendor (magbabalut) whose cries of 'Baaaa-luuuuut' are a clarion call in the early evening. It is a simple food: a fertilized duck egg in which the embryo is allowed to develop for a period of 16 to 21 days before it is boiled for consumption. Its name likely comes from the Tagalog word balot, which means 'to wrap', in reference to how it is made and, perhaps, its handiness as a self-enclosed snack. Although best known as a Filipino specialty, it is also a familiar food throughout Southeast Asia, differing between countries in name and duration of incubation. In Thailand, fertilized duck eggs are called khai khao [1] while in Laos, they are known as khai luk. Whereas the ideal balut is ready at 17 days, the Vietnamese prefer to age their hot vin lon for 19 to 21 days. Similarly, Cambodian pong tea khon ranges from 18 to 20 days old. The relative consistency with which this food is found in various countries points to a shared antecedent, beginning with the Chinese maodan, so-called 'feathered' or 'hairy' egg because of the downy feathers visible in its cooked form [Magat].

Can you see why it's also known as 'feathered egg'?

There is a striking similarity between the methods used to produce balut and another Chinese delicacy known as pei dan, or century eggs. Both involve covering the ovum in clay and rice husks, but whereas the alkaline mixture for pei dan acts as a curing agent, turning the eggs into pungent, dark gelatinous forms [Dunlop], the coating for balut generates necessary heat for the duck embryo to continue developing while the eggs are stored in woven bamboo containers for the requisite time period [Pateros.gov]. This centuries-old process is still followed in the town of Pateros, the historical hub of Philippine balut production, located just a few miles from central Manila.

The Town That Ducks Built

Well before the first Spanish expeditions to the Philippines in the 16th century, Chinese traders had already established settlements in villages within the Laguna de Bay basin on the island of Luzon. The freshwater lake and its tributaries were perfect environments for raising ducks, particularly Mallards (itik), a skill at which the residents of one town were so adept that their small hamlet came to be named for their industry (Tagalog, pato = duck, pateros = duck-raisers) [2]. Coupled with the technique for egg preservation presumably learned from those early Chinese settlers, Pateros' ducks have been laying uniquely golden eggs for centuries.

Photo credit: Jesslee Cuizon

Today, the municipality takes great pride in its history of premier balut-makers (mangbabalut) and their adherence to traditional methods of preparing the eggs by hand. However, Pateros' reputation as the center for balut production is facing a difficult future as the number of its traditional mangbabaluts dwindles and competitors in other towns turn to mechanized incubators capable of large-scale production [Salvador]. Furthermore, unchecked urbanization and runoff from nearby industrial plants have turned the Pateros River from a fertile, healthy environ for raising itiks into a thoroughly polluted, stagnant body of water. Although efforts are underway to clean up the river, it is a sad irony that Pateros mangbabaluts must currently procure their eggs from pateros in other municipalities [Paraiso].

In an Eggshell

No longer able to lay claim to traditional duck-raising and hesitant to convert to modern automation, these celebrated balut-makers have instead chosen to emphasize the superior quality of their traditionally produced eggs. Wrapping balut in clay and rice husks and keeping them warm for a couple of weeks is just one part of the process: each egg must be inspected at three intervals during the incubation period to ensure that the embryo is forming properly and to look for any minute cracks that may affect its quality. Unlike a hard-boiled unfertilized egg, which consists of the egg white (albumen) surrounding a creamy yellow ball of yolk, balut has four distinct parts - the yolk, the albumen (called bato, or 'stone', because it cooks up very firm), the amniotic fluid (sabaw), and the duck embryo (sisiw) [Magat]. All of these parts are edible but the latter two are crucial to perfect balut. Any crack in the shell could result in the evaporation of the sabaw, considered by many to be the tastiest part. But by far, it is the embryo that elicits the most anticipation and reaction.

"Not Regular Egg. Having Baby Inside."
Photo credit: Janet Lackey Schmalfeldt

Balut is categorized based on the length of incubation and development. As mentioned, the ideal duration is 17 days, which produces balut sa puti ('wrapped in white'), referring to a thin membrane covering the interior elements. At this stage, the sisiw is recognizable as a bird, including beak and delicate feathers, but the bones are still soft enough for eating. A balut that did not develop a chick inside is known as penoy and is essentially a hard-boiled egg when cooked, though the yolk is particularly velvety and flavorful. In complete contrast, an abnoy (derived from 'abnormal') is a balut whose embryo died before reaching the requisite days of development. Since nothing should be wasted, abnoy can be made into an omelette or a version of bibingka (steamed rice cake) for a particularly funky-smelling and -tasting delicacy, but the addition of a copious amount of vinegar condiment is highly recommended to save the senses [Davidson]. Don't worry about getting more - or less - than you bargained for: most magbabaluts will mark the eggshell to indicate balut sa puti, penoy or abnoy.

Balut-Eating = Monster-Making?

How and why did eating a recognizable yet underdeveloped fowl still in its shell become a popular foodstuff in the first place? The earliest consumption of fertilized duck eggs may have simply been a matter of chance: eggs were gathered whenever they were found in the wild and it is likely that many already contained embryos, for which people eventually developed a taste [Simoons]. Nutritionally, balut is an excellent source of energy, protein and even calcium, and given its economical price (one egg costs about 20 pesos, or approximately 50 cents), it is an affordable source of nourishment in a country where 30% of the population lives below the poverty line. The lure of cheap, filling food may be reason enough for some Filipinos to overcome some rather unusual doubts they may have about eating balut.

Despite their deeply entrenched Roman Catholic faith, many Filipinos still firmly subscribe to long-held superstitions that touch upon their food choices. According to Margaret Magat, in her excellent and detailed essay "Balut: Fertilized Duck Eggs and Their Role in Filipino Culture", some make a connection between balut consumption and aswang, a supernatural flesh-eating humanoid creature with a preference for dead bodies and unborn children. The appearance of balut and the way it is eaten are disconcertingly evocative of the aswang's modus operandi - sucking the lifeblood out of a human fetus through its mother's womb. This leads some to believe that the act of eating balut symbolically turns one into an aswang.

"[P.P. said] 'When you look at balut, you see the veins, the skin, the fetus inside. It's like you're eating human fetus.' P.P. believes that balut is something that would empower an aswang..."

(Magat 77)

Magat then discusses the role of spices and seasonings in Filipino folklore in warding off such evil spirits. As garlic is to a vampire, so is salt to an aswang; adding salt to an egg therefore mitigates the fear of a balut-eater symbolically becoming that awful ghoul. Such a belief might explain why sprinkling rock salt (a baggie of which the magbabalut always includes with your order of eggs) and vinegar with chilies is considered the 'right' way to eat balut.

Yet even if one does not believe in aswang, the idea of consuming a baby animal is disturbing to many people, both Filipino and non-Filipinos. The sense of disgust may lie in a subconscious recognition of the state of limbo represented by balut - of life incomplete or interrupted. This 'in-between' nature makes balut hard to categorized, as it is neither 'self' (a living being as we are) nor 'other' (merely food) and may be viewed as unclean or 'risky' to one's sense of self as being alive. These feelings of rejection and confusion in reaction to balut often physically manifest themselves in the form of gagging, making faces and feeling nauseated [Lupton].

Magic and Manhood

Nevertheless, concerns about aswang and limbo are not enough to dissuade balut devotees, who invoke a more powerful force than the supernatural to explain their appeal. Although there is no substantiating medical or scientific evidence, it is widely believed that balut is a potent aphrodisiac. It is supposedly sold only from evening to pre-dawn to provide fuel for anticipated amorous activities (wink-wink, nudge-nudge) [3]. Certainly, balut provides calories and other nutrients for physical energy, but its perceived power to enhance the libido may instead stem from the principles of sympathetic magic in which it is believed that objects sharing a resemblance to each other also share similar attributes, and that desirable (or undesirable) properties of one can be transferred to another by contact, such as food consumption.

Photo credit: Urbanfoodie33

Like the avocado in Central America, whose name is derived from the Nahuatl (Aztec) word ahuacatl, meaning 'testicle', eggs mimic the form of male sexual organs; similarly, an egg's oval shape and role as a vessel of life reflect that of a woman's womb. According to the Law of Similarity in sympathetic magic, eggs would hold the essences of these parts, presumably making them appealing to both sexes. In her study, however, Magat noted that three-quarters of Filipino balut eaters were men, in contrast to Vietnamese and Cambodian consumers, who were more evenly split between the sexes. Furthermore, a Vietnamese-American interviewee recounts in one anecdote that hot vin lon is not primarily taken as an aphrodisiac in his culture, but that he was persuaded of this correlation through his Filipino friends. Why is it that this sexualized component of balut does not seem to hold the same sway on Filipina women and in other food cultures as it does with Filipino men?

Magat theorizes that the discrepancy between genders and cultures may be explained by the influence of Spanish colonialism, which brought to the Philippines the concept of machismo, or male supremacy. According to Magat, balut may have gained its aphrodisiacal reputation as Filipino culture morphed from early norms of gender equality to one in which a double standard prevails - men are expected to demonstrate their virility through sexual prowess while women are expected to exemplify purity through chastity. Therefore, if balut is indeed a potent sexual energizer, then it would be inappropriate as a foodstuff for women.

Identity and Initiation

Beyond gender roles, Filipinos of both sexes do share a sense of identity through the consumption of balut. It serves as an emblem of nation, culture and even socio-economic status. Long considered a poor man's food, eaten with the hands and without rice (therefore not considered a 'proper' meal), balut has in recent years been elevated from humble street snack to a dish found in fine homes and restaurants, through preparations such as Sorpresa de Balut (peeled seasoned egg baked in a pastry) [Fernandez], Adobong Balut [4] (simmered in garlic, vinegar and soy sauce) and, most ironic, Balut a la Pobre ('Poor Man's Balut'). Today, balut is widely (if not infamously) recognized as a Philippine specialty and Filipinos of all backgrounds proudly eat them to signal their group membership. As such, it has become a form of initiation into Pinoy culture.

Stress test: a balut initiation under watchful lenses.
Photo credit: Gen Kanai

It is a tough test for many non-Filipinos to pass, as disgust is the most common reaction, fed by the representation of balut as a freakish, repulsive food on television shows and the aforementioned 'most gross' lists. But prevailing over that disgust and successfully consuming the little duckling (perhaps even enjoying it) means that an outsider gains acceptance and admiration from the 'in' group, and a sense of accomplishment usually reserved for extreme sports and death-defying activities:

"I knew my face also had to show something deeper still: an enlightened awareness that traveling to a new land meant nothing unless you were willing to embrace it fully.

"After discarding a section of beak and one leg, I struggled the duckling down. Our Filipino hosts erupted in applause. It was all for me. I'd done America a good turn."

(Rinella)

Love it or hate it, balut is worthy of closer consideration beyond its ranking on some weird foods list. It is a simple food with complex meanings and a history that can be traced to a distant land but is now firmly established in the Philippines. Appetizing to many and repulsive to even more, balut is not for everyone, but even those who may not enjoy its unusual charms can still appreciate its unique story.

Notes:
1. From Leela of SheSimmers: "[T]he Thai word for 'embryonic egg snack' and the Thai word for 'egg white' are both transliterated 'Khai Khao'. This is because the different tones get lost in the transliteration. In Thai, there's no confusion between the two as they're spelled and pronounced differently. The former is spelled ไข่ข้าว whereas the latter is spelled ไข่ขาว.Thai Khai Khao tends to be a little less developed than balut, though." Thank you, Leela!
2. Alternatively, the town is also famed for its shoe-making industry and may share credit for its name - sapateros is Spanish for shoemakers.
3. More likely, it is a quick, cheap pre-dinner meal for commuting workers; others tease that balut is sold only when it's dark so that you can't see the little duckling inside.
4. Check out recipes for Adobong Balut from Peachkins of The Peach Kitchen and Connie of Home Cooking Rocks.

Works Cited:
Davidson, Alan and Tom Jaine (eds). Oxford Companion to Food. Oxford: Oxford UP; 2006: 55.
Dunlop, Fuschia. "Transforming Eggs in Chinese Culinary Culture." In: Hoskings, Richard (ed.) Eggs in Cookery: Proceedings of the Oxford Symposium on Food & Cookery 2006. Devon, UK: Prospect; 2007: 51-59.
Fernandez, Doreen G. Tikim: Essays on Philippine Food and Culture. Manila: Anvil Publishing; 1994.
Lupton, Deborah. "Food, Risk and Subjectivity." In: Willams, SJ et al. (eds.) Health, Medicine and Society: Key Theoris, Future Agendas. New York: Routledge; 2000.
Magat, Margaret. "Balut: Fertilized Duck Eggs and Their Role in Filipino Culture." Western Folklore. 2002; 61.1:63-96.
Municipality of Pateros Website. Available at: www.pateros.gov.ph/index.asp.
"Municipality of Pateros." In: Paraiso Philippines Website. Available at: www.paraisophilippines.com.
Rinella, Steven. Personal essay. In: Bad Taste. www.salon.com 10 Oct 2006.
Salvador, Roja. "Pateros: Preserving and Protecting the Indigenous Skills." Our Own Voice Literary Arts Journal [online serial]. March 2004.
Simoons, Frederick J. Eat Not This Flesh. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press; 1994

**This post was adapted from a paper submitted for my coursework at the University of Minnesota, Spring 2010. **

Balut a la Pobre

It had been years since I last tasted a fertilized duck egg, mainly because balut is not readily available in the United States (except in those places with large concentrations of Filipinos). I finally tried it again a few years ago, when Mr. Noodle and I made our first Christmas visit to the Philippines and enjoyed Balut a la Pobre during Noche Buena. The name is simultaneously redundant and ironic: balut, a poor man's food, is recast as a fancy dish - sautéed and sauced - then renamed . . . Poor Man's Balut. Go figure.

My take on this dish is not as saucy as Balut a la Pobre should be, but it was flavorful, with a bit of extra bite from the use of ginger, and easy to prepare. I would not advise buying balut too far in advance of making this dish - you're most likely to find a magbabalut selling the eggs, still warm from the pot, only from early evening into late night. Although balut can be stored in the refrigerator for a day, it is really best when used or consumed immediately.

Ingredients

2-3 Tbsps olive oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 medium shallot, finely chopped
1-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and thinly sliced in slivers
4 balut, peeled and sabaw ('soup' inside) reserved
1 Tbsp soy sauce
Red bell pepper, sliced for garnish
Green onion, cut on a bias, for garnish
Rock salt, to taste

To make:

Heat olive oil in a small sauté or fry pan over medium heat. Add garlic, shallots and ginger, and sauté until fragrant. You'll want them to start caramelizing, but not burn, so reduce heat if necessary. Add balut and cook until all sides are lightly browned. Pour reserved sabaw into the pan and add soy sauce, stirring around the eggs to mix. Cover partially and continue cooking for 3-5 minutes.

When done, place each egg over 1/2 cup of steamed white rice and top with caramelized garlic, shallots and ginger, bell pepper, green onions and rock salt. Serve with a side of vinegar and chopped chilies.

"Let's talk about this for a second . . . There's a lot of elements of a hard-boiled egg to it. It tastes, in some cases, just like a hard boiled egg. So the really soft stuff is the - oh, hello! There's the little guy . . . "

Andrew Zimmern, on eating balut (Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern/Philippines, 2/25/2007)

Starting From Scratch: Pesto alla Pilipinas

2011-03-02T10:01:00.002-06:00

Pesto alla Pilipinas

So here's the deal: I've just spent three weeks - THREE WEEKS - writing The Post From Hell and it's a mess.

What began as a piece about a pasta dish turned into a contorted, convoluted composition about smoke detectors, roller coasters and the psychology of culture shock, to which no amount of torturous allegories could bring coherence. Yet, I seriously considered finishing and posting anyway, thanks to my ongoing susceptibility to the Sunk Cost Fallacy. With so much time already spent, why not try to salvage what I could from this wreck? Well, there's salvaging treasure and then there's salvaging (s)crap...

No, I'll leave this Titanic at the bottom of the ocean and start from scratch instead.

Transitions and Transformations

The theme of 'starting from scratch' had been my original inspiration: I wanted to express how I've had to reassess much of what I'm accustomed to doing, especially with regard to food, since moving to the Philippines. In many ways, I feel as if I'm starting all over: where I shop for groceries, what I choose to buy, how I cook our meals. These and so many other considerations have been undergoing fundamental change as I adapt to my new environment. For the most part, I've enjoyed the process of transformation brought about by new discoveries, but just as often, I find myself longing for things as they were "back at home".

I could certainly cling to my old ways, which would be so easy to do as we've chosen to live in an enclave where the familiar trappings and staples of our American lifestyle are readily accessible. But that would be illusory and unfair - to me, who has expounded at length about connecting with my heritage; to Mr. Noodle, who left behind his own family and all things familiar to pursue new opportunities on foreign shores for our benefit and happiness; and to this beautiful, colorful, vibrant country and culture that we are happy to now call home.

I am still in the process of settling in, of finding my footing and establishing new routines, and of learning and adapting to the nuances of everyday Filipino life. But learning and adapting doesn't mean discarding what I know from before; instead, I will draw upon the old to enrich all the new experiences as they come come my way.

Well, how about that? It seems I managed to salvage some treasure from a wreck after all...

When in Rome . . .

What better way to express the best strategy for adapting to a new environment than that old gem of a proverb, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do"? So, I did. For the second meal that I cooked in my new Philippine kitchen, I made pesto. (The first meal involved lamb chops, a borrowed stock pot and the aforementioned smoke alarm. Let's just leave it at that.)

At the time, our boxes of belongings had yet to arrive from Minnesota, which meant that I had to do without my favorite kitchen tools, including the mini-food processor with which I have always made my pestos. But when in Rome... I went out and bought a beautiful stone mortar and pestle, and prepared this classic Italian sauce in the manner for which it was named (Italian: pestare - to pound or crush).

Finally, since I am in Manila rather than in Rome, it seemed right and natural to use Filipino ingredients in place of the basil, pignoli and Parmigiano-Reggiano of traditional pesto alla genovese, for a harmonious blend of East and West:

Malunggay - [Mah-loong-GUY] (Moringa oleifera) Also known as sajina, horseradish tree and a host of other names, malunggay is native to the Indian Subcontinent, but is widely grown and used in the Philippines. While nearly all parts of the tree have culinary and/or medicinal use, malunggay leaves in particular are gaining attention and prominence in Filipino cuisine as something of a wonder food, purportedly containing more vitamins C and A, calcium, protein and potassium than oranges, carrots, milk and bananas, respectively. Comparable in taste and texture to spinach, the dark green thumbnail-sized leaves are often added to tinola, a traditional, delicately-flavored soup of chicken, ginger and green papaya. In this pesto, malunggay imparts a fresh yet distinctly grassy flavor, so I would suggest substituting a portion of the leaves with some cilantro to draw in a more herbaceous taste, if preferred.

Pili Nuts - [Pee-lee] (Canarium ovatum) Looking like elongated pumpkin seeds, pili nuts are indigenous to the Philippines, particularly in the Bicol Region on the southeastern portion of Luzon, the largest island in the archipelago. Mostly unknown beyond the Philippines, pili is popular as a snack, flavored with salt and garlic or covered in a sweet sugar coating. Its mild flavor and almost airy crispness are belied by its fat content - approximately 68.5 grams per 100 grams of nut, nearly 50% more than that of cashews (45g/100g) and comparable to macadamias (69g/100g). Furthermore, the quality of its oil composition is similar to that of olive oil. As such, I decided to reduce the amount of olive oil normally used in making pesto to compensate for the richness of pili nut.

Queso de Bola - [KAY-so day BOH-lah] Essentially Dutch edam cheese, queso de bola is a staple of the Philippine Christmas table, but its sharp, cheesy deliciousness is enjoyed year round with fruits, pandesal and jamon (soft bread roll and ham), and on sweet bibingka (broiled rice cake). Its flavor and texture, though just a bit softer than the Italian hard cheeses used in pesto, add just the right amount of saltiness to this fusion sauce.

Pesto alla Pilipinas

'Starting from scratch...' 'Drawing upon the old to enrich the new...' 'A pasta dish...'

If this post were a riddle (and believe me, the original iteration was an indecipherable enigma), you might have noted these clues as to the identity of my edible accompaniment. I referred to David Leibovitz's Pesto Recipe as a guide for this simple meal made simply. The resulting dish had just the right flavor for this blog post.

Ingredients

2 cloves garlic
1/2 tsp salt
2-3 cups malunggay leaves, washed & stripped from stems
1/2 cup finely grated queso de bola, plus extra for garnish
50 grams roasted plain pili nuts
2-3 Tbsps olive oil
8 oz/205 g linguine, cooked according to package directions
1 cup reserved pasta water

In a mortar, sprinkle garlic cloves with salt and pound with a pestle until smooth. Add malunggay leaves, a large handful at a time, and mash into the garlic, until all leaves are used and a thick paste is formed. Add olive oil and half of the cheese, then mash; add half of the nuts and mash again. Repeat with remaining cheese and nuts, pounding all the ingredients together until well-mixed into a paste. At this point, the pesto may be quite thick and clumpy - just set aside until pasta is cooked.

Cook linguine according to package directions. Before draining the noodles, reserve a cup of pasta water. Add the cooking water, one tablespoon at a time, to the pesto and stir to incorporate into the paste. Continue to add pasta water until desired consistency is reached.

Place cooked linguine into a large bowl, add the pesto and mix until the noodles are coated with sauce. Add grated queso de bola and serve immediately.

Fork in the Road: Oregon Hors d'Oeuvres

2011-02-06T09:15:00.001-06:00

Whipped Feta, Jams & Homemade Crisp Flatbread

Fork in the Road is a series of posts in which I recount the places we've been, recreate the most memorable meals we've enjoyed, and rehabilitate the ones we'd otherwise rather forget. After several relaxing days with my family in Redondo Beach, eating my fill of strawberry cupcakes, Mr. Noodle and I continued our roadtrip along one of the most spectacular scenic highways in the country toward San Francisco. The Bay Area's reputation as a food nirvana was confirmed, both within SF and beyond, but subpar accommodations in Eugene, Oregon nearly left a bad taste in our mouths...

Cruise down the road long enough and you're bound to hit a pothole eventually. With luck, it will be nothing more than a small divot in the asphalt and a minor jolt. With bad luck, it will be a gaping maw in the earth and a jarring, head-flopping, rim-bending impact. Even when that kind of pothole is figurative, like the one Mr. Noodle and I encountered, it's enough to mar an otherwise perfect roadtrip.

After our travels took us south from the flat plains of Nebraska to the snowy peaks of Colorado, then west through the sun-baked buttes of New Mexico and Arizona into the sun-bathed beaches of Southern California, Mr. Noodle and I turned our sights northward. Re-energized by our stay in Redondo Beach and sated by Sprinkles cupcakes, we exchanged cheery farewells and see-you-soons with my family and continued up the coast toward our next stop: San Francisco.

If our intent had been to get there as quickly as possible, then going 70 miles per hour on a multi-lane freeway would have served. But what's the point of having a front-seat view when all there is to see are blurred billboards and the rear bumpers of other cars? Instead, we chose a leisurely pace along one of the most beautiful roads in the world: California State Route 1, known by various names along its 655 miles, but most often referred to simply as Highway 1. From the moment we picked up the journey near San Luis Obispo on the Central Coast until we detoured into a charming little fishing town just south of San Francisco, the sights were nothing less than spectacular.

Seals, Hills and Moss...

There were magnificently corpulent elephant seals lounging on a beach near San Simeon, while frothy waves and sunny wildflowers softened the craggy line of rocks and cliffs along the shore. In Big Sur, we drove on a forest-shaded road dappled here and there by patches of sunlight, leading to a breathtaking vista that revealed where ocean blue and evergreen touched, as a wisp of fog gently encroached on the scene.

Having a flabulous time on the beach

Wildflowers and waves

Ocean blue and evergreen

Soon enough, high hills gave way to flatter terrain as we neared Monterey Bay and our attention turned from a visual feast toward a more edible one. In tiny Moss Landing (population: 300), we spotted from the road a Cal-Mex restaurant called The Whole Enchilada, but somehow ended up in the parking lot of The Haute Enchilada instead. Never mind: with its eclectic furniture and artwork adorning brightly colored walls, this 'Art Café' provided a fun atmosphere for a late lunch of piquant Peruvian ceviche with sweet potato chips and a tender pork carnitas taco. It was an appetizing prelude to the food that awaited us just down the road.

However, this won't be a rapturous account of our SF eats, though our experiences more than proved the city's gastronomic reputation is well deserved. From Puerto Rican cuisine in Haight-Ashbury to dim sum in the Richmond district, every bite we had was a delight. However, it is the equally fabulous fare found outside of the city limits that deserves some attention.

Eating Off the Beaten Track

In and around the town of Pescadero (Sp. fishmonger) forty miles south of San Francisco, there are excellent artisanal food purveyors, such as Harley Farms, a farmstead goat dairy specializing in sublime cheeses like chèvre and feta, beautifully presented with pressed edible flowers or studded with dried fruits and nuts. Just a hop-skip away is Phipps Country Store with its shelves of homemade jams, organic rice and flour, and dried herbs from their own garden. But the real treasure troves are the bins o' beans that hold up to 75 varieties (of which many are grown by Phipps), from Adzuki Black to Zuni Gold and every shape, size and color in between.

To sate immediate hunger, however, head over to the Pescadero Country Store on Stage Road, the town's main drag, where menu offerings include deli sandwiches made to order, smoky BBQ cooked on outdoor grills and pizzas baked in the store's own brick oven. Ever the pizza devotees, Mr. Noodle and I enjoyed a flavorful four-cheese roasted garlic pie that was so memorable, I made our own version back at home. It might have been a Roadtrip Dinner Redux, if not for the aforementioned pothole that finally loomed on the horizon.

From Awe to Ewwww...

After a couple of fun- and food-filled days in the Bay Area, Mr. Noodle and I once again hit the road, heading toward Oregon. This leg of our trip was going to be particularly long, so we opted for speed on the interstate, but not before we took a detour for a drive among the majestic Sequioas of Northern California. On the Avenue of the Giants and dwarfed by massive trunks, the Big Maroon looked more like a wind-up toy, while we could only peer upward in a futile attempt to see where, or if, these awesome ancient trees reached their tops. Exhilarated by the beauty of the redwood forest but exhausted by the long drive, we looked forward to respite in Eugene, Oregon.

The Big Maroon, dwarfed

Up until then, Mr. Noodle and I had been fortunate to find comfortable, affordable and often very charming accommodations throughout our roadtrip. At National Hotel Chain That Shall Not Be Named, however, we found a stay completely devoid of all those qualities, despite its pricey rates. While a non-descript budget hotel along the freeway in Nebraska provided free Internet access, NHCTSNBN charged a fee. Whereas another branded hotel in Arizona provided a complimentary hot breakfast, there wasn't even a cheap microwave to heat up instant oatmeal in the Oregon room. And after the pristine common guest areas of a marvelous Colorado bed & breakfast, it was dismaying to see empty beer bottles and discarded fast food wrappers littering the elevators of this hotel & convention center. The coup de grâce: after walking barefoot on what felt like perpetually damp carpeting in our room, I had the sudden urge to get a tetanus shot.

Talk about a smooth ride coming to a screeching halt! As much as we wanted to escape for dinner, Mr. Noodle and I were simply beat from 10+ hours of driving. Thank goodness for Bay Area goodies - some Harley Farms goat feta, thoughtfully refrigerated & well-packed by my sister-in-law the previous evening, as well as a sweet jalapeño jam and coriander-garlic naan purchased at the Alemany Farmers' Market in south San Francisco. Along with local Oregon smoked salmon and a bottle of wine, we managed to have an enjoyable meal in spite of our icky surroundings.

Roadtrip Dinner Redux: Oregon Hors d'Oeuvres

It would have been a shame to have a corporate brand failure leave a stain on our roadtrip memories, so when Mr. Noodle and I returned to Minnesota, I set about recreating our Eugene dinner as an appetizer in a much more pleasant setting.

Like taking the freeway over the scenic route, I could have saved time and effort with my redux by using ready-made elements. But where's the fun in that? Still, there were limits to my ambition, such as making goat's milk feta cheese, à la Harley Farms, from scratch. Instead, I did the next best thing and made a feta-based spread. In place of spicy-sweet jalapeño, I cooked up a duo of late summer fruit jams, while local smoked trout from Star Prairie, Wisconsin replaced Oregon smoked salmon. Finally, to hold it all up, I baked my first batch of homemade flatbread crackers.

Whipped Feta with Artichokes
(Adapted from Sausage, Whipped Feta and Artichoke Crostini by Debi Shawcross)

This recipe comes from chef, author and cooking instructor Debi Shawcross, whose blog Table Talk features many elegant yet easy dishes for entertaining. The moment I read her Sausage, Whipped Feta and Artichoke Crostini post, I knew that it would be perfect for recreating the creamy-soft texture of Harley Farms' goat milk feta. For the original and many other delicious recipes, please visit Debi's website!

Ingredients

8 ounces sheep & goat's milk feta (such as Mt. Vikos)
8.5 ounces artichoke hearts (I used canned artichokes in water, drained)
1 whole head of roasted garlic, skins removed
1-2 teaspoons olive oil
splash of balsamic vinegar
1/4 teaspoon salt

Place all ingredients in a food processor and blend until smooth.

Easy Fruit Jams: Raspberry and Plum Basil

I made these jams because I did not want to waste some lovely fruits that were languishing in the fridge. The so-very-simple technique comes via Cooking.com's Easy Fresh Fruit Jam recipe.

Plum Basil Jam*

4 red plums, peeled (leave some skin on for color) and coarsely chopped = 1.5 - 2 cups
1 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1 teaspoon fresh basil, finely chopped

Equipment:

1 small metal or glass bowl
1 large bowl filled with ice cubes

Place all ingredients in a medium-size pot and cook over medium-high heat. Be careful not to be splattered by bubbling hot jam!

When fruit has broken down and mixture has thickened, remove from heat and transfer jam to small bowl. Set bowl inside larger bowl filled with ice and stir jam gently until it thickens even more as it cools completely. Transfer to clean glass jars and refrigerate. Use the same process for raspberries and other fruits!

*Please note that these jams are not 'canned', which is a process using sterilization techniques to preserve foods for long periods of time. As such, they should be consumed as soon as possible.

Crisp Flatbread

Rather than a soft, chewy naan such as the one we had in Oregon, I decided to make this incredibly easy Gourmet.com recipe for Crisp Rosemary Flatbread. Wanting to ensure that the flavors of the whipped feta and its toppings would stand out, I left off the rosemary and simply sprinkled the crackers with black lava and pink Himalayan salts.

For complete measurements and instructions, please check out the original recipe.

Ingredients

Unbleached all-purpose flour
Baking powder
Salt
Water
Olive oil
Sea salt for sprinkling

Whisk together flour, baking powder and salt, then add water and oil. Stir until a soft dough forms, then knead on a smooth surface. Divide into smaller pieces, place on a sheet of parchment paper and roll into 10-inch rounds, as thin as possible. Brush top with oil and sprinkle with salt. Transfer dough and paper onto a baking sheet and bake until golden. When done, remove from oven, let cool and break into pieces.

Spread whipped feta on flatbread pieces and top with sweet jams, smoked fish or cured meats.

An International Incident: Rice Dogs

2011-01-16T11:05:00.000-06:00

Rice Dog

Shortly after our family moved from the Philippines to Canada, I had my first taste of 'real' spaghetti at an Ottawa restaurant, the name of which I no longer recall. But I do remember my eagerness at ordering this special dish which I got to eat only at parties and special occasions. All too soon, however, my excitement turned into bitter disappointment as I carefully examined the plate of saucy pasta in front of me and took my first bite. I promptly set the fork down and scowled at my mother across the table. "Where," my outraged six-year-old self demanded, "are the hot dogs?"

Much like the moment a child discovers the truth about Santa Claus, that was the day I learned that hot dogs were neither authentic nor integral components of spaghetti. As many of you already know or may have heard, sweetness and weiners are the hallmarks of Filipino-style spaghetti, for which Malou of Skip to Malou offers an excellent recipe. For those of us who grew up with it, these flavors are solidly embedded in fond memory. It might have been a crushing blow to my budding food psyche if I hadn't discovered soon after that hot dogs tasted even better out of the sauce.

A 'Dog Named . . .

Frankfurter. Wiener. Footlong. These are just the most common aliases for the generic hot dog. Beyond the plain sausage in a bun, there are countless versions with myriad monikers, particularly in the United States, where it ranks with apple pie as a national food symbol. Thanks to a peripatetic married life, I've tried a few regional variations over the years - dirty water dogs in Washington, DC; slaw dogs in North Carolina; Naked (plain) at The Varsity in Atlanta, and 'dragged through the garden' in Chicago. In Minnesota, there were good ol' ball park franks at Midway Stadium, home of minor league baseball's St. Paul Saints, and Pronto Pups, a pancake-battered, deep-fried skewered hot dog, at the State Fair. Although the latter was invented in Portland, OR, it became the granddaddy of all fried-foods-on-a-stick for which the Great Minnesota Get-together is famous. Some historians believe that it was a Minnesota Pronto Pup franchisee who popularized the corn dog, a near-identical iteration made with corn meal instead of wheat flour.

Of all hot dog variations, the corn dog is my absolute favorite. I love the coating, which is essentially a cornbread - golden, slightly gritty in texture and with a sweetness that is perfect for the salty tube of mystery meat which it encases. Although corn dogs are not unknown in the Philippines, most Pinoys prefer to enjoy their hot dogs in the aforementioned spaghetti, pan-fried and served with plain rice, or mixed into fried rice. Now that I'm a Manileña, I really should adhere to these local tastes, even though I do miss my corn dogs. But who says I can't have my cake and eat it, too?

All-American, Filipinized

Corn may be king in the States but here in the Philippines, rice rules! So, when it came time to hot dog it for this month's International Incident Party, I decided to give my favorite corn dog a rice-over. I'd love to say that this is an original Tangled idea, but the distinction belongs to Korean blog Hoya Cooks (introduced by Daniel of Seoul Eats via this Serious Eats post). As Hoya's site is in Korean, I could only go by Daniel's photos of her 'rice-battered hotdogs' and try to come up with my own simple technique. The end result could use a tweak here and there, but as far as Mr. Noodle was concerned, my Rice Dog experiment was a total success.

Rice Dogs

Like its corn dog inspiration, these fried pups were lightly golden and even crunchier on the outside, thanks to panko crumbs, while the rice inside was soft and just a bit chewy. However, it lacked a distinct flavor like the mellow sweetness of cornbread; next time, I may season the rice with mirin, soy sauce, or add a sprinkling of furikake or shichimi togarashi. Feel free to experiment and let me know what you come up with!

Ingredients

1 cup raw rice* (yields 3 cups cooked)
6 cocktail franks (or 3 regular hot dogs, cut in half), boiled
2 eggs, well-beaten
1-2 cups panko
Vegetable oil

Plastic wrap
Bamboo Skewers

*For best results, use a short-grain variety of rice, such as 'sushi' rice (japonica), as it is more starchy, and therefore stickier, than long-grain types such as Basmati.

To Make:

Prepare rice as directed by package; when done, allow to cool just until it can be handled, but is still warm. On a wide strip of plastic wrap, scoop out 1/2 cup of rice and spread out in a rectangle about the size of an index card (3.5-x5-inches). Place one cooked hot dog in the center of the rice, then bring edges of the plastic wrap together and press gently yet firmly so that the rice is molded completely around the wiener. Set aside and repeat with the remaining rice and hot dogs.

Pour oil about 1-inch deep in a fry pan or pot and heat. Unwrap rice dogs and dip in beaten eggs, then roll in panko crumbs. Fry on one side until crisp and golden, then flip using tongs; when done, remove to a paper-towel lined plate to absorb any excess oil. Skewer with bamboo sticks and serve with your favorite condiments, especially banana ketchup for a truly Filipinized taste experience. Enjoy!

For a whole pack of imaginative hot dog-themed recipes, please check out the other entries for the current International Incident Party. Hosted by Penny of Jeroxie, IIP challenges participants to create dishes based on a new food theme each month. Enjoy reading the entries and please consider joining the party next time!

Fish Tales: Tawilis of Lake Taal

2011-01-12T11:00:00.001-06:00

Deep-fried Tawilis

An Island Afire

Perhaps there had been a cool breeze that night, dissipating the day's humidity from the air, making it more comfortable to sleep. Perhaps there were some souls still up that night, finishing the last of the day's chores, moving about in the soft glow of candlelight or under the gentle beam of moonlight. Perhaps that night began as serenely and restfully as others before, until a long-dormant fury finally, violently awakened...

"On May 15, 1754, at about 9 or 10 o'clock in the night, the volcano quite unexpectedly commenced to roar and emit, sky-high, formidable flames intermixed with glowing rocks which, falling back upon the island and rolling down the slopes of the mountain, created the impression of a large river of fire.

"The columns of fire and smoke ascended higher than ever before, increasing every moment in volume, and setting fire to the whole island... All this was accompanied by terrific lightning and thunder above, and violent shocks of earthquakes underneath.

"We left the town, fleeing from this living picture of Sodom, with incessant fear lest the raging waters of the lake overtake us..."

(Maso, 9)

Lake Taal, ca. 1734
(Image source)

This mesmerizing firsthand account of Nature's destructive power came from a priest known only as Father Buencuchillo, who chronicled a series of cataclysmic eruptions of Taal Volcano in 1754 that lasted nearly seven months and destroyed three towns, including his own parish, and surrounding hamlets. The doomed habitations lay along the shores of Lake Bombon, which itself was a water-filled ancient caldera and an extension of nearby Balayan Bay in Batangas Province, Philippines. Rising from the lake's center, Taal Volcano had been seething for centuries, occasionally releasing ferocious outbursts every few generations, until it could no longer contain itself on that summer evening. When the mountain had at last exhausted itself by December, shell-shocked residents could only pick up the pieces of a drastically changed landscape:

"Soon afterward I resolved to visit my beautiful town of Taal; nothing was left of it except the walls of the church and convento... Thus the beautiful town of Taal remains a deserted wilderness and reduced to the utmost misery, while once it was one of the richest and most flourishing places.

"The worst of all is, that, the mouth of the river Pansipit having been blocked, the lake is rising and invading the towns of Lipa and Tanauan..."

(Maso, 10-11)

The people of Taal, Lipa and Tanauan eventually rebuilt their towns at a safer distance from the volcano, leaving behind ruins such as those of the original Basilica of St. Martin de Tours (the present edifice is considered the largest Catholic church in Asia) to be found above ground today. Meanwhile, what are believed to be the remains of Tanauan can be seen (mainly by experienced divers) beneath the opaque waters of the now-renamed Lake Taal. But no manmade site can compare to the natural wonder at the center of it all.

The Evolution of a Delicacy

An island within a lake
on an island...
(Photo: Wikipedia)

First of all, Lake Taal is a veritable geologic matryoshka doll: an island (Vulcan Point) within a lake (Crater Lake) on an island (Volcano Island) within a lake (Lake Taal) on an island (Luzon) [see image]. If that weren't enough, it also holds the distinction as the only habitat on earth of the sole species of exclusively freshwater sardines - Sardinella tawilis.

As Fr. Buencuchilla recounted, the massive eruptions of 1754 severely narrowed the once-wide channel of the Pansipit River that connected Lake Taal to Balayan Bay and the sea beyond, and subsequently trapped marine species within. As a result, the saline lake, no longer being fed by sea water, eventually transformed into a freshwater body to which formerly saltwater fish, such as the sardines, had to adapt in order to survive.

Today, Lake Taal tawilis are a popular delicacy prepared in different ways, such as smoking (tinapang tawilis), stewing in vinegar (paksiw na tiwilis) or deep-frying, and eaten in its entirety, head to tail. I recently munched on the latter, dipping them in vinegar with chilies, and found them to be satisfyingly crisp, tasty and as addictive as fish-shaped french fries. I had barely licked the last bit of flavor from my fingertips before I was craving more. Wanting to learn about what was sure to be my new favorite snack, I went a-Googling . . . and promptly lost my appetite with this single phrase:

"As with all species consisting of a single population in one location, a local extinction event will most probably lead to species extinction."

Fish pens on Lake Taal

I have done and will probably do many foolish, thoughtless things in my lifetime, but contributing to the eradication of an entire species is hopefully not one of them. A decade-old study of the tawilis population in Lake Taal noted an alarming decrease in its numbers due to overfishing and warned that growing numbers of tilapia, a farmed fish introduced into the lake and which competes with tawilis for algae as food, could overtake the sardines and drive them out of the food chain. Given their precarious status, I hesitated to post about my enjoyable experience eating them.

But for once, I am happy to admit being duped - it turns out that the flavorful fried fish I was munching was more than likely an impostor. Like Kleenex and Q-Tips, the tawilis 'brand' name has become a generic term, allowing pseudo-tawilis (other saltwater sardines) to be found in abundance at local wet markets and grocery store chains for relatively low price. Some will say that consuming these counterfeit Clupeidae is therefore not an authentic tawilis-eating experience and they are correct. But it would be difficult to swallow authenticity at the expense of the very survival of such a unique species. So instead, I will savor the amazing true story of Lake Taal as I enjoy some ersatz tawilis. I'd call that a happy ending for all.

Work Cited

Maso, M.S. (1911). The Eruption of Taal Volcano - January 30, 1911. Report from the Weather Bureau. Manila: Bureau of Printing

Volcano Island, viewed from Tagaytay cliffs
Active Taal Volcano is the larger land mass behind the smaller cone