Kulambo

Kulambo is Pangasinan-speak for tikoy, the soft, sticky snack made by mixing ground glutinous rice with sugar and water. I don’t know why it is called thus – the Tagalogs refer to kulambo as that netting put atop your bed to ward off mosquitoes as you sleep at night, which we in Pangasinan call, aptly, mosquitero/moskitero.

As much as the name is a curiosity, this tikoy is also distinct among all tikoys out there, even the pedigreed tikoys from China and Japan and wherelse, or at least those that I’ve come to know. There’s the Chinese New Year tikoy, which is like hardened paste (the school-age glue made from cornstarch) and requires a coat of beaten eggs before deep frying to render it edible. And the common Chinese tikoy roll encasing a filling of mashed kamote (sweet potato). And the Japanese mochi which are similarly filled but come in the shape of balls.

The only other Filipino tikoy I know, actually, is the Quezon tikoy, which I love and tried to replicate, and which I’m not even sure is also called tikoy. But whereas the Chinese and Japanese tikoy are almost translucently white, the Quezon tikoy is deep yellow from the addition of eggs and milk.

So kulambo is more Chinese, and Japanese, than Filipino. Its consistency and texture is like that of the Chinese New Year tikoy when melted from the frying, and is much the same as the common tikoy roll and the mochi, without the filling. It is sweet, and sticky, and smooth if made properly.

I don’t come across tikoy much like it across the Philippines, so that I find myself yearning for kulambo when I’m away from Pangasinan for long stretches of time.

Which is not a problem, since kulambo is not associated with any festivity, so is available year-round, found at the sections of Pangasinan public markets where rice delicacies are sold, displayed alongside puto, patopat, latik, suman, and in the kiosks selling puto in Calasiao. So I gorge on kulambo everytime I go home, as I invariably hit the markets and the puto kiosks in Calasiao.

But really, gorging is an exaggeration. I could only ever finish a small piece (about 3” in diameter, used to be sold for years at Php5), and no matter how much I want to eat more I couldn’t. Once I’ve finished one it feels in my stomach like it had coagulated all into one whole piece again, then absorbed all the liquids inside of me so that it sits there bloated and heavy, pressing on all my intestines.

And so because I could only eat so much at any one time I could never get enough of it. I dream of it, and dream of making it, and hoard it when I’m home, only to find molds on them days later because I and the kids could not finish all that I’ve bought.

So I don’t find it strange to be writing about kulambo right smack at the start of the year. Because it is shaped into fat little disks, and is sticky, it always has its special place on the media noche table on New Year’s eve. It was the only manageable thing I could come up with, anyway, besides the puto. It was such an irritating experience shopping for a media noche feast when members of the household (not my own – we usually spend the holidays with kin) protested every little item I wanted to buy (no crabs, you’d be crawling for the rest of the year, no squid, it portends year-round darkness, etc., etc.), especially since nobody ever eats after all the fireworks. I've started hating those fortune tellers who feel they have the authority to dictate what people have to put on the table on New Year.

But as a side note, I’m glad that I can’t eat as much kulambo as I want to. Apart from not imbibing a lot of its superstitiously beneficial properties, I’m wary about absorbing any BPA or whatever it is in that soft, sweet delicacy. For kulambo is made this way – mix the three ingredients, shape into flat balls, insert into individual plastic bags, then dump the plastic bags in boiling water until done. A sort of sous vide, but I’m sure the water temperature is not as low. And even if it were, it’s still cooking in plastic. I don’t know how it was made before the advent of plastic bags, but for sure the plastic is for convenience – it makes for an efficient process selling something in what it was cooked in.

I should probably try making kulambo in a cake pan and steam it, like how I cook my other tikoy. It's bound to be too sticky and would probably make a mess, but it does not matter, since Chinese New Year is just around the corner.

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Pumpkin Pakbet

My kids have been bugging me for a pumpkin. But of course, in these tropical isles, there is no way I could find one. Maybe a giant squash, but the skin would be splotched and not as orangey.

But SM has been carrying mini pumpkins for about two years now, and currently sells them at Php220 (roughly US$5) a kilo. I relented this year, and bought three small pieces that weighed in at just over half a kilo, and cost Php150 (about US$3.5). But I don't know how to carve, and don't have the fine instruments necessary for such small fruits. So I just made them as accents on a basket filled with vegetables, also bought from SM, that would make a nice pot of pakbet, or pinakbet, the quintessential Ilocano/Pangasinan vegetable stew.

We don't really celebrate Halloween, anyway. It's not local tradition, only observed in schools and communities that try to subscribe to Western traditions. My kids had started joining trick or treat events three years ago because the community in which we live observe such an activity as a fun thing to do for the kids, although I doubt the organizers, more so the kids, understand what Halloween is all about nor why they say "trick or treat."

But, as I said, it's not a tradition, and this year, before everybody left for their family homes and birth places, the community gathered for a costume party in which candies and food were doled out.

So instead of a jack-o-lantern, my vegetable basket is appropriate for what is actually observed in the Philippines. Halloween observance is negligible, but Undas - All Saints'/Souls' Day, Pista'y Inatey - observed on the first of November, is one of the most hallowed of all traditions that span the entire archipelago. People dust their bags and go home to pay respect to their dead, but more importantly reconnect with those who are still living.

So Hallows' Eve is usually spent on the road for entire families and extended clans, bringing an assortment of candles - in all shapes and sizes and colors imaginable - and flowers and food (usually chichirya) to munch on while making the rounds in the cemetery.

Candles are lighted on tombs. Nowadays candles are extinguished before people left, and brought home because other people will swipe any leftover. Candles are also lighted in front of houses, supposedly to guide souls back home, and in home altars. Some light candles in front of framed photos of loved ones, and offer plates of food.

As in any gathering or reunion, food plays an integral part during Undas. But meals are not festive, but rather traditional. Mainly food available at this time, when rice and sugar cane harvests have just ended. So there's a cornucopia of rice-based delicacies, such as latik and suman and puto. And the highly seasonal inlubi.

Pinakbet, with cubes of soft squash, would be savored by those who live where bagoong is not readily available, or whose family homes don't regularly serve "provincial" fare. So my basket, after serving as decorative dining table centerpiece with two red tapering candles inserted in, will be emptied soon so the vegetables can be cooked. I'm not sure if the mini pumpkins can be had as squash to be mixed in the stew - they feel as hard as ceramic - but they can stay in the center of the dining table, along with the candles and my ceramic corn-on-the-cob and garlic head candle holders.

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We Prevail

To all who have asked, yes, we were affected by the flooding in Pangasinan, but not to the point that any damage sustained was irreparable. At the least, it was an inconvenience experienced for a few days. As I've pointed out to queries, our distress was nothing compared to what many, many Filipinos in less unfortunate locations have suffered. Nevertheless, thank you very much for the concern.

It wasn't what caused the temporary "hanging up" of this blog. Throughout the entire time that typhoons "Ondoy" (international code name Ketsana) and "Pepeng" (Parma) were wreaking havoc on the island of Luzon, I could have continued blogging. But I could not. And would not.

As this is a blog focused on food, I could not bring myself to write about what was on the table when thousands of families were relying on the kindness of others for their basic needs. Up to now some are still in evacuation centers, subsisting mainly on canned goods (sardines, mostly), or are staying with relatives and friends, and a lot of places are still flooded or closed to traffic.

But life goes on, as it must. As I've replied to friends, flooding in Pangasinan is not really an extra-ordinary event - due to the presence of dams in the surrounding areas - though of course its occurence is not so frequent that it has become a regular, expected thing. But we've had floods, a lot of them, previously, and we survived all of them.

This is not to make light of the massive flooding in Metro Manila - the worst in more than forty years. Certainly, the flooding in Pangasinan is the worst in memory (my memory, short as it still is), abetted, and probably mainly due, to the waters let loose from a dam that is, this time, actually within the province, which just started operations a few years back, and is currently the largest dam in Southeast Asia.

And it was ironic that, in this age of nano-second communications, with the internet and cellphones accessible to everybody - and I mean everybody - the flooding caught everybody by surprise.

I remember, during my first flood experience, when maybe I had been three or four, people were knocking on doors and telling everybody waters from this dam or that were coming. A full two hours before the rushing waters arrived.

And it was like that for the next ones. We experienced floods from waters let loose from dams every five years or so, becoming more frequent as the years went by. But we were always amply warned. So I had time to put my pet turtle to higher ground (my first one swam away with that first flood). And we went to the second floor of the house, carrying perishables. We stocked on candles, and tuyo (dried, salted fish) and eggs - the things that could be bought within the timeframe that we had.

As Pangasinan, invariably, is the exit point for most typhoons or tropical storms - proven again by the forecasted path of the typhoon expected to make landfall by tonight - we treat howling winds and flying roofs and fallen mango trees as a way of life. We stock candles and matches, tighten the beams, buy pails (for leaks), trim our treetops, and leave the trees lying on the ground for a chance to lift themselves up again when their roots have gained enough foothold.

Of course then it was just winds and some rains. Now it's stronger winds and more rains, which inundate dams in a more regular manner. Then more water to evaporate, and more to come down.

But we have no choice. We have to survive. And we must. From the looks of things, heavy rains in an extended stormy season is now the norm. Maybe we have to go back to the nipa huts of old, which were built on stilts on the ground.

Malabanos

Cavite City is a narrow piece of land jutting out to Manila Bay, which curves back and points to the reclamation area in Pasay City, so that on clear nights we could see the twinkling lights of the piers, the Mall of Asia, and the various skycrapers as far back as those in The Fort in Taguig City.

The limited soil space explains the absence of agricultural fields, and freshwater ponds. Salt ponds line the highway going to Noveleta, and tilapia ponds dot the succeeding towns of Kawit and Bacoor, but that's just about it.

The main source of fish and seafood, then, is the ocean - represented by three bays surrounding the city. So the Cavite City public market's main offerings are marine fish, punctuated by some Batangas tilapia and a little of the tawilis from far Taal Lake, both of which thrive in freshwater environments.

Which is why I feel a bit at home there. When I was growing up in Pangasinan there were no freshwater ponds. The fish we ate that did not come from the sea were those which were brought back to life by the rains after hibernating in the fields - frogs, snails, tiny crabs, catfish and mudfish, gourami, tiny black tilapia that were bitter so that when I came to Manila I was so amazed by large white and tasty cultured tilapia that were so abundant.

Those freshwater fare were enjoyed only during the rainy season, though. For the rest of the year we relied on the catch from the Lingayen Gulf, and beyond in the deeper recesses of the South China Sea. Even the famed Bonuan bangus are cultured along the shores of Dagupan City in brackish water.

The fish sold in Dagupan and Cavite, then, are similar (with the exception of the bangus, of course). In Cavite, though, deep sea creatures like the loro (parrotfish) are more common, although these fish are also common in the coastal towns of western Pangasinan. In both small tuna (albacore) is abundant, as well as lapu-lapu, pompano, talakitok, caballas, espada, squid, krill, though the last three are in profusion more in Pangasinan.

The tahong's (mussels) presence is much more pronounced in Cavite, though, while in Pangasinan oysters are more valued. But there are several creatures that I only discovered in Cavite. Though these may be very common in other areas, I know nothing about them as they are not eaten, or maybe not available, in the part of Pangasinan where I grew up.

First is stingrays, which never graced our table, and the shadow of which I never saw in the wet markets of central and western Pangasinan. I've seen plenty in the wet markets around the Visayas, and in my weekly market forays in Cavite they appear about once a month, though I haven't strictly observed when exactly or in what weather. And I don't buy, since I don't know how to clean and cook them.

Second is malabanos, as how it is called in Cavite, which I think is another name for palos, or moray eel, or undulated moray (Gymnothorax undulatus). This is a gray eel with black undulations and markings on the skin. The body is long and round, with long and thin cartilagenous bones that separate the thick flesh into segments. It inhabits reef flats in tropical waters.

The malabanos is sold in thick slices bathed in luyang dilaw (turmeric), so that it appears orangey-yellowish. I was told the eel looks unattractive as it is, hence the added coloring to brighten it up (I've never seen it freshly caught and undyed, yet).

Of the thirty or so regular fishmongers who occupy a stall in the public wet market, plus the ten or so peripheral vendors, only one sells malabanos at any one time. And the eel rarely makes an appearance. But once it does buyers converge on the vendor, and one told me it is delicious. The vendor said it is tastier than pork.

I can't say the same, because I am slightly revolted by pork, but it is very tasty, and very meaty, besides. The flesh is soft and juicy. It is probably even better than pork, health-wise, if it is not as cholesterol-laden as its land-lubber counterpart.

Whenever I encounter anything new I ask the vendor how it is cooked/eaten, and sometimes the other buyers volunteer other tips. I learned that the malabanos is commonly cooked with the turmeric, plus garlic, vinegar and a sprinkling of salt.

And that is how I got introduced to malabanos, Cavite-style adobo, puckeringly-sour and yellow. I believe this manner of cooking would remove whatever lansa is inherent in the eel, though I detected none. I think it would have been heavenly had I thought of adding a stalk of bunched tanglad (lemongrass), much like the dinilawang alimusan I had in Iloilo, but I forgot.

Adobong Malabanos - meaty and fatty

As with other adobo, the left-overs were great fried to a crisp the next day. Mmmm.

Sireles On The Tree

I'm publishing more photos of the sireles (which I first spelled as ceriles) fruit, this time taken and very kindly sent by Mr. Antonio Medina, who also permitted me to use these photos in this blog.


Mr. Medina took these photos from the trees in his own orchard, which cements the fact that the fruits on the tree in front of my house that I mistook for being sireles are of another kind.

As for using the fruits in other ways besides eating them fresh, I'm still experimenting.....

Thanks very much for these valuable photos, Mr. Medina.

Please find my first post about the fruit here.