Now, THIS is a Kitchen

Cooks love kitchens. When we're house or apartment or condo-hunting it's the first room we inspect. When we visit a friend's place for the first time we hope the tour will begin there. I, like - I suspect - many of you, have dreamed of working in a kitchen of my own design. It would have my mother's kitchen's view (gold and green-mottled New Mexico desert backed by flat-topped buttes) and the functional simplicity of a Piemonte farmhouse kitchen in which we've spent a few Christmases (brief L-shaped counter; good, sturdy range; open shelves; huge, well-worn table).

I don't yearn for a fire high and hot enough to make steel, a drop-dead gorgeous granite counter, or a slick, stainless steel-fronted, built-in refrigerator bigger than a boat. My ideal kitchen has appliances that get the job done, excellent lighting, prep space to allow for at least two cooks at the same time, floor area for three dog beds, and plenty of room for humans to hang out. It  has lots of wall space for Dave's photos and a selection of the colorful textiles we've picked up over the years. Its personality reflects ours. It doesn't scream 'I spent thousands and thousands on this space!" It whispers 'This is where Robyn and Dave happily spend most of their time.'

Then again, if I ever in a million years thought that I could master the art of cooking over a wood fire, my dream kitchen might look this this one, in the Medina family home in Arayat, Pampanga province, Philippines. Dave and I were introduced to this beautiful space in February, when Medina son Marc invited us out to 'the provinces' for a taste of 'Pampanga, pang aldo-aldo' (everyday Pampanga dishes). We gratefully revisited it a few weeks ago, when we spent the tail-end of Holy Week in Arayat.

This kitchen, built well more than a century ago, is the oldest room in the Medina house. It is anchored by a massive wooden bench topped with six wood-fired burners made of local stone. A shelf underneath holds chopped wood and pots and pans. The stove's wood smoke escapes through a hole in the room's high pitched bamboo and palm roof.

The old Medina kitchen is as functional as a kitchen can be. The floor's wood planks, set apart to allow for air circulation (like the rest of the house, the kitchen is built one story off the ground), also make for easy sweeping. Generous cross breezes find their way through ythe wide, perpetually open windows punched in every wall. A row of short wooden 'pickets' in one of the windows near the stove (see opening photo) serve as 'drainer' and storage for drinking glasses. A square wooden table within easy reach of the stove holds prepared dishes or merienda (late-afternoon 'snack') fixings and serves as dining table when Marc's guests are few (though it would never have hosted family meals in his grandmother's day). Above the table hangs a square, heavy bamboo tray. Lowered and raised with a rope, it provides critter-safe keeping for leftovers.

Other than its few nods to modern times (a refrigerator and a standing fan in the corner, a flourescent strip light suspended over the wood stove, and a two-burner gas cooktop, called into use when something needs reheating or when the number of dishes underway exceeds the wood stove's capacity) the Medina kitchen is as it has been for more than a century. It shows its years, beautifully (I should hope to age so well), with a smoke-blackened ceiling telling of tens of thousands of meals cooked at that stove and termite-eaten wooden beams worn smooth to the touch by years of exposure to caressing hands and airborne cooking fat.

The low walls of the stove's stone wells are worn almost flat in some spots, and the pans that sit atop and underneath the cooker are battered and seasoned to an unmatched nonstick finish.

But kitchens are never just brick and mortar, pots and pans, tableware and furniture. The most alluring cooking spaces suggest history and lived lives; they exude personality (this can be said even of newly-built kitchens). When you walk into a kitchen like this one in Arayat, you know that there's not one like it anywhere else.

So, the bigger picture: the Medina family is one of Arayat's most prominent. Marc's grandmother managed vast rice estates planted by hundreds of tenant farmers. The house, surprisingly modest given the family's circumstances (a receiving hall and enclosed porch, three bedrooms, a dining room, and that gorgeous kitchen), is a trove of aged photographs, intricate religious statuary, and other family mementos. Its walls breathe family history and evoke a sense of life as it was lived in the Philippine provinces way back when. And the town's history lives in the form of the silver and wooden carroza (carriages), kept and maintained by the Medinas, that are used to transport images (patron saints, Christ, and the Virgin) during Arayat's candlelit Holy Week and town Fiesta processions (other carroza are kept by Marc's cousins and other Arayat families).

The food served at the Medina Arayat table, food that is prepared as it was in his grandmother's day, is - unusually, for a family formerly (before agrarian reform) firmly of the Pampangan landholding class - everyday fare, 'of the earth', as Marc describes it. This is partly a reflection of Marc's grandfather's humble upbringing - the son of a farmer, he became, with the aid of scholarships, a well-to-do doctor who squired his family around Europe on holidays. The man, Marc tells us, was passionate about food, a 'culinary purist' who insisted that everything be done just so, every dish cooked in clay pots and over a wood fire (at least in this house) no matter the time or effort required.

The Medina Arayat culinary tradition is embodied in Lucia, their cook (above, left), a niece of Marc's grandmother's cook. Marc says that his family's household's dishes are truly 'Slow Food' and, in the same sense, Lucia is what I would call a 'Slow Cook'.

Sitting at the kitchen table in February, I watched her prepare - with the help of a daughter and a daughter-in-law - some fifteen dishes over four hours (she had, of course, started long before we arrived at the house at 9am). She moved leisurely - circling, circling, circling the stove - lifitng lids to monitor contents, stirring here, adding a little something there, moving pans from high heat to low heat to no heat at all. Never rushing, rarely speaking, Lucia seemed in a trance, completely at one with her work, which seemed not work at all but merely an extension of her being, an action as unthinking as breathing. Knowing which dishes needed what kind of attention when, she cooked entirely by instinct, with the heart instead of the head - a state of kitchen ease that I've experienced perhaps thrice in all my years at the stove (those moments are so rare that I remember them vividly).

There was never a doubt that the meal would be extraordinary.

Among the standouts were huge freshwater ulang (prawns) cooked in gata (coconut cream) , an ingredient rarely used, in Pampanga, outside of the dessert repertoire. Lucia started the prawns on the fire, then moved them to a low-ember burner, where they cooked ever-so-slowly in the coconut cream until the latter had been absorbed by the prawns and all but evaporated, leaving a thin coating of fat clinging to the shellfish. The best part of this dish was the crustaceans' heads, stuffed with rich, reddish fat.

Ukoy are deep-fried rice flour fritters. Made with grated green papaya and sweet potato, Lucia's version features one huge prawn per piece, as opposed to the multiple, much smaller prawns used by other cooks. Masterfully fried, they were crispy outside, tender within, absent of excess grease, and delicious eaten with white cane vinegar seasoned with chopped fresh chilies, shallots, and black pepper.

The simplest dish of the meal, and one of our favorites, was suam na mais, a corn soup made with starchy white corn (Western sweet corn would never work in this dish), grated, and featuring one or two fresh squash blossoms per bowl. We ate it with the famous kapampangan taba nang talangka (crab fat), and would have asked for another bowl had ten or so other dishes not required our attention.

Burong asan is a kapampangan preparation of fish (or shrimp) mixed with rice and left to ferment for several days. Its ammonia-like odor is unforgettable, but it tastes much better than it sounds - sour, fishy, complex, almost cheesy. Lucia fries her buro with a bit of tomato. It'ss eaten with cooked and fresh vegetables and is exquisite folded into a crunchy, peppery mustasa (mustard) leaf.

Certainly the visual star of the meal was bringhe, a rich concoction of glutinous rice and turmeric-flavored chicken steamed in banana leaves. For this dish potatoes and carrots, garlic, onions, and fish sauce are sauteed over a medium fire, and then joined by fresh, grated turmeric and chicken. Coconut milk and chicken broth are added, then glutinous rice, which is stirred over  low fire until the grains are translucent. More coconut milk (the second pressing), and then the whole is turned into a pan (a huge wok, here) lined with banana leaves, covered with more leaves, and then steamed.

The result is a mound of lovely gold- hued rice, soft in some spots and crispy - where it's lain against the banana leaf-lined sides of the pan - in others, and tender chicken, all imbued with the richness of coconut milk. As much as we loved this dish, we felt almost sad to encounter it accompanied by so many others. Bringhe really invites - nay, deserves - one's full attention (and empty stomach), neither of which we could offer it on this day.

Other masterworks from Lucia's kitchen included camaru, or tiny mole crickets, cooked adobo style - that is, boiled in vinegar with chile, garlic, and a bit of salt until the vinegar evaporates, then left to saute in their own fat until crispy. A seasonal delicacy, the crickets are collected from rice paddies after the harvest. Bugs were the last thing we thought of when spooning up this Kapampangan specialty, which was pleasingly crunchy and sinfully rich.

Adobo is a classic Philippine dish, but, as Marc told us, these days few cooks take the time to do it right. Which is - colored brown not from a soak in soy sauce, but from long, slow frying in lots of garlic (after a saute in vinegar) until the meat's (chicken or pork) natural 'sauce' (ie. fat) separates and settles beneath the cooking oil. Lucia served us a platter of amazingly tender chicken adobo speckled with copious crispy bits, the pieces of meat that stick to the pan over the course of a good, long saute. Baggoong (long-fermented fish or shrimp sauce) mixed with chopped tomato was the perfect accompaniment.

 

In other provinces sisig is a fatty concoction of all the head and innards of the pig, satisfying drinking food. In the Medina household it's also a seductive, vinegary saute of young banana blossom flavored with bits of pork and pork broth. When cooked thus the banana blossoms take on the flavor and texture of artichokes. This dish reappeared on the table at Holy Weekend; we were glad for the encore.

Pampangans are known for their love of sweets, but there were no desserts that February day in Arayat (our bellies were truly grateful). We'd have to wait for Holy Week to sample famous kapampangan treats like tocino del cielo (creme caramel), Medina ensaimada ni Ate Guida (sweet bread made with 36 egg yolks and a small ball of Dutch edam cheese, among other ingredients), and halo-halo (shaved ice treat) made with a sweet 'paste' of boiled carabao milk.

And to sample more creations of these Arayat Kitchen wizards.

Note: Read more about the Medina family's Arayat kitchen in Marc Medina's essay in the IACP award-winning cookbook 'Memories of Philippine Kitchens' by Amy Besa and Remy Dorotan. Also, find there recipes for bringhe and other kapampangan dishes, as well as exquisite photos of the Medina kitchen by photographer Neal Oshima.

Thanks, of course, to Marc for opening his family's home and kitchen to two newcomers (and quick converts) to Philippine cuisine.

 

Comments

[mags]

The Kapangpangans are the best cooks in the Philippines, in my opinion.

But I may be biased, having grown up eating my father's cooking. :D

Thank you for this gorgeous post. It makes me want to visit.

[julsitos]

you should go to Ilo-ilo & Bacolod, another culinary region in the philippines

[RST]

This magnificent kitchen also inspired that masterpiece of a photograph by the great Neal Oshima, printed alongside the Marc Medina essay in the Besa/Dorotan Memories of Philippine Kitchens.

The picture has a Las Meninas-like sense of depth; as in the Velasquez, soft light seems to come from a specific window in the far background, but it is diffused everywhere. Withthe graceful attention of a cat alert to potential prey, one of the cooks (one of Lucia's dauthers-in-law?) is captured in mid-spring, while tending to the fire.

I don't have the book with me at the moment, but I remember a liminal space in which a young boy stands lost in reverie. Does the boy represent a young Marc Medina ;0) , lost in his Proustian memories of Philippine kitchens?

Richard/Chicago
[email protected]

[Phil]

Amazing post. I'm always a little ashamed of my lack of skill and patience when I watch my neighbours turn out a six course meal on little more than a pair of wood-fired burners.

The more that I cook (and write about it) the more that I realise that I really lust after pure functionality when it comes to kitchens, much more than overdesign. There is a reason that the heart of every good house party is in the kitchen, other than proximity to the beer fridge.

The only thing that I really miss in my kitchen in Cambodia is natural light and a real oven (I've got a pair of gas burners which is standard for richer Cambodians/Westerners, and a "turbo oven" which is about as trustworthy as cooking with a hairdryer).

[stef]

Beautiful pictures! Reminded me a lot of my late grandpa's kitchen, smaller and partially outdoors but equipped with the same type of pots and cooking tools. The bringhe looks utterly delicious!

[umami]

I lust after the bringhe, the image of the crusty rice soaked up of two rounds of coconut milk, chicken, banana leaves and spices. Wait a minute that sounds like a combination of chicken rice, nasi lemak and nasi minyak, oh just kill me already!

[RST]

Umami,

Bringhe is often described or represented as "Filipino paella". But the dish has never seemed even remotely Valencian to me. Intead, I think that it should be seen as one in the large family of Southeast Asian rice dishes that would include-yes, nasi lemak, nasi kuning etc etc

Richard

[Cynthia]

The is such a fantastic post, taking us right into the kitchen... I wanted to be there, to hear the stories, to watch the cooks. You and David are so blessed to be able to see and experience these things. Thanks for sharing it with us.

I remember roaring fire-sides and large blackend and well-seasoned pots from visiting the rural parts of Guyana... such nostalgia.

[annette]

Sounds like a wonderful, functioning kitchen, rich in character and stories. I can almost smell the layers of garlic, fish, fat and other spices. So different from today's modern, sanitary almost clinical kitchens.

[joy]

WOW! WOW! WOW!

You write like a poet and Dave's photography is superb.

Salamat :)

[renato]

Reminds me of that phrase..."if only these walls could talk...". Thank you Robyn, Dave and Marc, I think they just did.

[Franco]

Amazingly written and beautiful photography. Lovely. Such as throw back to when, cooking was truly a labour of love.

[Stephanie]

Wonderful story and photography: the idea of a century or more of food cooked in that kitchen is incredibly evocative.

[Corrine]

It's great to know that you are a convert to Philippine cuisine. It's the least featured among southeast Asian cuisines, if at all. You write very well and I read with interest about bringhe. Kapampangans are known to cook well and you are lucky to have a Kapampangan friend!

[CS]

You're back!!! As usual, an excellent post. Love the little stories, the narrative, the pix, the observations, the people - lives made vivid. The kitchen reminds me of the lead character's kitchen in Eat Drink Man Woman.

[Mila]

I just found your site through hopping around food blogs here in Manila. I'm enjoying the posts about the Philippines, and the rest of Asia. That is indeed, one amazing kitchen!
Hope you continue your food adventure throughout the region.

[Angela]

How beautiful. Thank you.

[zaas]

Thanks so very much for taking your time to create this very useful and informative site.e

[Tim]

Thank for making this valuable information available to the public.e

[lou abriol santos]

hey there marc, i remember growing up as a child, i used to watch and play tennis on saturday afternoons after your dad and the rest of the crew finished playing. i also remember i was so excited hanging out at the so called "white house". aling lucia was the best cook ever!!! i tried her cooking every fiesta and it is excellent. now im in california, i really miss arayat.

[Marilyn]

Hi Marc,

We are living here in the state now. I was surprised to see this picture online. My grandma used to cook in this kitchen and my aunt visited this Arayat house of yours, the Medina house in Arayat. In fact, we recognized the female picture online, but I am not going to mention her name public online. It was a picture when she was still young so we were able to recognize her easily. My uncle and aunt here recognized her, including myself because during Xmas season we go to the other house of your father in Manila for yearly "pamasko", which were handed to us in cash. I won't mention names here...I bought the book Memories of Philippine Kitchen

[Marilyn]

Re my other comment above. The picture I was referring to we saw was the one behind the patron saint. I am the "sese" of my grandma and if you mention this to her she can probably remember me many years ago. I used to play with her kids my age. I have never done this blog before and I feel awful writing publicly online like this. Warm regards to your Dad and the whole Medina family whom we know very very well. We love the ensaimada.

[marcos calo medina]

hello marilyn,

i'd like to hear more of your stories about the old house and our family. i can't quite picture you or any of your relatives since you didn't give out any names!

but please email me more info, if you can. i look forward to swapping stories!

my email is [email protected]

best regards,
marc

[Lisa Santos]

Hey Marc,

I love this blog about your old kitchen. My brother Dong told me that you've been very "present" in Arayat. Good for you! It's awesome to see that the old kitchen was intact. Memories of my childhood come rushing back...hanging out at your place (mostly with Ching and the Kabigtings, especially during easter) and the tennis court listening to the music and the laughter from the stories of the "oldies"... my dad(Romy), Tito Eli, your dad, etc.

Regards,
Lisa

[Nomer Cruz]

hi marc!
i really don't know you but I know that house in paralaya, arayat, pampanga, your cook is our Tiang Lucia and , I spent most of my childhood summers in arayat, I know your dad, (Johnny right?), we used to pick tennis balls for them during tournaments. Our family for some years tended to the lifesize saints used during processions, it ended sadly for some reason ( the cruz clan from my father side). I also lived there for some time, when one of my uncles was asked to look after that house. my favorite spot is the bangguera overlooking the chicos's at the back. That backyard used to be just a big lawn with a lot of fruit bearing trees, now converted to a cock farm.
across that old house, there was a big piggery back then, the caretaker was an unclue of mine (Tiong Memeng)learned a lot from there, I also remember the old cadillac, the sewing house that was converted to a sunflower business and everything. hah! seems I remember it all. The list is very long, yet why didn't we meet? please take care of my Tiang Lucia for me and best regards to you. happy eating!!!!