Chicken Fillet with Mango

We held our wedding in Baguio City because at that time our hometown parish church was still under construction, having sustained irreparable damage from the powerful earthquake that shook Luzon and leveled down Baguio.

The huge church was demolished and took more than a decade to rebuild, largely due to insufficiency of funds.

It is standing now - it is large enough to rival any cathedral. It would have been grand to have walked down its aisle. And of course, more importantly, its sentimental value is immeasurable - I had attended services in the church from infancy, after all. I was baptized and confirmed there, and it was where my parents got married.

Sometimes I still dream of getting married in that church. My Flynn and I couldn't wait for it to be finished when we were planning our wedding, so we opted for a non-traditional course by holding the ceremony and reception outside the bride's hometown, which happened to be out of the groom's hometown, as well.

The most logical choice was, of course, Baguio City, due to its proximity and wealth of wedding venues. We also had a lot of invitees from abroad and from out of the province - mostly from Metro Manila - and we wanted them to maximize a trip out of town by indulging in other activities on their own. That would be a bit difficult in Pangasinan because leisure spots are far in between, and would need a lot of planning and management on our part.

To at least have a little sentimental connection, I insisted we get married inside the school where Flynn finished college, in a charming little chapel perched on top of a hill with a view of the mountains traversed by Kennon Road.

For our wedding reception we both fell in love at first sight with the clubhouse at Camp John Hay, which had mismatching carved, heavy wooden chairs and tables, huge fireplaces, massive chandeliers, and a gleaming, grand pine staircase, going down on which you get a breathtaking view of the undulating greens surrounding the clubhouse.

Good thing the concessionaire - owned by the Wassmers of the famed Chinese boxed take-out Singkit - offered us a good menu. We scouted for other venues, but either the food was ordinary (mostly Chinese), or it was too far from the ceremony venue.

The closest other option was the Baguio Country Club, but at that time the grand ballroom was not yet constructed, and anyhow, I would not have traded anything in the world for the view around the John Hay clubhouse.

It was a splendid hall in itself - it needed minimal decoration, even for a wedding. All I did was to scatter around mini Japanese paper lanterns and washed out pebbles, and the effect of the shaded fluttering tealights against the burnished pine wood and the greens in the dusk was spectacular.

I chose to dwell on these because, as I'm sure anyone who ever got married could identify with, I remember nothing about the food. Of course we had a selection of menus to choose from, which elicited much thought and much more discussion with my hotelier friends. I did research on wines. We had a tasting menu. We revised our selections after the tasting because we did not think one course fit in and we had to change it.

But I don't remember how the courses tasted. And I don't ever remember how they tasted on the wedding reception itself, and it was not that long ago. I'm not even sure if I or Flynn actually ate during the reception. Maybe a forkful of wedding cake and a sip of champagne, but even that I don't recall.

What I vividly remember was that we were ravenously hungry (for food, just to be clear, hehe) upon reaching our honeymoon suite around midnight. Thank goodness for room service.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

What I'm posting here today, in commemoration of our wedding anniversary, is a dish that was included in our wedding banquet. It is, at most, eclectic. I've never encountered it before the tasting menu, but the pairing worked.

Apparently, stir-fried chicken and ripe mangoes is a popular tropical dish in the Carribeans, but is not eaten in the Philippines. I can understand a savory dish with green mangoes, but not ripe ones. In Asia, there is a beef dish with mangoes, or a curried chicken and mango, but not a simple chicken and mango as what we had in our reception. Most recipes call for other ingredients, or with cream.

As I do not remember the taste, I don't think I even approximated what we had in the wedding. Probably the closest one would be this recipe.

What I did, though, was to marinate fillets of chicken breast in salt, pepper, oyster sauce and flour for about twenty minutes, Chinese style, then sauteéd the chicken in sesame oil, garlic and onions. I added a little water, and stir-fried the chicken until cooked. Then I added the cubed ripe mangoes and cooked for a minute more.

The result was a combination of tropical and Asian flavors melding together. The sweetness of the mango was foiled by the oyster sauce, with spicy undertones of the sesame oil. All in all the tastes were delicate, teasingly understated and deliciously restrained. Quite refreshing, too.

It is festive enough - which is just as good, for I don't think I could eat this on an ordinary day basis. As I note time and again, I am not used to savory dishes having sweet elements. But this can be a very elegant addition to a spread during special occasions. Like a wedding anniversary, for one. And a wedding banquet, of course.

Related Post
Pinkie's Fondant Cake

Other Chicken Posts
Pinaupong Manok sa Asin
Pinapuong Manok sa Sabaw
Pininyahang Manok
Adobo sa Mangga
French Baked Adobo
Chicken with Old Bay Seasoning
Chicken Mapo Tofu
Tinolang Native na Manok

Siriguelas

Siriguelas by the kariton-load have been going around residential and commercial areas for weeks now. There must be thousands of the small fruits per overflowing wooden cart, and several carts rove around throughout the day.

Most are ripe (overly so, for me) and sweet even though the skins are still dark green. They are in the relatively smaller variety, which is a good indicator of high concentrations of flavor.

This is one of the few local fruits I know which retain their names or a semblance of it all over the archipelago. Scientifically the term is Spondias dulcis Blanco, but the local names are saguelas/sarguelas (Ilokano), saraguelas (Ibanag), sereguelas (Bisaya), sineguelas/sirihuelas (Tagalog), siriguelas (Bikol/Pangasinan).

All these names in the various Philippine languages can be traced as corruptions of ciruela, the Spanish name for the plum fruit. It was, of course, the Spanish who brought the fruit here from the Americas, and referred to it as ciruela because it looks a lot like a plum.

It tastes like a plum, too, only more astringent and has a lot of sourness (or sweetness, when ripe). The flesh is denser, and the seed bigger. Along with duhat, it is a good kutkutin (finger food to munch on), which Filipinos are very fond of - natural, no-salt, low-fat.

Siriguelas is not planted in my hometown, so we get to eat the fruit only when somebody goes out of town. It is a favorite pasalubong from the pilgrimage town of Manaoag, which produces the biggest and tarty-sweetest siriguelas in the province, sold in small, brown paper bags.

We prefer our siriguelas on the tart side - the sourness overpowering the sweetness, because a too sweet siriguelas tastes a bit cloying. It is exciting to be biting onto the fruit and experiencing tingles in your mouth from the tartness.

It's been said that a partly unripe siriguelas can cause stomach ache, but I've never been down from a sour siriguelas. Maybe because I have been exposed to the fruit since childhood and probably have developed a bit of "immunity" against its trouble-causing compounds.

Lomboy

Summer is heaving one of its last breaths, but before the rains come, we get a downpour of purple globules that stain the walkways and make birds and bats a-flutter.

I noticed first the splattered fruits on the pavement, and perhaps a pelt or two on my back, which made me look up at the fruit-heavy, humongous tree in front of both our gate and the gate where we stay in Cavite, before I realized it's lómboy time.

Lómboy (duhat, black plum/Java plum, jambolan, Indian blackberry, Syzygium Cumini Skeels) trees grow wild, relying on seed dispersal by birds. They are not cultured or cultivated for fruit, but nonetheless are so productive that when they are in season both man and beast can share in the abundance, with quite a few to spare for the usual pavement staining.

The fruit buds in elongated globules in light green color, turning to magenta and dark purple as it ripens, then on to almost black, which signals that it is ready to eat. That, is, if it doesn't pre-empt you and lets itself fall voluntarily to the ground even before you thought of looking for that tall, netted pole.

It is difficult to keep up with the fruits ripening, really, because they grow in clusters in every tree twig and branch, and ripen almost all at the same time.

When properly ripened, they are very sweet, with a slight astringence. The large globules protrude through your cheeks, especially when trying to get to the flesh around the big seeds with your tongue and teeth.

It is easy to tell who has taken the liberty to harvest that tree outside the fence - the tell-tale violet tongues and lips are good enough confessions. Of course, with the profusion, everybody is forgiven, in the spirit of community.

Eating lómboy is somehow not complete without the ritual kalóg-kalóg - putting the slightly firm berries in a bowl, sprinkling some salt in, covering the bowl with a plate, and proceeding to gleefully shake the bowl up and down.

The kalóg-kalóg bruises the berries, rendering the flesh soft and juicing them up a bit. This takes care of fruit still tart and astringent, making them readily edible without waiting for a few more days for them to ripen fully.

Of course this is not necessary for fully ripe fruits, which are so sweet it seems a sin to add salt to them. This is the only way I know how to eat the fruit, but it is commercially made into wine and other distilled liquors, and in other countries the juice is extracted and processed, to make into vinegar, tarts, sauces and jams.

Kalóg-kalóg is a time-honored ritual for me and probably for most Filipinos, but I recently learned that in other Asian countries, lómboy is a revered, sacred tree, and is planted near Hindu temples.

I have always known, though, that lombóy has been claimed to control diabetes, but this involves not the fruit itself but the seeds and the leaves, which, when boiled, are also potent in curing dysentery. The blossoms are also a good source of nectar for the bees to make into honey. If only for these, and especially for these, lómboy deserves my respect.

Related Post
The View from Below a Duhat Treet

Tinapay: Napoleones

This is part of an ongoing series, "Tinapay," about local breads found in street corner bakeries across the Philippines.

The region of Western Visayas is known for its genteel people, and for its malambing language, that it is often joked that you will never know when an Ilonggo is angry because of the inflection of the speech in Hiligaynon.

The Ilonggo culture is reveredly quaint, decidedly unique and entirely different from my own. This, of course, includes food. The Ilonggo sinigang is gentle (not so sour), and there is seafood not found elsewhere. How about lumpia which doesn't need a sauce? That's lumpiang ubod for you, Ilonggo made and unparalleled anywhere else.

The Ilonggo version of the Chinese siomai is eaten in a thick soup (molo), and roasted chicken has long been perfected and eaten before the Metro Manila phenomenon of lechon manok and Kenny Rogers (who, by the way, now includes an inasal flavor).

In pastries as well, only in Hiligaynon-speaking country can one find piaya, biscocho, hojaldres. And it is only in Bacolod, from among 7,103-4 islands, where napoleones is made.

Napoleones is a small, square, layered puff pastry with a sugar glaze on top and filled with a luscious custard cream in the center. It is sold in dozens by the box, each pastry in is own paper liner.

It is delectably light and airy yet filling at the same time, the glaze providing sweetness but can be cracked and peeled off if it proves too much.

Napoleones possibly was adapted from the napoleon, which is how the French pastry mille-fuille (a thousand leaves) is called outside of France, which in turn is claimed to have originated from Naples in Italy, thus the name.

It is in no way related to Napoleon Bonaparte, but there is a story that says he liked the napoleon so much that one time he ate a vast number of it before a major battle, which brought about Waterloo (I'm sure it is a joke).

Anyhow, the Bacolod napoleones approximates the French/Italian napoleon very well, only that the napoleon has many variants (fruit jams can be used as filling instead of custard cream).

However, the best known napoleon is the custard variety. In Bacolod, napoleones is filled only with custard cream.

And a very good custard cream it is. Creamier than Bavarian filling, thicker, too, and viscuously so. The puff pastry is first rate, with the right balance of crisp and chewiness.

Of course when I say Bacolod napoleones I'm talking about Roli's napoleones, reputedly the best known in taste. Roli's was a parting gift from an Ilongga amiga the first time I went to Bacolod, and invariably, Roli's napoleones is what I get when Ilonggo friends come over (I'm just so lucky I have many friends from the area), or what other friends bring me when they go to Bacolod for a visit (of course with a little hint from me).

I've heard there are other pastry shops selling napoleones in Bacolod, but Roli's has been the most consistently scrumptious. Sales is brisk, and there are days when you walk in the shop in the afternoon to find not even a single napoleones, and would need to order for the next day.

Unfortunately, Roli's, as with other special regional delicacies, is available only in Bacolod. The Ilonggo Grill outlets in food centers and food courts in malls sometimes carry a napoleones or two, but these would be soggy and a little stale.

Fortunately, though, for those who, like me, shouldn't always depend on the generosity of friends, napoleones is now available in Metro Manila. Although it is not made by Roli's, it is a good enough substitute. At least until that next box of Roli's comes along.

The napoleones available in the metropolis is made by Virgie's Products, who has grown by leaps and bounds from its acquisition by BongBong (the "in" piaya now in Bacolod). Virgie's Products, like mango tarts, mango tartlets (pañolitos), meringues, barquillos, are now distributed across the country and can be found in most mall supermarkets (SM, Rustan's, Market!Market!) and in regional kiosks nowadays.

Virgie's napoleones, however, can only be found at Putong Ube. This is the food kiosk found in malls sporting a purple and yellow banner, selling puto by the box in cheese, pandan, and of course, ube, flavors.

Putong Ube also has its own commercial spaces along Gilmore Street and Katipunan Avenue in Quezon City, Libertad Street in Mandaluyong, President's Avenue in Paranaque, and in Greenhills and Tiendesitas. It also sets up shop in the Salcedo Saturday market.

I don't care much about their puto. They're very tasty, but they get hard as a rock the following day - no amount of steaming can soften them again. And their texture is rough as a liha (sanding pad) compared to Calasiao puto, which, being a Pangasinense, is how puto should be, and only be, for me.

Of course it's obvious why I've taken painstaking note of their locations. I know where to go when the napoleones bug hits me.

*Update: A commenter very kindly dropped a note in the comments section with the information that Roli's is actually available at the Building A of SM Megamall in Ortigas City. Thanks, C!

(2/25/07) An anonymous commenter indicated that Roli's is also available at The Block, SM City North EDSA. Thanks for the info!

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Roli's
St. La Salle Avenue (in front of St. La Salle Bacolod)
Bacolod City

Virgie's Products
59 San Sebastian Street, Bacolod City

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The Tinapay Series

• Puto Seko (Laguna)
• Ensaymada
• Dealo Apas, Broas and Other Southern Tagalog Biscuits
  (Lucban, Quezon)
• Charito's Delights (Catbalogan, Samar)
• Half-Moon Cookie (Puerto Princesa, Palawan)
• Baker's Hill (Puerto Princesa, Palawan)
• Crema de Fruta
• Pedrito's/Jech (Dagupan City, Pangasinan)
• Panaderia de Molo (Iloilo City)
• Pastel (Camiguin)
• Inipit (Bulacan)
• Cinnamon Swirl Loaf (Baguio City)
• Kabukiran

Posts on the Food of Bacolod
Manokan Country
The Baye-Baye of Bacolod
Batchoy at 21
Cansi at Shopping
Reconnecting with Bacolod Sweets
Bacolod Products, Old & New
More Bacolod Products, Old & New
Lamud
Batwan

Ebeb

This type of banana is relatively long and thick (longer and much fatter than the more common lacatan) and not fragrant. The skin is deep green, turning to light green when ripe. It has a subtle taste - you taste more of the flesh, with hints of sweetness here and a bit of sourness there.

The flesh is firm and white. The black seeds are more pronounced, in that there are more of them, but being very little they don't really bother anyone and are barely noticeable.

It's called ebeb in Pangasinan, and I don't know what else in other languages, if it is eaten anywhere else at all. I doubt if this is what is called green bananas abroad, or just green bananas are what's called all kinds of bananas when still unripe.

It's not really very popular here in the Philippines - it's an exception to find it in the market these days. Probably because it is not as sweet as other varieties, and it doesn't travel and keep well.

I like subtleties, though, so I value it more than a banana assaulting all my senses with its unabashed sweetness. Pour a peanut-caramel sauce on it, and I'm a child again. Simply eaten on its own, one piece is very filling with its size. Now if only I can find it more often. I don't even know its season, and by the way it appears haphazardly, it may be close to being in no-season, for all time.

Lucban Miki

I have had the good fortune of developing a dear friendship with somebody starting on my freshman year in college. Her support meant so much to me when I ventured to join a university civic organization. She helped me survive, and she was one of the reasons I stayed on to many profitable and character-building years.

It was just my luck that she came from Lucban in Quezon. And so I was able to experience the Pahiyas festival from a guest's perspective and not just as a passersby enjoying the sights, when I was invited to her home to personally witness the festivities.

Her mother's hardinera (a terrine of pork and vegetables), that Southern Tagalog specialty, was so scrumptious and for me unparalleled. I still have to come up with something remotely similar to it, so what I have here today, in celebration of the Feast of San Isidro and the bountiful agricultural harvest, and in honor of my friendship with D., is a recreation of a famous Lucban dish I first tasted in the streets of the town as we strolled around admiring the breath-taking designs made of kiping (rice wafers in the shape of kabal leaves).

Pancit hab-hab is made from Lucban miki sauteéd with pork strips, native pechay, juliennes of sayote fruit and a little soy sauce. It is traditionally served on a small piece of banana leaf, requiring no utensils since it is eaten by bringing the container of noodles up to your mouth. Thus the term hab-hab.

Buddy's, a restaurant specializing in Quezon delicacies, has brought pancit hab-hab, among other things, to Metro Manila. Its noodle version is as authentically close as the one I ate in Lucban, including the spiced vinegar that is used to season the noodles instead of the usual calamansi.

But of course, it caters to Makati City patrons, and so it is a bit more affluent in terms of the ingredients than the one sold in the streets of its hometown.

I have found out, though, that the key to having genuine pancit hab-hab is using the right noodles. In this case, it is the Lucban miki, which Center Miki Factory has been churning out since 1937. It is available in fresh and dried versions, and it is a very dense and flavorful egg noodle.

I discovered this on my last visit with my friend, who has since relocated to Lucena and is now a newly-minted lawyer. While waiting for my bus at the central terminal, I went around the stalls selling Quezon products. I espied this noodle pack, and did not need another second to consider in buying it. It was one of the most prized souvenirs I ever took home.

I generally dislike pancit canton because it becomes so greasy when sauteéed I get headaches from eating it. It also goes so wimpily limp and bland when overcooked or you mix in too much water.

Lucban miki is an exception. It holds its shape and structure after cooking, and is so tasty it needs minimal flavoring. That's why pancit hab-hab is simply cooked - the added ingredients just serve to enhance the noodles' flavor.

I have since located a stall at Tiendesitas selling Lucban miki (dried), as well as bought it (fresh and dried) once from the Gaisano supermarket at the Pacific Mall in Legaspi City on a weekend jaunt there. I still have to discover other vendors, so when I don't have access to these two I try substituting it with the Bicol pancit bato, which somehow comes a bit close.

I may come across as a pancit hab-hab fanatic. Well, I may be - I love all kinds of pancit. But I try to source out Lucban miki as often as I could because I have discovered another way of cooking it.

I've found out that it lends sooo well to stir-frying the Chinese way, or at least how the Chinese restaurants in the country do it. There is a particular stir-fried noodle I like served in the North Park noodle house chain, as well as those served in my favorite Chinese restaurant in Binondo, Kim Hiong.

Now, with Lucban miki, I am able to approximate these dishes. The Chinese flavor gives the Lucban miki a whole new dimension in taste and depth of flavor, as well as creating an entirely new eating experience.

I sauté it with pieces of fish fillet, chicken meat, squidballs, bell peppers, celery, carrots, and button mushrooms, adding ground pepper and oyster sauce when it is almost cooked. It is so good it will have you believe it was a Chinese noodle instead of being a true-blue Tagalog. Pork and beef slices also lend well to it.

Besides hardinera and pancit hab-hab there are other Quezon delicacies worth mentioning, such as the special tikoy and Dealo's apas. I have yet to find them in Metro Manila, so for the meantime I'll savor Lucban miki whenever I can find it.

Center Miki Factory

85 San Luis Street
Lucban, Quezon

Tiendesitas, C-5, Pasig City

Buddy's

Kakarong corner Barasaoin Streets
Makati City
8991170, 8957185, 8957980

Pililla corner Kalayaan Avenue
Makati City
8995991, 8995993

Fiesta Market!Market!
(Open Air Food Court)
Market!Market! Mall
Fort Bonifacio, Taguig City

Related Posts
Quezon's Special Tikoy, Yema Cake, Pianono
Pahiyas 2011

The Politics of A Mango Harvest

This is the proper way to eat a ripe mango. Peel the skin with your hands from the pointed end, going around until only about a third is unskinned, then proceed to bite, from the top, holding the portion with skin still on.
Bite deeply, to the bony seed and around it, sucking on its fibrous fur. You're not doing it properly if the juices don't run down to your wrists and forearms. When you've uncovered half of the seed with your slurping, wet bites, transfer your hold to the end of the seed and peel the remaining skin.
Finish the fruit, taking care not to suck on the flatter end where the stalk was cut, or else you run the risk of developing swollen lips.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It is now almost the end of the mango season, and I'm starting to feel I cannot let go. I'll be in denial for the next few weeks or so, moaning the rising prices of the fruit - due to the diminishing supply - and its eventual disappearance.

That, despite the angry heat rashes on my baby daughter's back, neck and forehead - due of course to her daily intake of the sweet, juicy fruit as breakfast. But I've had the same every summer since I could remember, so let her have it. It strengthens character (haha). And her love for the fruit.

Having grown up with mangoes largely featuring in my life (among other unique things pertaining to food in my beloved province), I have developed the skill -or maybe it's inherent - for picking out the sweetest, most succulent fruit.

The very first and most important consideration is smell. Every December and during summers the family would have kaings and kaings of mangoes ripening in our storeroom in the kitchen, and the smell pervades the entire house.

We'd be in a state of bliss from the sweetness that accompanies us everywhere, but it becomes maddening as the days go by as we await when we could taste the first ripe mango.

But of course we are not such control freaks - the first moment we get our mango ration and before laying each and every fruit for ripening on the newspaper-padded floor of the storeroom, we eagerly peel several, slices dipped in bagóong and disappearing as fast as they are pared from the unripe fruit.

This goes on until our molars become numb from the sourness and we cannot eat anything else. Ahh, such drool-inducing memories.

An unripe mango also smells. Of sourness and of the tree it has come from. So I am instantly afraid of a mango that lies near me but does not communicate.

And I become deathly afraid if I put it to my nose and still I detect nothing. Even from afar, a ripe mango that was not induced to ripen by chemical means should be announcing its sweet presence, and with a booming voice.

The second consideration is looks. May I just digress, and add that I apply this order to how I consider men, in general, too. My Flynn smells handsomely, although of course I'm not saying that he's not good-looking.

Anyway, for mangoes I was saying looks. Or the lack of it. Like how all organic food should look, a sweet mango should not look perfect. It should have blemishes, even black or dark marks and streaks (though not including bruises).

Such is the way to ensure that the mango was not forced to ripen using the chemical kalbúro (calcium carbide). It's easy to tell, anyway, because a mango that is kinalbúro is flawless, and has a very pale yellow color, compared to the hot, sunshiny yellow of the naturally ripened mango.

Even mangoes hastened to ripeness by naturally physical means, such as wrapping them with newspaper or storing them in a dark place or container, comes out looking naturally imperfect.

A kinalbúro tastes sour, with not a flicker of a hope for sweetness, even if it looks so ripe that it is already beginning to rot. Or, at the least, it will taste bland. That's because the chemical arrested the ripening process, denying the fruit the chance to develop its inherent sweetness. It is actually very cruel.

However, there is another way to make certain a mango doesn't realize its full potential, as I've recently found out.

For years and years the mango orchard my paternal grandparents planted themselves had been managed by a trusted kasamák, or tenant.

The tenant took care of the pruning of the trees, spraying them at the precise time (when the trees turn a new leaf), watching over the flowers and eventual fruits day and night, quivering when a typhoon passes by on its way out of the country, until it was the right time to harvest them, which was when the unripe mangoes have become maták-kęn or mature enough to ripen.

That is when a buyer is sourced out, the entire harvest is bought wholesale, and the kaláb, literally the climb which means to climb the trees to pick the fruits, is scheduled. This is the exciting part, because then we get to have our mangoes from the ten kaings that is left for the owners and the tenant.

This year's mango season (which started last July, with the turning of the leaves) marked the first time the tenant handed down the helm of the orchard to his son, having grown already weak and frail with age. That development saw a slight deviation in the management of the property, which eventually affected the quality of mangoes that we got this year.

Before, all was done in timing with the dictates of nature. That was still applied now, but not through the harvest. In the previous years we've heard about not getting enough returns because we did not get the right price - due to the timing of the harvest, coinciding with many others in the province.

Which meant mangoes have already started flooding the market, pushing prices down. But we never did anything about it, because nature largely controlled the factors. There is no way to hasten the fruit-bearing season - the mango trees have to sprout new leaves for them to be able to start blossoming, and that's that.

But our new tenant, since he is young and perhaps more aggressive than his ailing father was, decided to take matters into his own hands and harvested during the prime selling season - prices were high, because many have not yet harvested. However, the mangoes were not appropriately mature.

So the green mangoes were as sour as they could be. Who would not be? If I had been been denied proper development, I'm sure I'd be sour about it, too - more than tartly so. And when they ripened, they retained their sourness, the flesh turning a bit gelatinous in consistency and texture.

Actually, I think they skipped the ripening part and proceeded to the rotting stage straight from the state of unripeness. They had black spots even before a week has lapsed from harvest time.

And so this is a late, and may I say, posthumous post. It took the entire summer for me to bemoan and process this tragedy.

I managed - I tried to be resourceful by finding ways to enjoy less than premium mangoes, which resulted in dishes like mango sago, mango adobo, green mango shake.

I have also resorted to buying ripe mangoes for my kids, an unthinkable act in the past during mango season. I so feel the shortchanged sentiment the buyers of our mangoes must have felt, especially since it is of the kalabaw (carabao) variety, which is mostly exported. I have never felt this shame about our mangoes ever.

Apayas tan Agayep

[Papaya and string beans]

In Pangasinan we have no name for this vegetable dish, as with other vegetable pairings, like salúyot tan labóng, or kalobása tan marúnggay.

What I call it here, as with the other examples, is by the names of the two vegetable ingredients, apáyas being the Pangasinan term for papaya, while agáyep is sitaw, which is called string beans in English, but the name string beans in the US actually pertains to another pod much shorter than our sitaw.

As a digression, let me add that sitaw is called batong in the Visayan language (Cebuano). Batong sounds related to balatóng, which is the Pangasinan term for the lowly but noble munggô or mung beans.

While they're two different bean varieties, balatóng is actually harvested from pods which look like batong or sitaw. And then, sometimes we open up mature agáyep (batong) pods to get the beans when the pods are already inedible, cooking them like a balatóng. Of course the agáyep beans are softer.

I prefer the shorter sitaw, which is less than a foot long, greener, and has thinner skin than the more common and longer sitaw. There is less insulating white pulp covering the beans, so the pods are firmer and look "skin-tight." This sitaw variety has more flavor, and there are times in the year when they are sold in the morning market mostly shelled - like soft mung beans with a few unshelled pods here and there.

Anyway, in Pangasinan when we ask the cook to prepare vegetable dishes, we just say what vegetables to include. It is actually automatic because it has been established how one complements and enhances the other.

And all native vegetables are cooked the same - in the method called sinágsagán. So if I am asked what I have cooked, I will simply say the names of the vegetables I put in the pot.

Of course not all vegetable dishes don't have names in Pangasinan. Like we have pakbet, or pakbet tan kalobása (with squash, which is the Ilocano bulanglang).....and....., I can't think of anything else. So mostly they are identified by what they contain, the vegetables just enumerated.

Probably this is the case because the dishes are so simple and so homey, that they did not merit being named. Almost all vegetable dishes in the province I have never encountered elsewhere, but it existent in the Ilocos and Batangas provinces, with whom we share the sinágsagán method of cooking vegetables.

I actually stop in surprise sometimes - because whenever I am away from the province, I so miss and crave for these specific vegetable dishes. The salty smell of bagóong boiling away merrily, and then that of the green notes of the fresh vegetables - they evoke the comfort of home and homecooking.

Looking back at the child who cried in anguish because she actually had to eat the vegetables served frequently (daily, without fail), I never foresaw I would come to this day. That I would actually crave what I used to hate. And even to the extent that it could take on the identity of comfort food.

Agáyep tan apáyas, or vice versa - let's call them AA for short, smells of sinágsagán coupled with the unrealized sweetness of the thinly sliced unripe papaya, punctuated by the deep greenness of the sitaw, which is broken (by hand) into several (about three to four) pieces, removing the string on each side.

This is the basic pairing, and can be served on its own. A piece - preferably the head - of grilled bangus, the favored flavor enhancer of provincial vegetable dishes, ups the allure of the dish, elevating it to almost gourmet status (of course I'm exaggerating, but it's not really far from the truth).

For variety, other vegetables can be added. Here we have bungá'y cabuéy, the fruit of that climbing vine which is considered a weed - called sigarillas in Tagalog (sigadillas, seguidillas, winged bean, Goa bean, asparagus bean).

In the first photo, the dish contained kamansī (kamongsi, breadfruit, Antocarpus camansi blanco), which is prized for its breast milk inducing capability.

Kamansī is another vegetable I crave for when I'm out of Pangasinan, but this post is already too long, so I will leave that for another time.

• Note: From the comments made on this post, may I add that this dish actually has a name in other places - dinengdeng or inabraw in the Ilocos and kibal in Batangas. Which got me into thinking that I should try finding out if there is a forgotten name in Pangasinan.

Do You Remember Choco Mallows?

Those thick round chocolate rounds that melt into soft, gooey marshmallow and on to a chocolate cookie base? They were individually wrapped in silver foil and came in sixes in a thin, yellow rectangular box.

In summer the chocolate has all but melted inside the foil, and all you could do was to put the entire thing into your mouth, foil and all, and proceed to chew until you have squeezed out all the melted chocolate. And then dutifully spit out the now crumpled foil.

Or at least that was how I ate it. And forgot about it for a time. Until there were these international food swaps and some of the American sweets going around were called mallowmars, and the sound of the name intrigued me. And somewhat touched a deep, denied yearning inside of me.

Looking at the photos of the mallowmars I exclaimed aha! But they are choco mallows! And that was when I decided to drop by the local biscuits shelf of my favorite grocery store and found out that, yes! choco mallows are still produced! And still encased individually in foil, sporting the same yellow design, still in packs of six, although now they're in a foil pack and not in a cellophaned box. Probably to look more upbeat, in keeping with the times. Too bad for the environment, though.

I touched base with my inner child. They still tasted the same. Cloyingly sweet and gooeyly sticky that I feared for my teeth. But they did not complain. Such joy to taste them once again, probably. I could finish the whole pack now all by myself. Maybe I could have done it, too, as a child, had it not been for my parents.

It is a wonder to think how this has survived the times, and continue to be in existence. If that's any indication of its popularity. I find it strange, however, that it has never been imitated, and up to now it has no direct competitor.

There is a Cream-O version of a chocolate coated chocolate cookie, but no marshmallow in between. My minimal marketing strategy training is baffled how Choco Mallows could undertake minute changes over the years and still keep its own shelf space, and yet not one single clone has emerged.

Of course, I'm thankful that it has not evolved into something else, when the accepted order of the day is to be always reinventing yourself. There is such comfort in that - to steadfastly remain true to your one and only self. Like an anchor, something to hold on to and touch base with when the adult world proves a bit taxing.

But many people know that there is a thriving little black market for Choco Mallows, along with other cookies of the bygone, gentler years (remember Butter Crunch? Hi-Ro?). They come in unmarked cellophane packs, sold by ambulant vendors and enterprising individuals around the metropolis. These can be found even in Divisoria.

I think the vendors source their stuff from the numerous stalls along the road beside the biscuit factory somewhere in Laguna. Rumor has it that the biscuits sold in these stalls come from the factory, thrown out because they did not pass quality control.

If that were true, the factory must be losing so much from product rejects that I wonder why they are still in business. Judging from the number of stalls and the amount of supposed throw-aways they are carrying, the rejects must be selling more than the "official" ones carried in supermarkets and grocery stores.

I find no difference between these and the quality-controlled ones, anyway. It's just that the renegade Choco Mallows are naked, and can be bought in packs of a dozen pieces. That's more than enough for my sweet tooth. Though the tooth seems to relish the taste of aluminum foil.

Inkalot A Bangos

[Grilled Milkfish]

May 1 is observed across the globe as Labor Day. As the day falls on a Monday this year, it translates to a long weekend, as it is usually declared a special non-working holiday. An opportune time to schedule that long-postponed vacation trip.

Pangasinenses attach a special meaning to May 1, but for another reason. Because May 1 had also been observed for years in the province as Písta'y Dáyat, literally translated as "Feast of the Sea," which is a celebration in thanksgiving for the seas' bountiful harvest.

So it means a trip to the beaches surrounding the Lingayen Gulf, going across Tondalígan (or Blue Beach) in Dagupan City all the way to San Fabian which borders La Union.

One of the highlights of the celebration is the pageant to choose the Limgás na Dáyat, the "muse of the sea," (literally translated, limgás means purity), and her eventual coronation around midnight.

The past several years saw the stretching of the festival to about a month of activities, like all other festivities that have seen the light of commercialization, especially with the bid for fame with the longest bangós* grilling station in the world. That development has since segregated the celebration to each municipality, with the festival in Dagupan City renamed to Bangós Festival, to properly attribute the source of the best bangós.

I've never attended a Písta'y Dáyat, for the simple reason that crowded beaches can be one of the most disgusting places in the world to be in, due from both the wastes littering the otherwise pristine waters and humans wasted by alcohol and too much karaoke. Even during the other holidays of the year we avoid the beaches like the plague.

But, of course, that doesn't keep me from commemorating the occasion. Just rub a fresh Bonuan bangós with coarse sea salt (from Pangasinan, of course) and plop over live coals, innards intact (excluding the gills and minute bile sac), grilling until the scales blacken.

Eating the hot, succulently sweet, fatty flesh dipped in Lingayen bagóong with a squeeze of calamansi is always a cause for celebration, for me. Even the scorched, sea-salty scales are not spared by Pangasinenses, as we eat the entire skin, leaving only the tail and big spine (the head is sucked to pieces).

The only things missing then would be the sand under my toes and the whiff of sea breeze playing with my hair.

But with bangós production on full scale across the country, buying real Bonuan bangós can be actually tricky. All bangós vendors in Pangasinan will say their bangós is from Bonuan, when about fifty percent of the time it is not. There are other bangós ponds in the province, after all. And some Pangasinan bangós can be maáblir, smelling and tasting like mud.

A skill is most of the time needed to differentiate the real Bonuan bangós from that just pretending to be one. But the most telling characteristic of a Bonuan bangós is its size - so great is the demand that it is rarely harvested past its prime length, which is about 6-8 inches. A jumbo bangós is from elsewhere and is best made into a relleno.

A small head (relatively stunted) and short tail, which means a longer body, are also characteristic traits of a Bonuan bangós, as an uneven tail (one prong is shorter than the other, although not so obvious at first glance). Scales are light grey turning to white, easily rubbing off. Bonuan bangos usually look like they've been harvested days before because of the missing scales, but that is the best and the most obvious indicator that they really come from Bonuan.

A bulging stomach is considered first-rate bangós, as it spells heavenly thick fat that enhances the flavor of the fish as it grills. Pangasinenses are self-avowed bangós belly worshippers, including and especially those who eat bangós as pulutan. The latter always offer prayers for a miracle that would turn the bangós into an all-belly fish, the thick, black fat running from head to tail.

Such is this obsession that all bangós sold in the province have slit bellies to show how thick the fat is, which also shows how fresh the fish is from the overflowing innards. Which is to say, it would be unwise to buy bangós without the proper incision.

*Commonly spelled bangus

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