Of Sunday Mass and Family Meals

Barquillos - not exactly Communion wafers

(Photo by arquera)

Her sandal-clad feet swung back and forth, the only hint of a four-year-old's impatience. She tried to sit quietly and not fidget, as she'd promised her Yaya, but the bench was hard and the little breeze whistling through the church's open doors tickled her ears with the sounds of people outside enjoying the Sunday sunshine. She twisted around to see what she might be missing but a soft tap on her arm and an admonishing glance set her straight again. Then something so unexpected, so very wonderful, happened - Yaya leaned over and placed a heavy coin in her little palm. Grinning with delight, she quickly hopped off the seat, not seeing the surprised look on her nanny's face as she scampered down the aisle, past the usher who stood at the end of the pew holding out the collection basket. She dashed through the open portal and into the bright sunlight, clutching her windfall as she made a beeline for the tienda . . .

. . . where I bought a bag of barquillos - crispy, rolled wafers that I'd stick on my fingers and pretend were long, glamorous nails. That was the last time my nanny ever entrusted her church offering to me.

Our parish, St. Augustine Church, in Ottawa, Canada

It is one of my earliest food memories but not the only one that is connected to Sunday Mass. In fact, the Sabbath provided the setting for childhood experiences that helped form my fascination with food and its meanings. Every Sunday, through fair weather or foul (and once we moved to Canada, there were many foul winter days), our family attended Mass. My parents approached this obligation with faithful formality - Papa always wore a business suit with a handkerchief tucked neatly into the breast pocket, while Mama dressed as elegantly as if she were attending a ladies' luncheon. My sisters and I were also expected to be presentable, even if it meant wearing thick tights under our dresses on those frigid days. I can now admit without a frisson of Catholic guilt and fear of a lightning bolt striking me down that I would've preferred to stay at home and watch cartoons. 

But Papa and Mama made it worth our while - after church services, they would take us out for lunch! The prospect of eating out was incredibly exciting because it was so different from the norm: eating at home was an ordinary routine but eating at a restaurant on a Sunday was an extraordinary ritual. My sisters and I never knew where we would go until we got there and that element of surprise heightened the anticipation. 

(Photo credit: iknowjoe/Flickr)

Sometimes, we ate at a dim sum palace, where I'd watch enraptured as the servers revealed the contents of the rolling carts with a flourish and Papa ordered dishes until the lazy susan, ladened with baskets of steamed dumplings and plates of noodles, could barely spin. In summer months, we would have hamburgers at Harvey's, where we'd perch on the outdoor picnic benches in our Sunday best; years later, I learned that burgers were my mother's secret addiction.

Taking a family of six out to eat once a week was no easier on the wallet back then than it is today and yet my parents somehow managed. But why did they do it? Indeed, food-sharing is a universal form of group bonding and family meals specifically have a significant, positive impact on younger members with regard to future nutrition habits, risk behaviors and social development [see the University of Minnesota's Project Eat]. So wasn't it enough to bond as a family over dinner every night, as we consumed the same familiar dishes in the comfort of our own home? As it turns out, our after-Mass lunches went beyond strengthening family ties - paradoxically, it marked their gradual loosening. 

Like sugar to sweeten the medicine, these excursions were my parents' way of teaching me and my sisters life lessons that might otherwise go undigested if served with unpalatable lectures. Dining out was a means of expanding our scope beyond the spheres of home and school as we learned to interact with people other than family, friends and teachers. In practical terms, it taught us good manners and how to comport ourselves in public. 

At home, we ate as a unit and shared the same food on the table but at places like Harvey's, we could assert our individual preferences - it was the only time I was allowed to turn down vegetables. A variety of restaurants exposed us to a variety of foods and flavors apart from the more familiar Filipino; some became instant favorites, like Vietnamese noodle soups, while an equal number were rejected by immature tastebuds (a taste for kimchi, for example, took years to develop). By taking us out of the confines of the routine meal at home, Papa and Mama used fork and spoon, and the occasional chopsticks, to nudge us onto a path toward a greater awareness of the world at large and our own individuality.

Sadly, those first forays in independence worked all too well as the excitement of childhood gave way to the self-absorption of adolescence. There came a time when my sisters and I preferred other Sunday activities over Mass and the company of our friends over family. My parents surprisingly didn't insist that we continue attending service, perhaps acknowledging our fledgling independence but I now wonder if they felt hurt or saddened by our choice as our family ritual waned, then disappeared altogether as we moved into our own adult lives.

Hindsight is, of course, 20/20 and it brings regret into blinding focus. With our family now scattered, reviving our Sunday tradition is not possible. Yet, as much as I miss that old ritual, I realize that its lessons - that individualism and commensality are not mutually exclusive, that your world can expand with one small bite of a new food and that family will always keep you centered in it - have been achieved and are appreciated. Today, my husband and I have our own food ritual which began without conscious attempt several years ago. Its day, setting, food and purpose are completely different from those long-ago Sunday meals but the sense of fun and anticipation remains. 

I hope you'll come back and read about our Pizza Night Thursdays . . . 

In the meantime, please feel free to share your own memories of family food traditions!


**Updated 3/15/2012: In the original post published on 1/27/09, I used a photograph which I credited to the source but did not actually have permission from the photographer to use. The new photo that replaces it above is used under a Creative Commons license.

Steamed Chicken Dumplings

As a child, the only time we had these was when Papa took us to Sunday dim sum. My husband and I don't go as often as we'd like so this is an easy way to get a quick dumpling fix. It's a slight variation of a recipe for jiaozi (pork and cabbage dumplings) from Tangstein's Blog: Healthy Chinese Home Cooking, which also features an excellent video tutorial on how to form the dumplings. 

Yields approximately 2 dozen

Ingredients

1 pkg wonton or dumpling wrappers

1/2 cup finely chopped cabbage

2 spring onions, chopped

10 oz ground chicken

1/2 tsp ground ginger or ginger paste

1 Tbsp rice vinegar 

1 Tbsp low-sodium soy sauce

water

To make

1. Add all ingredients in a small bowl and mix well by hand;

2. Holding one wrapper in your palm, scoop 1 teaspoon of filling and place in the center of the wrapper;

3. Moisten edges of the wrapper with water and fold over, sealing the edges by pinching them together. If preferred, use a fork to press the edges together; repeat with remaining wrappers and filling.

4. Place in a steamer basket lined with greased wax paper (otherwise, dumplings may adhere to the paper) and steam for approximately 20 minutes. 

5. When done, serve immediately with a dipping sauce.

For dipping sauce: combine soy sauce, rice vinegar, minced garlic, minced ginger and finely chopped green onions to taste.

When Life Hands You Lemonade (Awards) . . .

. . . make some Lemon Arrowroot Wafers!

Buttery drops of sun

First of all, I want to thank two of my favorite bloggers for passing on to me the Lemonade Award: 

5 Star Foodie, who not only has marvelous gourmet recipes (check out the Rack of Lamb with Saffron Cream) but also shares her dining adventures in some of the most outstanding and acclaimed restaurants in the country. Vicarious dining at its best! 

Evil and Demented Little Cooker Girl - don't let the name fool you. This sweet site offers lovely photos, visual samplings of Filipino treats and some great baking-related links.

Thank you, ladies! Now, it's my pleasure to pass it on to another fantastic blog, Fake Food Free, which chronicles the life and healthy eats of Lori, an expat nutritionist living in Brazil. It's loaded with delicious recipes, nutrition tips and links, and fun stories of her travels. Check out her newest post on an eco-friendly and adorable method of weed-control.

One other mention: I want to thank ChefBliss for giving me her Fabulous Recipe award this week. She tried out my banana turon recipe and being a truly original cook, gave it a twist and made it her own [see it here]. Many thanks, ChefBliss!

So then, with the Lemonade Award came visions of lemon drops. I love this refreshing flavor, especially in baked goodies so I though I'd offer up these delicious little bites. I call them wafers because they're too dainty to be called cookies.

 

Lemon Arrowroot Wafers

This is adapted from a recipe courtesy of the Maya Kitchen Culinary Arts Center in Makati City, PH. It originally called for cornstarch and wheat flour but I opted for arrowroot and rice flours for a truly gluten-free treat. They came out light, crispy, oh-so-buttery and with just a hint of citrus!

Yields 6-8 dozen (1") wafers

Ingredients:

1 - 1/2 cups arrowroot flour

1/2 cup rice flour

zest from 1 lemon (about 2 Tbsps)

3/4 cup confectioner's sugar

1/2 cup butter, softened

1 egg

1/2 tsp vanilla extract

Tools:

Frosting bag with a large star-shaped piping tip.

To Make:

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees (F) and line cookie sheets with parchment paper;

2. In a small bowl, whisk or sift flours together; add zest, stirring well to distribute, and set aside;

3. In a mixer, cream butter and confectioner's sugar; add egg and vanilla and mix well;

4. Add flour mixture by cupfuls, mixing well in between. The flours are very powdery so it may poof up as you mix! Continue adding dry mix by cupfuls until a very soft dough forms.

5. Spoon mixture into frosting bag and pipe quarter-sized rounds, leaving a little space between each one as they will spread during baking;

6. Bake at 374 degrees (F) for approximately 8 minutes or until edges of wafers are a nice golden brown. Remove from oven and let cool.

Serve with tea, ice cream or enjoy them on their own.

Notes: I used plain rice flour from Whole Foods but 'sweet' rice flour such as Mochiko can be found in Asian groceries and would work as well. And for a more pronounced lemon flavor, substitute lemon extract.

The Faces Behind the Food

Toiling in anonymity

In response to my post about comfort food, many of you shared your favorite soothing dishes, which ranged from kimchee soup to the many incarnations of pasta. However, a few of you also brought up an intriguing point: the comfort you felt was derived not from the food itself but from the person who prepared it. 

My SIL LouAnn at Oyster Food and Culture wrote that she loves her mother's curried shrimp but admitted that it bears deep meaning only if Mom makes it. And Mediterranean Kiwi, who blogs at Organically Cooked, offered this comment:

"I am comforted by all kinds of food . . . and the most comforting food of all is the one presented to me and cooked by others."

The feelings evoked by comfort food - of being cared for and coddled - come from the loving acts of others, whether it's a husband bringing breakfast in bed, a grandmother making her special caramels for Christmas, or a college roommate baking brownies for a cram session. For some, those feelings are deeply embedded in particular foods and are potent regardless of who prepares it; for others, the thought that someone cares enough to expend time and energy on their behalf imbues any food with a special quality. Of course, this latter point assumes a close personal relationship between the giver and receiver, which led me to wonder: is the food still special if you don't know the cook from Adam?

We tout the pleasures of home-cooked meals but most of us still enjoy eating out and that means being nourished by strangers. The term is relative, however - by virtue of reputations for extraordinary culinary skill, outsized personalities or both, certain chefs have become celebrities who are as familiar to us as our own families, even if it's unlikely we'd ever meet. They come into our homes through television, books and the Internet, and some of us have even learned how to cook from them - a role traditionally played by our mothers and grandmothers. We may never taste a morsel of the food they create and yet we have no doubt that the experience would be transcendent and special (thanks to rhapsodic reviews from more fortunate foodies). 

But for every Ferran Adrià and Thomas Keller, for each El Bulli and The French Laundry, there are thousands of unheralded souls at corner bistros, storefront diners, food stalls and pushcarts, whose food is eagerly consumed but whose efforts are, for the most part, unrecognized. How often have I focused on the dish in front of me, savoring the pleasure of eating, with nary a thought to the person who prepared it?  

Too often, I realized, as I went through the photos of our recent travels in the Philippines. Image after image of dishes and drinks remind me of the wonderful meals we enjoyed but only a few depict the faces behind the food. In places such as the Salcedo Saturday Market in Makati City, they are folks like the young man selling ice cream from a cart emblazoned with a carefully handpainted name ("Celso Boy") and the woman proudly offering an amazing array of inihaw fish and meat as her companions tend to the grilling behind her. 

I stopped to take pictures but didn't bother to speak to them, to ask questions that now come to mind: are you Celso Boy? Is this your own business? Is that your family at the grill? Are these your recipes?  I was so enamored of the surroundings and the food that I virtually ignored the people who generated the market's vibrancy and created delicious dishes.

But then, there were those vendors who could never be overshadowed by their fare; indeed, their personalities drew my attention and added to the flavor of their offerings. There was the gregarious Ike Miranda of TonG (pronounced 'ton-Gee') Coffee who handed me a generous cup of  his dark, aromatic brew and spoke with obvious pride about personally selecting the beans, creating the blends, and overseeing the roasting process. I might have passed over his product on a grocery store shelf crammed with other brands but hearing firsthand the passion in his voice about his conscious efforts to offer high quality made me feel as if these beans were roasted especially for me.

Ike Miranda and TonG Coffee

And who could possibly overlook the proprietor of the food stand Gigi La Crêpe, a Tagalog-speaking Frenchman named Gilbert Rault, whose burly physique belied the delicacy of his authentic Breton crêpes and galettes? Preparing them alongside stalls of strange tropical fruits, freshly caught seafood and grilled pork skewers, he deftly flipped dainty little crêpes from the griddle onto parchment paper, to be buttered and sugared before being handed over to an eager appetite. Each plate is made to order by Rault and every component of the dish receives his full attention as it cooks. You may have to wait in salivating anticipation but rest assured that at that moment, you will feel as if you were his most important customer. 

Gilbert Rault and his griddle

I know it's impractical to believe that I can meet every sous-chef or short-order cook who will ever prepare a meal for me; in fact, it's likely that most would rather not be accosted by some strange Asian woman. And quite frankly, there are food service providers to whom I am nothing more than just another order. But for my part, I can at least be mindful that there is an individual behind the counter or kitchen doors and in those instances when I do make their acquaintance, I've found that even a brief encounter adds a personal - dare I say 'special'? - component to the food. They may not create my meals with the same sentiments as my loved ones but these anonymous chefs are no less deserving of my thanks when they provide a satisfying and enjoyable dish. 

If you're ever in Makati City on the weekend, please visit the Salcedo Saturday Market and its Sunday cohort, the Legaspi Market, and say hello to Celso Boy, Ike and Gilbert for me! 

TonG Coffee

Ike and Narda Miranda

Tel: +722-2894

jcymir@yahoo.com

begonmir@yahoo.com

Gigi La Crêpe

Gilbert Rault

Tel: +632 729-7783

For an extraordinary story of real behind-the-food heroes, check out Comestiblog's post on the "Unsung Heroes of 9/11".

A Question of Comfort

Comfort in a bowl

By now, you must have heard the news: comfort food has kicked molecular gastronomy to the curb.

Prognosticating the food trends of 2009, countless articles ranging from PRNewswire and TheStreet.com to an excellent synopsis by Filipina blogger Alex at The Picky Pescetarian, all tout the home kitchen as the new sanctuary from the global economic wilderness now confronting us. Focusing on simplicity and value, the emergent home cook will trump celebrity chefs in creating satisfying and soothing meals with basic less-expensive staples, locally-sourced meats and produce, and an adherence to a 'waste not, want not' ethos. Thus, the Year of Comfort Food is in the house.

But as LouAnn at Oyster Food and Culture observed, it never really left the building. Its power to help lift our spirits during times of stress and other low moods has always been close at hand and only now grabs the culinary spotlight because of the collective anxiety engendered by current events. And yet, while opinion leaders anoint this 'new' trend, few of them have offered an answer to a basic question: what exactly is comfort food?

(Photo credit: Cherrypatter/Flickr)**

Ask 10 people what their idea of comfort food is and you're likely to receive 10 different responses. Although some foods have become synonymous with comfort on a cultural or national scale (e.g. mac 'n' cheese in the US), it is actually a highly personal preference constructed from the unique experiences, memories and perspectives of each individual. For many, it could be a specific dish like chicken soup; for others, it may be a single ingredient, such as rice, or a certain cooking method like baking.

In an attempt to qualify the concept of comfort foods, Julie Locher and her colleagues at the University of Alabama - Birmingham published a 2005 study, "Comfort Food: an Exploratory Journey into the Social and Emotional Significance of Food", in the journal Food & Foodways (13:273-97). They found that such comestibles could be categorized under four general themes:

Nostalgic foods are connected to specific times or events (often in childhood), are associated with culture, family and self-identity, and arouses a strong sense of sharing and of being cared for.

Photo by plasticpeople

Indulgence foods are linked to pleasure, motivation, reward and even guilt (they're more expensive or have rich - i.e. high calorie - ingredients). They're also associated with the opposite sex and special occasions - think chocolates truffles for Valentine's Day.

Convenience foods are immediate gratification - we may prefer a from-scratch dish but home delivery or pre-packaged is just fine. It may also symbolize a generation gap: such items are likely to be named as comfort food by younger people.

Physical comfort foods affect the mind and mood by affecting the body first and are most often associated with textures. Soft and smooth dishes like puddings and ice cream require little effort to consume; warm foods like soups and stews give a cozy, comfortable feeling; and crunchy, chewy comestibles may actually relieve stress.

Photo by Kim Siciliano Salem

In a nutshell, comfort food can be just about any edible that is deeply familiar, evokes memories of special events and people, and has the power to console and uplift us in times of need. But Locher et al. also identified a surprising characteristic that is common to all comfort foods: they are almost always eaten in solitude. As Locher observes,

"Because others do not share our memories associated with a chosen comfort food item, their presence may interfere with the function of the food to relieve our distress."

This criterion is at odds with what the gastronomic gurus say is the reason for the comfort food trend: re-focusing on family and community ties to help us survive today's economic turmoils. Or is it? Perhaps the reason that food trend forecasters do not offer specifics on what constitutes comfort food is because it's not really about a particular dish, cuisine or method at all. A particular food may hold deep meaning for just one person at the table but it is the very act of commensality - the sharing of that dish and others with dear family and special friends - that provides the greatest comfort. If this is indeed the trend that is actually meant, then sign me up! Food shared in happy companionship is indeed a dish that's best served warm.

**Updated 3/15/2012: In the original post published on 1/13/09, I used a photograph which I credited to the source but did not actually have permission from the photographer to use. The new photo that replaces it above is used under a Creative Commons license.


Comfort Trend Soup
I've called it this because it incorporates key themes mentioned in those food trend forecasts: it contains a basic pantry staple which also happens to be my favorite comfort food (rice), locally-grown produce (zucchini from my garden), the use of leftovers (chicken sausages from a previous dinner), and a value ingredient (organic chicken broth in a box). And of course, it sates the appetite and soothes the spirit.

Grains of comfort

Serves 2

Ingredients:

1/3 cup brown rice (I used a 7-grain blend)
1 cup water
1 Tbsp canola oil
1/2 cup chopped onions
1 bell pepper, diced
2 cups shredded zucchini
1/2 tsp each of dried basil, oregano, thyme and rosemary
32 oz chicken broth
2 pre-cooked chicken sausage links, sliced
Salt and pepper to taste

To make:

1) In a small pot, add rice to 1 cup of water and bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat and let simmer for 20 minutes. Rice will still be firm; drain and set aside.
2) In a medium pot, sauté onions in oil until soft; add bell pepper and cook until soft.
3) Add zucchini, semi-cooked rice and herbs. Stir well.
4) Add chicken broth, cover and bring to a boil; lower heat and let simmer, partially covered, until rice is fully cooked.
5) Add sliced sausages and heat through. Serve hot.

Comfort in a bowl . . . soon to be in the tummy!

What's your comfort food and why? I'd love to hear about it!

A First and a Second

Wu Lou (Gourd) - Prosperity and Health
Lucky symbol in 2009 Year of the Ox for those of us born under the Chinese zodiac sign of the Rooster

My cup runneth over: in the past few days, I've been tagged for the first time and received my second blog award!

FIRST

Elizabeth, aka Chef E, at The Behind the Wheel Chef tagged me for Fingers Crossed and Resolutions, so here they are:

Fingers Crossed:
#1 That my husband and I will take another international trip this year;
#2 That my sisters and their families will also visit the Philippines to rekindle family ties;
#3 That I will have one article published in a national periodical of any kind;
#4 That our dog will be cured of his toxic flatulence (more like "Wishful Thinking").

Resolutions:
The broad theme of my 2009 resolutions is "Nothing ventured, nothing gained" - that I will not let fear of failure and self-doubt stop me from achieving my goals. To that end, I resolve specifically to:

#1 Submit articles and story ideas to magazines and newspapers. The worst outcome is that someone says, "No, thanks." Success is never assured but failure is guaranteed if I don't even bother to try.
#2 Prepare at least one new recipe a week. I consider myself an average cook but with more initiative and practice, who knows what I'm capable of in the kitchen . . . !
#3 Recapture the enjoyment of eating. I will not let calorie-counting cloud all the positive aspects of food. It's not about eating more but rather eating more mindfully and choosing healthy foods consciously and conscientiously.
#4 Always cherish and be thankful for what I already have rather than pine for things I don't really need.

That's it! Now, I happily pass this on to:

Christine at Maman and Gourmand (aka Mistress of Cakes)
ChefBliss
Joie de Vivre

SECOND

Thank you, Lori at Fake Food Free for passing along this Fabulous blog award!

I'm so pleased and flattered that you've enjoyed reading my blog as much as I've enjoyed yours. Per the Fabulous Award rules, I must pass it on to 5 other fabulous blogs and list 5 fabulous addictions.

So this award goes out to:

The Daily Spud - Insightful, original and adventurous Spudness.
Gastroanthropology - Food and travel with beautiful photography and compelling commentary.
Diary of a Fanatic Foodie - Fun, funny, funtastic.
The Behind the Wheel Chef - a dynamic blog from a dynamo blogger.
History of Greek Food - Educational, socially conscientious and an amazing source for authentic Greek recipes.

And my five addictions are:

1) Coffee
2) My elliptical machine
3) Crunchy, sugary cereals
4) Collecting recipes
5) Blogging

My coffee addiction: beans from Brazil, Peru and the Philippines

Congratulations and keep up the fabulous foodie-ness!

Jumpin' Jackfruit! Langka Muffins

As we drove through the outskirts of Metro Manila on our way to the city of Tagaytay in Cavite province, we passed seemingly interminable rows of fruit stalls along the side of the road. Even as we sped by too fast to take decent pictures with my perky little Canon, I could spot such familiar fare as bananas, pineapples and young coconuts among the abundant offerings. What really caught my eye, however, were the giant, benubbed, mottled-green pods propped up against table legs and stall posts, some cut in half to display a ghostly white inner core.

The size of a small child but not nearly as cute

"What are those?" I asked my mother, my voice tinged with alarm at spying such an alien mass. Despite the blurred scene out the car window as we whooshed by, she knew exactly what I was referring to. "Oh, those are langka," she replied nonchalantly.

What? Those freakish, monster things are langka - jackfruit? The stuff I put in my banana turons just weeks ago, posted on this very blog and actually ate?! My shocked reaction seems absurd now but I had reason: the ponderous produce displayed at those roadside stands bore no resemblance to the mango-y, syrup-drenched, fist-sized fruit that I thought I knew so well. But they are indeed one and the same.

The jackfruit tree (Artocarpus heterophyllus) originated in India and eventually spread throughout Southeast Asia as well as parts of Africa and coastal Brazil. Its eponymous fruit is the largest tree-borne variety in the world, growing as long as 3 feet and weighing close to 80 lbs. In short, my friends, this is one fruit tree that you don't want to shake. Newton should be grateful he didn't fall asleep under one of these behemoths.

On closer inspection, it's starting to look more familiar . . .

As embarrassing as it is to admit, I had no idea what an actual jackfruit looked like. My sole point of reference were the pictures on the canned variety, none of which portrayed the whole fruit, much less give it a sense of scale. Call it the "Tragedy of the Common Canning" - the process necessary to preserve fruits, vegetables and animal proteins in hermetically-sealed tinplate renders them virtually unrecognizable from their original form and has left generations of consumers in the dark about what their food really looks like.

Canning's genesis is rooted, like many modern innovations, in warfare: in the late 18th century, Napoleon Bonaparte offered a generous cash prize to anyone with a method of food preservation that could safely and conveniently provision his troops. Former candy maker Nicholas Appert claimed the prize in 1810 with his method of heating glass containers to force out air and thereby preserve the food contents. Later, a trio of Englishmen - Peter Durand, Bryan Donkin and John Hall - developed the use of tinplate cans instead of glass and established the first industrial factory for commercial canning. [Read more about the history of canning here]

. . . like this.
(Photo from ImportFood.com)

In time, canning became an inexpensive and convenient way to provide consumers with exotic foodstuff from distant sources. Author Reay Tannahill writes in her book, Food in History:

"[C]ustomers of the prairies of the [American] mid-west or in the urban slums of Manchester had no access to, and had probably never even tasted, the fresh product, and so were ready enough to welcome the canned versions, which added much-needed variety to the diet. "

Jackfruit trees, for instance, grow well only in tropical climates and its ripe fruit decays rapidly; as a result, there are only a few such trees in the continental United States (in Florida and California) and the market for its fruit must rely on canned products from Asia. Throw in marketing strategies that probably argued fervently against depicting an enormous mutant fruit pod on the label and you can hardly blame me for not recognizing the source of my turon ingredient.

Finally, the liberated fruit on display at Salcedo Market

Now I know better. I tasted fresh jackfruit during a visit to the Salcedo Saturday Market in Makati and needless to say, it was wonderful. The flavor of langka has been variously described as akin to bananas or pineapple but those descriptors ignore texture; to me, it is more like a very firm mango in both color and taste. Due to that firmness, it holds up well to cooking; in Filipino cuisine, it is used in both savory and sweet dishes, especially those using the ginata method (cooking with coconut milk), and is a common flavoring for sweet pastries and candies.

Aside from banana turons, I haven't made any other Filipino dish with langka so I decided to incorporate it into a decidedly all-American baked good: the muffin. If you've never had jackfruit before, this makes a mild yet delicious introduction.

Langka Muffins
The base muffin recipe comes from the Pillsbury Complete Book of Baking, with some adjustments to make use of the langka syrup.

Yields 12

Ingredients:

2 cups all purpose flour
1 cup chopped langka, drained but reserving 1/4 cup syrup
1/4 cup sugar
3 tsps baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup milk
1/3 cup oil
1 egg, beaten

To prepare:

1. Heat oven to 400 degrees F. Grease bottoms only of muffin or line with paper cups;
2. Combine flour, sugar, baking powder and salt, and mix well;
3. Separately, combine milk, syrup, oil and egg, and blend well;
4. Combine wet and dry ingredients, and add chopped langka. Mix just until dry ingredients are moistened; batter will be lumpy.
5. Spoon batter into muffin cups, 2/3 full and bake for 20 to 25 minutes or until toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean;
6. Cool before removing from pan.

Optional: I topped the muffins with slices of ripe plantain and a sprinkling of brown sugar and chopped walnuts. Leapin' langka - these taste so good!

Feelin' the Love

If the first week of 2009 is any indication, I'm in for a fun and fulfilling year of blogging. Last Friday, I received these awesome Moo MiniCards from Foodbuzz, a community of food-loving bloggers which I joined last October and with whom I became a Featured Publisher. My squeals of delight could be heard throughout the neighborhood!

I'll be giving some to friends and family but I am even more excited to begin using these calling cards to introduce myself to fellow food lovers and industry professionals who might share their thoughts, opinions and experiences with me as I search for the why of chow.

These cards were a wonderful surprise but an even better one came my way just before my husband and I left for our Philippines trip: I received my first blog award!

The Butterfly Award comes from Heather at Diary of a Fanatic Foodie - a fantastic blog full of delicious recipes, great photos and fun commentary. Check out her most recent post featuring a great recipe for tummy-warming tortilla soup. Thank you, Heather, for this award!

I hereby share the love and pass it on to dear Cris for her beautiful work on From Our Home to Yours.

Here's wishing all of my blog friends a joyous and delicious year of food blogging!

A New Year's Resolution and an Old Year's Confession

Happy New Year! Four days into 2009, I'm finally posting my first entry of the year . . .

My parents' parol, Makati City
After two weeks of Christmas revelry in the Philippines, Mr. Noodle and I returned home just in time to usher in 2009 by loading the washing machine with a massive pile of vacation laundry, stowing away the luggage and sifting through a passel of pasalubong. While I'm happy to be sleeping in my own bed again, I'm also feeling the pangs of post-vacation blues: I already miss my parents and our extended family who went out of their way to make our visit incredibly special. It was a marvelous trip that ended much, much too soon.

But now that we're back, I'm ready to blog again! When I started this site last October, I conceived of it as a way to disseminate my passion about food and its cultural meanings. I originally didn't intend to post recipes or photos of dishes in the belief that my skills at writing about food far outstripped my abilities at actually cooking it. In truth, I was missing an opportunity to add dimension to my posts because the creation of a dish is as integral to understanding the meanings behind food as its consumption. So as I wrote my blog and read others, I was inspired to at least try immersing myself in the joy that is cooking and to record in words and images my efforts, successful or not. The lesson learned? Nothing ventured is nothing gained and in that spirit, I therefore declare my 2009 resolution:

I resolve to make a sincere effort at bringing each personal goal (or hare-brained idea) to some sort of fruition rather than succumb to self-doubt and the fear of failure. So, I will submit my articles to national publications, as I've always dreamed of doing; I will try at least one new recipe a week, as I've always hesitated to do; and I will constantly remind myself that if I fall flat on my face, I can simply pick myself up, blog about it, and then try again.

Our Philippines trip has yielded a trove of family stories, fun photos, and delicious recipes to share with you in the coming weeks. I hope that it will also spark in my mind some ideas for food and culture articles that might catch the interest of editors willing to give this aspiring food writer her first break. Wish me luck!

Ready for lunch at Salcedo Saturday Market, Makati City

Now, with the resolution out of the way, let's move on to the confession: [deep breath] I love airplane food! In complete contrast to fellow blogger Forays of a Finance Foodie, whose most recent encounter with plane food involved chicken strips of dubious quality (read her post here), I quite enjoyed my recent meals courtesy of Northwest Airlines. Ranging from appetizers of beef tenderloin and chilled seafood to entrees of spicy chicken curry and yellowtail teriyaki, the food served during our flights went well beyond the cellophane-wrapped sandwiches and mini bags of pretzels that I remember from travels past.

Appetizer of grilled scallops and marinated baby lobster
Tokyo to Manila

Of course, back then we were coach-class denizens. Using our hard-earned frequent flier miles, Mr. Noodle and I upgraded to Business Class for our 3-stop, 20-hour, trans-Pacific journey from Minneapolis to Manila. The real draws were the funky, pod-like seats that fully reclined and featured individual screens with video-on-demand but, honestly, the food was pretty good (I can sense the collective eye-rolling now rippling through the universe).

Shrimp oshizushi
NWA WorldClub Lounge at Narita (Tokyo) Airport

How good was it? Better than just edible but short of gourmet, I will concede. As shown by these pictures, some dishes were attractively presented. However, it wasn't the sensory qualities of the food - taste, texture, presentation, etc. - that I found most appealing. Instead, it was what the act of eating represented: a natural, comforting activity in the midst of the most unnatural and uncomfortable situation, that of voluntarily enclosing oneself in a fallible metal structure as it hurtles through the lower atmosphere at over 500 mph. I don't know about you but I'm chowing down whatever is placed in front of me if it will take my mind off that little factoid.

Raspberry tart, chocolate mousse cake and sweet biscuits
Tokyo to Portland

If I'm completely honest with myself, however, I must admit that I also liked its implication of exclusivity - how 'we' in business class were served food that was arguably of better quality than those in coach class. The fact that 'class' is used to categorize passengers makes a Boeing 747 something of a microcosm for social-economic structuring, with onboard dinner serving as a primary status marker (blue cheese-crusted beef tenderloin vs grilled chicken breast). I enjoyed my fleeting moment in the upper echelons (or rather, the forward cabin area) of society because I know that, barring a tremendous financial windfall, my next plane meal will likely center around a plastic cup of ginger ale and an extra bag of pretzels filched from the cart while the flight attendant is looking the other way.

Salmon & lemon-chive crostini, Asian beef tenderloin skewer, & mixed nuts
Portland to Tokyo

So, yes, I love airplane food. I loved that the little container of nuts had all the best kinds: Brazil nuts, cashews, almonds, hazelnuts and nary a peanut in sight. I loved that the folding tray table is covered with a white linen napkin and that I can use real tableware rather than utilitarian plastic sporks. But even if I were to get only a sad little cup of soda and a salty snack, I still love that by focusing on the aspects of eating, I don't think about the odd sense of suspended reality that is overseas air travel, leaving me discombobulated at the point of arrival as I find myself in a new land surrounded by strange faces, where time itself has jumped ahead 14 hours and I stumble down the jetway, confused by the timewarp . . .

. . . oh, wait. Maybe I'm just tipsy from the complimentary sake.

NWA-branded sake