Kitchen Kwento

Mom and Dad Agree: We Should Know About GMOs

My parents have embraced change their entire lives. They were two young healthcare workers who fell in love, eloped, and faced the unknown of migrating from Manila to New Jersey in the 60's, learned how to disco and perm their hair in the 70's, bought a microwave in the 80's, adjusted from typewriters to word processing in the 90's, and (at least, for my mom) hopped on the Facebook wagon in the 2000's.

They've never stopped adapting, even as they carry a sense of the past. What this means is, no matter how fascinated they may become with the latest technologies or innovations, they don't think change always equals "progress" or better. Like, say, global climate change. Or GMOs.

Having spent decades working in hospitals, clinics, and rural areas with tens of thousands of sick and unwell people, so much of their lens on the world is framed around health. They wouldn't call themselves "political," but they do have opinions on matters that affect health and future generations. 

California is set to vote on GMO labeling, so I sent them a few articles and asked for their take on the labeling of genetically modified foods:

Aileen-y,

Enjoyed reading the article. Make sure you bring us a copy of Hyphen when you visit! Its sad and unfair to know there are thousands of farmers in India who committed and are committing suicide after the introduction of gmos. 

As a nurse, I feel everyone should know what they are putting in their bodies. Growing up in the provinces of Mangaldan and San Fabian, we consumed organic veggies, fresh from our garden or from the market. In the patalan, we ate from the fishponds and fish is harvested from the river, and fowl and chicken were cooked and served right after being caught.

I remember how we used to prepare rice from the palay by using the old fashion way of grinding it. My Lolo Roman had many cashews, langka, durian, guavas, mabol etc and a modest coconut plantation. Our means of livelihood was the mango plantation (which we still have in Mangaldan presently). I did not have an inkling of GMOs in our diet! 

Love,
Mom

Will write more when I open the computer. Am texting on my cellphone. Well, when we do research in medicine, even antibiotics were tried out on animals before being tried out on humans. If something could cause cancer in rats, it could cause cancer in humans. There should be better research to be sure its really safe or not.

Love, 
Dad

And that's what they said. Our mom is a little more loquacious, and dad is a man of fewer words, but they are refreshingly in agreement. While our Lolo Jose, a farmer-turned-pilot, is not with us any longer, I'd like to think that he would also be in support of real food.

Whatever you decide, don't forget to VOTE!

California RIght to Know

A Multilingual AAPI Voter Guide

Philippines GMO Eggplant War

Organic Filipino Farms Beat GMOs

Journey of a Coconut Kabayo

The coconut kabayo (horse). Photo by Heidi Leung

Panic. My kabayo was missing. In just one week, I was to lead a workshop on coconut cookery and this tool was essential. Sure, we would cook with canned and frozen coconut milk. Yet I wanted the kabayo to be there as a silent teacher, to bring something real and solid and nearly lost to our microwave generation. 

With its distinctly serrated blade and bulky wooden body, a kabayo feels made to last and should be hard to misplace. And after scouring stores in Oakland's Chinatown and making calls to Ranch 99 and Seafood City, I found that they were surprisingly hard to find brand new. "No one does it like that anymore," the shopkeepers told me, laughing. "Too old-fashioned. Who has time for that?" 

Cindy shows how its done on the fly, at a farmstand in Pescadero

Maybe it was senseless and stubborn, but I just couldn't let go of the idea of grating coconut by hand, of making that visceral connection to a food. It was time to ask for help.

"Help," I posted on Facebook. "Girl in need of a coconut kabayo this week. Who has one collecting dust in the basement?" Within an hour, answers came in. "Have a kabayo looking for a coconut," wrote Cindy, an SF-based friend and real food advocate. She even happened to be passing by the coastal farm where I work and sweetly dropped it off. It was a surpring mix of 21st century technology enabling a Luddite's coconut dreams to come true. 

Heidi grates coconut in the Oakland Asian Cultural Center's kitchen

I took this as a good omen for the coconut dishes to come. A week later, in the kitchens of the Oakland Asian Cultural Center, our class convened around food memories, geeky coconut trivia (did you know the coconut is technically a fruit, a nut, and a seed?!), and the slippery slope of using locally grown ingredients with ones like coconut that are hard to replace without losing the soul of the dish. And of course, we did actual cooking. Dubbed "the tree of life" in the Philippines, coconut is abundant in places like my father's province of Bicol, and I tapped on memories of his hometown to guide the menu.

Together we tackled chicken binakol (a soup made with young coconut, lemongrass, and oyster mushrooms), laing using local kale and collard greens simmered in coconut milk instead of the traditional (and hard-to-find) taro leaves, and finished off with bibingka, a sticky rice cake dripping with slowly simmered coco jam. 

Best feedback of the day? One student confessed she didn't even like coconut to begin with,. but had come to be with a friend. By the day's end she was scooping spoonfuls of young coconut with a smile on her face. "I didn't know coconut could be like this," she told me. Kabayo victory. 

Many hands scraping many shells.

"Its like its raining coconut!" Our youngest student Rocco tops the bibingka.

Chicken binakol and a kale laing

The Class of Cooking with Coconut

Dragon Year, Dragon Fruit

The Year of the Water Dragon is here. In the Philippines, January is thick with fiestas and areas such as Binondo in Manila are in full festival mode. But the place where my parents live is quiet, and just a few lonely firecrackers popped into the night. I suddenly missed the festivities of years past and remembered the golden and scarlet dragon dancers dazzling the streets of Oakland Chinatown.

It would be nice to have something dragon-like today, I thought. That's why a pile of vibrantly-hued dragonfruit caught my eye while picking up vegetables for dinner at a roadside palengke. 

Magkano ang dragonfruit? (How much is the dragonfruit?) I asked in my twangy excuse for Tagalog. The woman named her price, but instead of calling it dragonfruit, she called it pitaya. 

With its evocative name, dragonfruit is a minor celebrity gracing labels in the US, from mineral water to vodkas ("with essence of dragonfruit"), although who could really say what it tasted like, just as it was? This was the first time I had ever heard it by the name pitaya. We took one home, and while it chilled in the fridge, I sought background on this lovely fruit.

It turns out the pitaya, or pitahaya, has traveled far. Originating in the Americas, it is a vine-like cactus that became popular in East and Southeast Asia just over a century ago. The aromatic flowers bloom one night alone, on the full moon, and must be pollinated by nocturnal pollinators to produce a proper fruit. Its lifecycle alone sounds like a fantasy.

It was time to open the dragonfruit. The knife cut through easily. With its bold fuschia and lime green scales it promised heat and spice and explosion. Inside, though, the white flesh was a surprise - subtly sweet and refreshing, reminiscent of melons and cucumbers and studded with edible black seeds. 

What a little dragon, I wanted to say. You are colored like fire but cool like water. Appropriate, it seems, for a water dragon year. 

Farm + Filipino + Food

A farm gathering of real food love.

When I first left the Bay Area to farm in Santa Cruz, I hoped to take back tools to communities of color, and in particular Filipino/Americans, who have been disconnected from our foodways. I imagined the ways to document this journey: twitter, email, pictures, this blog. But as the season closed, I realized I didn't want to just bring back tools, or photos, or words to the city.

I wanted to share something you could touch and taste and feel. Being on the land itself is the journey, so why not share that? I invited some folks with a deep love for the future of Filipino foods to come over to find out what kinds of flavors and conversations could emerge. The results? A delicious and thought-provoking gathering. (And yes, I'm sorry I couldn't invite you, too)

Cindy Mendoza's roasted tomatoes w/bagoong and heirloom Philippine rice

The instructions were simple: bring a Filipino/American dish with at least one seasonal ingredient and a story behind it. Our potluck was a balancing act. Some cooks replicated remembered dishes, keeping ingredients intact to those remembered from lola. Others reinterpreted dishes, with vegetables suited to a northern California climate and salt from the tropical coasts of Pangasinan. From banana-wrapped sisig, salted egg and heirloom tomatoes, to vegan bagoong, to sweet-sticky biko with fragrant latik, our potluck of food and stories was both rich and colorful.

Dennis' banana leaf wrapped sisig, cherry tomatoes and rice.

I couldn't wait to share delicata sa gata. It's my favorite winter squash.

Latik-topped biko from Jun Belen. Photo by Joanne Boston.

Like the potluck itself, this gathering was abundant and diverse - we had food bloggers, chefs, filmmakers, and educators, and the youngest of our up-and-coming next generation. I felt excited and proud to show off my baby ampalaya and patola seedlings. The group seemed to really connect with the concept of seed-saving, as we entered the greenhouse full of drying tecomari and Hopi beans. In the orchards, we scooped up fallen green-skinned Mutsu apples to later press for cider. The kids harvested yellow wax beans and took their pick of carrots pulled straight out of the soil. 

On the soil, where it all begins.

Sharing food and stories grounds us back to the land and back to each other. I was reminded how even for those of us who living in cities, we are still never impossibly far from eating in ways rooted to the seasons and the earth.  And as I watched the kids race around feeding chickens, and pressing apples into sweet juice, it reminded me there are so many possibilities for the future.

More:

Jo Boston is a Foodie's post includes pictures of our farm fresh picnic
Adrien Salazar at Ground Theory writes on Fil/Am History Month and visiting the Farm  
FilAm Nation cross-posts video on The Filipino Channel at the farm! 

Check out the sites connected with some of the awesome folks who made the trip. I may be missing a site, so do let me know!

Leroid David
Jo Boston is a Foodie
Jun-Blog
Mercury Lounge
Ground Theory
Kay Cuajunco
kapamealya
inuyaki
Aimee Suzara
Best Pesto
Asian Culinary Forum
Jim Espinas
Angela Angel
Filipino/American Coalition for Environmental Solidarity

P is for Palengke

On the road to the local palengke (market)

Mangaldan, Pangasinan. At 5 am, the tinny, insistent noise of a cellphone alarm jarred me from fitful dreams. My sister and I slowly crawled out from under a cocoon of blue-green mosquito nets, and readied ourselves in the dim house, the same house our mother lived in as a child. The neighbor, Ate Lidia was leaving at 6 for the palengke (market), and I had asked if we could please, please join her. After sampling the delicious cuisine of my mother's hometown, I wanted to see where it all came from.

Mom, sister, Ate Lidia, my cousin Jan, and I piled into a tricycle taxi. Usually the province felt like the temperature of warm stew, but on this morning the air was cool and sharp on my skin. My loose hair whipped in the wind as the motorcycle sped us down the near-empty road, past vibrant green rice fields, and through the bumpy streets of town.

We stopped at an intersection where rainbows spilled onto concrete. Shoppers laden with bags sifted through displayed vegetables. Hands among long green beans, red-skinned onions, and glossy purple eggplants, some vegetables displayed in baskets, others in brilliant piles, no table needed. Lidia easily sought out the choicest produce. Walking through - grazing the market, it felt like - she squeezed a bean between her fingers to test it for firmness, and examined a tomato's mottled skin. With her generous smile, she commented to our mom which are pangit (ugly) and which were good to eat.

Bangus, the pride of Pangasinan

After tying up shopping bags full of vegetables to the back of the motorcycle, we traveled towards the river and the fishmarket, to find bangus and other fresh fish. Bangus, a tender, finely-boned milkfish, is the pride and lifeblood of the region. Pangasinan's bangus is said to be the best-tasting in the world.

And find it we did. The bangus were just plucked from the waters, their smooth silver bodies supple and eyes clear as marbles. These fish were a far cry from the plastic-wrapped, frozen filets I remembered from childhood. Haggling men and women counted out fish and coins. Shrimp and tiger prawns wriggled furiously inside hot pink and blue plastic tubs. Fishermen shattered blocks of ice with bolos and hammers into steaming white fragments. Old women and young girls balanced round, woven bilaos on their hips, full of green-and-yellow kalamansi and red sili, the freshest flavorings to complement fish.

Back home, Lidia smashed ginger and garlic with the side of a knife. Scales were scraped off from the fish and flew all over the kitchen, the innards plucked out from slit open bellies. Although she had a gas burner, our Lola Remy preferred the clay stove out in the back. Fed by bits of wood and coconut charcoal, that stove imparted a delicious, subtle smokiness to everything cooked over it.

With sinigang on the menu, I was excited to see how they would make the sour tamarind base. We had already gone to the market in the morning, hand-selected vegetables and fresh fish. What unique ingredients would be added to the pot, I wondered? So it was with some surprise when I saw the familiar yellow Mama Sita packet with instant powdered sinigang base appear. It was a healthy reality check for the Fil-Am-romanticizing-the-province mindset the morning had put me in.

In less than 20 minutes, a meal of fresh squash blossoms and tendrils, sinigang (a one-pot soup soured with tamarind), and garlic sauteed prawns was ready. Everything was so fresh there was no need to overcook or overpower the delicate flavors. I could honestly say everything was delicious (somehow even the instant Mama Sita sinigang tasted better than I ever remembered it). With each mouthful, I tasted the harvest of the water and land, the smokiness of the cooking fire, and felt that somewhere, in my belly, I could sense my mother's world a little more deeply than before.

We left the province that afternoon for a 12-hour drive back to Manila. With sleepy eyes I watched the town fade away through the car windows, become replaced by a ribbon of roadside stalls hawking fresh goat, salted eggs, and jars of pink shrimp paste. At one point, I woke up as we passed nearly a mile of stands selling nothing but yellow and red watermelons, cut into rounds and hanging from twine to display the colors. The road itself was a long, winding stretch of palengke.

Haunted by the inescapable US fastfood chain

Post-Palengke. The scenery closer to Manila was a sharp contract to the palengke. We passed dozens of McDonald's, Pizza Hut, Chevron stations, and Starbucks, where my dad stopped for a tall espresso that tasted, well, just like the ones in California. I thought about how even on vacation thousands of miles away, it seemed impossible to escape these familiar glowing logos. They served as reminders of the ways US multinationals have commodified and disrupted foodways both within and far outside its own borders.

And I couldn't help but think of the Bay Area I left behind. Considered a hub for American foodiedom, its growing flurry of street food carts, artisan products, and food blogs fill me with excitement. But still, I couldn't shake the feeling that in all the "buzz" it is easy to forget that these, too, are not new. The intimacy of the palengke is in my roots, in all our roots. Fresh, seasonal, and local food is not a concept, and its more than resistance to a commodified food system. Its simply how our relationship to food is meant to be.

Palengke Picks:

Death of the Palengke

Market Manila

O is for Oh My Gulay

  
OMG: adobong kangkong with crispy garlic.

Except for the occasional lilikoi juice or seaweed salad, as a teen I rarely ate from the plant kingdom. A "real meal" to me went something like...Spam musubi, noodles, adobo, or sticky bbq. But somewhere along the way, the plant kingdom called. I slowly learned to crave and to cook dark leafy things cooked with lots of garlic. Sauteed mushrooms turn me to mush. After years of ignoring my parents and picking out the little green half-moons from the pinakbet, I finally get how bittermelon is delectable. Oh my gulay. I love those vegetables.

There's a half-truth in the perception that Filipino food is meat-heavy. Yes, our culinary heritage has meaty favorites - from sisig, to lechon, to adobo and more. But these dishes are only a sliver of the spectrum, without the traditional gulay dishes that use just-picked vegetables and fruits. As one of my titas says, "Well of course we would cook with gulay. We just go outside and pick something from the garden!"

I had the chance to taste more of the Philippine's wealth of gulay - some dishes rich in familiar flavors, others new and unexpected. Here are some flashbacks from Jan. 11 foodtripping:

Casarap Restaurant and art gallery, Batangas

Casarap is self-described as a “greenhouse cafe in the midst of a self-sufficient and successful organic farm.” This garden-art gallery-green restaurant was founded by Emma Alday, an environmentalist, slow food advocate and former nun. Located right at the 90 km marker off the National Highway, I estimated a quick 30 minute trip. But we somehow got lost for 2 hours, taking unmarked turns, and caught behind funeral car processions. But that's life, and it set the tone for a laid-back 4-hour lunch in the garden.

Gulay that's easy on the eyes

A charmingly painted sign tells guests to be aware Casarap serves slow food - both in cultivation and in preparation. This salad of edible cobalt-blue flowers, crispy cassava, and tiny pepinos was just one of the gems we finished off, together with fresh halo-halo, coconut ice cream drizzled with lambanog (a local coconut wine). There were many others I hoped to try - including wild fiddleheads in coconut milk - but we learned that reservations must be placed in advance so the ingredients could be harvested to order.

Nipa hut dining at Balinsasayaw Restaurant

Balinsasayaw is a Palawan-style restaurant that has taken root in Batangas, and its my mom and dad's favorite spot. The sprawling, garden-like grounds always seem to be full and bustling. I order a fresh buko (young coconut juice), sip slowly, and wait...

...for our orders to arrive. The vegetarian Palawan Express is the stuff dreams are made of, and its just spicy enough, rich with coconut milk, and subtly sweet from tender vegetables. Like the famous Bicol Express, this dish is studded with chilis and radiates a spicy heat relatively uncommon in Filipino cuisine, something that makes this Bicolana very happy.

Returning to the Bay Area, I already miss the flavors of the Philippines. But I feel inspired to take some of the flavors I've come to love using local-grown gulay. More to come!

Oh My, There's More Gulay:

Oh My Gulay Restaurant in Baguio

Happy Slip Utters Oh My Gulay at 1:25

K is for Kamayan

On Sunday morning, I left Oakland behind for a taste of the Delta's summer abundance. It reminded me of the most delicious thing about a roadtrip: the flavors that grace us in passing. A slow dinner, a quick snack, or nibble of dried fruit imprint a taste to the landscape even as the path beckons.

I don't know about you, but I usually don't bother or remember to pack forks or spoons. I'm pretty happy eating kamayan, or eating with the hands. It only adds to the visceral experience of eating, just like the lips, mouth, and even sense of hearing and sight also partake in a meal.

We stand on the levees,then put our feet in the cool water, surrounded by tule reeds, bamboo, and cornfields that stretch green into the horizon. Thickets of California blackberry hang heavy with fruit. I reach greedily for the fattest, darkest berries, which seem to be guarded by huge spiders and thick webs clotted with insects. Tiny thorns prick at my ankles and shins, sharp as a kitten's claws. Its a blood exchange for the gooshy, sun-ripened berries that stains my fingers and hands purple. I save the best in a cup, eat the rest out of hand.

From the green fields emerges the small town of Isleton. Live funk music and the smell of seafood waft out of Isleton Joe's restaurant. Outdoor tables are packed with folks chowing down on bowls full of fresh crawfish, the restaurant's specialty and fresh catch from the region formerly dubbed "Crawdad Town USA."

Taking a cue from our neighbors, I order a 2-lb bowl. But when the metal bowl arrives, overflowing with supernaturally red crustaceans doused in hot sauce, I almost panic. I can eat shrimp heads and fish eyes without hesitation. But these small creatures came without instructions, their shells tough as lobsters and almost too hot to handle. Where to begin?

After 10 minutes of struggle, a friendly fellow diner comes to the rescue. "I grew up in New Orleans," he explains, "I was watching you eat and couldn't take it anymore." Crawfish in hand, he demonstrates how to twist the tail, and then suck out the salty-sweet tail meat. Ah-ha.

It takes nearly an hour to work through the bowl, twice as slow as the skilled diners next to us who are onto their second order of crawfish and third round of Coronas. My mouth and fingers burn from the chili sauce and my hands have slowed down. But there's no rush. It feels like those family gathering in the Philippines, the ones where a slow meal stretches out into an entire afternoon.

Returning to Oakland, I know my hands will carry the tingling stain of red chili sauce and purple berry juice, just as my feet are dusted with fine silt from walking along the water. If the water alone doesn't call me back soon, the tastes of the Delta will.

More:

Crawdads in the Delta 

Delta Blues

I is for Itlog

"There was nothing...which did not understand the wonderfulness of what was happening to them...the immense, tender, terrible, heart-breaking beauty and solemnity of Eggs." - Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden

Yes - eggs, or itlog, can be beautiful, solemn, and innocent. Not to mention creamy, versatile, and tasty with nearly everything. Burnett's reverent language about eggs was paired with a love of eating them. Her child characters Colin, Mary, and Dickon spent pages feasting on roasted eggs with clotted cream and crumpets.

If there's just one thing in common between The Secret Garden's English country food with Filipino cuisine, it could possibly be a love for the many ways of itlog.

Eggs make their presence known in Filipino home food, eaten as tapsilog (a breakfast or anytime pairing of tapa meat, rice and egg), tortang talong (eggplant with eggs), bittermelon and eggs, and straight up eggs over garlic fried rice. When I cook up a red chard fritatta topped with long slices of golden fried garlic and green onions, I like to imagine its a Fil/Am itlog dish, too. 

Chilling with the chicks.

Maybe I am also writing about eggs because I have yet to unpack a defensive pride about eating what could be the most Filipino of eggs, balut. With a quick Google search, there are dozens of articles about balut, many of them from the "dang-I-just-vomited-in-my-mouth" level of cultural sensitivity as NBC's Fear Factor. The show called balut a Filipino "horror" with a "terrible stench that just won't let go." One contestant claimed they would never replicate the experience again, even for $50,000.

If only every balut-loving Filipino could win $50,000 for every balut we'd ever enjoyed...

Its true that balut is delicious to many and that it is a cost-effective alternate source of protein also eaten in other places including Vietnam and China. And its also true that at the most basic level, people won't always "get" each others' food. I mean, as a kid, when I roasted eggs in our family's toaster oven ala the Secret Garden, my dad joked that the slightly sulfurous smell was making the house into a giant utot (fart).

But the dig on Filipino food on network TV brought up the remembered shame of being the POC kid who had anything but PB&J at school lunch and hearing "eeww" all around. I think I actually brought balut to school for lunch once - and then got scarred for life.

Some may argue towards culinary racism, others may say all foods are fair grounds to praise or diss. As for me, I'll just let Doreen Fernandez take it home - and say please pass the balut.

"Whoever discovered balut stumbled onto the fact that food has changing excellences (taste, texture) as it evolves and develops. Thus between the egg and the full-grown duck, there are stages that bear exploring-and eating. And the Filipino has explored them." -- Doreen Fernandez in "The World of Balut"

More On Eggs:

How Does the Filipino Breakfast?

Anthony Bourdain Eats Balut (B for Effort)

Fried quail egg, or Kwek-kwek 

Is this Culinary Racism?

G is for Gulay

  Tasty fresh bawang (garlic)

My first words and phrases in Tagalog were (not necessarily in this order): please, thank you, water, pee-pee, poo-poo, hungry, love you, full...and winged beans, tomatoes, garlic, and peanuts.

Our trilingual parents spoke their tongues to each other and to relatives, deftly code-switching from one conversation to the next. But in America, they were advised that teaching English only to their children would make things "easier," although the loss of their syllables felt far from easy for my sister and I.

But still, languages and stories won't be silenced completely. When I turned 8, my mom decided it was time for our family's first balikbayan - a cinematic-worthy return to the homeland after 25 year away. This meant that a little lesson in Tagalog was in order, all leading towards the inevitable talent show (you know, when the parents ask you to sing/dance/etc on command for anyone and everyone?).

And thus the gulay (vegetables) song. What better way to pass on the beginnings of a language. Remember this, anyone?

Bahay Kubo

Bahay kubo, kahit munti
Ang halaman doon ay sari-sari.
Singkamas at talong, sigadilyas at mani
Sitaw, bataw, patani.
Kundol, patola, upo’t kalabasa
At saka mayroon pang labanos, mustasa,
sibuyas, kamatis, bawang at luya
sa paligid-ligid ay puro linga.

I remember twisting around the unfamiliar syllables, eager to learn, each one like a new taste in my mouth. I had a vague idea that the song was about a hut and various vegetables, but even translated, I wouldn't have known a winged bean from a cucumber.

Thankfully, I can return to this song with a new appreciation for what it was: a fledgling gift of a language, a lifelong love of vegetables, and a childhood recipe set to music.

My Nipa Hut

My nipa hut, although it’s small

The plants are diverse

Turnips and eggplants,

Winged beans and peanuts,

 String beans, edible pots, lima beans,

White melon, gourd, white pumpkin and squash,

And still there are more, radish, mustard,

 Onions, tomatoes, garlic and ginger,

All around are lush sesame plants.

sibuyas = onion

patola = loofah (in its ready-to-exfoliate-you mature stage)

singkamas = jicama

More On Gulay:

Centuries of galleon trade between Mexico and the Philippines opened an exchange of languages, culture, people, and agriculture: check out this article on the origins of sayote

Alamat ng Amapalaya - a children's book

Indespensible, petite cookbook on gulay

E is for Eggplant

Like bell peppers, tomatoes, and peppers, eggplants ("talong" in Tagalog) are a member of the deadly nightshade family. Some sources site its ancestral roots as Africa, others say India and Pakistan. Similar to tofu, eggplants are a virtual food chameleon, able to take on a hundred different flavors.

 

California-grown Filipino eggplants at Berkeley Bowl!

Perhaps the most unforgettable eggplant I have tasted was from my mother's province of Pangasinan, where the eggplants were roasted over wood that had been burned down to glowing coals in an outdoor clay oven. The skin was charred and peeled away. The tender flesh within was infused with a smoky flavor that later mingled with a rich coconut sauce.

 

   

Got purple? Even more varieties of eggplant: Chinese, Japanese, Italian, Indian...

While best known for their deep, glossy purple skin, you can look for eggplants in light jade to mottled white, and a variety of shapes and sizes, and with subtle differences in taste, texture and adaptability to recipes.

Pinakbet - one of my favorites, a marriage of color and flavor with kabocha squash, bittermelon (ampalaya), eggplant, tomatoes, onions, garlic, and whatever fresh vegetables are at hand. Some add pork, but I make it vegetarian. Eating a good pinakbet feels like good medicine.

More on Eggplant:

Following Day 4's post on controversies around food security, biopiracy and DNA, a recent article on genetically modified eggplant in Asia

Burnt Lumpia's excellent blog on making the delicious egg-and-eggplant dish, Tortang Talong

Market Manila's eggplant blog

C is for Collards and Coconut

Eat those leafy veggies!

Collards aren't a typical Filipino ingredient, and are better known as a deep part of African diasporic cuisines. I fell in love with them at first bite. And I was reminded of that other emerald heaven known as laing (LAH-ing), made from taro, or gabi, leaves stewed until tender with coconut milk. Borrowing from this venerable and nutritious green cousin I tried my hand with a localized laing dish, with coconut milk, coconut oil, shallots, ginger, and garlic. A similar texture to the shredded taro leaves was made by cutting the leaves into a chiffonade. Chiffon-what you say? Here's a quick how-to.

Tear out the stems and stack them up.

Roll it (like a lumpia).

The most satisfying part! You're ready to cook.

More With Collards:

http://www.theroot.com/views/vegan-soul-food-tasty-read

B is for Bittermelon

Bittermelon, known as ampalaya, in Oakland Chinatown

Bittermelon, known as ampalaya in the Philippines, karela in India, mara in Thailand, and many names across Asia, is not coy. "Love me or hate me," it says in every bite. "But you'll never forget me."

For the lovers, this pale green fruit carries a delectable bitterness, whether sauteed with shrimp, scrambled with eggs and onions, or deep fried. For those who are sure they hate it, I beg you to try again. I am a true convert who has gone from picking out bittermelon chunks anywhere I found it for years, to now even relishing it as raw, crisp rounds in an ampalaya salad. It can happen.

Even with the technique of leaching sliced bittermelon with salted water, or masking it with black bean sauce, there's no real way to completely exorcise the bitter essence from this fruit - and some folks wouldn't want it any other way. 

More on Bittermelon:

Need even more reasons to love it? Western medicine has caught up to the traditional use of bittermelon for health. But please try it beyond the pill form: "Bitter Is Better"

The Challenge - 26 Days, 26 Letters, 26 Kwentos

Abundance.

Its the middle of the summer in Oakland, with ripe red strawberries, shiny blackberries, and early tomatoes bursting out of boxes at the market. So it seems only right to bring some of that abundance to writing!

Inspired by the' "poem-a-day" challenge, I've embarked on a challenge over the next 26 days of July to write a kwento-a-day, one for every letter of the English alphabet (yes, there's 26 letters and I counted).

Some kwentos will be pretty, others scrawny, but they will BE THERE, so stay tuned! Got ideas? Looking for recipes? Love it or hate it? Send your kwento over!

Pista Sa Nayon aka Filipino Meat On A Grill

Don't get me wrong. It would be unfair to oversimplify Pista Sa Nayon as a meatfest. This beloved fiesta originated in harvest celebrations and has taken root in many Filipino/American communities around the country. But my memories of nearly every Filipino celebration, from bazaars to baptisms to Independence Day - tend to be paired with meat on a grill. Something visceral to remember by, right?

Vallejo's Pista Sa Nayon sprawled out by the waterfront. Onstage, musicians like Little Brown Brother brought the music. On the lawn, I navigated the mix of vendors displaying everything from plasticized Filipino barbies, Hawaiian kukui leis, southern brass gongs, to t-shirts emblazoned with the iconic freedom fighter Lapu Lapu. But it was the combination of heat, smoke and the smells of cooking that are always the most intoxicating spectacle. I was drawn to the source:

Recognize this? It's a whole pod of longganisa sausages (and two wayward hotdogs) on the grill, getting crispy and ready to be served up on a mixed plate with rice and eggs, a combination called "longsilog." In fact, there's a magic formula for such meat, egg and rice combinations. Take the first syllable of the meat, and add "silog" (Itlog, by the way, means "egg," so you get the idea). A similar combo with bangus (a type of fish) = bangsilog, or with tapa (another meat) = tapsilog. Needless to say, there's endless variations.

My favorite eat, though, was not a silog at all. It was a tocino taco (a cousin of longganisa) served up by Ramar Foods, with chopped up bits of salty-sweet meat, salsa, and avocados bursting out of a warm tortilla. The only reason I don't have a picture of it is because I ate it, and fast. This taco was bound to happen some day - innovators like Seoul On Wheels won't be the last to figure out this charmed marriage.  And you could say Filipino and Mexican foods have been interwoven for well over 400 years now, beginning with the Manila-Acapulco galleon trade. So I guess this is keeping in tradition.

If I could have one critique of Filipino fiesta foods - its the usual lack of greens that makes veggie lovers and vegetarians alike weep. But for now, I was happy to dig in, knowing the greens are waiting patiently at home.

Of Oysters, Shrimp...And Crude Oil?

My heart hurts hearing of the BP oil spill that is even now devastating the Gulf Coast and entire communities, human and non-human, who depend on that place for sustenance, shelter, survival. Solace. The question rattles in my mind - how many more manmade tragedies before our government acknowledges that a fossil fuel based economy just does not work?

It took me a while to realize one small but particularly visceral connection to the Gulf. Recently, while writing out a shopping list for a Filipino foods workshop, I got an email telling me to cross off shrimp from the list. Shrimp may be too expensive or limited due to the spill, it said. We would substitute with a doubled amount of fresh oysters from Tomales Bay. No shrimp. It would be a very small thing to substitute an ingredient, whether by choice or necessity. And I knew there wouldn't be any complaints about fine local sweetwaters.

But with an oil spill in the equation, the scratch of gray carbon over "shrimps" suddenly became a slender reminder of something much bigger. Spoiled by a seemingly ever abundant California, I never stopped to think how those succulent creatures were from Gulf waters. Now, I couldn't stop thinking of how this one recipe's changes were the tiniest outward ripple of a food chain - and entire ways of life - destroyed at its very core.

I have never swum in Gulf waters, so I can only imagine the feelings of those in the Gulf. Maybe the closest I can relate is from living in Hawai'i. It seemed to me the ocean shivered with fish, but to the older ones it was a watery reflection of the past. And in the Philippines, when we swam over eerie, bleached coral reefs punctuated by oases of life. A local guide harvested a handful of delectable seagrapes I nearly refused - the bits of living jade seemed too rare - but I ate it as a gift. In both cases, I had never seen the abundance that was before. I received it remembered by those who knew the sea, as something people hoped to restore.

The substitute oysters used in the recipe were delicious. Pulled from Tomales Bay that morning, they tasted of that indescribable salt kiss of the sea. But still...It wasn't too long ago that the Cosco Busan oil spill coated SF Bay Area waters, lapping over beaches, sanctuaries and fisheries.

From foodies to people who just eat to survive, its impossible to ignore the impact of environmental toxins on what's for dinner (ours or anyone else's). Our memories must be long, wider than any oil spill. And if one thing is clear, it is that oil could never satisfy a hunger for the abundance of the sea.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/05/10/oil-spill-cleanup-are-fis_n_570132.htmlhttp://www.nola.com/news/gulf-oil-spill/index.ssf/2010/05/shrimp-oyster-closures.htmlhttp://abclocal.go.com/kgo/story?section=news/local/east_bay&id=7435390