Off the Shelf: Okashi by Keiko Ishida

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:

1. Preheat oven to 150C. Place almonds on a baking tray and bake for 20 minutes. Sift flour and cocoa powder together once.
2. Beat butter, icing sugar and salt until softened. Add egg yolk and mix well.
3. 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.
4. 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.
5. Preheat oven to 160C.
6. 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.
7. 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

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

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

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

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

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...