Familiarly East Asian

The great thing about celebrating the monthly birth days of a baby is that I get to try out new dishes and plan around menus. The dinners are informal, the guests are mainly adults. Kids are brought along, but the party is mainly for the parents' appreciation, so it's an added bonus that I don't have to cater two parties.

I had been mulling over an East Asian theme for months now, and finally got to execute it last weekend, since my baby's birth day fell on a Saturday (I work Mondays to Fridays, so I can only serve cakes - bought commercially - when the birth day falls on a weekday).

East Asia, or Eastern Asia as the UN prefers it, comprises the political territories of mainland China (including Hong Kong and Macau), the two Koreas, Vietnam, Japan, and Mongolia. This geographical region is actually what was referred to in colonial times as the Far East, which also included Southeast Asia, in which the Philippines is classified, as well as Russia (before consolidating into the USSR).

Why the cuisines from East Asia?

Firstly, there are dishes from this region familiar enough that I couldn't be accused of serving an exotic menu (or difficult or complex, as one guest remarked in a previous party, Is there a special procedure in eating this?). There are popular restaurants in the country specializing in the cuisines of the region, excepting Mongolia.

But despite our exposure to these cuisines, the dishes are worlds removed from what is common and ordinary - by which I mean commonly served during parties, to the point of being considered ordinary - the flavors totally different from fares served in Filipino celebrations.

Secondly, I love East Asian cuisine. It is a joy to be recreating dishes I mainly eat in restaurants and abroad, and introducing these to your friends.

As I said, I had been planning the menu for months - the possibilities are infinite. In the end I decided on easy dishes which are the most familiar and that would complement one another. I'll be delving on the more challenging dishes in the future, when I have more time, and the baby is a bit older.

I started off with a staple of most parties I hosted. Yuri-kani salad - cucumber-crabstick salad - finely sliced cucumbers imitating the thin strips of faux crabstick (crab-flavored surimi, or processed white fish), with mayonnaise (I use Kraft real mayo, which nicely approximates Japanese mayo), generously sprinkled with ebikko (prawn roe), and served on lettuce leaves.

I've been serving this for years the househelp has mastered slicing the cucumbers in the thinnest possible way. And most efficiently, since the cucumbers have to be sliced just before serving, or they become limp and turn the salad soggy.

It's a very refreshing dish, the crabstick's meaty flavor marrying perfectly with the succulent cucumber, bound by the salty-sourness of the mayonnaise, while the ebikko provides crunch and bursts of savory goodness.


Skewered chicken thigh fillets, brushed with sesame oil, salt and pepper, then grilled. Supposedly shio yakitori, the second dish from Japan, but when removed from the stick and placed between sliced baguettes brushed with mustard, then heaped with the yuri-kani salad, it became the Vietnamese sandwich I went crazy for in Palawan.


Chap chae, a popular Korean stir-fried noodle dish consisting of potato noodles, or vermicelli (glass noodles made from mung beans, this one almost as thick as spaghetti), in a soy-, sugar- and sesame-flavored sauce, which contained beef strips, wood ear (tengang daga) or black fungus, carrots and bell peppers (I added sliced fresh shiitake and kuchay to make the dish nutty) and sprinkled with scrambled eggs and leeks before serving.

Recipes called for cooking the noodles before tossing with the pre-cooked sauce. I was hesitant about this method, since I have cooked enough pancit to know that noodles are best cooked in the sauce so they would absorb maximum flavor. But I had to follow it, because the vermicelli I bought didn't have one single English word on its plastic packaging. I had also cooked enough canton to know that inexpert measurements of cooking sauce turns unsuspecting noodles pasty and inedible.

The sauce was mildly flavored because I used Kikkoman soy sauce, but the flavor almost vanished when mixed with the noodles, allowing the subtle sesame oil flavor to shine through. In the end I had to reheat and add dashes (glugs, actually) of the common thick soy sauce to ante the palatability. Next time I'll try to be braver and cook the noodles in the sauce, though what I had as the finished product (after the glugs of toyo) was good enough.

I would have wanted to serve siopao, or pork-filled buns, or maybe just steamed buns, even tikoy rolls (filled rice rolls) to represent the Chinese connection, but making these is too time consuming and requires so much involvement. The baby is in a stage when she's become clingy. She welcomes the attention of the nanny, but cries when she sees me around. It was impossible to knead dough with her sticking her stout, stubby fingers in everything she could reach.

So I had to content myself with hot pots of lapsang souchong and green tea to wash everything down. The siopao would have to wait, perhaps for a full Chinese lauriat, or for a Southeast Asian motif.

The mango cake provided a sweet, fruity ending to the meal, and a recap, since mangoes are a common favorite among all the East Asian countries.

Mango Cake

Cake of the Month
As the family marks my third child’s progress onto her first year, I will be celebrating her monthly birth day in this blog by featuring a cake. Lined up for the next twelve months, and hopefully on afterwards, are old-time favorites, reliable standards, as well as new discoveries, as I go on a quest for the best cakes around the country.

Mango cakes made by specialty bakeshops are not available around this time, because it is so out of the mango season, which is from December until about June. At least, the mango season in Luzon, because I was in Cebu at this time several years ago and I had the sweetest, succulent mangoes for breakfast at Mactan.

But Red Ribbon's Mango Cake (Php450, mini Php270) is available year-round, with no worries about the sweetness of the mangoes incorporated in the cake. Cheaper by any standard, too. I once thought dried mangoes were used, but upon re-acquaintance with the cake I revised my opinion.

The mangoes used are fresh alright. Many bits and pieces of them, riddling the buttercream frosting and the filling in between layers of chiffon. The resulting cake is so fragrant - as sweet-smelling as real mangoes - it made me want to drool. And my five-year old son said it smelled so good he wanted a piece of the cake right then and there, three hours before the commemorative party for his sister's month birthday.

I made the mistake of opening the cake box and displaying the cake on the table while I was still busy puttering in the kitchen. Every minute or so my son was poking his head into the kitchen - Mammmeeee! I want some cake! I can smmeeellll it!

And so I had to invent various reasons to stall the boy - the birthday girl is still asleep (he woke her up), eat proper food first (he ate a sandwich), let's wait for Daddy (he called Daddy to hurry up), until I had to give in, just to have some peace while cooking and let my ears rest from his whining.

So before anything was cooked the kids put on the candles, I lighted them, let them blow them off, and I cut the cake. They (a three-year old girl and a soon-to-be six year old hyperactive boy, both very slim) had demolished more than half of the cake before they let the nannies take away their plates, and they were fast asleep by the time the hubby and I sat down to dinner.


The mango cake has been in Red Ribbon's repertoire for ages, and it is still the best seller in many branches, even outside of Metro Manila. I first got acquainted with it many years ago - it was the favorite cake of officemates who bought it for no particular reason, or for giving it away as a gift, or as an accompaniment to fresh flowers when wooing a girl.

I swear it is still the same, delicious mango cake, glorifying heavenly ripe mangoes through and through. The chiffon is soft and fluffy, the buttercream silky and not too sweet, greatly enhancing the mango taste.

So far this is the most accessible among the cakes in my monthly cake series, and the lowest-priced. Yet it is greatly satisfying, and has the most value for money.

I actually like the reliable standards of Red Ribbon - this mango cake, the ube cake, chocolate mousse, black forest - though most of the new products they have been coming out are major letdowns, like the red velvet (like a very dry, bad fruitcake), the marjolaines, tiramisu, the s'mores (too sweet).

A mango cream pie was debuted two summers ago and it was the greatest pie I've ever eaten (of course, because it's made with my favorite fruit). A crumbly, shortbread/butter cookie crust filled with a luscious sweetened cream, then finished with thick slices of honey-sweet mangoes. It was lustful. I had been ready then to trade my chocolate mango trifle.

Sadly, its reappearance last summer was a disappointment. That sublime crust was replaced by a soggy, ordinary flour crust, and the mangoes were sour. That was the time I vowed never again to deprive myself of a pie for a year, waiting for an exact remake of that great mango pie. I'll stick with the mango cake.

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Red Ribbon website
Locations across the country

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Cakes of the Month
Divine Chocolate Cake, by Divine Sweets (Puerto Princesa, Palawan)
Cakelines, by Jon-Rhiz (Cavite City)
Dayap Chiffon Cake, by Kiss Cafe (UP Diliman, Quezon City)
Belgian Chocolate Cake, by a La Creme (City of San Fernando, Pampanga)
White Chocolate Mousse, by Gateau de Manille (Katipunan Avenue, Quezon City)
Ube Cake, by Goodies N' Sweets (several locations across Metro Manila)
Mango Charlotte, by Sweet Bella (Dasmarinas Village, Makati City)
Strawberry Shortcake by Vizco's (Baguio City)
Almond Chocolate Fudge Cake by Malen's (Noveleta, Cavite)
Caramel Cake by Estrel's (Quezon City)
Marshmallow Birthday Cake by Estrel's (Quezon City)

Laing sa Santol

I would have titled this santol laing, since laing with santol is a novelty. But this is the true laing, from the Bicolanos' point of view, and I am defeating the idea by giving emphasis to the santol.

I remember that during our Saturday lunches, a long-time Bicolana friend squeezed kalamansi on the laing we regularly had. I let her taste this, and she said it was cooked like a true Bicolano laing. At least the laing from the northern part of Bicol.

The true laing, as are the true ginataan from Bicol, have sour undertones. Ginataan uses vinegar, especially ginataang isda (fish in coconut cream), to cut through the richness of the gata. Laing uses kamias, for the same reason.

The sourness, which mellows down to a mere suggestion of sweetness in the case of the santol, is a surprise element for those not used to the flavor in a laing. The surprise is pleasant, and makes you ponder why all other laing are not cooked this way. The pairing of creaminess with sourness-sweetness, punctuated by varying degrees of heat, is perfect.

I first tasted laing sa santol at the beginning of this year's santol season. It was cooked and brought to the office by a Bicolana, and I couldn't get enough of it I vowed to cook it at home. It was explained that santol was used in place of kamias because they were bountiful at the moment. I am intrigued with the use of kamias, and I will use it next when the santol totally disappears from the markets.


Laing uses the leaves of gabi (taro, Colocasia esculenta Linn. Schott & Endl.), for some including, and preferably with, the stalks.


The leaves to be cooked into laing are first dried, hanging from the rafters, so the itchy hairs or fur drop off. Some would prefer the leaves to be totally dry, so they don't absorb much coconut cream while cooking.

The dried leaves are then torn into thin strips, and mixed with flaked salted, dried fish for flavor (in Bicol they add the dried, fermented krill rolled into packed cylinders, which I failed to buy when I was Naga, so I substituted hibe, or dried, peeled whole shrimps). Peeled, crushed ginger, and probably crushed garlic and sliced onions are added for spice, and the santol, diced, and some sliced chiles, both to prevent the laing from becoming cloying.

Laing, as Metro Manilans know it, is rice intensive, or requires a large amount of rice to be eaten with it, because of its richness. Laing sa santol is more intense - more rice is eaten unprecedentedly because of the sourness. You eat more of it since it is not so rich, consequently you eat more rice. I don't know if there's any logic to this, but it certainly happened to me.

One more thing why I love laing sa santol is the fact that with it, I can eat santol and relish its puckering sourness without all the accompanying toothaches. Many, many summers of green mangoes and many, many rainy seasons of santol have taken a toll on my pearly whites, to the point that just by looking at santol I could feel the familiar pain starting. Growing up has its disadvantages.

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Related Posts

• Photo of santol here
• How to eat santol by itself
• Bangus (milkfish) with santol

My Bicol Trips
Pinangat at Penafrancia
Biggs Diner & Bob Marlin
Pinangat Pizza at CWC
Pili Brittle Discs

Panag-akan na Pantol

How do you eat a pantol (santol)?

Climb up the santol tree, bringing along a small sharp knife safe in its sheath, and some salt hidden in your shorts pocket. Pick a yellow fruit and inspect if it's not ridden with holes, or there might be worms inside. Straddle a thick horizontal branch and bring out your knife.

Peel the pantol thinly in one round motion, like peeling an apple. Do this fast, because the pantol oxidizes swiftly and turns a reddish tan in no time at all. Then using the sharp edge of your knife, beat the fruit, producing many vertical slits all around.


Now bring out the salt. Lie down on the branch, taking care that no large red ants are crawling on it. Lift up your shirt, and put the salt on the depression of your navel. Roll the beaten pantol on the salt. Proceed to lop up the thin cuts of fruit flesh until you get to the fluff-covered seeds that look like cotton.


You may wish to roll the seeds on your navel, but they are so sweet there's really no need. Don't hoard and save them, for they will turn wet with moisture and will look like...wet cotton. You can just roll them over and over inside your mouth, sucking on the fluff until there's not one fiber left, and spit them out bald.

Pick another one, and repeat, and another, until your teeth and all the insides of your mouth feel numb from the acidulous tartness, and biting into any other food produces toothaches. Hide among the leaves when your grandmother calls, looking for you.

It is the tail-end of the santol season, and I am relishing my last taste of them. The Bangkok variety - the bigger, sweeter kind - have practically all disappeared. Only the small native can be found in public markets, though rarely, skins pockmarked because of the rains. These last batch have a sweet edge to them, sweeter than the Bangkok. A last sweet hurrah before they vanish.

Cooking with Santol

• Laing with santol
• Santol with banana heart and bangus

Pantol

[Santol (Sandoricum koetjape, syn. S. indicum and S. nervosum)]

How to eat santol
Cooking with santol

• Laing with santol
• Santol with banana heart and bangus

Sinabawan a Malaga

[Malaga fish in broth with ginger]

As I've mentioned in my previous post about malaga, this delicate fish is best cooked with minimal intervention, and in the shortest time possible. It is commonly just boiled in wash water from rinsed, uncooked rice, with ginger and tomatoes, or with a few pieces of whole pias (kamias) if preference is for a soup with some sour hints.

Anything with a more pronounced flavor will drown the fish' delicate sweetness. In Bugallon it is grilled and eaten with a salad of sliced tomatoes, onions and agamang (salted fermented krill, alamang or bagoong hipon in Tagalog).

All restaurants in Pangasinan specializing in local cuisine - these are usually the seafood places in the coastal towns - serve inselar a malaga, or sinigang na malaga/malaga in soured soup. The ingredients are the same - ginger, tomatoes, perhaps pias, and a stalk of celery, which adds to the sweetness and aroma of the soup.

We were home in Pangasinan during the weekend, so I am fortunate that we will have malaga on the table tonight, in soured broth, perhaps with some prawns, also from Pangasinan, and a stalk of celery, a fitting dish to serve for FaMEALy Day, in celebration of National Family Week, which this year falls on Sept. 22-28. FaMEALy Day promotes the government advocacy campaign "Kainang Pamilya Mahalaga," and encourages all family members to be home early tonight, and share dinner together.

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As opposed to danggit that is butterflied, salted and dried, malaga belongs to the fish species (siganus) that is made into lamayo, the Visayan term for daing, or marinated fish, in the Visayas and probably Mindanao. I sampled this in Puerto Princesa, and it was such a revelation - to me who has worshipped malaga my entire life.

Marinated in a mild, white vinegar with crushed garlic, a little salt and some peppercorns, it was the most luxuriantly tasting marinated fish I've ever tasted. It was sublime with sliced tomatoes and agamang, and, eaten with hot steamed rice, makes for a first-rate breakfast by any standard.

I have written previously, in that post about all the fish I ate in Palawan, that I looked for danggit - the butterflied, salted and dried kind - but found only the one-day drying kind which is still full of moisture and so weighs heavily, and is prone to harboring those tiny white worms.

[L-R, Danggit, Daing na Samaral, Tinik ng Samaral]

It turns out I was wrong. That daing was dry, as I've found out with a recent pasalubong from Puerto Princesa. It was heavy because it wasn't danggit - it was samaral, the Visayan version of my beloved malaga , deboned, salted and sun-dried. At a hefty Php300 per kilo (as I remember from the time I was haggling for it), it was significantly more expensive than danggit, especially since the latter is very thin and almost weightless, while the samaral flesh is thickly compact.

But I still favor the lamayo. The daing na samaral is very salty, and is best used with vegetables cooked in gata (coconut cream). What was surprising, though, was the samaral bones - the entire skeleton removed from the fish. It is sold separately (whereas in the lamayo it is sold with the marinated flesh) and more expensively, at Php800 per kilo. The premium paid is for the crunchiness of the bones when cooked. And because it is very, very tasty.

Malaga

Malaga, of the family generally referred to as samaral or siganid, is a premium fish served on special occasions across the province of Pangasinan, and as I've discovered during a trip where my meals were catered, as far as Baguio City.

Malaga is a marine fish, but in Pangasinan it is cultured in ponds in coastal towns, particularly in the municipality of Bugallon, where a malaga festival is celebrated.

I am not sure what the exact scientific name is, but it seems this is Vermiculatus Siganidae (vermiculated spinefoot), which conforms to the description of vermiculations (those black-and-white zigzag patterns) on the skin.

Relative to the prized Bonuan bangus, malaga is expensive, so is not served daily. Large batyas upon batyas (huge tin basins) of malaga is sold at an average Php200 per kilo at the fish daungan and wet market of Dagupan City, by the Pantal River.

While bangus costs Php100 for five small ones or three big ones, big malaga can reach Php250, with the small ones going for Php180. Anything lower is suspect - the malaga might not be fresh.

And freshness is important, because malaga spoils easily, smelling and tasting like a dead rat, the flesh disintegrating when cooked. But when fresh, the flesh of malaga is firm yet soft and very delicate, with a slight, barely detectable sweetness.

In Dagupan, the freshness of the fish being sold is shown by the slits to the stomach, especially with bangus. In photo above the flayed portion is folded to reveal the thick fat and the roe.

Malaga is very meaty - fleshy - with no pesky tiny spines, just the one big skeleton, so it is convenient to eat. It is a pain to clean, though, because the fins are very sharp and can cause very deep wounds that could be excruciatingly painful. A skill is needed in removing the internal organs, too, since carelessness could unintentionally crush the bile, resulting to the malaga tasting bitter.


Malaga is among the country's cultured high-value, white-fleshed fish exported abroad. In fact, it belongs to the species being promoted for culture for export under the mariculture park project of the Bureau of Fisheries and Aquatic Resources (BFAR).

What is found in other waters, though, especially in the Visayas, is the variety samaral or siganid, which is orange-spotted (Siganus guttatus). This is what I find in Cavite City, though very, very rarely and at such high prices (average Php350), and more commonly but more expensively (Php450) at the seaside markets.

In the Hiligaynon language, malaga/samaral is called kikyero, and is cooked in broth with the ubiquitous Negrense souring agent, batwan. Malaga skin is smooth and thin, while the samaral's is a bit leathery and rough, like thin goat skin that was burned (pinolpogan), curling up from the edges when cooked.

Malaga and samaral/siganid are worlds apart from the popular danggit (rabbitfish), which is very skinny and malansa (fishy), that's why it is salted and dried. Malaga and samaral are cooked fresh, in soups with minimal addition, only so that their delicate flavors are enhanced.

Malaga is also different from pingao, which is the Pangasinan term for kitang. Pingao is narrower, with more outstretched fins. It is also inferior to malaga, its flesh not as tasty.

Related Post
Sinabawan a Malaga

Rai Rai Ken

[Gomoku Ramen, Php165]

Concerts at the Cultural Center of the Philippines (CCP) usually mean a time for catching up with friends. It is an honored tradition among my concert-going group that we meet for an early dinner before watching a concert, then debrief with an analytical discussion of what we have experienced in a cafe afterwards.

There were a few choices for dining during the time I started watching at the CCP, about two decades ago. Malate was the nearest, a good four blocks away, and it became our favorite hang-out, as we explored the melange of food venues in the area.

Emerald Garden, about three blocks farther, was an alternative choice, as were United Nations Avenue, the Grandstand Harbor and Kalaw Street, although these haunts were more suited to concert-going at the Philamlife Auditorium.

There are many choices now, in and around the entire reclamation complex. There are many squares hosting restaurants, food spots, seaside palutuans, and that hefty Mall of Asia (though I'm still a bit clueless as to the dining places - nothing really exciting for me).

The opening of the Harbour Square by The Promenade, beside CCP, was a welcome treat for concert-goers, who could dine in a leisurely pace, and cross the road to CCP five minutes prior to the opening bell.

The Harbour Square, though, hosts restaurants found in most malls and squares across the metropolis. That is, nothing exciting. I need to be keyed up before a concert, especially one held at the CCP. A cerebral experience should be preceded by a meal that's as worthy. At Harbor Square nothing excited me.

But as fate would have it, right before the last two concerts I attended at the CCP my favorite restaurants along Roxas Boulevard were full-packed, waiting lists as long as two pages. I didn't think of calling in advance, so I had to woefully leave.

My concert companion and I were left with two options then. It was either watch the concert with an empty stomach, or stomach the restaurants at Harbour Square. We chose the latter. Because of one restaurant (make that two, the other one to be covered in a separate post) that we were more than willing to dine in.

Rai Rai Ken Ramen House and Sushi Bar was where I ate my first ramen more than two decades ago, when it used to look like a traditional Japanese ramen house, with bamboo slat walls and the painted curtains. They used to serve ramen in two sizes - the regular size in a humongous bowl, and a smaller size for a quick snack.

It has since been repackaged to sport a trendier look, to attract a younger, more casual crowd. I noticed the repackaging was instituted around the time that Teriyaki Boy penetrated the market (the interior design is based on the same concept, and I heard that it was done upon the passing of hands in management to the younger generation), but I was told that it had been planned, and executed, before that.

[Gomoku Yakisoba, Php150]

The menu also undertook a reformatting, resulting in the ramen bowls served in only one size - smaller than the Japanese bowls, but with the advantageous outcome that they are cheaper (technically they're not, but it is perceived to be otherwise).

I have since been to Japan, subsisting on soba and udon and ramen in hot soups in my wanderings across that country, and back. Coming back here I continued to patronize Rai Rai Ken - even though I've moved on when it comes to the best ramen house (that's Shinjuku for me, along Makati Avenue, but there's only one outlet and the serving size is humongous) - a cheap and accessible means of fulfilling any craving for Japanese noodles that arises from time to time.

And it is the noodles I focus on at Rai Rai Ken. The ramen is as good as ever, fresh and stickily chewy - i.e., malagkit, or makulnet if it were a rice dish, or al dente if it were pasta. Way better than any other noodle, hand-pulled or otherwise. The closest rival I've ever encountered was the chao long noodles in Puerto Princesa.

My all-time favorite soup, gomoku (pork, seafood and vegetables), is done well at this ramen house, so I invariably order gomoku ramen. Sometimes I try the gomoku yakisoba, which is stir-fried ramen with the ingredients of gomoku. At Rai Rai Ken the yakisoba sauce is a bit spicy and hints of curry.

I also try other ramen bowls with each visit, like the Kantonmen (Php165), a Rai Rai Ken original, which is boiled noodles in curried sauce with seafood. The photo shows kanton-udon - with udon noodles. The curry sauce is typical Japanese - sweeter and not as pungent as the curry in other Asian cuisines.

All ramen dishes can be had with udon, with a corresponding Php5 premium.

Shio Ramen, Php135 - pork, boiled egg, leeks and polunchay in salted broth. True to its name (shio means salt), the soup is a bit too salty for my taste.


Hiyashi Ramen, a refreshing dish of cold noodles served during the hot summer months. Toppings included crabsticks, squid, omelette, thin cucumber strips, bean sprouts, beni shoga (pickled red ginger) and a dollop of very hot karashi mustard. In sesame dressing.


For a long time Rai Rai Ken's Gyoza (3pcs Php55, 6 pcs Php105) was my standard for which other gyoza are evaluated. It has since shrinked, the pork filling now a lot less, but the pork-to-cabbage and dumpling wrapper ratio is balanced, and still tastes good. And the thick dipping sauce adheres to the dumpling, coating and flavoring it substantially.

Atsuyaki Tofu (3 pcs Php110, 6 pcs Php210 ), similar to Mabo (or Mapo) Tofu - with ground pork in thick, spicy sauce, only that the tofu are lightly fried before mixing in the sauce.

Age Tofu Teppan, Php125, served in a sizzling plate. Contrary to teppan that is grilled on a hot plate, this came in a bubbling-hot, thick, flavorful sauce.

A sample of the offerings under the Crazy Maki promo. Definitely not for maki purists, and definitely not for me. This is Jurassic Maki, Php195 for six pieces ("inside-out roll with ebi tempura, salmon skin, kani stick, ebikko, spicy mayonnaise and eel, with wasabi mayo and eel sauce"). I ordered this because of the eel. I don't know what happened, but this is very malansa (fishy).

I'm a bit stubborn - I again ordered from the Crazy Maki collection, and this was the last I am doing it. This is Salmon Skin Roll with Shrimp Salad (4pcs Php105, 8pcs Php195). The menu says this should be "California roll with salmon skin tempura, avocado, sliced unagi, spicy mayo and shrimp salad, with wasabi mayo and tenzy sauce," but it tasted mainly rice and not much else.

A glass of cold tea, unlike the traditional pot of tea commonly served in Chinese and Japanese restaurants. Refreshing after a sweat-inducing hot bowl of ramen soup.


My current favorite - the featured ramen for the month of September. This is - surprise! batchoy ("...pork liver, pork and chicken chicharon and sliced chaiyu and naruto in shio soup"), with the requisite raw egg (Php150). Funny, the regular Japanese and Rai Rai Ken ramen bowls don't have naruto (that ubiquitous pink-swirled fish cake), but this take on the Ilonggo favorite has one. And this ramen, is as Ilonggo as batchoy could ever be.

The service at the two Rai Rai Ken outlets I frequent is inconsistent - attention is sporadic even if there are only few diners, there are very gracious waiters and there are very conceited ones. It seems customer satisfaction is an aspect that was neglected in the transformation of Rai Rai Ken. But I am willing to overlook this, if only for the ramen.

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Rai Rai Ken Ramen House and Sushi Bar

• Harbour Square, CCP Complex
  Pasay City
• G/F, North Wing, SM Mall of Asia
  Bay City

with branches nationwide

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Update: These two outlets has since been closed. The outlet closest to CCP is at the Blue Wave Mall along Macapagal Avenue.

Rai Rai Ken literally means "welcome to the restaurant" (rai rai is welcome and ken is restaurant), and is related to that phrase Irashsaimasen! (welcome!) that one hears upon entering a Japanese restaurant, rai rai being originally pronounced "irashsai", while ken is "shokudo". More about it at Rai Rai Ken's website.


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Music That Sweetens The Soul

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The UP Madrigal Singers will hold a new series of concerts entitled "Shining Through" from the 25th to the 28th of October, 2008, (Saturday to Tuesday) at 8PM, Tanghalang Nicanor Abelardo (Main Theater), Cultural Center of the Philippines, Pasay City.

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Woman does not live by bread alone.

That adage is so true, and one I practice with full commitment. I think it is more true for women than men, or maybe I don't really understand what men feed their souls with (cars? boxing? drinking and talking about women?)

I have been a devout attendee to the concerts of the University of the Philippines Madrigal Singers (UPMS, or Madz for short) for almost two decades now. It started somehow as a duty while I was a member of a civic organization in college, though I had been a church choir member since my kindergarten years.

It was only when I went to the University of the Philippines where I saw the Madz perform live. And even my wildest dreams came true - I became a member of a university-based performing group and got to sing with the Madz, too.

After graduation from college I continued to watch the Madz, along with former orgmates and with the sponsorship of dear friends. I think we wanted then the continuity of our performing lives, secretly wishing we were the ones onstage, though of course we reveled in the joy of pure listening pleasure, brought about by musical mastery, creativity, performance with aplomb.

The Madz are a class of their own. True to their name, they specialize in the Italian musical form madrigal of the Renaissance period, sung polyphonic (in many voices, here commonly three to six) and a capella (without the accompaniment of a musical instrument). But madrigals, and religious works which are common choral performance pieces, constitute only the first third of the Madz' repertoire.

The group has resident composers and choral arrangers, and they usually originate choral arrangements of new songs and pop hits, as well as country and folk music. These are then performed with the characteristic Filipino heart, which have reached out and inspired enthralled audiences worldwide.

Concerts are also characteristically distinct with the Madz humor. The Madz usually sing seated in a semi-circle (a testament to their musical excellence, because singing seated is more difficult than singing while standing upright), but that does not keep them from injecting simple choreography and gestures that do not fail to elicit loud appreciative heehaws from amused crowds.

Last September 7, though, in a concert dubbed More Than Madrigals, with no less than Dulaang UP's artistic director, Prof. Alex Cortez, at the helm of stage direction, the Madz traced the evolution of the musical drama with more than the usual Madz performance acts.

From Italian operas to rag-time and Broadway musicals, down to our own zarzuelas (the Filipino version of the musical drama), the Madz sang and cavorted onstage, bringing their seats in and out of the curtains. Choirmaster Mark Carpio, a musical genius himself, played four roles - pianist, conductor of the Sonata String Ensemble, as well as vocal soloist and a capella choir conductor.

It was a riotous night, full of musical wonder and delight. The pieces were familiarly difficult (masterpieces oft-heard in radios and movies), the choreography ascribably Madz, and more. Yet despite the more than Madz activity onstage, not a note was out of place, and the technical perfection was, as usual, breathtaking.

And it was a night celebrating talent honed and molded by the country's premier state university - the Madz, three celebrated soloists, two of whom were former Madz themselves, and the stage director - that it would have been apt for the concert to have been included in the UP Centennial schedule of activities.

It was a Madz concert, but the guest soloists (coloratura soprano Ma. Cristina Viguilla-Navarro, soprano Maryjo Palencia, bass baritone Jonathan De la Paz Zaens) were given equal stage time. And they were brilliant. Especially luminous was Viguilla-Navarro in Mozart's Magic Flute Overture, with flawless runs and trills, the highest notes the human voice could ever reach sang effortlessly and in such crystal-clear voice that my companion for that evening mistook it for the flute.

Jonathan Zaens was also in perfect form, generating goosebumps with a touching rendition of Bring Him Home, from Les Miserables. It was sung not with the raw energy of the Broadway musical, but as a refined prayer, which the song really is, an entreaty to God to protect the youth. His pianissimos, pianississimos actually, in all of his solos were incredible - just a whiff of air, really, that was barely there, yet was tangible and filled the cavernous main theater of the Cultural Center of the Philippines quite stunningly.

The only noticeable discrepancy for the whole evening was the less-than-stellar performance of the ABBA capella, a medley of songs from Mamma Mia!. It was a bit lacking in zeal, as my companion, who has seen the movie version, put it. I agree, and I think it could have been done better with the Madz seated. As it was, they went through the motions of dancing ABBA, and came short. I believe this is due to the fact that the Madz are refined singers trained classically, and there is no way they could sing and dance pop, in the proper pop way.

That number was thankfully rescued by their eye candy costumes - authentic circa 1960s-70s from CCP's collection - and the last song, Thank You For The Music, to which the audience clapped and sang along. The last line, So I say, thank you for the music, for giving it to me, had the Madz converging in a line downstage, with hands outspread directly to the audience. It was as if they were saying, thank you, too, for being able to share this music with you.

Thank you, for the music that feeds my soul.

*Photo taken during an outreach concert for typhoon victims in Sichuan, China, June 2008. From the UP Madrigal Singers archives.

Gulay Magalang

This vegetable dish consists of sayote tops (the young tendrils of the sayote/chayote, Sechium edule), cubes of squash, and squash flowers, sauteed together with garlic, onions and tomatoes. Small, shelled shrimps or small pieces of pork can be added for a more meaty flavor. Also hibe - dried small shrimps - which has concentrated flavor, or even tinapa (smoked round scad) flakes.

It is not something we had growing up in Pangasinan, and I wonder why, since squash is a common, year-round veggie, and our proximity to Baguio City, where sayote abounds, gives us easy and cheap access to highland-growing bounty. We paired squash with its common companion sitaw (yard-long beans), or with marunggay pods, or sigarillas.

This vegetable dish was actually the suggestion of a friend, who was introduced to it, so-named (gule magalang, the Kapampangan language equivalent), while eating at the Kapampangan-specialty restaurant Abe at The Fort. She cooked the dish at home, and I followed suit.

It is a great alternative to my sauteed sayote tops with oyster mushrooms and potatoes. The soft squash cubes and the chewy sayote leaves and sliced stalks contrast with each other perfectly, in texture and taste, sweet on peppery, the squash blooms providing a slightly intoxicating flowery smell.

I deduct that the name Gulay Magalang refers to the municipality of Magalang in the province of Pampanga, where the dish probably traces its origins. But I imagine it could also mean its literal translation. In the Tagalog language, gulay means vegetable, and magalang is respectful, from the root word galang, which means respect. So literally it claims to be a respectful vegetable.

It may refer to the respect that one practices when eating vegetables - respect for the nutrients they contain, respect for the fruits of the earth, and respect for your body by feeding it with something beneficial.

Of course I'm just playing with words here, since the arrangement of the two words points to the more logical deduction - that the Magalang attachment may not be an adjective since it is placed after the word gulay. If the positions of the words were reversed, it becomes magalang na gulay, and that's when it really becomes a respectful vegetable.

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Sayote tops with oyster mushrooms and potatoes