Passing on Lolo and Lola's Filipino Food Recipes

When you’re yearning for that Filipino food fix, where do you go? The modern Pilipino fusion joint in the city? The nearest Jollibee for some sweet spaghetti and fried chicken? The turo-turo restaurant for some instant ulam (dishes)? The bakery selling pan de sal, fresh out of the oven? For the fortunate Pilipinos and Fil-Ams, our answer is: home. Nothing beats our favorite Pilipino dishes like the ones created and perfected by our family.

Recipes have been passed down for generations, thus becoming as much a part of holiday gatherings at the attendees at the table. For instance, some dishes that never fail to make it to our holiday and celebration spreads include my mom’s lumpia, my auntie’s fruit salad and my grandma’s (or lola's) cassava cake.

When I was in high school, my mom told me to call my grandma to ask her for her cassava cake recipe. She had made it many times before when she lived with us, but I was too busy with my childhood duties – such as rollerblading, concocting potions with berries and leaves, and making mud traps for the mountain cats that prowled around the backyard at night – to appreciate it.  So, I called up my grandma, who had moved back out to California for work, and asked her to divulge her recipe secrets to me. This proved to be a success, as I’m now responsible for making it during holidays, parties, and whenever someone is craving it. Cassava cake is easily my family’s favorite dessert. I have learned to bake two batches, or risk being scolded by everyone (including my younger siblings) for not making enough. When I was in the Philippines last year, I had the chance to make it from scratch; there’s no kitchen workout like grating cassava!

Unfortunately, my personal Pilipino recipe book remains quite bare. When I’m home, I tend to spend most of my time in the kitchen. It is in this most sacred room of my home that I learned my parents' Adobo and Sinigang recipes. But this isn’t enough. When I am finally stateside again, I will resume my place as sous (and sometimes head) chef in the kitchen, picking up more Pilipino dish and dessert recipes. As a young Pilipina, it is my responsibility to preserve the cuisine that helps define our palette and lifestyle. There are so many dishes I have no idea how to make, and it’d be a shame if they were lost. I hope to build up my recipe repertoire; not just with Pilipino dishes, but with all the tricks of the cooking trade that my family continues to employ in the kitchen and during backyard BBQ cookouts.

Next on my list: Pinakbet.

Photo credits: All I Wanna Do is Bake and Ang Sarap

Sinigang for the Soul

Tonight, I find myself in northwest Thailand, in the remote and mountainous province of Mae Hong Son. I’ve been here for six months, as I’m completing a teaching fellowship for Global Playground. I teach English at a middle and high school, which serves 1,200 students from this district and nearby villages. As a proud Pilipina, I am faced with a predicament. The closest Pilipino restaurant is in Chiang Mai (about six hours away from my village), and it is only open for part of the year. Last July, Tita Ann (the owner) and I, shared a brief conversation over the phone, as I was trying to satiate my Pilipino food cravings. Her Chiang Mai restaurant was closed, and she had relocated to Bangkok to run her other restaurant. Naturally, this would happen to a young lady deprived of all Pilipino dishes and dessert. During times like these (hunger, severe stress, intense homesickness and the like), I find myself craving "Sinigang sa sampalok." This delicious and savory soup, flavored by tamarind, onion and kamatis (tomato), is my personal comfort food. Unfortunately, Thai cuisine is known for its chili peppers, sugar, palm sugar, peanuts and fish sauce. Here in the village, my meals consist of noodles, rice, eggs, vegetables, tofu, chicken and pork. Not much variety, since I cannot tolerate spicy dishes.

It was about a month after I had moved to the village that homesickness began to take its toll. I missed my family; before my fellowship, I never went more than two months without seeing them. One day, another teacher at my school flat-out asked me.

“Are you homesick?”, she said bluntly.

“Yes,” I replied without hesitation.

“I’m going to Mae Sariang this weekend to visit my daughter. Do you want to come?” she asked.

I kindly accepted, and that weekend, we drove to her mother-in-law’s home to visit her one-year-old daughter. We went around the neighborhood (i.e. homes scattered among the rice fields), lounged to the sound of the rainfall (it was rainy season at the time), and ate northern Thai food. It is said that northern Thai food is not as spicy as the dishes found throughout the rest of Thailand, though I have to disagree on that. Everything is too spicy for this foreigner.

After one of my naps on the padded mat set up by the TV, I stumbled over to the table. The family had prepared a variety of dishes, and I spotted one that seemed almost too familiar. It was a soup with supple chunks of pork, leafy greens and onions. I doubted it for a mere second, before taking a spoonful and slowly tasting it. It had a sour tinge to it, and in an instant, I smiled. It tasted just like sinigang. I learned that it was called "Pha kaa jaaw," a dish from Chinese influence, also made with tamarind. Now, I can order the dish at restaurants; the cook here at the school also prepares it every now and then, after she learned it was my favorite.

I accepted the teacher’s invitation, and every invitation to join other teachers and staff after that. One of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever heard was, “Always accept an offer.” I’d like to add that you should, at the minimum, consider every offer before you decline it. It may lead you to the "sinigang" you're craving.