PINOY DESSERT MASH-UPS

Hoda and Kathie Lee recently featured Cronuts (Croissant-Donuts) in their show and how these delectable desserts have been trending lately with hundreds literally falling in line for a taste of the new snack. The owner has decided to put a maximum on the number of pieces one can buy -- 6 only per person. He refuses to mass produce the cronuts to maintain quality and taste.

Here now is a list of Pinoy Dessert Mash-Ups which could one day appear in a stand in your favorite mall:

1. SIOMON -- A Mamon shaped like Siopao filled with asado or bola-bola.

2. HOPRUN/TUPIA -- Turon filled with sweetened mung beans (pwede ring baboy)

3. BUTA SEKO -- Burung Talangka spread over Puto Seko

4. GALLEMAS -- Galletas with Yema in the center

5. PACENSIOSO -- Pacencia Biscuit cradling a Siomai filled with Suso ( this should give the French a run for their escargot)

6. BILEY'S -- Bibingka laced with Bailey's

7. PAN DE SOL -- Pan de sal and Espasol

8. HAWLO-HAWLO -- A pitted longan sandwiched between two Haw Flakes

9. TIRAMISO -- Tira-Tira and Miso

10. UBE-GLAD -- (pronounced 'you-be glad') Ube with Ginadgad na Langka

11. LECHE PLAN -- Leche Flan with Plantains

12. CORNVENT BREAD -- Basically a Tortilla made from scratch by an angst-filled colegiala

13. KANO NI GO -- Any snack derived from an american brand now localized by Robina Gokongwei

14. SINTURON -- Singkamas, Tupig at Polvoron

15. PILITA -- Pilipit and Taho (served in a rock glass, the Pilipit used like a swivel stick)

16. KAYO GERMS -- Bukayo with Wheat Germ

17. COCO MARTIN -- Pan de Coco with Star Margarine in a Tin Can (de lata ito)

18. MANI PAKYOW -- Pakwan dipped in a spicy peanut sauce (mapapa 'YOW' ka sa anghang)

19. GUAPOE -- Guava Jelly/Jam spread over Sen. Grace Poe's fave dessert

20. IMELDA -- Iced Melon and Dalandan Sorbet

21. LEA SALONGAN -- Ube Jalea, Sampalok and Longan (wala nang glo-global pa dyan!)

ps: pasingit. pinilit lang talaga ako ni Frankie eh...

22. FRENCH CIMATU --Deep-Fried  Mahi-Mahi and Tuna with a cinnamon laced batter.

MANGAN TAYO!!!

FUN WITH FOOD

It's not what you're thinking. Stop snickering. Sorry no eggplants in this chapter. Everyone remembers playing with their food at one point in time. And who can forget the lashing we all got from such activities. My friend Dondi told me of how he and his siblings would gather by the dinner table, each with a spoon in his hand. As the hot rice was served they would all place the back of their spoons on the scorching rice and wait a few seconds. As the spoon would heat up they would then 'brand' each other on the face or other exposed body parts. What a racket they would make till their yaya or mom would break up the fracas and thus they would begin to eat. Day in and day out. Same routine until they got older and tired of the silly game. 

Aside from the bahay-bahayan and tinda-tindahan my cousins and I used to play, we loved play-acting as well. We would peel suha seeds or patani and with its natural adhesiveness attach these at the base of our inner eyes and pretend they were teardrops. On and on we would emote and ape the dialogues we would hear on the radio dramas. Improvising our very own soap operas. Red chiclets were our lipsticks. We would lick our lips and generously rub one chiclet on them until the chiclet was plain white. Our lips were now coated with the red coloring. Sometimes Nips would be used and we'd end up with yellow, green or even brown lips. But chiclets had a moist better quality, enough to rival Mama's precious, imported lipsticks. I would cry out "Mama, I didn't try your lipstick, I ate chiclet!!!" Every time we had chiclets my younger female cousins and I would play Charlie's Angels.  

Sometimes we would lock ourselves in a room, and with blankets and bed sheets as gowns, we'd play Ms. Universe with Lolo's rattan cane as our scepter, the piano's keyboard muffler as our sash and from old shoebox cardboards we fashioned a crown. Chiclets of course served as lipstick but were also now used as rouge and eye shadow. Santol or any hard, round fruit in season we would tuck in our shirts for breasts. That's why we had to lock the door. For jewelry we had Jack 'N Jill Chippy. The curved ones we would attach to our earlobes as earrings and insert some in our fingers to serve as rings. I believe my mother knew of these games and would prevent us from locking ourselves in the room lest we scatter crumbs on the bed. But of course I knew the real reason was that she didn't like the idea that her son had dreams of becoming a beauty queen.  

One favorite food my cousins shared was the Nissin Cheesesticks. These came in a plastic bag tied with a gold string. The cheesesticks were really salty and went well with cold soda. My cousin Carla discovered a great prank with these. Once she quietly hied off with some cheesesticks in her hand. When she returned she gave a big smile revealing cheesesticks arranged vertically inside her mouth. She looked horrible at the same time funny. She was like that evil nemesis of James Bond -- Jaws. Recalling it now, she resembles Hannibal Lecter with the steel helmet and the steel bars covering his mouth. I would later repeat the cheesesticks prank when I was in college and it was a sure-fire hit among friends in the canteen. (Folks hoping to try this should have a glass of water handy just in case they choke from all the laughter once they try it). 

In sophomore year at the UP Baguio High School, we were introduced to Greek Mythology by our English teacher Ms. Leonida de Leon. We marveled at the stories of Medusa, Arachne, Pan, and Narcissus among others. Batches before us told of the culminating event of Greek Mythology class, a Greek-inspired foodfest. This was one of the highlights of sophomore year. The class would be divided into several groups. Each group had to come up with dishes inspired from the stories we learned in Greek Mythology. We would then invite other teachers to  judge which group had the most appetizing, original and inventive dish. Batch after batch had 'Medusa's Hair' or spaghetti with meatballs, the presentation or execution making the difference. The redder the sauce, the more terrifying, but spaghetti nonetheless. 'Ambrosia' was fruit salad served on a carved-out watermelon. During my time, Ms. de Leon banned spaghetti and fruit salad altogether and admonished us to be more creative and original. I forget now what my group cooked but here's a proposed menu to top all other entries. Batch '84 should be proud of me. 

For starters I'd have 'Narcissus Soup'. A clear vegetable broth flavored with thyme and oregano. So clear you could see your reflection in it. Perfect for the ever self-conscious adolescent. Next course would be 'Aphrodite's Bread & Fava'; freshly baked bread with dollops of pureed, creamy, yellow split peas as homage to the fair Goddess of Love. Alongside I'll serve 'Arachne's Fritters' (or critters); deep-fried locusts (okay, okay locusts are not spiders, I know) accompanied by avgolemono; a lemon-and -egg sauce. After which I would lay-out 'Poseidon's Eels'. Eels fresh from the Greek Streams (-Of- Consciousness). Poseidon must have had, I surmise, domain on inland bodies of water as well; the eels spit-roasted with tomatoes, their drippings mixed with ground nuts, sesame seeds and crushed garlic as sauce. Next course, 'Perseus' Guts'; or Garthoumba -- chopped liver and innards wrapped with lamb intestine fresh from the oven. Main course: 'Zeus Moussaka'; a hearty meat and vegetable stew. For dessert I'd serve 'Atalanta's Golden Apples'; poached apples with a rich chocolate sauce enhanced with gold flakes from a famous liquor. YUMMY! 

Back in the mid-80's my mother and I once decided to catch a screening at the old Pines Theater along Session Road. It was still early evening we had just come from the market with some ripe bananas and a bag of bread, but decided to catch the comedy despite not having seen it from the start. Upon entering the dark aisles we could hear laughter from our right side, slowly and slowly, the entire balcony had begun laughing. I wondered what was particularly funny with the scene when there was no dialogue exchanged but was merely a montage of traveling shots. As my mother and I found our seats, the viewers in our aisle were snickering uncontrollably despite their efforts to suppress their laughter. It then dawned on me, the entire second floor was laughing at us for as we traversed the aisles, our silhouettes had clearly shown we were each carrying a bunch of bananas. The movie being shown was 'Bad Bananas Sa Puting Tabing'. Terribly embarrassing.  

Speaking of movies, don't you ever notice how Filipino cinema has incorporated the partaking of food as a major development in a movie's plot? Consider 'Lollipops and Roses at Burung Talangka'', one scene shows Nora Aunor stubbornly eating burung talangka, licking her fingers mockingly as Don Johnson complains in the background about her nasty habit and the stench from her preferred food. This was the precursor of events that would  lead Nora Aunor to end up with Cocoy Laurel. In 'Madrasta' the eating of lobster was used in two separate scenes to divaricate the steaming animosity between Sharon Cuneta's nuclear family against the one she had tried so hard to fit into. Although  lobster was cooked the same way in both instances; in the former, lobster was relished with a casual almost comical ambience as opposed to the latter wherein they ate the crustacean formally and in a  stiff manner. These dramatized Sharon's character's ever-growing alienation. 

The love affair between food and cinema is not totally Filipino. Western movies have exploited food in their themes as seen in '9 1/2 Weeks', 'Like Water For Chocolate', 'Chocolat' and even 'Fatal Attraction' wherein Glenn Close cooks Michael Douglas' daughter's pet rabbit to prove her point that she wasn't 'game'. Lately in the Philippines however, we have taken the relationship of food and storyline to extremes. With 'Patikim ng Pinya' and 'Kapag Ang Palay Naging Bigas, May Bumayo' , I rest my case. Have we so lost our cinematic tastes? And will we ever produce another great movie chef the calibre of Brocka?

(I wrote this essay ca. 1999 - 2000)

LADIES WHO LUNCH

I was sifting through my stuff last night and chanced upon one of my grandmother's cookbooks that I've kept. It is old, stained, dog-eared, torn, stapled with other hand-written recipes or cut-outs of recipes from other magazines. I am talking about "Our favorite Recipes -- Monday Afternoon Club" published by the same group in Baguio City, 1963.

Yes, the cookbook is older than me. It's as old as my brother. But he doesn't cook. Anyway, I read all the way through the book (it's not that thick, after all) and truly imagined how it was when slow-food was the norm. The foreword of the cookbook reads:

Monday Afternoon Club of Baguio was founded in 1933 by Americans living in the Philippine Islands. Now it is a cosmopolitan women's club, still predominately American, devoted to charitable aid to Filipinos in a number of widely differing ways.


It was thought that the favorite recipes of such a group of women would be unique in their international derivation, and would be of wide interest, whilst the sale of the book would bring much needed money for the charitable projects.


Some of the recipes have been contributed by friends of members generously giving the club their well-tried favorites. A few of the recipes are similar but none is exactly the same as another. The result varies slightly to suit different tastes.


To make the book readily understood by all, the editors have included a table of metric, avoirdupois and other equivalents, a glossary of foreign words and hints on adjusting quantities for altitude.


We in the Philippines wish you all GOOD COOKING!


Nowhere in the cookbook are we to find out, however, who the editors were. In the page fronting the foreword, there is on the lower right side the printer's name (Baguio Printing) and below it is written "Weaving by: Easter School". There are no photographs that accompany the recipes, so I presume the cookbook must have come with a woven satchel. Or perhaps a woven bookmark? The book is divided into sections like Hors d'oeuvres, Soup, Salad & Dressings, Bread & Rolls, Fish, Poultry & Sauces, Meat, Cheese & Sauces, etc. Below each recipe is the contributing member's name.

One would notice, that even though most of the members were American, the recipes they shared belied their European roots, and so you would see Swedish Cabbage, Berlin Doughnuts, Sauerbraten, Irish Stew Casserole to name a few. American regional cuisine is also represented in the likes of Bostonian Spread, Virginia Chicken-Apple Salad, Baked Salmon (New Orleans), North Carolina Brunswick Stew (this last one shared by Betty Ploeser wherein she writes at the end; "Tar Heels like this dish served with hot corn bread and a green salad").

There are a few Filipino dishes shared by some members. It is not surprising that these dishes are deemed classics when it comes to Filipino fare. And so you have Pancit Luglug shared by Joving Santiago, Coco-Chicken Adobo by Mary Ann Rosales, Morcon  and Chicken Relleno by Jolly Serron,  Pancit Molo by Margarita Kolodzik, Fried Lumpia by Martha Plagens and Empanadas by Madge Melton. I am curious to try two recipes shared by Violeta H. Adorable -- Potage de Garbanzos and Chicken Hinalog. The Chicken Hinalog being a dish gently simmered with tender leaves of the Tamarind and seasoned with patis.

Nowhere in the book will you find the mentioning of pressure cookers, microwave ovens, or non-stick skillets. Meat and Chicken stews were simmered for hours until 'meat easily separates from the bones'. Canned produce is rarely used save for evaporated and/or condensed milk. Other packaged items used were the usual flour, butter, baking powder and soda, sugar and salt of course, and the ever popular jell-o and marshmallows. Ditto raisins, dates and nuts and olives. Otherwise, all ingredients were deemed to have been bought fresh at the market. Pyrex was popular for the casseroles. Casseroles having the most entries in the cookbook.

My grandmother checked the recipes she had tried (the fountain pen's ink now a light brown) -- Empanadas, Ice Box Cake (the recipe called for peaches, but my Lola would use ripe mangoes instead), Pancake (from scratch) courtesy of the Baguio Country Club, Polvoron, etc. Lola didn't tick off any recipes for cakes or cookies, understandably so because Lola never baked. It was us, the third generation of cousins who would use the oven.

The recipes are easy to follow. Instructions are simple. Most ingredients were and still are available year round. That I think is the reason they did not include photographs. There is a recipe for The Original Chicken A La King by Ruth Pearson and is truly reminiscent of those toast cups filled with chicken that was popular up to the seventies during kiddie parties or luncheons. Baguio Country Club's Gazpacho and Raisin Bread are also included. The Twenty Four Hour Bean Salad and Roquefort Whirl Salad Dressing by Lourdes Gesner are both  tempting.

Here are some curiosities: Coca-Cola Salad by Martha West is a dish made from Raspberry and Cherry Jello, cherries, nuts, cream cheese, crushed pineapple and 2 Coca-Colas (8 oz. I presume as there was no other variant then). There is also the recipe for Ginger Beer by Elizabeth Mackenzie wherein she warns: "Leave for 24 hours then strain and bottle. Keep in the refrigerator or the bottles may burst." Or how about the recipe for Bar-Talk! by Sally Nordstrom -- it is a concoction of Scotch or Bourbon, pineapple, grapefruit and calamansi juices and soda poured over ice then garnished with orange slices. Ms. Nordstrom adds; "For holiday sparkle, float aluminum cut-outs with lighted birthday candles." Could Bar-Talk! be a pun on the highand term for drunkard i.e. Bartek?! There are also recipes for Clay and Home Laundry Soap. (For the very bored housewife, I guess).

The Buffet Supper For 100 contributed by Ditas Valles is as follows:

Smoked Beef Tongue

Roast Loin of Pork with Prunes

Rolled Roast of Veal

Ravioli in Tomato Sauce

Potato and Bacon Salad with Mustard Dressing

Sweet and Sour Red Cabbage

Lettuce and Sour Cream Salad

Cucumber Salad

Picked Beets

Pan de Sal                      Rye Bread

Dessert: Assorted Cheese Garnished with Fresh Grapes

Served with Crackers (salted & unsalted)

Fruit kabobs

Pineapple Chunks         Fresh Strawberries

Melon Balls        Lychees

Irish Coffee

(The recipes for the items above are seen in the succeeding pages of the cookbook)

There are numerous recipes for Apple Pie and its variants. Also loads of Chocolate Cakes. Towards the end is an Herb Chart naming various herbs and their more common and acceptable uses. There are also tips for High Altitude Baking (eg. Sugar; decrease for each cup -- for 3,000 feet -- no change; for 5,000 feet -- usually no change; for 7,000 feet -- 1 to 2 tbsps.)

In the section titled Treasure Pots: 40 tips for the homemaker is given. Here are the gems, I am suddenly reminded of Martha Stewart:

        No.  2: Toasting bread on your waffle iron is a nice change.

        No.  3: Place waxed paper over the butter knife to cut butter squares for serving.

        No. 17: Potato peeling and vinegar boiled in a kettle will remove lime deposits.

        No. 18: A handful of salt added to the rinsing water in winter will keep clothes from freezing to the

                     line. (Baguio had winter in the 60s?! See also number 37 below)

        No. 20: Egg white is useful in removing gum from clothing or hair.

        No. 22: To preserve bouquets: Put saltpeter in the water you use for flowers. Flowers will then keep                         

                     for 2 weeks.

        No. 23: Tea towels starched slightly will leave no lint on dishes.

        No. 35: Hot salt water poured into sink and drains helps to keep them clean and odorless.

        No. 37: Keep windows free from ice in winter by rubbing the panes with a sponge dipped in   

                     alcohol.

After this section is the page on Spot and Stain Removal Chart, which I am going to skip as modern day techniques/products abound. Or we're not just that attached to our articles of clothing as they were back then when clothes had to be made by the family seamstress or the tailor in downtown Session Road. Nowadays, it's off-the-rack, ready made, mall issued clothes for most of us.

I couldn't help but smile while reading the recipe for Beef Stew Margarita by Jerry Reed. It is written in a rush. She rattles off the ingredients and the procedure and mutters in the end; "Soothing for disgruntled males!!!" 

hahahahahaha   :-)

I leave you now with Lupita Coromina's recipe titled simply: DUCK

1 young duck, disjointed
Strong Beef Stock
Salt and Pepper
3 Doz. Olives
2 Onions

Chop the onions, duck liver, gizzard and heart with 12 stoned olives and mix well with sufficient hot stock to cover duck. Add seasoning and stir well until sauce is thick. Place pieces of duck in sauce and simmer for 1 to 1 and 1/2 hours. Add remaining olives and serve.

EPILEPTIC LOBSTER

I spent close to a year in an island in Northern Palawan in 1992 to 1993. I was burned out from TV and Film work so I dived at the opportunity to work in a small resort in Malapacao Island. It wasn't really a resort but a Marina for yachts. The island had only four cottages, all made from materials sourced around the province. One of the Filipino partners in the Filipino-French Company was an architect who was then pursuing her Masters on Vernacular Architecture. The terrestrial development must have been her thesis put to practice.

At the Marina, we boasted of having the best restaurant in the area. Guests from the neighboring resorts would sail our way to partake of specials-of-the-day and the impressive french wines the restaurant carried. Louie, our chef who was based in Manila, would fly to Palawan whenever we had guests. He prepared dishes from what the local fishermen would bring to the resort. Of course, he would fly in fresh croissants from a 5-star hotel in Manila for the guests' breakfast. He also had a pasta maker for homemade noodles and an ice cream maker for fresh calamansi sorbets. 

One of Louie's most remembered dishes (at least for me) was the Lobster Sashimi. The Architect called it pitik-pitik sashimi. Louie would shell the live lobster by severing its head first. Then he would take out the entire body and slice it to pieces much as how tuna sashimi looks. He would reassemble these slices onto a plate to form the original body and for flourish would 'attach' the lobster's head. The body now trembling, no, seizuring if there is such a word, because although severed from its head, the nerves I'd presume were still 'alive' -- hence the pitik-pitk moniker. It looked like how you would imagine your eye lids twitching when you had one of those tics as a kid before. But when you'd ask friends if your eye was moving, they'd say 'no'. Anyway...

The architect asked me, "Are you scared, Martin?! Try it! It's masarap!" I thought, Moi? Scared? Moi who had tried bat, snake, monitor lizard, frogs before? I get my bamboo chopsticks (handcrafted and woven with rattan at the top ends by the villagers living in the island) and bring a piece to my mouth. I chew quickly and swallow promptly, not even savoring the taste at first. The second piece was better. Also I was calmer now. It didn't taste nor smell of the sea. It was sweet. Not like candy-bar-sweet. Or sweet like a banana or other fruit. But believe me when I say, it was sweet.

That afternoon while snorkeling, I was humming in my head B-52's "We were at a party / My earlobe fell in the deep / Someone reached in and grabbed it / It was a rock / No, it was a rock lobster / nananananananaa.........."

LOLA FELICING'S STRAWBERRY HOUSE

(Felicidad Reyes 1912 - 1998; shown in center cutting cake)

Legend has it in the maternal side of my family that the first effort to commercially produce and retail the now famous Baguio strawberry jam was originated by my mother's mother, Lola Felicing. I cannot confirm this with her now for obvious reasons; my Uncle Joe, however, swears by the story's veracity.  

Felicidad O. Reyes was born in Domalandan, Pangasinan in 1912. Her mother Bai Insiang was a woman of questionable repute. Bai had borne 4 children from two different men, a grave scandal in those early American colonial days. Stories abound amongst relatives of how Bai Insiang would go from one town fiesta to another, expectedly getting drunk or gambling for days on end. She came to live in Baguio during her last years as Lola Felicing deemed it her duty to take care of her mother, she being the eldest child.  

Like most rural lasses of her time Lola Felicing went on to study a vocational course after graduating from high school. She had already met my grandfather then but she was determined to further her education before getting engaged. Attending town fiestas did not appeal to her. Nor did gambling.

Lola Felicing was taught by the wives of American missionaries. In vocational school she learned to sew, do needle craft, keep house, do laundry the proper way, administer first-aid with home remedies and, alas, to cook, her specialty being food preservation. Upon graduation she married my grandfather who had just come home to Pangasinan after having finished his law studies in Manila. Thus they moved shortly to the promising upland that was then the young Baguio City. The Americans built Baguio as their resort city, a respite from the tropical summers of Manila. Here they ventured into farming, mining and evangelism that they carried further up north. Aside from the American names of our streets and parks, the strawberry is one legacy of that occupation. 

While Lolo Ikong was reviewing for the bar exams, he was employed in the Balatoc Mining Company's Lime mixer section. Lola Felicing on the other hand was a vegetable vendor in the old city market. Bai's last advice to her young daughter before embarking towards the city up north was "to always have something to sell, to be able to provide food on the table." Sound advice indeed, but how a hedonistic woman like Bai could come up with it is beyond explanation. 

Lola's entrepreneurial efforts eventually led her to owning a vegetable and fruit stall in Baguio's City Market. Like most lowlanders who migrated to the city, she took advantage of the burgeoning economic climate. Baguio was then still a favorite R&R destination catering to rich families from Manila and expatriates alike. The educational center that it is today was just starting. 

Through the years experience, had turned her into a true vegetable/fruit expert.  With one look she could tell if a bunch of bananas were sweet. With another whiff she would know exactly when the same bananas would be overripe and thus not suitable to sell to her discriminating clientele. With one caress she could predict when a banana would be ready to eat or yet be stored for a few more days before set out on display. And so it went with avocados, pears, cherimoyas, chicos, papayas, strawberries, tomatoes, potatoes, broccoli, peas, cauliflower, carrots, etc. or whatever was in season. So precise was Lola's expertise that she had become quite known for having the freshest, sweetest produce. This fame carried on to the exclusive villages of Makati and select restaurants in Manila all the way down to the Visayas and Mindanao where Lola would send her produce to clients on a twice-weekly basis. 

Strawberries are available in Baguio starting November. But as always they are most expensive during this time. Come January all the way to the summer months when strawberries are aplenty, the production of strawberry jam would commence. I don't know if it was by sheer chance that Lola decided to cook overripe strawberries into jam for home consumption so as not to let these waste or if it was a conscious effort on her part (at the start) to market strawberry jam. And while Lola made rhubarb jam, blueberry jam, marmalades, achara and other preserves, her strawberry jam was the most successful. 

My grandfather built the strawberry house for Lola Felicing at the back of the main house. It was a single detached unit at the end of a flight of steps next to his poultry. It was made of cement. The hearth was one long rectangular stone and cement piece with a stainless steel chimney attached at the end. The wood-fueled stove had an iron 'gate' which we cousins liked to play with. There too was an adjoining storage room where boxes upon boxes of bottled strawberry jam would be kept to last the whole year. That's how much jam Lola Felicing made yearly. (I remember the old, blue D&S Grocery Van coming over to the house, not to deliver groceries, but to buy strawberry jam from Lola which they would sell on their shelves. Proudly I would tell classmates that Lola made those jams, but they wouldn't believe me because D&S would have their business tag on the bottles. So okay, Lola wasn't a franchise.) 

Only the overripe strawberries or those with pockmarks or mush would be used in production. The fresher ones remained in the store to be sold. At the height of strawberry season, jam-making would be a 24-hour endeavour. The second generation of uncles and aunties and extended relatives would horror us with stories of how they would labor way into the wee hours just making strawberry jam, even during their finals week. Lola would admonish them to finish their task even before they could get their hands on their notebooks to review. We members of the third generation did not go through that. 

Like the cashew, the strawberry is a strange fruit. Its seeds are outside. In Botany I later learned that the seeds of the strawberry 'are the real fruit' and the flesh the receptacle to which these hang on. Ditto the cashew. Weird! Anyway, the process of making jam is tedious. As children we were given the more menial tasks of production during summers. Strawberries brought home from Lola's store were first brought down to the strawberry house and sorted out in big steel basins, later to be replaced by plastic colored ones. These strawberries were then, one by one, de-leafed. With a short but sharp knife in one hand we would pick a strawberry with the other hand, cut the green leaf on top, then check the body for any imperfections. We would take special care to slice off any 'rubbery' portion,  tossing it into another basin with the other de-leafed strawberries. The discarded portions would be mixed with other food scraps for Lolo's pig.  

If one happened to choose a large strawberry this would be cut into two, lengthwise. If it were even larger, this would be cut into four, lengthwise and crosswise. The tiny ones, like children, were spared that hacking. They only got bald like the rest of the strawberries. I used to imagine the strawberries were people. Man or woman, their leaves as hair. The large round ones were mothers, the large pointed ones were fathers, the small round ones little girls and the small pointed ones were little boys. The really large pointed ones I imagined were grandfathers, imposing and strict like Lolo Ikong. Sometimes we would chance upon 'freak' strawberries, really deformed fruits that took on the shape of a pig or an elephant. Sometimes there would be siamese-twin strawberries. These I would spare from hacking into two and secretly tuck under the other strawberries to try to look for  later when they were in the vat cooking over the fire being furiously stirred. (When I watched 'Schindler's List' I was reminded of Lola's strawberry house with that one scene where bodies were piled up ready to be incinerated.)  

When the last strawberry was done and tossed along with the others all these would be carefully washed in cold water, carefully, so as not to mash them up, then strained in steel colanders. This is where the kids' job ended. My Auntie Celia who oversaw production would now carefully measure the strawberries into a cup before placing them into the big steel vats prior to cooking. We all had to keep quiet lest she lost count on how many cups of strawberries had already gone into one vat. Then in proportion to the number of cups of strawberries she would then proceed to measure the white sugar from the sack into a separate clean cup and start counting again. The sugar now looked like snow capping the strawberry mountain.  

All these while Uncle Rudy or the next adult male around was already building the fire. Firewood stacked at the left side of the entrance to the strawberry house would be brought into the furnace. Like all kids fascinated by fire, we would huddle by the hearth and watch and listen to the crackling of the wood. We would also await that crucial moment when the center of the strawberry-sugar mixture would start to erupt. We would scream with fervid delight "Krakatoa! Krakatoa!" as jets of red liquid streamed down the top like lava and an occasional strawberry tumbled down with it, driven by molten sugar. Our screams would serve too as an alarm for the oldies for the next stage to begin.  

Once it boils, a special technique in mixing the jam is used so the mixture does not overflow and burn into the stove. The adults were the only ones assigned to cook strawberry jam.  more important reason I now suppose is that getting splattered by cooking jam can leave a really ugly pockmark not to mention the stinging pain one has to endure. For this, the adults always wore long sleeves or sometimes even gloves or a clean pair of tube socks over their arms.  

Cooking the jam seemed to me an eternity. Only Auntie Celia was sure if the jam was ready to be taken out of the fire. Throughout cooking and stirring, a steel ladle was used to skim off any bubbles forming at the surface. These were flicked off into a separate small steel basin were we could dip our fingers (if bread wasn't available) and savour the sweetness and warmth of strawberry essence. Once cooking was finished a big steel pot, quarter- filled with water, would be set to boil. 

The vat of jam now on the table would be scooped into individual bottles. Like production quality control supervisors, the adults would stir the scooped jam with steel knives, looking for imperfections, dark objects that came with the not-so-refined sugar or any insect that may have found a hole in the screened windows and jumped into the jam. This also ensured that the strawberry chunks would be equally dispersed throughout the bottle. Once the water boiled, bottled jam would be placed in the pot for sterilization. The end result, chunks of strawberries adrift in a rich, dark red syrup. No crystallized sugar and spreadable on bread or ready to top on fresh fruit or pastry. Loyal customers have sworn to Lola Felicing's jam, still by far the best. Once sterilized the bottles were taken out to cool and sealed, counted and inventoried.  Vats and pans and ladles and scoops were washed in the sink. The fire put out. The floor scrubbed. Packed in boxes the bottles were then kept in the bodega.  

The actual cooking of jam is the best part in the process. At this point we all got to relax a bit since only one or two persons would be stirring the vat/s. Unless of course a second or third, even fourth, batch of raw strawberries had to be prepared again. It was during these times when stories of the past were relayed to us by the oldies for entertainment, stories of their youth, of the war. 

Wartime stories told to us of the third generation were almost always comical in nature, at times exaggerated too, always to make the storyteller the 'hero' in his tale. When war struck Baguio, the Japanese presence had been around for quite sometime. Lola told us of times when 'mickey mouse' money had to be carried in bayongs. The tension, the uncertainty could still be traced in her tone. When Baguio was bombed, my grandparents and their children and a host of other relatives and friends had to flee back to Pangasinan by hiking. It was in this bleakest time that Lola told us of the worst meal she ever prepared for the family.  

Along with their most important belongings, Lola had brought with her the hide of a cow. I forget now what initial purpose it had for her, but when their food supplies ran out, Lola  devised a plan to feed the group. She set out to boil the hide for a whole day to soften it up. She then cut the hide into pieces, returned these to the broth and only with salt, served the soup into bowls, equally dividing the 'meat' and distributing it to their contingent. 

Of course, Lola told us this story the way adults tell stories to children with the intention to entertain them, with much fanfare and gusto and relish. But somehow I sensed Lola's pain at that moment when she actually had to serve the broth. I imagined her putting a brave and stern front the way she used to discipline us. But I also can't help picture her at that moment, her eyes welling in tears, betraying the strength she had so tried to keep up. Did she engage words with Lolo? What did they say to each other? Or did they just give each other that 'knowing glance' husbands and wives give each other during times of crisis? Or did they avoid looking into each other's eyes completely? I cannot ask Mama, she was too young to remember. Or she perhaps has chosen to forget. 

My cousins and I have fond memories of the place. We used to play a lot in there. Beside the kitchen, Lola had planted an assortment of fruit trees, vegetables, vines, etc. Not so conscious of landscaping, I figured she threw dried seeds on the ground and waited till they sprouted.  We had passion fruit, lime, coffee, mulberries, squash, figs, Spanish tomatoes (tamarillos) and the Baguio household staple: sayote. The passion fruits were fiercely guarded by all. We would engrave our initials on the still unripe fruits to reserve them for claiming when ready to pick. 

The coffee beans, when ripe, would be picked, peeled, sun-dried, peeled again then roasted before grinding. Sometimes we couldn't resist sucking on the ripe coffee beans, they had a sweet flavour to them. The mulberries were plucked from the bush and washed and eaten with salt. The lime we squeezed for cold juice or its rind grated for leche flan. 

The Spanish tomatoes were sour but looked good as decor on the table or props during bahay-bahayan. My brother used to eat Spanish tomatoes with condensed milk, while the rest had pan de sal with whirls and doodles of the sweet milk. The figs for some reason never ripened so they were used as props as well. Often I would play tinda-tindahan with my younger cousins. The sayote we would slice lengthwise and sell, pretending they were pork chops. Figs were miniature papayas. There was also an assortment of flowers. Hydrangeas, gumamelas, dama de noche, azaleas, gardenias, nasturtiums, geraniums, wild roses, poinsettias and the lowly lantana whose seeds were wonderful as armory for sumpit. 

Outside our fence was a steep incline leading to Laubach Road, really steep. Roads in Baguio then were gravel and tar. During weekends and summer, we would get any available piece of plywood or old ironing boards and slide down that road. It was like the biggest race of all time. Down and up. Down and up, laughter filling the warm afternoons. We never got tired of playing. Inventing games, even during typhoon season. 

Lolo and Lola went on a worldwide tour from May 6 to August 19, 1959. The peso to a dollar then was almost equal. Lola brought back a huge map of the world that we hung in the boys' room when we were in elementary. We had this game wherein one would look for a place in the map, call out the name and the rest had to find it. Whoever found the place first would in turn pick the new place. We cousins, in our minds, traveled to Rangoon, the Seychelles, Faeroe Islands, Kota Kinabalu and more. 

Once, Lola traced with her finger on the map where she and Lolo had gone. From Manila's then Balagbag Airport their first stop was Japan. They then went on to key cities in the U.S., Europe, the Meditteranean, the Middle East, Asia, and back to the Philippines. She fascinated us with stories of snow in Alaska, the Eiffel Tower in Paris, Lolo reprimanding a waiter in straight, harsh Spanish in a cafe in Toledo, biblical places they visited, strange food. Lola made lots of friends, and during the 70's to the 80's we would have occasional guests aside from relatives whom Lolo & Lola met abroad. 

During Lola Felicing's twilight years, I had the great opportunity to spend time with her. Although she had grown feeble after her bout with cancer, Lola never lost her memory. I saw glimpses of her naughty character. She told me that once when she was in her teens, she took a trip to Manila and rode the tranvia. She would evade the conductor making sure to get off just before he would come and charge her her fare. Then off she would go waiting for the next tranvia. I laughed in amazement at that little tale, for Lola had always been an honest and hardworking woman. 

Lola was also a simple and austere woman. During those days when she would accompany Lolo to out-of-town conventions she would travel lightly, never ashamed to be seen repeating an outfit. For the worldwide Rotary Club convention in Lake Placid, New York in 1959, Lola was the darling. Wearing a nice embroidered terno she gushed as other wives gathered around her, exclaiming: "Mrs. Reyes, you look like a doll", because Lola never did grow beyond 5 feet. But Lola never liked being the center of attention. On one foray to the Visayas for yet another convention, Lola was once asked by a rather snooty lady why she wore no jewelry. Lola's reply; "It's against my religion" she deadpanned. Lola can be hysterical, I thought. 

Oh and how Lola loved to cook. She liked simple food. She was no meat eater, preferring fish and vegetables instead. Lola made the best paksiw na bangus. She used to cook it over the gas stove in an old, soot- stained banga. She cut up the bangus fresh from her fishponds in Pangasinan, and only with salt, ground pepper and a few onions and the best nipa vinegar, she would boil the fish. 

I liked the way she cooked paksiw because lola would let the fish boil till about half the liquid had evaporated. Sometimes a fish or two would be toasted on its side where it touched the earthenware. That was the best part next to the bangus belly. Lola also loved sweets. Till her old age, we would make sure she enjoyed her scoops of ice cream. Lola also made the best mango-ice-box cakes. With broas from Cebu she would mix the overripe mangoes from the store and make the best refrigerated cakes our cousins have ever tasted.  

Lola and I knitted sweaters, she being the faster knitter and with uniform stitches to boot. Her hands never got arthritic, so on to the wee hours of the morning Lola and I would labor over our half-finished sweaters, telling each other stories. She had this perfect formula for making sleeves. The formula remains a secret in the family. Just like the recipe for strawberry jam. Today Mama makes strawberry jam but only for home consumption. Auntie Celia has rented out Lola's old stall in the market and gone back to her first love, teaching piano lessons. 

Whenever we cousins reminisce about the past, Lola's strawberry house is remembered. We also talk about Lola's store where we would spend the afternoons after school. And who can forget all the fruits and vegetables in season that Lola would bring home for us to partake of. Today I miss rhubarb, goose-necked squash, large green tomatoes, artichokes, brussels sprouts, persimmons, red bananas, sugar beets and other hard-to-find fruits and vegetables. 

On the day that Lola Felicing would pass away, Mama had given her her customary late morning bath. After which Lola had asked to be dressed in her yellow gown that she used during Lolo and Lola's golden wedding anniversary, the very same gown she told all of us she preferred to be dressed in when she finally goes. Mama had teased her that morning; "Ay Mama! Don't be silly, you're still strong!", she said in Pangasinense. 

That afternoon Lola Felicing didn't wake up from her nap. She put on a tranquil expression on her face, a smile capping a happy life. A life well lived. It was a Sunday. She had made peace with her God. It was said that a fragrant aroma swept through her room as she lay there. The sweet smell was so pronounced yet no one was familiar with it or knew where it came from. It just lingered in her room all day.  

Lola was special because she gave so much of herself. Not only to the family but to acquaintances as well. If man were truly what he eats then Lola would be, I must say, not a strawberry. But a truffle. Mysterious, elusive, hard to find, but special, precious, hard to forget.

FOOD TRIPPING IN BAGUIO

Yesterday during rehearsals, Beth Calinawagan who chairs the UP Baguio Committee on Culture and the Arts brought suman from her hometown La Union. The suman was (of course) wrapped in banana leaves and shaped into triangles. We dipped these in brown sugar while waiting for the rest of the cast to arrive. Some of us had coffee with the merienda even. I was hoping we had tsokolate eh too. The suman was perfectly sticky and had a tinge of anise flavour to it.

This morning while walking along Session Road, I saw two women sitting by the sidewalk with baskets full of other native rice cakes. Puto, kutsinta, palitao, patupat... but hanging on the handles of their baskets were plastic bags of halabos na hipon. I asked where the shrimps were from and the woman said from fishponds in Pozorubio. For fifty pesos per bag I decided to buy two -- one each for my mom and me (I take my lunches with Mama in her office in Laperal). I also buy puto which I decided to eat with the shrimps. I was glad that on the third floor of the building is a small counter that serves lunch. I order rice and ask for vinegar. The shrimps were perfect dipped in the sukang iloko with chillies... not to mention using your hands to eat. I felt I was by the beach!

On my way to the internet shop I decide to buy siopao for my merienda during rehearsals this afternoon. Aaaah... the simple pleasures of Baguio food. Food I grew up with and didn't know how much I missed until now.

At UP Baguio I will ask Manang Mani to peel me some santol and prepare me a dipping sauce of vinegar, chillies and salt... I love rehearsals!!!

REVOLUTIONARY FOOD (for thought)

(This is an excerpt from the essay 'Revolutionary Food' I wrote in 2001 as part of a collection of essays I was amassing for the book "This Is Not A Cookbook". I share it now that President Cory Aquino has passed away in the hope it will remind us all of the dreams we had for our country in 1986. It is my fervent wish that those dreams are still with us. And that we are working towards their becoming real.)

"We've all heard of Marie Antoinette's famous quip re: the peasants' clamor for reforms wherein she allegedly retorts "Let them eat cake!" eventually leading to her neck being under the guillotine. In Classical Greece, specifically Athens, the upper class males ate separately from the females. These privileged males usually were served and entertained by hired lower class males (hmm). The females dined separately with the servants and children. In Classical Rome entertaining by way of banquets was observed to preserve the pervading patron-client relations. Centuries later in Medieval Europe, the food one got depended on his status. Mere laborers had less quantity and variety when it came to food as compared to the higher ranking scholars, military, abbots, etc. One got bigger portions and more types of food as he ascended the social ladder. Throughout history food has not only played a crucial role in society but was indeed a reflection of the society it was feeding. Rich civilizations enriched their cuisines with exotic foodstuffs from faraway places through trade and barter. Big cities today boast of mixed cuisines reflective of the peoples that inhabit them.

"Emilio Aguinaldo's assumption to the presidency was marked with a banquet to rival those of the Spaniards. Imported ham and other foodstuffs were included in the predominant Spanish menu. A telltale sign that our 'revolutionary heroes' had not totally let go of the Spanish influence. After World War II, the Americans did not waste time in reversing the centuries-old Spanish influence. They set out to 'educate' the Filipino by deploying Missionaries to most parts of the islands. But subliminally, they pacified the Filipino people by giving him Spam, Hershey's, and other PX goods that beguile us up to now. Today they threaten regional palates by infusing cities with their franchised fastfood worldwide. In turn hoping to have a control of the global economy.

"In February 1986, the Filipino people toppled a dictator in less violent means compared to what befell the French monarchy of 1789. We have all heard of that little boy who decided to celebrate his 8th birthday in EDSA with cake, balloons, family and all amidst the drama that was to unfold leading to the strongman's exile to Hawaii. Such is the Filipino character, always involving 'food' in major events be it baptisms, fiestas, weddings, graduations, (the measly) payday every 15th and 30th of each month, and not surprisingly even during ousters of despots. Back in Baguio, during and after the elections in 1986 my mother and an aunt set out to volunteer as poll watchers in our city. Their headquarters were at the old Cafe Amapola. The eve before elections, my mother and aunt were busy preparing sandwiches to be given to the other poll watchers. Basins of prepared diced luncheon meat and sandwich spread were spooned onto countless loaves which were individually wrapped in paper napkins ready for distribution the next day - -election day. I remember them laboring till the wee hours of the morning with hushed tones of the yet uncertainty that would befall our nation. Hushed talks of another martial law looming, or a civil war, or chaos pervaded the evening. Along with Manila's Coryistas who ascended to Baguio that fateful February my Mother and Aunt did their best to feed the pollsters, keep abreast with the latest election developments and also to keep the family calm.

"My more radical friends at the UP Baguio had chided me for being centrist as opposed to their stand to boycott the elections. During the eve of February 25, the entire 'vigilant' Baguio had a gathering at the Baguio Cathedral at the top of the city proper. The more progressive groups (mostly students and organized forces) were, not surprisingly, assigned to occupy the left side of the church with the centrist and right-leaning groups spilling out of the service into the right side of the cathedral. It was thus announced from the 'right' side of the cathedral that Marcos had indeed fled for Hawaii escorted by the Americans. (The moderates had better communications systems - this was after all pre-egalitarian-text-messaging).

"Shortly thereafter, delegates from the studentry, labor force, NGO's, church, etc. gathered in Taloy, Tuba to 'exorcise' the Marcos bust. We gathered in jeep loads to the foot of the bust where speeches and cultural presentations were exchanged. The main event would be the pouring of fresh blood from the sacrificial pig onto the cement monstrosity that was the Marcos bust. Much like the blood serving as a giant pin to the bust that was a giant voodoo doll. The Ibaloi representatives, (the Marcos bust was erected in Ibaloi ancestral land) proceeded to do a cañao. In a cañao, a sacrificial pig is butchered by an elder of the tribe. This elder or mambunong is a shaman/priest presiding over the ritual. The manner in which the animal is butchered depends on the occasion or purpose of the feast. The shaman aided by other males from the tribe slaughter the animal eliciting loud wails from the pig. The innards particularly the bile sac is 'read' by the elder for omens or signs from the Gods. When all is well, they methodically burn the pig then cut up the carcass to specific cuts for the varied dishes to be cooked. Blood is saved and sometimes mixed for dinuguan or for blood sausages called pinuneg. Most commonly the meat is boiled in water and salt and thus served with a bowlful of minced chillies and salt or soy sauce. Much to the appalled expressions of my lowlander friends, they were in fact admonished by our group leaders to partake of the food, with scoops of rice on cut out banana stalks for plates and pieces of cut bamboo as utensils. I remember thinking that even with the dictator out, much had still needed to be done to unite the nation -- culturally, psychologically, sociologically and above all, gastronomically, we were and still are a divided race.

"But such was the character of EDSA 1 and 2: a spontaneous reaction of fed-up Filipinos eager to replace first a dictator and second time around a corrupt incompetent. But the provisions of food were just like the act of the gathering itself, spontaneous and from the heart. The infamous gathering of May 1, 2001 was engineered, planned and even catered. We all saw the styro trash that thronged the highway. We all heard of the matinee idol donating styro-packed lunches/dinners for the erap-crowd. Oh well. Erap's much publicized lunch with the urban poor on banana leaves and sans utensils was very good application of semiotics I must say. But that is what the former president excels at; image building, him being a former actor. He could have saved us a lot of trouble had he resigned at the onset of jueteng-gate. The great French chef Vatel opted to take his life in 1671 instead of facing a life of ignominy from serving a bad meal. Such was his dedication to his craft and sense of duty to those he served. Our politicians have lots to learn from Vatel.

"Today there is unrest in Muslim Mindanao and in the mountains of the Cordilleras. For as long as there are hungry mouths, there will be no peace."

TROPICAL FRUITS: GUAVAS

The first time I remember eating guavas was while living in Tabuk, Kalinga in the early 70s. My family had relocated there as my father wanted to carve a political career in the region. My father was a lawyer and often times his clients would pay him in kind -- a chicken or two, a pig perhaps, vegetables. Once, a jeep-load of guavas was delivered to our front yard. My mother immediately took to making guava jelly, something she had picked up from her mother although my Lola Felicing was known more for her strawberry jam (that will be another blog post in the future).

The guava Psidium guajava was native to C. America and the West Indies but found its way to Asia thanks to the Portuguese explorers of yore. The guava fruit is generally small and round but varies in color, texture and taste. The inner core may be pale green, yellow, yellow-green, pink depending on the variety and degree of ripeness. The guava is best eaten raw, I believe, when it is in its semi-ripe stage. You will have a delicate tartness and tender flesh to chew on, and the seeds will easily separate from the flesh. Overripe guavas are best for cooking jelly, making syrup, jam preserves or as a base for sinigang -- the Filipino broth known for its sourness. Eating overripe guavas can make you queasy as the texture is like mush and may be too pungent for comfort. Also, ripe guavas may have a worm or two. Although that would signify its organic and pesticide-free state.

I like eating guavas with salt and vinegar. Or patis (fish sauce) with some chillies. What you do is wash the guavas thoroughly, quarter them, and soak in your preferred dip for a few minutes. Guavas are seasonal but there are guava candies in some provinces. Or those sublime guava jellies from Bukidnon made and sold by the monks in a monastery there. The guava soda at the Cafe by the Ruins is the best. I've tried. Ever.

Guavas are rich in vitamin C and fiber. In the Philippines, guavas are thought to be medicinal. In the summer of 1975, I was circumcised in the hospital. I was brought home and made to wear a skirt. My grandmother had instructed our help to steep some guava leaves as a salve and a rinse for my 'wound' down there. To avoid swelling -- tapnu haan nga ag camatis (so it won't swell like a tomato). The old folks believed in the antiseptic and anti-inflammatory properties of the guava. Heck, I couldn't care less how they were going to treat me -- I WAS WEARING A SKIRT! YIPEE!!!

Now, dear reader, every time you eat a guava and/or tomato, I want you to have a visual of me as an 8 year-old wearing a skirt. I do all the time. And that is the point of this blog post.