Thursday, August 15, 2013

Alugbati

This is one of five endemic leafy vegetables promoted by the FNRI to be a regular part of the Filipino diet, as they have been found to be extremely nutritious and are mostly organic.

When the family moved to Cavite I felt I was in abject deprivation. This was in view of the vegetable selection in the area. I was as far as I could be from my hometown for all it seemed. The kamote leaves being sold were red, the string beans were unbelievably long, pale and so wrinkled they looked ancient. And of course there was no baeg, no sitaw shoots, no heirloom tomatoes, no black beans!, and it was mission impossible to find a decent drop of bagoong.
But as I adjusted and got to know the public market better I began to feel a sense of adventure. I was in Tagalog country, and it was an opportunity to explore. So with this attitude I began to see the distinctions of a Tagalog market. Where there were empty spaces where I felt should have been my Pangasinan staples, there were other corners presenting new ingredients I haven’t cooked with before. And spread before me were an array of plant parts that I certainly haven’t eaten before.
One of these were the ruby-stemmed and succulent-leaved alugbati  vine tops being sold alongside rogue kamote, kangkong  and saluyot. It was funny because when I asked the vendor how the tops were cooked she said she didn’t have an idea, but that they get bought by the end of the day so they must be edible.

I learned from a DOST-FNRI seminar that these leaves come from one of the five endemic organic plants that are packed with nutrients.* Of the five I grew up eating only one, so I resolved to swiftly remedy my parents’ neglect. I don’t blame them, though, since most of the other four weren't really regarded as food in my province, and our diet featured prominently other much more nutritional leaves (hello, malunggay and saluyot)
The first time I ate alugbati (libato, malabar spinach, Basella rubra) was in a kind of pinakbet – okra, eggplants, tomatoes and alugbati boiled in salted broth – served at our office canteen, so I wrongfully concluded alugbati was an Ilocano vegetable I didn’t know about.  So that was how I first tried to cook it at home. Even without the DOST seminar I couldn’t overlook it during my weekly marketing, for they are ever present no matter what the season was.
But it did not become a favorite. The flavor isn’t pleasant – very earthy, pervading the entire dish. The alugbati turns mucilaginous when cooked, though not as evidently phlegmy as saluyot or okra. It also loses its magenta hue, becoming nondescript brown like most Ilocano veggies.

One rainy weekend there was a dearth of vegetables at the market, but there were bunches of ever attractive alugbati. The vendor told to me to buy some to cook with albacora (tuna albacore), which were plentiful that time. Ever eager to try new dishes and bearing in mind that DOST touts them as a superleaf I followed her instructions, with happy results.
Albacore steaks are seared both sides in a pan. Then sauté garlic, lots of onions and a heaping  handful of sliced ripe and juicy tomatoes. Then mix in the alugbati tops that have been trimmed of the tough lower stems. Let cook until wilted, season with salt and pepper, then add the albacore steaks. Cover and let cook for 2-3 minutes or until the sautéing juices have been absorbed by the steaks.

It is a delightful confluence that albacore tuna and alugbati are both accessible at the Cavite public market. My weekly meal repertoire became enriched, in variety, flavor and nutritional benefits. For this dish I love to cook again and again. The sweetish acidity of the tomatoes downplays the earthiness of the alugbati, which in turn tames the tomatoes’ sourness. The addition of the high-protein, low-fat tuna packs it all in and transforms it into a rounded, one-pot meal.

But the story of my discovery doesn’t end here.  One Saturday a lola sat beside my son at the waiting area of the public market while I finished marketing. When I came to collect my son and the fruits of our labors that day, the lola asked me if I was a Bisaya. I was confounded, for it was my first time to be asked that question. She proceeded to explain that she noticed the alugbati leaves protruding from our bayong, and thought that we were Bisaya like herself. She went on to say that alugbati is planted everywhere in the Visayas, and they frequently eat it mixed with stewed monggo (with gata), or sautéed with ground pork and tomatoes.

My alugbati menu suddenly lengthened, and that fateful weekend I planted in my little garden patch the stems of the two bunches of alugbati that we had bought at the market. I went to Facebook, and friends in the Visayas and Mindanao confirmed that the vegetable is common enough where they live. 

So now I know that that first alugbati dish I ate was a kind of Bisayan utan. We tried it again just last night, with alugbati tops from my garden, but this time we had the vegetables sautéed with home-made bagoong alamang and left out the ampalaya since we ran out of it. It was as good as it could be. Like pakbet, but the alugbati flavor took the place of the bitterness of the ampalaya, so it wasn’t as sharp. It was so good I had to set aside some to bring to the office for lunch the next day.

I again took to Facebook, and my Pangasinense friends retorted that they knew alugbati as, along with kangkong, good fodder for pigs. Lucky pigs, to be so nourished. I hope the nutritional benefits get translated into enriched meat, so I won’t have to pity my friends. 

*Alugbati purportedly contains phytochemicals and anti-oxidants, and is rich in Vitamins A, B, and C, iron, carotene and nitrates, and a good source of soluble fiber.  It is used to treat headaches, inflammations, acne, and burns and scalds, and used for catarrhal infections, hemorrhagic diseases. It is said to be a galactagogue, as well as used for fertility and other sexual issues.


The Philippine Organic Super-Leaves

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Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Asuhos

When I started scouring wet markets in Makati in the early years of my marriage, I noticed how woefully small basasong were in Metro Manila. And not only that, they were priced dearly, too, for such size.

I never bought, understandably, until the family transferred to Cavite, and I learned that the fish I mistook for my childhood friend and foe was an altogether different species. I cannot be blamed, for asuhos was and still is an unknown fish in Pangasinan, but where basasong (called kalaso in Tagalog) abounds that it is commonly made into daing
They have striking similarities, though. Porously flaky ivory flesh, silvery white outer color, long narrow bodies. Even the rich tastes are close. But whereas the basasong can grow as large as overgrown bangus, the largest asuhos I’ve seen have difficulty reaching six inches, and these are altogether rare.

Asuhos (whiting, Sillaginidae) appear in plenty in Cavite City when the rains come. They arrive in pails at the wet market, and are sold by the tumpok – heaped on small tin plates, priced anywhere from P30 to P80, depending on the size of the fish and the container.  I’ve never been offered it by the kilo, but I buy like three plates for a time, or two for the big ones, and they are good for two meals already. 

My kids love asuhos fried, even though it is fussy to get to the thin flesh (we always cook fish whole). It is fortunate that asuhos are not spiny, having only the central skeleton and spines along the fins. The really small ones are better deep-fried to a crunch, so we can just bite into them whole, spines and all.
 I think asuhos are a Katagalugan fish, since during office lunches a colleague from Bulacan said she grew up eating them. They never fried them, though, but poached them into a dish called sinuwam, which is like tinola, or pinatisan. The asuhos are boiled and seasoned with either salt or patis (fish sauce) and topped with sili leaves. 
 So I cook sinuwam with asuhos, too. The resulting broth is rich from fish fat, tasting almost like tinolang manok but without the cholesterol and with the added benefit of omega-3. Since the sinuwam I know (from other colleagues from other areas in Tagalog country) contain corn kernels my sinuwam is sometimes thick with corn, preferably the white variety. And because I am a Pangasinense, I add a slice of peeled ginger, as all broth, all dishes actually, must be cooked with it.
I know it is not only Tagalogs who are chummy with asuhos, for fillets of it are what are made into kisu tempura in Japanese restaurants. And when I was in Japan battered asuhos fillets were offered for breakfast along with shredded cabbage every single day of my month-long stay.  Friends who went to the Middle East found asuhos in grocery stores, so they bought them and fried them for a taste of home. 

Asuhos disappear from the Cavite wet market towards the cold months and on to summer.  The supply is not as abundant now as when we were just new in the area, but they still come, thankfully, and the prices are pretty much stable. So we enjoy them while we can, fully maximizing the advantage of having access to fresh fish straight from the fishermen. Asuhos fillets, as well as whole fish, are now available in supermarkets in Metro Manila, but they sell for a premium, and in what state is anybody’s guess. 


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Rainy Season Fare in Pangasinan I’m Missing

Thursday, August 01, 2013

Paksiw na Labong sa Dilaw

Mirroring other organizations in the metropolis, the staff in the agency I work for is a heterogeneous assemblage representing most regions in the country. This inevitably results to a cornucopia of regional delights for everybody after long holidays. More commonly, though, the regional spread is repeated every day, at lunchtime.

While I used to scoff at the elders for bringing home-cooked lunch during my early years, I have joined the fray, so to speak, ever since I gained access to a home kitchen. I realize now how much I missed during those years of eating out every single meal every single day. For lunches at the office prove to be a veritable tour of the home kitchens scattered across Luzon, Visayas, and Mindanao.

The variety of the food that I encounter is as multifarious as the 7,000 islands of the Philippines. I bring my own lunch from home not just for the economic and health-wise benefits of it, but also for the chance to eat it with others. The moment someone opens his lunch box I am all eyes, and ready to ask ever so many things. What is that? What is it made of? Is that a regular feature in your home in the province? Who cooked it now? How does it taste?

The last question always elicits a generous offer of a portion, which I have been leading to all along, of course. After the tastings, conversation naturally revolves around what we ate during our childhoods, provincial favorites, comfort food, so that I learn so many things as well as get ideas on how to introduce more diversity into my own home-cooked meals.

This is a result of one of those lunches. Labong or bamboo shoot is definitely a conspicuous ingredient of rainy season meals, but I only know three ways of cooking it – sinagsagan with saluyot, boiled with chicken or pork, and atsara/adobo, all rainy season staple dishes in Pangasinan. This one, brought on several occasions for lunch by a colleague who hails from Majayjay, an elevated municipality lying at the foot of Mt. Banahaw in the province of Laguna, is a variation of the atsara/adobong labong.

But while atsarang labong is eaten as a side, this one is main course. It is called paksiw precisely because it is such – julienned bamboo shoot stewed in previously boiled vinegar spiced with garlic, ginger, fresh turmeric, black peppercorns, sliced onions, siling haba. The sahog is either tilapiabangus is probably good, too, though I haven’t tried it yet – or pork. The lemony hue from the dilaw makes it look very appealing.

It tastes familiar – like atsarang labong or adobong labong, but it has that unmistakable earthy, curried flavor of the luyang dilaw, and the richness of the sahog. It is not cooked dry as the atsara, but a little pickling broth is left over, begging to be spooned over rice. The sourness requires a sprinkling of salt. Or fried tuyo. As I didn’t have tuyo when I made this, I just had a saucer of salt on the table, but substantiated it with tortang talong – eggplants charred over open fire, peeled, mashed, dipped in beaten eggs, then fried with chopped garlic and onions.

So now my rainy season labong repertoire has been enriched. There are other ways of cooking labong elsewhere, I know, but I’d like to hear about, and taste, it from my lunchmates first.
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Mix half a cup or less vinegar with 1-2 cups of water, peeled and sliced thumb of ginger, sliced onion, smashed three cloves garlic, peeled and sliced turmeric rhizomes (about three pieces), a pinch of whole black peppercorns. Put this in a cooking pan (preferably a kaldero) and bring to a fast simmer for 5 minutes. If using pork, mix in and bring to a boil until tender, adding water if it is starting to dry up. When the pork is almost cooked mix in a cup of parboiled labong.* Cook until the labong is soft. Season with rock salt to taste and put in the siling haba. If using fish, put in at this point, and cook until the flesh has turned opaque. Serve hot.
          _______________________________________________________________________

* Bamboo shoots are usually sold at markets julienned and parboiled, for longer shelf-life. If the labong is fresh, boil first before storing in the ref.


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