Lechon de Leche

My eldest daughter turned seven years old during the holidays, and we hadn't planned on anything. Among my three kids she's the one who hasn't had a proper birthday party - one wherein she celebrates the day with fun and pomp with her own set of constant friends.

It's the disadvantage of having been born between Christmas and New Year. This is aggravated by the fact that she was born to a transient family living in an area full of transient families - nobody is around to invite during the holidays.

So we've had many different ploys to celebrate her day without a party - we've gone to watch dolphin and seal shows, the circus, the dinosaur exhibit, which crowd the metropolis come Christmas season, gone swimming.

She's spent half her birthdays in a show, half at home in Pangasinan. When we're in the province we invite whom we could, but it's just not the same as sharing the joy with close friends.

I knew seventh is a milestone year, and I had been thinking of several ways of celebrating it, sans a party. But I couldn't plan on something more definite because the husband's schedule was unpredictable. When he had been able to take a week-long vacation, we planned to go home to Pangasinan, then celebrate in the form of a grand road trip up north.

But when we got home the lolas promptly remembered that it was her milestone birthday, and offered to roast a suckling pig for a party. The newborn piglets from our last visit were apparently big enough to sell, and big enough for lechon de leche.

The girl got excited, so we canceled our road trip and stayed put to plan a party.

I have had many lechons in my childhood, for it was usual to have pigs roasting in makeshift pits in the backyard during baptisms and other big parties. I even have a photo in my Sunday dress beside a huge, bronze impaled hog, half the entire frame hazy with smoke. But this was my first lechon de leche roasted at home.

Contrary to expectations, the kids were ecstatic and had no qualms about watching the entire procedure - from the slaughter to the skinning, to the cleaning and de-gutting, and on to the roasting, getting in the way by insisting they turn the pole themselves. Along with cousins, they vied for front-row seats to the spectacle.

They also accompanied the slaughtered pig as it wound its way around the house and by the perimeter of the property, trailing drops of blood in the ritual paterter. The term literally means to let trickle, and it is a ritualistic blood offering for life-affirming occasions such as birthdays and baptisms, but is also used upon the construction of anything new - houses, bridges, buildings.

Which is one of the major reasons for the slaughter of an animal during these events. The feeding of guests is a purpose lateral with the ceremonial intent.  I don't know if this was rooted in our ancient animistic traditions, though I'd like to think it's more akin to the ritual shedding of animal blood as an offering to God (or gods) somewhere in the Old Testament (as well as in Greek mythology). In Cavite they have the same ritual, called alay, using white-feathered native hen which is buried after slaughter.

The lechon de leche was fabulous.  The skin was crisp, and there was minimal fat. Owing to the size of the suckling, the meat was flavorful in all parts, and was soft and succulent. This was incredible, because very minimal seasonings were used, and everything was natural.

The dressed piglet's entirety, including the stomach cavity, was bathed in pineapple juice, then rubbed with salt. The stomach was stuffed with lots of peeled garlic and banana leaves, tanglad (lemongrass), pomelo leaves, and calabuaya leaves, which were all gathered from plants growing around the property. A few kiat-kiat were also thrown in.



A lukban (pomelo) outgrowth, the leaves fragrantly tangy.

This is the calabuaya, a kind of cactus, whose leaves are odorless and contain a lot of sap. But when cooked, they make for an aromatic stuffing. I understand the leaves are also used in lechons in the Ilocos provinces.

It's interesting to note that the name calabuaya comes across as a composite word made up of the words calab and buaya. In the Pangasinan language the term for climb or to climb is calab, and buaya is the general Filipino term for those reptiles in Congress, err, swamps. So the local name of the cactus denotes a climbing crocodile, which seems appropriate due to its erect nature, and those nodes along the edges of the stalks call to mind the raised ridged skin of the reptile.



from snout to tail

Early on in our marriage, during a birthday of our eldest child, I had asked my husband if I should prepare pulutan. He had replied that I shouldn't be asking, because it is a given, even for a children's party.

It's not difficult, actually, because when you slaughter an animal, a lot of parts not served to guests can be made into pulutan. From the suckling pig there was enough for dinuguan, spiced igado, stewed pig's feet and tail, and sisig. Sharing the drinking table were the uncles who roasted the piglet and made buns, some fathers of the children-guests, and husbands of those who helped in the cooking.

The sisig was the best I've eaten in my entire life, and it wasn't even served on a sizzling plate. Served warm from being heated in a pan without cooking oil, it consisted of the chopped skin and meat from the piglet's head mixed with a lot of chopped onions, kalamansi juice, and salt and pepper.

I didn't join the drinking after the party, but I ate this with rice on the dining table. I ate a lot, and I ate a lot of rice. And that is saying much from me, because I generally avoid eating pork. It was that good. It didn't have the cloying factor because there was minimal fat, if at all.

I wonder when lola's sow will give birth again. I hope it does two months before my birthday.

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Natural Cough Remedies

My older daughter has a one-week chart to fill in with the daily weather for a science project. On the way to school this morning she got her chart out and started to fill in the box for the day with a drawing of the sun, because it was already peeking out of the horizon. I cautioned her that it's still too early, and that it might rain later in the day.

And what do I know, but when I checked the net later I saw that there was indeed rain forecasted for today. And when rain actually fell in the afternoon I told my officemates that nagdilang-anghel ako, recalling the exchange with my daughter.  

But such is the weather, really. Sunny but windy, and cold at night. Rains - off-season this time of the year - can come without warning. So people at the office take turns having sore throats, coughs and colds, and at home the kids develop fever one after another.  I'm not worried, because the fever goes away after a day or two, and the cause soon reveals itself. The kids start having stuffy noses, and then bark like dogs.

Such illnesses occur often enough that I am averse to giving my children medication several times throughout the year. And anyhow, I've read that coughs and colds can't really be treated with any drug, most times resolving by themselves. 

But I don't just lie down and wait for the things to go away. It's scary to hear, and see, children racked with coughs, and I'm well aware what complications might arise if the coughs persist or the child has difficulty coughing the phlegm out. My youngest loses weight every time she gets the cough, because she vomits all she has eaten with a coughing episode. 

So I take care to have remedies at home at all time. Natural remedies all - camphor oil to protect against the cold, rubbed on the back and on the chest, eucalyptus oil to aid in clearing stuffy nose, home-made soup using free-range chicken, kalamansi and lemons for juice, bottles of honey, and a healthy bush of oregano.  

When I was a gradeschooler oregano was cultivated in the herbal section of the school garden. I couldn't get near the damn thing, because to my sensitive child's senses the smell emanating from it was so obnoxious that it made me gag.

Later I tried incorporating the leaves in my cooking, but I could detect the smell, and so I kept away from the herb for decades.

Fast forward to the time when I had children, and I was advised by other mothers and relatives that oregano is a potent cough remedy. My in-laws brought to our home in the metropolis a potted plant from Pangasinan, and taught the househelp how to extract the essence. Every time we go to the province bushes of oregano are at the ready for any coughing fit.

In Cavite, luxuriant bushes of oregano abound in residential lawns. I transferred the potted plant to the garden near the laundry area, which flourished, and from which I got cuttings to plant in our front garden. Both thrived, and benefited neighbors and other villagers wanting some leaves. They also got the attention of the village streetkeepers, who kept pruning them to keep them from spreading onto the pavement.

Sendong inundated the entire property, killing many plants, including the oregano bushes and my very productive papaya. Good thing I promptly got cuttings from outside the village and had them planted. Now the oregano bush by the laundry area is back like no flood had come. And I have my security blanket for this season's coughing fits.

Ironically, the kids love drinking oregano essence. They have become used to it, although we had to hold their noses and force the juice down their throats when they were infants and tots. Now a cup of oregano on the table would make them discuss among themselves who would get a better share.

I admire them, though I am now not as averse to oregano as in the past. I now mix oregano in tomato sauces, and love the muted scent of the bush after a hot spell under the sun. The smell, and taste, is quite mild to me now, actually. And I am quite thankful for how it helps my children go through illnesses with ease.

To use, wash several leaves and blanch by pouring boiling water, steeping for a minute. Drain, and pound the leaves in a container until the juice is squeezed out. Sieve the juice and serve pure. May be taken with a teaspoon of honey, and kalamansi. Drink first thing in the morning, and several times throughout the day depending on the severity of the cough. The leaves are quite large and thick, and each leaf can yield about a tablespoonful. The juice can be amber or dark green in color.  

Dangla, which is the Pangasinan term for lagundi (Vitex negundo), has been a trusted natural home remedy for many ailments in the provicnes even before it was thrust into the country's consciousness by the introducion of a cough medication made from the leaves.

Elders boil several kinds of leaves that include dangla and pour it into clean, empty chamber pots. They sit on the steaming decoction to ease pre-menstrual and post-natal cramps, and episodes of flatulence. Whenever I gave birth I was made to use this tea-colored decoction as my bath water for weeks, and it was wonderful on the skin, making it smooth and silky.

 The dangla bush grows in the wild. The paper-thin leaves look inconspicuous, and can be mistaken for a weed. People in the provinces are very superstitious, and the star-shaped leaf with its five components may have aided in its discovery. But its herbal potency is no superstition. It is a powerful cough and asthma antidote, effortlessly making episodes of these ailments disappear like magic.

Dangla leaves are boiled, resulting to a pale yellow brew that is drunk throughout the day. But this is no mild drink. The unassuming leaves, which do not exude any aroma, give out a sharp, stinging, bitter essense. It's taking quite some time to make the kids take to it. The husband would rather cough to kingdom come, and I myself detest the taste. Good thing the effect is immediate, and only a day or two is needed to drink the brew.

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