Dealo's Biscuits

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

I am familiar with Southern Tagalog crunchies due to Metro Manila's proximity to the areas where these are part of daily life. A lot of officemates hail from there, who bring the munchies after weekend trips back home.

Less frequent though much savored road trips to Calamba, Los Banos and Lipa would have me eagerly waiting for the manongs who hail buses to peddle snacks onboard, carrying baskets stuffed with floury, crispy treats so different from what I grew up on in Pangasinan.

But during a trip to Quezon many years ago I discovered the "pride of Lucban," and ever since it set my standards for Southern Tagalog treats. Particularly for apas, that thin, sweet crisp that became a favorite.

Apas (accent on the last syllable) is not the plural of apa (accent on the first syllable), which is the term in Luzon for what is called barquillos in the Visayas. Apa is paper-thin wafer that come in rolls, or cones for ice cream - though the rolls are also used for the same purpose - flavored or otherwise, with a version filled with polvoron that is called barqui-ron.


Apas - always with an "s" even though you're eating only one (though I think that's impossible, as I am bound to eat lots of it, maybe that's why it is always in plural form) - is also wafer thin but not pressed-thin, rectangular with oblate ends.

The version by Dealo, my favorite Lucban baker, has the perfect balance of crunch and floury density, and sports a glittering spread of sugar crystals. But it is not overly sweet, just enough an accompaniment to the toasted flour taste.

Dealo's apas is what I look for during regional trade fairs and food bazaars, but I always end up short. Rivals declare Dealo has gone out of business, offering me similar products by other purveyors.

So I almost somersaulted with joy when I found Dealo products in Lucena and Lucban during this year's Pahiyas festival.

Not only is Dealo very much still in business, it has international distribution, as well. Though that leaves me wanting - why should Dealo products be in Singapore, the US, Abu Dhabi and Canada, but not in Metro Manila?

Dealo operates Koffee Klatch, a bakeshop cum fast-food outlet with a cake line and full catering services in Lucena, Lukban and neighboring municipalities. My host-friend in Lucena confided that Koffee Klatch used to monopolize the cake business in Quezon, but somewhat took a beating by the entry of a Manila-based bakeshop chain in Quezon.

I know the bakeshop chain doesn't have a line of Filipino biscuits, and in all honesty I don't patronize their very commercialized cakes and pastries. It is my fervent hope that Dealo stays in business, preserving the soul of Tagalog cuisine.


Dealo is known foremost for its broas, crumbly, spongy lady fingers, and I understand why. Unlike other versions that leave you feeling like you ate air, this has heft, the shape holds, and doesn't easily disintegrate.


This broas isn't soft and cake-like, but bready and crisp, the glaze topping just an embellishment really - it's nowhere near as sweet as other broas.

It's also thick and large - my son observed they don't look like any lady's fingers.

clockwise, from top - galletas, seňorita, romano, minaalat

A trip to Koffee Klatch was an educational one - a study in what Filipino pastries are all about. It was an opportunity to introduce the kids to native treats, they who grew up on chocolate chip cookies and shortbread.

Galletas I think are common elsewhere, and are sometimes labeled "egg cracklets." A write up about the biscuits in the Dealo website, though, seems to suggest galletas originated in Quezon, as a tribute to the bounty of coconuts in the area. The biscuits' shape resemble squares of dried coconut meat.

A senorita in the Philippine languages is a girl who is used to being waited on by servants. I've observed that local cookies and biscuits bearing the upperclass tag of senorita are finer, or enriched with pricier embellishments. Dealo's version is a ring-shaped egg cookie coated with a lightly sweetened sugar glaze.

Romanos are described as a kind of shortbread, but they are more like apas, with a "chalkier" texture, as in similar to an uraro or puto seko. The minaalat, purportedly "salted" because that is what the name implies, directly transported me back to my provincial childhood. They are eggy pillow cookies, their sweetness contrasting nicely with the underlying saltiness.

Dealo also produces great camachile. Not the common, bready camachile with the scalloped edges to imitate the fruit, but more like egg drop cookies that have been stretched into little fingers.

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Dealo Foods, Inc.
Website

Dealo Koffee Klatch
La Doña Ana Building, 72 Quezon Avenue
Lucban, Quezon
Telephone (6342)5404220
Email info@dealokoffeeklatch.qzn.ph
Website
Branch: 2/F, SM City Lucena, Lucena City

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Sweet and Sticky in Quezon
Pahiyas 2011 in Photos
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The Tinapay Series

• Puto Seko (Laguna)
• Ensaymada
• 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)
• Napoleones (Bacolod City, Negros Occidental)
• Panaderia de Molo (Iloilo City)
• Pastel (Camiguin)
• Inipit (Bulacan)
• Cinnamon Swirl Loaf (Baguio City)
• Kabukiran

Sweet and Sticky in Quezon

I am always giddy with anticipation every time a trip south is scheduled - to the Quezon Province, and even on to Bicol, as long as it involves a road trip.

The one, sole reason for my fevered agitation is Quezon's special tikoy, that hefty, copper-colored block of malagkit, sugar, butter, milk, and cheese mixed into sticky sweetness that defines what ecstacy is for me.

I don't need to declare I am a kakanin addict, I'm sure that's pretty obvious. This tikoy, this very special tikoy, is the height of kakanin heaven for me.

It is toffee, it is caramel, but not so sweet it hurts your throat, and not hard-sticky that bits and pieces bury themselves in between your teeth, stubbornly clinging there however much you suck on them and prod them with your tongue.

No, the toffee-caramel is tempered by the soft, chewiness of properly mixed ground glutinous rice that ends in a fine, smooth texture. Cheese prevents sawa, but who says this special tikoy is nakakasawa? I could finish an extra-large hunk of this and still hanker for more.


Truth to tell, the sizes that this tikoy come in are puny compared to regular, ordinary and common tikoy. It even comes in bite-sized individual pieces, which to me are cut too small, just the size of an average thumb.

Quezon's special tikoy lasts only three days. Beyond that they develop fuzzy molds. I've tried hoarding and putting them in the ref. The mold development was retarded a bit, but the tikoy lost its distinct gooey chewiness, becoming hard as real caramels. They still tasted great after a stint in the toaster (or microwave), but not as great as when newly cooked.

That's why this special tikoy cannot be found anywhere else outside of Quezon. That's why I become crazy with joy when I go visit the province, or pass by it on my way farther south. As they say, absence makes the stomach fonder....


All along the way to Lukban, in the municipalities leading to it from Laguna and around downtown Lucena, I espied hand-written placards advertising yema cake in all the street-corner bakeries that we passed.

I've never heard of yema cake, though I of course knew yema. Which is egg yolk custard - egg yolks, sugar and milk (though the short-cut version is to use condensed milk for the sugar and milk), with or without a dash of calamansi juice that provides bursts of tangy sunshine, hand-stirred over low fire til thick.

Yema is caramel that is eggy, a bright, deep yellow. It is mixed til dry and formed into triangular candies wrapped in colored cellophane. In its spreadable form, it is the filling for brazo de mercedes, that roll of sweet paean to eggy heaven.

Most serious bakeshops I've come across have caramel cakes in their repertoires, but never a yema cake. Now why is the biggest question I have after sampling one. Now I wish all bakeshops had yema cakes, or yema rolls, to be precise.

The yema roll I tasted was purchased on a last-minute whim as we stopped by a pasalubong stall in Lucena City on our way back home. The vendor said it was newly delivered (apparently a bakery supplies the shops), and had several rolls as well as individual slices for sale. The yema piled around the rolls was enough to make me buy an entire roll, and I regret I didn't buy more.

Yema was thickly smeared all around two layers of angel food cake, with a thin spread in between the layers. Grated cheese adorned the top, interspersing saltiness with the yema's sweetness. It was brazo, resurrected in cake form. More voluptous than caramel cake, it teased out the inner child in me, and brazenly played with my kids' sugared dreams.

The ride back home hadn't been kind to the cake - but I only had to scrape the yema that stuck to the plastic container back onto the cake.

Now I have two reasons for longing to go back to Quezon.


Pencil-thin mini pianono (chiffon roll) from Dealo's Koffee Klatch, filled with toffee caramel instead of the usual sugar and margarine. In Quezon, sweet and sticky tortures never end.

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Pahiyas 2011 in Photos

The first and last time I went to see the Pahiyas Festival in Lukban, Quezon was 16 good, long years ago, when I was with friends visiting a friend and we were all blisful, carefree singles.

Now we are joyfully blessed with kids, and we thought it was time to introduce the festival to the next generation (ugh, it feels old to write that), and to relive our past adventure.

So with eight kids in tow ranging in age from 3 to 14, yayas, water bottles, change of clothes, hand towels to sop up sweat, it was impractical to bring a high resolution camera, particularly since a four-hour walk was involved.

Which I regret, since I don't have a single, good quality photo of the event. But no matter, since the kids had the time of their lives and promised to one another to get together again for next year's festival.

Pahiyas from the 1990s and this year had the same vibe, with all the colors and display of agricultural bounty that is what the celebration is all about. The most notable difference, though, was this year's prevalent use of palay (unhulled rice), the kiping that used to be the festival's trademark now relegated to accents of color on the backdrop of tawny brown.

And of course the crowds this year were colossal, amplified by the narrow streets that hosted this year's festival (zones take turns yearly, though I've noted Southern Tagalog streets are really narrow, on the average). It was a challenge to take pictures, what with two-story high decor and not a lot of room to maneuver.


We waited til the afternoon to go there so the sun wasn't blazing, and we got to see the splendor of the Pahiyas lighted up at dusk.

This five-story residential building literally stood out fully bedecked in palay and kiping chandeliers and sunflowers. It didn't garner the first prize (yes, there's a competition), but it received a consolation and a citation, though I don't think the cash prize of P10,000 was enough to cover the expenses for the design materials plus labor and conceptualization.


As with any other fiesta, food wasn't lacking, from the common street treats - boiled corn on the cob brushed with margarine and sprinkled with salt, boiled quail eggs, cotton candy, ice scramble - to the more regional fare kiping kropek, pancit hab-hab and special tikoy.


Kiping is thin, leaf-shaped wafer made by pounding rice to a paste and molding it on large real leaves, which are then dried and dyed. Kiping is an integral part of Pahiyas, defining the festival and differentiating it from all others.

After the festival, kiping is usually given away to be cooked into edible chips. But during the festival we passed by a group of middle-aged women frying up some kiping into kropek, which are broken up into small pieces and bagged with a sprinkle of sugar.


Then of course there was pancit hab-hab, which, even though it was being cooked in front of every other house along the festival route it kept running out.


Pahiyas was "green" - all merchandise were wrapped in brown (recycled) paper bags. Pancit hab-hab came in the traditional squares of cut banana leaf which functioned as mobile plates.

Pancit hab-hab is one of the well-known specialties of the municipality of Lukban. It is dried miki noodles sauteed with minced pork and julienned sayote, seasoned with soy sauce and cracked black pepper, then doused with spiced coconut vinegar.

It is so-called because it is eaten hab-hab style, in the manner of hogs - no utensils employed, just bring up the noodles to your wide-open maw and enjoy while standing by the side of the street.


One of the reasons I didn't hear any single complaint from any of the kids, even though it was sweltering hot, the sun was right smack in front of us while walking, and we walked non-stop, was because food was abundant all along the festival route and even on the roads leading there. So the kids were kept full and energized.

Fresh chestnuts ready for boiling.

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Southern Cebu Road Trip

Certain areas in the Philippines call for a road trip. Besides having a lot of cool and lovely places to stop by, with million-dollar views along the way, the more important thing is that the roads are wide, smooth, and kept in top shape.

While I was growing up I had heard of two places discussed among adults as road trip havens. Ilocos was one, because then President Marcos took care to have all roads leading to his home province of Ilocos Norte all nifty, so it looked like all the budgeted and intended cement and asphalt were actually poured onto the roads.

Northwestern Pangasinan was another, the winding roads affording spectacular views of the expanse of the Lingayen Gulf. Going around the country starting in the early nineties I didn’t find any to add to these two, all inter-provincial roads and national highways rutted, didn’t exist at all, or at the least proving to be inadequate.

But my travels these last few years unraveled some terrific places for a road trip. Sarangani Province, whose ultra-sleek highways left me breathless and about which I should write about longer soon, tops my list thus far.

The latest one I've discovered is Southern Cebu. I was last here more than a decade ago, riding a commuter van that maneuvered its way along pot-holed, un-asphalted roads. This time, though, the roads are top-notch and almost large enough for a Boeing to land (except of course along the mountain passes).

That truck (photo above) on its way to the market, whose bed was converted into a three-decker to hold crops and other agricultural products plus household goods, with the vendors seated on a makeshift bench at the edge of it all, is an unequivocal guarantee of the mint condition of the roads.

I joined my husband’s company outing to enjoy several forms of water recreation, in both fresh and marine, and the first leg of the road trip traversed six towns on the southeastern side of the island along the Bohol Strait. We left early in the morning sans breakfast, with only a few pandesal to whet our appetites, in anticipation of the provincial treats we would encounter along the way.

For what is a road trip without the roadside dainties?


But it was nothing dainty what met us on our first stop-over. It was huge, fat-laden, oil-drenched and crackly. It was the well-known Carcar chicharon, thick morsels of fatty rinds plus the characteristic layer of meat sold all around the rotunda by the city center.

The chicharon business is a serious one, and a real big enterprise, such that Carcar City has a barangay named Baho (I'm not joking here), purportedly so named because all the piggeries that supply the pork requirement of the chicharon business are located there. A bio-mass power plant installed there could probably supply all the city’s energy requirements and then some.

Cebu City locals say when in Carcar the brand to buy is "Mat Mat." Others in the group bought other brands so I got to taste them, too, and I was more impressed with the chicharon offered by vendors walking around. I found Mat Mat's to be a bit on the bland side, though I'm sure the others were loaded with salt and MSG.


All eyes were on the chicharon, yes, so I failed to notice there were other items displayed in the chicharon kiosks. But being in Bisaya country a red flag that brandishes tourist! sticks out the moment I open my mouth.

So next thing I know I am being offered ampao, supposedly a Carcar specialty with peanuts (I found only two emaciated pieces), and multi-colored bukayo.


White ampao is a novelty for me, being used to the bronzed ones of my childhood, so I had to buy. And I think I need not explain why I had to include the bukayo, too, which were thick slivers of crunch rolled to resemble roses.


I had all the time I wanted to roam around Carcar because the head of the food committee for the outing was negotiating for a Carcar lechon, which was to be our lunch. Once it was packed and stuffed into the luggage compartment, conversation centered around how cheap Carcar lechon was.

It sold for P270 a kilo, while Cebu City’s CNT retails lechon for about P350 a kilo. The P80 difference translates to more than a thousand peso savings for an entire roasted pig. Logistics was offered as a big contributor to the cost (CNT surely sources from piggeries outside the city), as well as labor.


But after lunch – the lechon accompanied by puso, steamed rice conveniently packed individually in coconut fronds – we understood why Carcar lechon was cheaper.

It was nondescript – so totally lacking in flavor that we were rooting out the meat by the ribs adjacent to the tanglad and some garlic stuffed in the stomach cavity, and which was understandably salty.

It was noteworthy, though, that after more than two hours in an air-conditioned van the skin was still crispy. And it was razor thin and not too fatty.

But lechon is really big in Cebu. All groups we saw having a picnic that day and the next, by the waterfalls and by the beach, both of which were bursting to the seams with crowds, all had a lechon centerpiece. For breakfast, lunch, dinner and otherwise.


Carcar was in the mid-section of our road trip, but it was just the beginning of our food finds. From there we crossed the mountains to the western side of the island, and by Barili we passed by lines of smoky sheds selling bibingka.



And it was bibingka the countryside way – thick, dense and chewy, made of real galapong (ground rice), not the cakey, airy, eggy and uberly-expensive ones so popular in Metro Manila.


Also in Barili was an anticipated stop – for fresh milk and ice cream! It was 8:30 in the morning and I am lactose-intolerant, but when I am on a road trip it’s as if I am liberated of all sense of propriety.

So we get off and troop to have incredible vanilla soft ice cream at the Molave Milk Station tucked into a stand of molave trees by a roadbend.


The only other flavor is ube, the color of which tells me it’s naturally flavored, though the mango ice cream I sampled was so bad I couldn’t finish a cup. Both retail for P20, while individual servings of refrigerated fresh milk in plastic drinking cups are sold for P25.



I understand malata is biodegradeable, while dili is Bisaya for "non-", or "not."

With a hyperactive bunch of guys on the road trip with me this was bound to be noticed, and it was fun to supply the missing word after the "dili," though of course we all dropped our plastic cups into the bin below it when it was time to go.


The smell coming from this lechon kiosk in the middle of the forest of molave trees, still inside the milk station, was so enticing that I almost bought a slice for myself, disregarding the chagrined look on my husband I was sure it would elicit.

But it was improper, more so inappropriate as we were travelling in a group, so I just focused on my vanilla cone.

But some people on bikes who dropped by preceded their bouts with ice cream or milk with chopped lechon and puso, so early in the morning. In retrospect – with the dismal lechon we would have afterwards - I should not have minded my manners and gone ahead and indulged.



While snorkeling on the waters of Moalboal the next morning it didn't surprise me to note that not a single sea urchin was to be spotted among the corals.


That's because by the beaches of Moalboal kids were selling freshly gathered suake (sea urchins). I was offered two full pails with a variety of seaweed for P150, but I remembered people in my husband’s line of work are not particularly enamored of exotic things, so I declined.


I instead opted for the kinilaw on offer, which had two kinds of sea cucumber. And which was an inspired decision, because the kinilaw was a perfect accompaniment to the lechon during lunch, foiling the richness with its cutting sourness.


On the way back the next day, just as we were caught by a red light in Mandaue City, a street vendor knocked on our window to show these pintos, made in Talisay. At P70 for five pieces they weren’t cheap kakanin, but they were of the class of regional delicacies finely made that you get to eat only on occasions such as this.

Pintos are pounded yellow corn shaped into short rolls or pillows like suman, wrapped in corn husk and steamed. This particular pintos had shreds of buko in it, and was lightly sweetened. A similar kind of kakanin is found in the islands of Panay and Negros, called alopi mais.

And it was a fitting end to a countryside trip, which may not have been totally on the up side all the time, but on such trips it's not a bad idea not to have high expectations and pressure oneself, but just to take in and enjoy where the road leads you.

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For a story on the origins of Molave Milk Station, click here

Pias Cluster

I always come upon a tree or two of pias (kamias, Averrhoa bilimbi) with full-grown fruit clustered all around the trunk. Or a bare one, the trunk all bald and lonely. But I never knew what the buds looked like. Or that they first blossomed before developing into sourness.


About a couple of weeks ago some small pias fruit started appearing in the fruit tray at the dining table. Upon inquiry my daughters proudly admitted to bringing in the fruit from a tree bordering our neighbor's perimeter fence. I told them sayang, the fruits are still too small to be of use.


But the response I got was "But Mommy, come! Look at the flowers! And bring your camera! Come! Cooommmme!" By now my children had become used to my taking photos of food that they have somehow taken in the notion that I have to take a shot of everything, too.


But I have them to thank, not only for the joys they impart to my daily life, but for major finds such as this. I would have grown to be an old hag not knowing that an unremarkably green souring ingredient that's so common starts out so beautifully colorful, in my favorite shade and hue at that, had not my daughters stumbled upon them and forced me to take a look.

They're lovely enough to be a bouquet, don't you think?

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