EatingAsia

Just the Thing for a Cold: 'Oregano', Tea, and Turmeric

I brought a whopper of a cold home from Vietnam. This seems to be par for the course when we're traveling and cramming a lot of work into a relatively short space of time. It might also have had something to do with the fact that we arrived in Hoi An unprepared for cool weather and lots of rain. Lacking a rain coat - or any warm clothing, for that matter - I spent the better part of 5 days in a locally-purchased rain poncho that resembled a garbage bag with sleeves. (Dave assured me that if I wore the same in San Francisco it would quickly become must-have wet weather garb for the city's fashion divas. Ahem. Nice try, Dave.)

When my cold started to rear its ugly head I wished for something I was drinking quite a lot of exactly a year ago, while battling an even nastier cold while on assignment in Pampanga, Philippines. When a string of early mornings (as in 3am, for dawn mass) and non-stop days lay me low the kitchen angels at our host's home boiled up batch after batch of tea made with an herb growing wild outside the house. They called it 'oregano' (pictured below, and above - same name, two different leaves - two varieties, perhaps?). It eased my sore throat, cough, and general feeling of unwellness.

This 'oregano' is actually Indian borage (Plectranthus barbatus), a fuzzy, fleshy-leafed herb thought to be native to India that's also found in Australia, where it's known as five-in-one (thanks to once-prolific EatingAsia commenter RST for this link and others related to the herb). In India the tuberous roots are also used as a spice or prepared as a pickle. 

And Indian borage is found in Vietnam, where it's known as hung chanh, tan la day, and thom long. We first noticed it at a Hue/Hoi An market in Saigon; the vendor told us that it's not for eating, but for boiling into tea when you have a sore throat or cough. According to the link above it also grows wild in Malaysia, where it's known as daun bangun-bangun. We've not seen it in the market here, yet.

The herb smells a bit like Italian or Greek oregano but, to my nose, even more like sage or thyme. In Pampanga I asked if the herb was used for cooking; the response was 'no'. Yet something called 'oregano' is perhaps part of a dried herb mix called sangkot-sangkot that's added to a Philippine stewed meat dish called apritada.

According to that link above Indian borage is added to fish or goat meat curries in Malaysia and on Java (thus one of its Indonesian names - daun kambing or 'goat leaf') and, according to my Vietnamese herb book, there '...young leaves are cut into small pieces to enhance fish or meat as a seasoning before cooking'. (A similarly fuzzy, fleshy, and odiferous leaf, the name of which escapes me at the moment, is cooked with dog in Vietnam to mitigate that meat's distinctive odor.)

Intriguingly, the herb is also used in cooking in Cuba and the Caribbean, where it goes by the name of 'Cuban oregano' or 'French oregano'. In this 2005 Miami Herald article chef and cookbook author Maricel Presilla writes that the plant made its way to Latin America during colonial times. Which begs the question - from where and via whom? From the Philippines with the Spanish? Or from southern India or Malaysia/Indonesia with the Portuguese? Or...? And how did the herb find its way to Vietnam?

Filipinos, Australians, Indians, Malaysians, Vietnamese - anyone familiar with this herb - do you cook with it? And if so, how do you use it?

But back to Hoi An. I searched for Indian borage tea in vain but I did find, bubbling away over a wood fire in a corner near the seafood section, a vat of che tuoi, or 'fresh tea'. The leaves used for this tea are indeed unfermented and, from the looks of it, pretty old.

Branches, berries, leaves - everything goes into the pot and the vendor, who's been pouring cups of che tuoi in the market for over thirty years, gives it all a good boil for a couple hours. This isn't meant as specifically a cold remedy but its slightly bitter, grassy flavor and warmth was most welcome on our misty Hoi An mornings.

My cold, by the way, is pretty much vanquished, and in just over ten days. That's a record for me; these things usually seem to hang on for weeks. I don't know whether to attribute my quick recovery to che tuoi, thoughts of oregano tea, the handfuls of vitamin C tablets I began swallowing at regular intervals as soon as my symptoms appeared .... or candied turmeric.

Candied turmeric is sold alongside candied ginger all over Hoi An's market. Before I even got sick a vendor told me it's good for a cough and sore throat. I bolted at least a half a bag at the first sign of a sore throat and then continued to snack on the astringent treat for a few more days.

What's your (non-Western pharmaceutical) cure for the common cold?

Lechon the Mindanao Way

Dave and I spent last Saturday night in a Saigon bar, surrounded by Filipinos who were one moment exchanging misty-eyed hugs as a Filipino band (an exceptionally kick-a** Filipino, band by the way - there is a reason that Filipinos are known as 'the musicians of Asia') performed a sentimental ballad in Tagalog, the next lustily singing along to American hits from the 70s and 80s that even we don't know the words for. It was one of those great, accidental sort of evenings, an evening so fun even the killer hangover that followed me all the way back to KL the next day doesn't mar the memory.

Dave ended up sharing a few beers with a guy from Butuan City (Mindanao). How serendipitous is that - us meeting, in a Vietnam bar, a Filipino native to one of the only three Philippine locales we've spent significant time in (the others being Manila and Pampanga)? It's a small world, indeed. He and his wife were eagerly anticipating a trip home for the holidays. It would be a family reunion and so talk ultimately turned to that pentultimate Philippine special occasion food: lechon.

                                      Lechon tools of the trade

Any Filipino will tell you that all lechon is not created equal. Before journeying to Butuan City last February with our friend Marc (who also hosted us in Pampanga) we heard all about Mindanao-style lechon, uttering words like 'incredible' and 'the best' as we cooled our heels at the Manila airport waiting to board our plane.

When we arrived to Marc's maternal uncle's house lunch was waiting, in the form of the famed local lechon: breathtakingly bronzed, the skin - flabby instead of Luzon- or Cebu-style crispy - cut away from the pig like a leather coat. Butuanons don't prize the skin and we ignored it, concentrating instead on the tender meat fragrant with a blend of herbs roasted inside the pig. We ate with our hands, greedily pulling off ribs and dunking them in dishes of vinegar made from nipa palm sap and spiced up with garlic and chilies. It was a tremendous lechon. Marc hadn't exaggerated.

The next day we headed to Ippie Bantilan's lechon shop to find out what makes the local roast pig so special. The family-run shop has been around for over forty years, and the lechon is prepared live to roasted in-house. The day's orders are kept in a pen in the back; while Dave snapped photos I tried to ignore their existence.

We arrived just after a couple of slaughters to find family members disembowling and cleaning a carcass. The first had been rejected because of its jaundiced liver (note below, the jaundiced liver on the left is pale while the healthy liver next to it is bright red). This is a rare occurrence, Ippie told us.

After cleaning, the carcass is dipped in boiling water to remove bristles and hair

and then skewered on a wooden spit. These days most lechoneros use metal spits.

What makes a lechon a Mindanao lechon (beyond the fact that, unlike Luzon-style lechon, it's not served with a dipping sauce made with grilled pig's liver) is what goes inside - always green onions; garlic; red, orange, and yellow capsicum; serrano chilies; bundles of lemongrass and, at Bantilan's, also star anise and white peppercorns.

After seasoning the pig with a fistful of coarse salt and stuffing it with seasonings Bantilan's prep crew poured a bottle of 7-Up into its stomach,

then sewed it up nice and tight,

and rubbed white vinegar into its skin

before placing it over the indirect heat generated by two rows of burning mangrove wood. After a while one row is eliminated to reduce the heat. The spit is turned constantly by hand, with the help of a bicycle chain.

After one and a half hours the lechon is done, caramel colored and dripping juices,

and is placed on a board, swaddled in paper, and bundled off to the delivery vehicle.

More than a few Bantilan lechon journey well beyond the immediate vicinity. Filipinos don't think twice about packing an especially delicious pig back to family and friends. At the request of his Butuan City-born mother Marc bundled a couple back to Manila, encased in cardboard and checked as luggage.

And we were treated to another for lunch, right before we left.

Pampanga Food Festival (Philippines)

News of this food festival was forwarded to me by Marc Medina, whose Pampanga family home we invaded for our Saveur article. Unfortunately we won't be able to attend, but anyone within driving distance should be making plans to do so. Last December we had the pleasure of sampling a few of the specialties that will be on offer here, and it nearly makes me weep to think that we'll miss out!

If there is anything that makes Pampanga famous, it's the delicious
food! And if the success of the recent Kapampangan Food Fair at the
Salcedo Market last June 21 is any indication, food lovers young and
old will have a blast at the 2nd Pistaung Kapampangan King Sinukwan on
November 29, Saturday evening at the Old Heritage District along
Consunji Street in San Fernando, Pampanga.

The whole stretch of the historical street will closed from 4:30 pm to
12:00 midnight, to light up the ancestral houses and to give way to a
food fair and fanfare that brings together the best of Pampanga
cuisine – from authentic Kapampangan cooking by Everybody's Café (a
Tatler Best Restaurant in 2008), Abe, Bale Kapampangan, Jun Jun's BBQ
and Bibingka, Teresita R. Razon's Palabok and Halo Halo and
home-cooked meals from PAMANGAN by Des Torres. For the
health-conscious, freshly-picked fiddle head fern salad from the Hizon
orchard will be served.

Pasalubong items such as Carreon's Pastillas and Plantanillas,
Navarro's Taba ng Talangka, WOW Mani, Kuliat Cakes and Empanada and
Lailen's Pastries from the Sweets and Delicacies Association of
Pampanga (SnDAP) will be available; as well as mouth-watering
offerings from La Moderna Bakery (Masa Podrida and Gorgorias),
Bakeline (Mamon Tostado and Empanaditas), fresh sugar cane juice from
Alex Patio, heirloom Desserts from Mitchie Hizon, and barrio goodies
from the town of Sta. Rita such as the DUMAN and freshly-rolled native
barquillos.

Other delectable attractions include Duck Ham from Lubao's Pride,
Ostrich Steak from Orstrichland's Bruno and Diego, and the different
Native Suman from Cabalantian.

There will also be an on-the-spot Cooking Contest (using local
abundant ingredients) that seeks to discover and develop new talent in
the field of cooking, and performances by the Magsilbi Tamu Brass
Band, Arti Sta Rita, Aslag Kapampangan and the newly-formed Teatro Ima
at Arti.

So have a reunion with your family and friends and plan a pilgrimage
to the birthplace of sisig, tocino, buru, tamales and tibuk-tibuk!

Proceeds from the event will go to the Foundation for Lingap
Kapampangan Inc., more popularly known as the Save Pampanga Movement,
which advocates for the preservation of Kapampangan culture and arts.

Come in your most comfortable "barrio Filipiniana" attire and get
ready to go on a hometown feast for all your senses!

A Philippine Christmas

We're about a month too early with this post - it's not even Thanksgiving yet! But this morning two Saveur-subscribing readers emailed to tell me that they'd just received the December issue. So I thought I'd share a story.

Ten years ago we were living in Shanghai, where Dave was managing the local branch office of his employer, a San Francisco-based trading company, and I was doing research for a dissertation on pre-Revolution rural tax protests (not as dry a topic as it sounds), commuting to Nanjing and its massive Republican-era archives during the week.

One of the meals that I remember best from those years I ate in Anhui province, in a small village where the farmers - like most in China - were dirt poor and ground down from years of excessive taxation visited upon them by rapacious and corrupt cadres (local officials). I'd come to conduct interviews with elderly farmers and to mine the local archives, and as a foreign researcher in need of access to otherwise off-limits documents I was obliged to host those cadres one night at a banquet - and afterwards, at a dank karaoke club, where they availed themselves of the services of the bar girls, on my tab. When I left the club that evening sleaze enveloped me like a wetsuit.

The next day the cadres left me and my Chinese graduate student assistant blissfully alone. After spending the better part of eight hours beating our heads against the brick wall that was the archive bureaucracy (never did get to lay eyes on those documents, by the way - but at least the cadres enjoyed their night out) we wandered through the village in search of something to ease our frustration, eventually finding it in the form of a dirt-floored one-wok eatery with a single wooden table and six short stools.

There wasn't anything particularly special on offer, just simple dishes that my Shanghai friends would have disdainfully labelled 'peasant food': boiled thick-skinned dumplings light on meat and heavy on Chinese chives, cabbage stir-fried with dried chilies, tofu cooked with a spoonful of chopped pork and a fistful of Sichuan peppercorns, translucent-thin slices of pork stir-fried with tomatoes and coins of ginger, potato and green pepper matchsticks pulled from the wok when the potato was still crisp-tender. The cook was an old man who'd somehow or other lost his land (that was never really 'his' to begin with, this being China) and oh my, was he gifted. Everything tasted so good, a hundred times better than all the dolled up, expensive dishes we'd eaten at the previous night's banquet. Honest food cooked by an honest man. This is the kind of Chinese food that I loved then and still do, and though it was getting increasingly hard to find in Shanghai and even Nanjing, it was the sort that most Chinese people still ate. It was also the sort of Chinese food that, back then, you'd never read about in most American food magazines.

At the time I subscribed to a new publication called Saveur. I'd picked up a copy on a trip back to the States and liked it immediately. It distinguished itself from other food magazines by featuring stories about and photographs of the kinds of people and foods that I recognized from China - real people  in all sorts of kitchens cooking and eating real dishes (Gourmet wasn't as 'out there' with its food/travel articles as it sometimes is now). No photographs of staged parties with slim models pretending to eat styled food. Just regular food from around the world, in all its often messy glory. I remember thinking that this Anhui cook and his stir-fried pork and tomatoes would make a great Saveur story.

Saigon, 5 years later. By then, after leaving China with a bad taste for political research in my mouth and discovering back at UC Berkeley that I really didn't care for teaching, I'd pretty much abandoned my dissertation, though I hadn't admitted it to myself yet. I finally had admitted to myself, however, that I was obsessed with food and what it means to different people in different places. I knew that I loved writing, and that the best thing about my China research was that it gave me an entree into the lives of ordinary people, an excuse and a means by which to get outside my comfort zone (I'm quite shy) and connect with, well, just about anyone willing to engage. I just didn't know yet what to do with all that.

But I was still reading Saveur. One day Dave, who's been photographing since long before we met, was perusing an issue that included an article on Thai Isaan food by now-Editor-in-Chief James Oseland. 'Hey,' he said, pointing at the piece, 'wouldn't it be great to do something like this, to photograph and write about people and places and food, together?'

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Looooong story short, the December issue of Saveur includes our feature article on Christmas in the small town of Arayat, Pampanga, the Philippines. Talk about coming full circle, huh? Or something like that, anyway. The article includes four recipes that should change the mind of any Philippine food skeptic, including one for 'real' adobo and the famous (to some Manilans) Medina ensaimada.

While seeing the article in print will be a rush (15 months is quite a long lead time and it is our first major feature article, after all), it won't match the amazing experience we had last Christmas in Arayat, a tiny town that opened its heart to a couple of Americans who made nuisances of themselves with their cameras and their questions. And it can't match our gratitude to the Medinas, who so graciously opened their Arayat home to us, as well as to Lucia and her family (to know who Lucia is, you'll have to read the story instead of just looking at the photos), who welcomed us with open arms and fed us more deliciously than words can ever describe. I gave it the old college try, though.

A Weekend of Good Eats in Manila...

...is the subject of our feature story in today's edition of the Wall Street Journal Asia 'Weekend Journal'.

The article is meant as a gentle intro to the city's offerings for Philippine food newbies, so residents will find nothing new. Still, if we're able to convince just one Philippine food naysayer (and there are way too many out there) to give the nation's cuisine another look, then we will have satisfied our mission.

Asian Culinary Forum, San Francisco, October 10-12

In October the Asian Culinary Forum will be staging, from October 10-12 in San Francisco, its First Annual Symposium, 'Asian Food Beyond Borders' .

The Friday-evening-through-Sunday lineup comprises a series of events (such as a tasting tour of Asia's six flavors, cooking demonstrations, a how-to on deciphering Asian ingredients, and a walking tour of San Francisco's Chinatown), capped off by a full-day symposium featuring some great speakers. If this piques your interest but you're not going to be around all weekend, no problem - you can register for events individually online.

On Friday evening I'll be at the 'Asian Sweet' station offering a tasting of some of the wonderful small-batch palm sugars that Dave and I have picked up in the course of our research around Southeast Asia. Ever wondered why blond Cambodian palm sugar tastes nothing like mahogany-hued gula Melaka? Come by and find out! I'd love to see you there.

5 Filipino Classics

Check out the July issue of Travel+Leisure Southeast Asia for our article on five classic Philippine dishes (or, more accurately, four dishes and one beverage).

It's about time the Philippines got some print props (outside of the Philippines, that is) for its food. It's only a two-page spread but hey, it's a start.

Manila June 21 - Be There

PISTANG CAPAMPANGAN AT THE SALCEDO MARKET

The Salcedo Market will host a Pampango festival of regional delicacies and local crafts on June 21 as part of the market's commitment to showcase the best of Philippine food culture. As part of its fourth anniversary celebrations, the Salcedo Community Market has also invited the critically-acclaimed Arti Sta Rita to provide entertainment during the event, which will be held at the Jaime Velasquez Park during market hours from 7am to 3pm.

Look for genuine Pampango cooks doing what they do best, and the food specialties that have made the region famous for its cuisine. There will also be cooking demonstrations of heirloom recipes from the province's oldest families. In addition, there will be an on-site demonstration of how the world-famous San Fernando parols are made by local craftsmen brought in especially for the occasion.

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Wish we could be there. If you will be, have some halo-halo, bringhe, and plantanillas for us.

You Start With a Few Gorgeous Crabs...

In  between watching the trunk of a sago palm be transformed into flour, sampling kinilaw (Philippine 'ceviche') at the fish market, and learning how sap of the nipa palm's flower stalk becomes vinegar (and liquor), we looked on as a Butuan native made a few of her favorite dishes. Our favorite of her favorites would have to be Buntaa Binuntaan, crabs stuffed with fresh coconut and their own fat and cooked in coconut milk.

Despite the fact that coconut oil is now deemed healthy, this dish is clearly over the top - lusher than lush and not something you'd eat every day. It's also the sort of dish that I can't imagine anyone, other than those with a serious aversion to coconut milk, not loving. And it's surprisingly easy to make, assuming you have access to a key ingredient: buko or young coconut, still soft enough to be scraped from it's shell in silky strands (which you probably do; I saw them for sale at a Whole Foods grocery store in Santa Fe, New Mexico and they can be found at many stores specializing in Southeast Asian ingredients).

Our hostess, the same lovely woman who hooked us up with the sago makers, learned this recipe from her mother and great grandmother. She started with about two and three quarter kilos of fresh crabs. Female crabs are what you want for this dish, because their roe is a key component (how do you tell a female from a male crab? Flip them over and compare the size of the 'flap' that covers the bottom half of their bodies; the female's 'flap' is wider). She put the crabs in the freezer for a few hours, until they were 'asleep' and immobile, and then pulled off their top shells.

After removing the crab's gills and cleaning the nasty bits from the top half of the shell

she carefully removed fat and roe and from both halves and set it aside.

It would be mixed with the shredded buko.

To this mixture she added a generous amount of garlic - pounded in a mortar, not chopped - chopped ginger, thinly sliced scallions (both white and green parts), chopped red onion, and salt.

She carefully cleaned the empty crab shell tops and stuffed them with the mixture.

More stuffing went into the cavities of the crab bodies created when their gills and fat and roe were removed.

After stuffing the crabs she reassembled them

and tied the halves together with kitchen string.

The liquid that remained on the platter after the crabs were stuffed was set aside for later.

                                 stuffed and ready for the pot

The crabs went into a deep casserole, along with a good amount of crushed fresh ginger. Probably the most laborious part of this recipe is squeezing the coconut milk (assuming it doesn't come out of a can).

My favored method for extracting coconut milk involves hot water, an electric blender, and cheesecloth, but in this Butuan household it's all done with manpower - two 'pressings', the first for coconut cream and the second for the thinner coconut milk.

After placing the crabs in the pot our host added thin coconut milk to cover them by about two thirds. There was some coconut-crab mixture leftover after the crabs were filled; this she wrapped in tin foil (you could use a banana leaf) and placed in the pot as well. After bringing the coconut milk to a boil she covered the pot and left it to simmer steadily for about twenty minutes.

As soon as the shells of the crabs turned red red she added the coconut cream and the coconut-crab fat juices that had drained from the filling mixture and muddled the liquid in the pot a bit to mix.

Once the liquid came to a boil again the dish was finished.

The kitchen had filled with the heady aroma of good, spanking fresh seafood, peppery ginger, and  coconut oil. The crabs came out of the casserole with bits of congealed coconut cream clinging to their shells, and there was plenty of coconut milk sauce to spoon over rice. I know that a number of other dishes were placed on the table that evening, but for the life of me I can't remember a single one. I passed the evening in a delirium, a crab and coconut milk-induced fog.

Buntaa Binuntaan (Butuan City Coconut-Stuffed Crabs in Coconut Milk)

I'm not including amounts because (1) I didn't do any measuring while our hostess prepared this dish and (2) this is very much a to-your-taste sort of food - if you hate ginger, omit it. If you love garlic, add lots. If you don't have red onions on hand, add more scallions. Just be sure you've got female crabs, that they're big enough to make prying apart, cleaning, and stuffing worth your effort, and that you've enough coconut milk and cream (if you're using canned consider thinning some with water to substitute for the second pressing coconut milk) on hand (a good way to guesstimate is to determine the capacity of the pot you'll use and then figure on at least half that amount in coconut milk).

female crabs, the bigger the better
a young coconut or two, meat scraped out and sliced into matchsticks or shredded
green onions, thinly sliced (white and green parts)
garlic, pounded to a mash or finely chopped
a small red onion, finely choped
salt
ginger - some finely chopped, some thickly sliced and pounded in a mortar, with the side of a cleaver, or with the handle of a heavy knife
coconut milk and coconut cream

special equipment: kitchen string

1. Put the crabs in the freezer for an hour or two, until they completely stop moving.
2. Working quickly, pull the top shells off of the crabs, discard the inedible gook clinging to the inside of the shelll, and carefully scrape into a bowl all crab row and fat. Clean the crabs and their now-empty top shells under running water and set aside.
3. Using your hands or a fork. mix the shredded coconut with the crab roe and fat, the green onions, garlic, red onion, salt to taste, and the chopped ginger.
4. Fill each crab shell and body with the coconut-crab roe mixture, then reassemble the crabs and tie them together with kitchen string. Wrap any leftover filling in tin foil or a banana leaf to make a flattish packet. Set any liquid aside.
5. Lay the crabs on top of each other in a deep casserole (use an appropriately-sized casserole; the crabs should be in at least two layers) and add thin coconut milk to cover them by about two thirds. Scatter crushed/pounded garlic on top of the crabs.
6. Bring the mixture to a boil, then reduce the heat to a  brisk simmer and cover the casserole. Check the crab's progress occasionally.
7. As soon as the crabs turn pink pour in coconut cream and leftover filling 'juice'. Stir quickly just to mix, bring the liquid to a boil again, and then remove the casserole from the heat.
8. Serve hot or warm, with lots of rice.

Tap Lessons

Sago isn't the only palm that's mined for food in the Philippines. Nipa (Nypa fruticans) - and other palm varieties, including coconut and aren - are tapped to produce suka (vinegar), a Filipino kitchen staple, mildly alcoholic tuba, and more alcoholic laksoy. Elsewhere in Southeast Asia this same sap is boiled to make sugar. Such may also have been the case in the Philippines before the Spanish introduced cane sugar cultivation.

You'll often hear it said that coconut, aren, and nipa vinegar (and gula Melaka) are made from the sap of palm trees. That isn't quite the case - what's tapped are not the trunks of these trees but the stalks of the trees' flowers. Among the three varieties the nipa palm is unusual in that its stalk is cut and the sap harvested only after the flower has bloomed.

Nipa palms grow in muddy areas near brackish water. Unlike coconut palms, they're low-to-the-ground; their trunks actually grow horizontally beneath the surface of the earth, with branches jutting up in clumps. This makes harvesting the tuba (sap) relatively easy as the tapper doesn't have to scale a ladder to ready the flower stalk and collect sap.

Above, a resident of Barangay Banza in Mindanao's Butuan City prepares a flower stalk for tapping, by bending it down and away from the trunk of the palm, rubbing it with mud, and massaging it. The idea is to loosen the fibers inside the stalk enough to get the sap flowing without pulverizing them; this he'll do a couple times a day for a couple of weeks.

To determine whether or not the stalk is ready to be cut, he hacks away a bit of the flower to get at one of the white crispy nuggets hiding inside each 'petal'. These 'nuts', by the way, are also harvested and eaten as is or candied to make a nata de coco-like treat sometimes called 'palm seeds' and sold in jars of sugar syrup. They show up in halo-halo, and, in Vietnam, in a similar ice treat called che.

The stalk is ready for cutting when the flower's nuts are sweet (they also taste a little coconuty). The flower is taken off about six inches from where it attaches to the stalk and, once again, mud is rubbed along its length to draw the sap out (this is the last time the stalk will be mud-rubbed).

If the tapper has accurately gauged the readiness of the stalk then sap should start flowing right away.

It's captured in a bamboo tube that's attached to the end of the stalk.

The tuba is collected twice a day. Its sweet stickiness gums up the end of the stalk, so after each collection the tapper slices off about a half centimter or so to keep the sap flowing.

One stalk will produce tuba for about thirty days, by which time it will have been sliced, bit by bit, almost to the trunk.

Tuba begins to ferment almost as soon as it drops into the bamboo tube (sugar makers employ a variety of means to hinder fermentation). After it's collected it's added to a big wooden barrel. If left for three days it becomes bahal, the lightly sour, ever-so-slightly alcoholic beyond-tuba-but-not-quite-vinegar that Butuan City Market's kinilaw master Leo uses to dress his fresh fish.

After thirty days the tuba becomes suka. Our host in Butuan City adds extra flavor to his suka in the form of fresh chilies, onion, garlic, ginger, and lots of black pepper. This elixir we greedily spooned over everything from rice to grilled fish to fresh seaweed.

Or, fermented tuba can be made into laksoy, a clear alcoholic beverage. This still, set by the river and shaded by nipa thatch (yet another use for the palm - roofing and walling), is fueled by wood and turns twenty gallons of tuba into about one gallon of laksoy. The stills here in Banza are made of lawaan wood or stainless steel. Wood makes for a much more fragrant laksoy, we're told.

Inside the still, the tuba is heated to boiling. The steam that rises condenses on the still's concave metal cap and then drips through a tube, out and into a waiting jug.

The first round results in a lightly cloudy beverage. Laksoy isn't crystal clear - and doesn't earn the designation 'first-class' - until it's been distilled a second time. We found first-class laksoy to be more palatable than expected, with a wee bit of a floral scent - definately not rot-gut 'white lightning'. Some locals let raisins and/or ripe jackfruit macerate in the laksoy before cracking the bottle. If we had a jug of laksoy we'd treat it as we sometimes do rum: add mango, pineapple, lime rind, and a bit of vanilla bean and stow it away to flavor for thirty days.

In the barangay stills are a communal asset, supporting on average twenty families each. One lapad (flat, 'pocket-sized' 375 ml bottle) of laksoy fetches 10 pesos (about 25 US cents).

It may not be the tree of life, but the nipa palm is integral to the livelihood of this barangay, at least. The captain tells us that seventy percent of Banza's population is involved in the production of tuba, suka, and/or laksoy, as well as the harvesting of nipa 'nuts'.