Tiangge Food

It's the last day of November, and with Christmas looming, tiangges have been sprouting all over. Tiangges, or bazaars/flea markets are definite crowd-drawers, for the opportunity they give for some Christmas shopping that does away with hopping from one mall to another, or worse, braving the frenzied crowds in Divisoria and Tutuban.

Honestly, I'm not much of a tiangge person. It is more convenient to shop where there are dressing rooms, credit card consoles and the guarantee of a return policy. Of course products at a tiangge have lower prices precisely because of the inconvenience, but sometimes the quality is suspect, and, I'd rather go to Divisoria.

But I plunge headlong and experience the tiangge rush, gladly, twice a year, during the third week of November. It is fortunate that both the tiangge I go to are held during the same week, and during the happy time when the Christmas bonus is safely in my pockets, albeit raring to be spent.

I make exception and go to these bazaars because of several reasons. First, convenience. Second, most of the vendors in these tiangge are present every year. So I've acquired some suki, and I've developed some trust as to the quality of their products. I still smile every time I see the tie-dyed dusters I bought at one of these bazaars for barya, as they have survived about seven years of being tossed and stretched by the washing machine and still manage to be decently wearable, not having faded at all. And a friend, who marks his birthday in November, still raves about a long-sleeved polo from the tiangge which I gave him as a birthday present some five years ago.

Third, aside from the novelty items, the tiangges mostly offer products that are real necessities. Fourth, familiarity. The products on sale are the same every year, with changes only on the style front, following current trends. And fifth, most of the vendors do not have stalls elsewhere, or are located so out of the way.

So I actually look forward to these yearly events, anticipating what to buy and limiting my shopping during the rest of the year for the household items that I could buy, at steal prices,
at the tiangges.

The first tiangge I go to is a three-day annual event sponsored by the agency I work for, held at the office courtyard. The convenience is that I can just leave my office ID with the vendor without paying for, say, a pair of pants, try it on in the office comfort rooms, then go back and return it for my ID if I'm not satisfied with the fit. Or I can buy a dress or a pair of shoes for my baby girl, bring it home to fit it to her, and take it back to exchange for a more suitable size the following day.

I love this tiangge because it features mostly the companies my agency is in partnership with in the development of small and medium enterprises. So we have exporters who are subcontractors/satellite manufacturers of big name international brands. We have fresh produce from the highland plantations of Benguet, Mountain Province, Nueva Vizcaya, Tarlac and Laguna. Processed deli meats from Pampanga, baked goodies, regional delicacies and ready-to-eat dishes from all over the country. Products mostly unavailable in the malls and Greenhills or elsewhere, or are sold at higher prices.

Top photo shows Kalinga oranges, which, despite the name, come from Sagada, that breathtakingly beautiful, cool upland town in the Mountain Province. These are available year-round at the Baguio City market, but rarely in the metropolis. They are akin to the ponkan or Mandarin oranges, with their semi-flat roundness, but with the nipple-like protruberances of lemons. They are sweeter than dalandan, with thicker skin, and retaining their dual yellow-green colors when ripe. In the photo they come in the characteristic basket weave of the Cordilleras.

When I was still single and without a care in the world as to the soft feel of a pillowcase on the cheek, or that babies outgrow their clothes and socks as fast as you buy them, and that I had a household with help to feed, I frowned on the office tiangge, actually laughing secretly at those enslaved by it, towing bayongs upon bayongs of purchases. But I welcomed it yearly for one reason: the food. It offered a nice diversion from the weekly office canteen fare, and afforded me a taste of authentic regional cooking.

Like sinaing at ginataang tulingan sa palayok, which I first came to know through Ben-Jamon's stall at the tiangge. Also Ben-Jamon's ham, thick slices with just a hint of salt, for which I break my no-pork policy once a year.

The tiangge also acquaints me with fresh produce of other regions, like those sweet, small pineapples from Bicol. But the breakfast fare is what I eagerly anticipate - newly-cooked bibingkang galapong, light, fluffy, and buttery, sprinkled with grated fresh coconut and some brown sugar. And the sausage croissant from Baker's Fair, vienna sausages with lettuce and mayonnaise in a croissant - watching the contraption inserting the sausage filling into the croissant always makes my day. The freshly-cooked diced hopia from Baker's Fair, too. I could eat these for breakfast all the three days of the bazaar. I come in the office earlier than usual just to avoid the long lines for the bibingka.

This year there was an Ilonggo bibingka, pictured here on the right, more like a mamon or the Visayan torta but lighter and fluffier, with a sprinkling of sugar. There was also some puto from Bulacan which looked like Calasiao puto, in white, brown and kutsinta varieties.

One bestseller, a mainstay of the yearly tiangge, is Mekeni Foods of Pampanga, awarded Best Meat Processing plant for several years now. Their deli meats sell lower than the leading brands, yet are comparable in taste and quality.

One new produce offered this year is a purportedly health rootcrop called yakon, which looked like a cassava or kamoteng kahoy, but can be eaten raw, developed and cultivated in Nueva Vizcaya. Raw, it tasted like sweet jicamas or singkamas, and was fun to eat. The vendor said it helps bring down blood sugar levels in the body, so it is good for diabetics. But I didn't buy any. I will have to see next year if it gained following, and wait for some verification of its health claims.

Linguini with Aligue (Crab Fat) Sauce

I served this during a party at home.

I usually shy away from pastas served with aligue or crab fat sauce in restaurants, for health reasons as well as suspecting the sauce won't really have real crab fat. I always hear my mommy warning me never to buy bottled crab fat because they are bound to make you sick. Kape, or talangka, the small, local mud crabs, have to be alive when cooked, or you'll get vomitting spells and severe loose bowels. So we were limited to homecooked kape. And it is never served at night, mainly because of the inconvenience of calling on a doctor in the wee hours of the morning.

I made an exception when pasta with aligue sauce was served during a friend's birthday party. I happened to know the cook very well, and there were so many guests that I took comfort in the fact that I would have company in the hospital, if ever.

That was more than two months ago, and nothing untoward has happened to me, so I asked the cook where she got the aligue. She recommended two brands which turned out to be well-known, already with a reputation, so I sampled them and prepared to serve pasta with aligue for a party for the hubby.

I found Navarro's taba ng talangka at the Central Luzon Trade Fair, and it was great that they had free samples, because their product came in three kinds - 50%, 80%, and 100% (premium), pertaining to the crab fat content. The first two contained bread crumbs as extenders, both tasted fine, but the vendor recommended the 50% as the best one to use for pasta sauces. However, I got taken by the taste of the premium, which I bought, along with the 80%, and mixed them.

I also sampled Razon's of Guagua, Pampanga. This brand carries only one kind, though, reportedly 100% aligue. I liked the texture, which looked more 100% than Navarro's premium. It tasted better, too. This is what I sent to my BBM3 recipient, to flavor pancit palabok, a Filipino dish which she professed to love.

Navarro's and Razon's aligue are soured by calamansi and vinegar, respectively, to extend shelf life. The sourness is just right to counter the richness of the crab fat. Navarro's is more sour, though, because calamansi is really tart. This removes the necessity of squeezing calamansi or lemon wedges on cooked pasta and pancit palabok.

Aligue Sauce
500 mL aligue or mud crab fat
3 tbsp basil and parsley pesto
500 mL tomato sauce
125 mL evaporated or fresh milk
1 clove garlic, minced finely
1 medium onion, minced finely
2 tbsp olive oil
finely ground black pepper and salt, to taste

Sautè garlic in hot oil. When the garlic stops to sizzle but has not yet turned golden brown, stir in the onion until transparent. Pour in the aligue and cook for two minutes. Pour the milk and the tomato sauce, stir, then cover for five minutes. Turn off the heat, stir and mix in the pesto and salt and pepper. Add sugar if desired.

Top on previously cooked and drained linguini or spaghetti, and sprinkle ground parmesan cheese.

Good for 1.5 kilos of pasta.

The pesto is a homemade mix of half basil and half parsley processed with a clove of garlic and olive oil.

To do away with the tired garlic buttered baguette toasts that always accompany pasta dishes, I served quesadillas with honey garlic mayo dip.

Another use for aligue: Palabok with Aligue Sauce

Razon's

- Jupiter Street, beside Super Bowl of China/Starbucks
- Fiesta Market!Market! open air food court, beside Trinity

Navarro's

- Region III kiosk, Fiesta Market!Market! open air food court, Fort Bonifacio, Taguig
- Tiendecitas, Julia Vargas Avenue, Ortigas
- Greenhills

Lasang Pinoy 4: Filipino Soul Food

Today I'm hosting a human resources practitioner with whom I share several passions. He has had his share of international travels and a taste of various cuisines around the world, but for comfort food he goes back to his hometown, and the cooking of two women closest to his heart.

ADOBO
By Serge Kabamalan

Simple, yet hearty and delicious! That's what adobo is... A veritable heritage that lives and continues to evolve as Pinoys at home and in diaspora take their place under the sun. If there's a Filipino soul food, adobo would be a definite shoo-in. Below is my personal vignettes and memories that adobo evokes. Yes, adobo is intertwined with my feel good, childhood memories of ordinary events, significant persons, and the sights, sounds and wonders of yesteryears in a rustic little town called Kalayaan in Laguna.

ADOBO ni LOLA

Exhausted from wild games or exploring the orchard at the back of Lolo Tomas and Lola Poten’s house, my brothers, sisters, cousins and I would run back home at dusk. It was always a beautiful time of the day when the heat would become more bearable and the skies would turn to gold, then orange, and finally into different hues of a soft rosy glow as the sun sets, auguring a cool breezy evening. We would hear our Lola Poten’s call for us to prepare for Oracion from her kitchen as from a distance the church bells tolled. Racing to go to the baño to wash up and prepare for the prayer, our hunger pangs would be stirred by the appetizing aroma of pork adobo simmering in the flavorful mixture of coconut vinegar, toyo (soy sauce), crushed garlic and freshly ground black pepper over my Lola’s homemade stove of ash as the last of the firewood smolders.

The Ave Marias would be accompanied by awakened little gourmands’ desires, with thoughts flying to the delightful treat awaiting. The mano po (kissing the hands of the elders) at the end of the prayer would be hurried! We would again race to the dining table at the kitchen and sit side by side in two long wooden bangko (benches usually 2 meters long sans backrest) on either side. Eagerly, we would await generous servings of sinangag, rice sautéed in garlic and the remaining adobo sauce in the same pan where adobo was cooked, and, of course, our share of pork adobo.

A hearty evening meal, it would always turn out to be that we took time digesting as we retired to the sala seated on the floor at Lola’s feet listening to her own retelling of folklores about kapre (a tobacco-smoking giant), tikbalang (a creature with the head of a horse and the body of a man), aswang (a being that has powers to transform into any animal and preys on unborn children), mangkukulam (witch), duwende (dwarf), diwata (fairy), and other denizens of the Filipino mythic world.

In time, my Mang (as I call my mother, as Pang is to my father) mastered her own pork adobo recipe, duplicating Lola’s feat with us. It became a treat when we had it for meals at home or when we had binalot (traditional Filipino way of packing rice and any dish one fancies in banana leaf, ran over the flame to make it pliant and sturdy) with pork adobo in our lunch packs when we went to school.

Pork adobo is pork adobo when there is just the right degree of sourness from coconut vinegar, balanced by the flavor and saltiness of soy sauce, and spiced up by garlic and black pepper. The meat cut into cubes is first boiled in water to desired tenderness. The admixture of vinegar, soy sauce, garlic and black pepper is added and the concoction simmered until almost dry and oily. Traditionally, however, or so my Pang and Mang told me, it was cooked in huge quantities, as a way to preserve food way back when refrigerator was yet to be invented. Adobo was a regular dish on the table heated repeatedly each day. The sauce eventually thickens, meat flakes, the flavor and aroma becomes stronger for a sinfully delicious cholesterol-laden dish! Oh well, in these days of heightened health awareness… indulging from time to time is a temptation I really can’t resist.

Some people like it sweet by adding sugar to taste. Some like the added woody, but pleasant, and slightly minty aroma and flavor of laurel (bay leaf). But I like it cooked simply my Lola's and my Mang’s way. Thankfully, though Lola and Mang have since taken the journey to the next life, my Ate Weny and, later on, my nephew Mark, were able to continue dishing out the family recipe that’s always a hit even with guests and friends who happen to pass by during lunch or supper.


ADOBO sa GATA

With the exception of luto ni Lola, I couldn’t eat anything that Mang did not prepare when I was a young boy. I was picky and hard to please come meal times.

A dedicated teacher, Mang was busy even at home preparing her lesson plans, checking her pupils’ papers, and studying for her masteral degree. My siblings and I (all six of us) were left in the care and the cooking prowess, or the lack of it, of our yaya five days a week. Hence, weekends became special days. Aside from being a respite from school, these days afforded Mang time to cook for us.

Among my favorites was her Adobong Manok sa Gata, a chicken dish in coconut milk and vinegar, spiced with minced onion and, as usual, crushed garlic and freshly ground black pepper. Even just the aroma of it cooking in Mang’s kitchen perked up my senses, and worked up my appetite to the surprise and delight of Mang, Pang and our yaya.

Adventurous and daring in her kitchen, Mang was wont to prepare something new or something usual but with a twist for us. Thus, the same adobo recipe was prepared many times over using carabeef (carabao’s meat). Introduced to the dish on the pretext that it was just an ordinary beef dish, my brothers and I dug in and ate with gusto. My sisters, who were wary of the darker shade of the meat, initially picked on their food but soon found their way to finishing their plates. From then on, it became another family favorite.

Lasang Pinoy 4

Other adobo variants
Ginataang Adobo in Naga
Igado
Adobo sa Mangga

Lasang Pinoy 4: Inlubi

All Souls Day is marked in the Gregorian calendar on the 2nd day of November, but it is observed by Filipinos on the 1st day of the month, which is actually All Saints Day. This is explained by a UP professor of Filipino language and culture as an indigenization of a Western tradition, in this case a religious event brought about by the conversion of the archipelago into a Catholic nation.

In fact, most religious traditions in the country have all been indigenized to blown-up proportions. I'm sure nobody in Spain, our old-world colonizer (for want of a more euphemistic and politically correct term, but then again, why should we sugar-coat history?), celebrates Christmas as long as we do, or takes to heart the passion and sacrifice of Holy Week like we do.

Same with All Souls Day. Along with Christmas, Holy Week and the town fiestas, it is an event kept sacred by observance, and prepared for by all, including the authorities and those responsible for keeping traffic, to and from cemeteries and to and from the provinces, moving and flowing.

But All Souls Day is observed on All Saints Day because, according to my professor friend, of the traditional, pre-colonial veneration of the dead, most especially loved ones. With the concept of the intercession of saints introduced by the Catholic belief, all our dead became one with all the saints who could intercede on our behalf. It is believed that dead loved ones are the most powerful intercessors for the prayers of their living relatives.

And we don't usually observe All Saints Day as an event anyway, since we celebrate each saint according to his or her feast day in the Gregorian calendar during town and city fiestas, which are marked in the calendar according to the feast day of their respective patron saints.

Needless to say, Halloween is a strange concept, since it is usually associated with the monstrous dead, although with globalization and efforts to sell merchandise, it has become a reason for a party.

All Souls Day, re-christened Undas in the last few years or so in Metro Manila, is a time for road trips, family reunions, and the ritual gathering of relatives at the resting places of the beloved dead, for whom candles of all colors, sizes, shapes, styles and design are lighted. It used to be a noisy, merry-making event, with loud music, guitar-playing and singing, eating and drinking in the cemeteries, but now all these are prohibited, making it a quiet and orderly, albeit very tame and colorless, affair.

On the evening of November 1, candles are lighted along the road and outside the house gates to guide and light the path of the beloved departed. The family gathers for dinner, but no special fare is prepared. There is no special food for Undas that I know of, except traditional food prepared for out-of-towners and food prepared for company. A small serving of what was had for dinner is offered at the altar, for the dead, but people tell me that this also is an adopted foreign practice, this time from the Chinese.

One food I associate with Undas, though, is inlubi, which is a rice cake made from cooking deremen in gata or coconut cream. Deremen is harvested at the same time as regular palay, so it is available only towards the end of October and during the month of November.

Deremen is somewhat similar to Pampanga's duman which Karen wrote about and whose festival is celebrated on the 1st Saturday of December. The processes of making deremen and duman are almost the same, with the Pangasinan deremen made distinct by the use of bamboo for burning and not a clay pot like in Pampanga.

Deremen is made by harvesting malanguer a pagey (young palay of the sticky rice variety) specifically planted for deremen, and put in narrow bamboo tubes of the bolô variety, for which the Pangasinan province was formerly named (Cabolòan, meaning a place of bamboos). The bamboo is burned from one end, letting the palay fall as the bamboo burns and consumes itself. The now burned palay is then pounded by a heavy wooden bayò (pestle) in a large stone lasong (mortar) until the husks are removed.

The resulting belas (rice) is a soft, almost flat and blackened deremen that smells and tastes green and smoky. It is sold by a measure of a can of condensed milk, of which about a dozen is needed to make a bigaô (bilao, a round, woven bamboo winnowing tray, pictured above) of inlubi.

Inlubi is a term that can be interpreted as roped, or woven, pertaining to the cooking process. Deremen is stirred, turned and folded in gata, like weaving or braiding it. It is sweetened with sugar, made fragrant by anise, and some cook in malanguer (young coconut slices). It is a kanen (rice cake) with a distinct smoky sweet taste, with the aroma of rice fields being burned for the fallow season.

Sadly, the quality of deremen has deteriorated over the years. With the construction of a mill exclusively for de-husking deremen, the palay no longer goes through the painstaking process of manual pounding. The milling strips the deremen of its unique flavor, and turns the palay pale. Farmers compensate for this by soaking the deremen in black food coloring, which brings back the color, alright, but not the characteristic flavor. Vendors have also taken to soaking the deremen in water to double the volume and so rake in more profit, but this deremen becomes rock hard when cooked and will not keep.

So real, good quality deremen and inlubi is hard to come by nowadays. It can still be found, but very rarely. So even as traditions continue to be kept and observed, the things associated with them decline and change, and maybe get replaced by others more modern.

The beloved departed must be turning in their grave.

Recipe for Inlubi here
Variant - Inlubi with Toge

Lasang Pinoy 4

Blog Party # 4: Gang's All Here: The Holiday Edition

The blog party theme for this month is a very apt The Holiday Edition, as hosted by Stephanie.

Towards the end of October until the first few days of the new year, everybody puts up with so much hustle and bustle and so many comings and goings. Families, relatives and friends, balikbayans (literally, to come back to the motherland, referring to Filipinos who migrated abroad and come back to the Philippines for a vacation) or OFWs (overseas Filipino workers) all schedule a trip to their provincial roots during the last quarter of the year due to several reasons, mainly, All Souls Day, Christmas and New Year.

These events are all considered sacred obligations to pay respects to the old by dropping by their houses and to visit the resting places of ancestors. When there are many kith and kin, there must be more than enough food to munch on. Food that can be left on the table and picked on any time of the day - in the early morning which can double as breakfast, in-between breakfast and lunch, during the whole afternoon, and up until before sleeping time when conversation is non-stop and free-flowing.

During these times, we go back to preparing local traditional foods, for the benefit of the out-of-towners, who miss food they grew up with.

First one of these is the native tsokolate, hot chocolate from tablea, which are small, home-made chocolate lumps from cacao beans produced by the cacao trees in the backyard. This is appropriate for the cold mornings that signal the holiday season. It is traditionally sipped with forkfuls of the local suman, made from ansak-ket (malagkit na bigas, sticky rice) cooked in gata (coconut cream), rolled and wrapped in coconut leaves, then steamed. The suman is the perfect foil for the richness of the tsokolate, traditionally served in a demitasse to limit intake (but of course I've got my own huge mug!).

In the afternoons, it is good to drink tsokolate with ensaymada, the local pastry favored around the country that I've read has been likened to a brioche. It is as fluffy as a croissant but is as soft as a chiffon, slathered with butter or margarine, then sprinkled with sugar. Nowadays it is common to have grated cheddar cheese or crumbled queso de bola (Edam cheese) on top.

Then we have the indispensable puto from the town of Calasiao, those moist, sweet, semi-flat bite-sized balls made by steaming ground rice. It can be eaten anytime of the day, good with grated cheese or Cheez Whiz. This is our version of the American Pringles - once you pop, you can't stop! It can be served with toothpicks on the side, or as I invented, skewered on short kebab sticks with cheese cubes in-between.

Latik is cooked during times when there are many people staying in the house. Due to the intensive labor involved in making the delicacy, big batches are prepared, which last about two to three days only, though it is usually gone before day three. It is ansak-ket cooked in gata, then spread with latik which is solidified raw molasses cooked again in gata, then baked in a primitive oven. When cooled, it is sliced into small rectangles, which would consist of a single serving. Of course, you are allowed to eat as many as you want, as you are wont to do because it is such a sweet rice cake, but one serving is very filling and enough to satisfy hunger pangs.

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Because these are traditional foods, the ingredients come from the agricultural lands, which are planted to coconut trees and palay, and sweetened with molasses coming from coconuts or sugar cane, also a local agricultural product. The cacao originated from Mexico, brought to Philippine shores during the Galleon Trade when the Philippines was a colony of Spain. It was re-planted here with success, and the production of tsokolate, although small-scale and mostly for family use, has been adapted to suit the local cuisine.

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Here is what is served during parties and gatherings like this around the world.

Calasiao Puto

One of the two standard companions to pansit guisado, that stir-fried salty and greasy dried stick noodles that is a staple fare in birthdays and other parties in the province, is the Calasiao puto, these teeny-weeny moist and bouncy semi-flat rice balls Pangasinenses are quite proud of (the other one being latik).

I grew up on Calasiao puto, and it, along with Manaoag puto, defined how puto should be for me. Needless to say, though I enjoy other kinds of puto made in and around the country, Calasiao puto is the special puto I hanker for and still serve during special occasions. Good thing the quality has not deteriorated over the years - in fact, it seems to have improved, the quality becoming consistent. This may be due to government efforts to promote the product, and regulating its production and sales.

This puto is made and exclusively sold, of course, in Calasiao, a town in the central part of Pangasinan where the Pangasinan language is exclusively spoken. Calasiao is also the second pilgrimage town in the province (after Manaoag), being the home of the miraculous Señor Divino Tesoro.

In front of the town plaza are lined up endless kiosks selling nothing but provincial sweets, the highlight and main come-on being the puto, heaped on the center of the table and sold according to weight, although until a few years ago it was sold by the number of pieces, the price pegged at a hundred of the sweet treats. Don't be daunted by this, because the Calasiao puto is the smallest of its kind, and one can easily finish half a kilo (or about 50 pieces) in one sitting (or maybe that's just me).

It is made from rice, still in the traditional way - ground via heavy flat stone grinders, sweetened then steamed. What you get is a small, glistening, moistly sweet white ball, embodying the perfect concept of makulnet (malagkit/maligat, I can't figure out the exact term in English and nobody I know knows either) that is a very far cry from the cake-like consistency and texture of other puto.

I don't know if it is the rice used (grown in the area?), the equipment used (worn by hundreds of years of use?) or the local water used to steam the puto, but the Calasiao puto can never be exactly reproduced outside of Calasiao, even in my hometown which is the neighboring town of Malasiqui. So beware! Just like how Bonuan bangus cannot really be bred outside of Bonuan, the "special Calasiao puto" you buy outside of Calasiao is probably just pretending to be the real one, although it may be a very close approximation. Unless, of course, you particularly know that the vendor bought the puto from Calasiao.

To further illustrate, just recently a Calasiao puto-maker was brought somewhere else in the country to teach the locals how to make Calasiao puto. Result - a close copycat but not the real McCoy, and the sponsor, who spent for the puto-maker's airfare and accommodation, was disheartened.

So this is just a long story to tell anyone out there who comes across this post and think of asking me for a recipe. Sorry. You can't make a Calasaio puto.

Me, I resigned myself to that fact, and I enjoy puto whenever I go to Manaoag and Calasiao, or really go out of my way to buy for special occasions. Ordering in advance is not necessary, since the puto is made and available round-the-clock, 24/7. I guess total production for a day can feed the total population of the province, and Pangasinan is the second most populous in the country.

As with other puto, it is good with cheese. In my family we serve it with grated cheddar/quickmelt cheese sprinkled on top of the heap, although I think this is unfair since the puto at the bottom do not get their fair share of cheese. I like them skewered on sticks like a barbecue with their individual cheese cubes. But, let me tell you a little secret, Calasiao puto is better spread with Kraft's Cheez Whiz, even the pimiento variety. The cheese spread is better attuned to the moistness of the puto than the dry cheese cubes.

There is also a kutsinta variety, which is as moist and sweet as the original puto. Definitely mas makulnet than ordinary kutsinta. Bite-sized, too.


Related post

Flavored Calasiao puto

Latik

Latik in Filipino means a caramely sauce topping made by cooking together gata (coconut cream) and panutsa (molasses cakes). In Pangasinan, however, when you say latik you refer to a type of kanen (kakanin, sticky rice pudding) with latik topping. I gathered this is known as bibingkang kakanin in Metro Manila, bibingkang malagkit in Cavite, calame nasi in Pampanga, biko in the Bicol region, and I don't know what else in other parts of the country, if eaten at all.

I like latik. I have yearnings for it sometimes. It is different from other rice cakes in that the rice grains come out from the cooking whole and intact, and glisten like pearls. It is not so sweet - the rice hints of coconut cream while the topping is like a sugary bonus. Like icing on a cake. I like how the latik melds into the rice when chewing it, and the sweetness here and there teases the tongue.

Latik is a labor-intensive kanen, and I am always in awe, and happy, that it is sold cheaply (Php5 per rectangular slice - about ten US cents), and is always present during gatherings, birthday parties and holidays. It is one of the usual accompaniments (the other one being Calasiao puto) to salty, greasy pansit guisado (stir-fried stick noodles).

But I prefer it homemade, for the thickness of the latik topping. The topping on the latik vended by old women in the streets and in the market is so thinly spread, I can hardly taste it, making me want to dip the latik in sugar like a suman. The uncle whom I always request to cook latik has gone on ahead from this life, but luckily, an aunt-in-law cooks a good (though I suppose, not better) latik.

Although it is made year-round, it is best to cook latik this time of the year, when the ansak-ket (malagkit, sticky rice) is newly-harvested, fragrant, and easily absorbs any liquid. The last detail is important, because a good latik should be chewy soft, made pliant by the gata. Old ansak-ket has to be cooked with more gata than usual to achieve the desired soft consistency.

Latik lands heavily in the stomach, one slice for afternoon snacks sufficient to tide you over til a late dinner. Probably the reason why it is a favored party food even though it involves lots of sweating over several woodfires.

It actually involves several processes. First, ansak-ket is cooked with gata with a dash of sugar and salt on a thick talyase (tulyase, a huge iron skillet smaller than a kawa) over a raging woodfire. This is constantly stirred with a balaok (flat wooden ladle) to even out the cooking and to keep the bottom from burning. When the ansak-ket has turned transluscent, it is transferred to a sukugan or lasong, a flat, shallow earthen pan which is a larger version of the ones used to cook bibingka galapong.

The latik is then made by cooking the panutsa in gata until dissolved completely. This is also stirred constantly until thick and oily. I have to note that we prefer a panutsa made from silag, a kind of sugar palm, and not sugar cane. This panutsa is darker, its sweetness more intense.

The latik is then spread on the cooked ansak-ket, covered with a thin aluminum sheet, then baked in a primitive oven - the top and bottom are fired with coals of kukot (dried coconut husks), again much like how a bibingka galapong is cooked. When, for some reason, it is difficult to heat up both the top and the bottom at the same time, the top is first heated up with coals before the bottom. It is never the other way around, or the latik will mix into the ansak-ket.

Overbaking the latik, though it happens rarely due to the thickness of the clay pan, will result in a crusty topping and burnt bottom, though I don't mind the former. It gives a whole new dimension to eating latik - like breaking onto a creme brulee.

A very economical method of cooking, if I may say so. Coconut meat is made into the gata that goes into the latik, and the discarded coconut husks are used to cook the latik.

Latik does not keep due to the high gata content, so it is only made during the aforementioned gatherings, or when there is lots of company to finish it all off within a day or two.

I'll gladly be there on day two.

Patang Curry

[Curried frogs)

It looks like the end of the rainy season in the Philippines. The short but tempestous rains last week, which usually marks the approach of All Souls Day, have all left, and all that dark clouds do nowadays is to just threaten to pour, but leave the earth dry as they get carried by the winds.

So it is time to say goodbye to the rare but anticipated goodies brought by the rains. I had resigned myself to not being able to eat patang for years now, them being so commonly absent in the wet markets, although I always see boys and men with fishing rods prodding canals after a heavy rain.

But this is my lucky year, having eaten both bisukol and kape during the rainy season, and, to my utter disbelief, given a plate of curried frogs from Sison, a town in Pangasinan at the border of Benguet province, which you pass by on the way to Baguio City. This was during a potluck festivity among my husband's pilot training class.

I note this because it has been a long time since I've eaten all three in one year, and because it is my first time to eat frogs cooked in a curry. They're usually eaten fried, adobado (in vinegar and soy sauce), sinigang (in soup sauteed in tomato), or tinola (in soup with ginger). The last two preparations I usually shied away from, because they seemed to heighten the sliminess of the frogs (although it was really all in the mind).

And then I avoided frogs entirely, including native (free-range) chicken, when I went to college and the biology teachers talked about what organic, free-range animals and reptiles ate, with the accompanying plate-large eyes and shivers. And my childhood bestfriend, who is now a doctor, went into frog and cat dissection on her way to medical school.

But I'm all grown up now. Braver. Willing to try anything that could be eaten. And wanting to go back to the landscape of my childhood food scene.

This curry was cooked in gata (coconut cream) and flavored with curry spices until almost dry. It was an excellent and inspired way to serve frogs. The flavors have all infused the frog meat, and they are unrecognizable as such, for those who have an issue with frogs.

Curry was not a household dish where I grew up, so this dish cooked in Pangasinan intrigues me. I see some outside influences here, or maybe an inspired cook. Anyway, if this had been cooked and served in our house I think I would not have forsaken frogs.

Related Posts
Frogs with Amapalaya Leaves
Snails in Tamarind-Soured Broth
Pan-Toasted Wild Dwarf Crabs

C & Z Blog By Mail

Here is one eagerly awaited food package, because my secret Santa revealed herself prior to shipping and told me where she is: France, in a suburb north of Paris! So close to Clotilde, whose blog we all read and who was the inspiration for the food swap: we were, in one way or another, active participants at the Chocolate and Zucchini forums. It was organized by Eileen, a schoolteacher in Belgium and, in turn, the recipient of my package.

The contents are an assortment of products you would commonly come across and use in your kitchen if you are French and living in or near Paris, plus a touch of New Zealand where Bekbek, my secret Santa, was originally from. So nowadays I'm feeling a bit like a French girl, tasting and thinking and searching for recipes that could use what dear Bekbek sent.

Bekbek was in the Philippines (where I live) for a short time as a volunteer for Habitat for Humanity, helping in the building of houses for the poor in the southern city of Cebu. In fact, she tells me her nickname Bekbek, short for Rebecca, was given by the Filipino family she lived with. It's so heartwarming to learn unexpected facts like this, which more than spices up the package sent. Making it priceless.

Since Bekbek got acquainted with Filipino food, she strived to send me things which cannot be found or are hard to find in the country. And she did succeed!

I am now a proud owner of a can of chestnut spread, because chestnuts are now in season in France. This I want to try like how Bekbek suggested, with a thick creme fraiche (cream cheese? I always read Clotilde using this) or creamy yoghurt. A bottle of Aromates Sarladaises, an herb mix of classic French tastes. A bottle of an artisanal wild plum eau de vie, a digestif which comes with a warning that it has a real kick, so I'm taking just a sip and share this with my Flynn.

Then there's a big can of Terrine de Canard, liver pate which comes from the Haute-Pyrenees in the south-west of France, where Bekbek's husband's family are from. Rousquilles En Fondante, donut-like cake biscuits with vanilla fondant icing that has a hint of lemon, also a delicacy from the south-west of France.

A pack of organic lemon verbena, a very common tea infusion in France, also grown in the family garden. Then a travel-stained bar of Bennetts Feijoa Chocolate that must have traveled around the world from New Zealand to France then back to the Asia-Pacific. I appreciate Bekbeka's sharing a piece of her NZ stash. Yahoo yielded the data that feijoa, also called pineapple guava or guavasteen, originated from the cold mountains of Latin America but are now cultivated mostly in Australia and New Zealand. My first time to meet this fruit.

If you would notice in the photo, each item had a folded paper inserted or wrapped around it, which contained descriptions of how it is used. I promised to post once I've tried everything to give my impressions, but I might already be running late, so I'm just posting now, then will take each item one at a time in succeeding posts. Here's hoping I could cook like a French!

There is one I've tried (and subsequently consumed, all in one sitting), though, the rousquilles en fondante. I love vanilla, anise and donuts. Fondant icing, too. Unbelievable that they all came together in one single pastry and produced a heavenly taste. Need I say more?

Warm hugs from the Philippines, Bekbek, and Mabuhay! Thank you for giving me a taste of France and new Zealand, and for sharing a piece of your life story.