EatingAsia

Where School Farms Aren't Such a New Idea

A Victoriano de Costa student shows off his schoolyard-grown daikon

(I've just been going through some old files and photos. You'd be amazed at the number of posts that slip through the cracks. I'm going to try to post one a week. Here's the first.)

Long before Alice Waters introduced the concept of students growing their own food in Berkeley kids were putting hoe to soil at schools in the Philippines. School farms in the island nation go back at least to World War II. Many were, and still are, born of necessity. Others are started not only to feed kids but to teach them life skills and engender a respect for farming.

Didn't know about this? I'm not surprised. We wouldn't know about the Philippines' own 'edible schoolyards' either had we not stumbled upon the farm at Victoriano de Castro Elementary School in Santa Rita, Pampanga province while on assignment there in December 2007 for Saveur magazine.

We were in Santa Rita to observe the laborious, time-consuming process by which young rice is transformed into the Pampangan seasonal specialty duman.

On our way from the paddies from which the rice was harvested to the shed where it would be threshed, roasted, and pounded we passed a U-shaped school building whose entire center courtyard -- and all of the concrete planters fronting the classrooms -- was given over to vegetable beds. It wasn't yet 7:30 in the morning and in amongst the rows enthusiastically digging, weeding, watering, and harvesting were dozens of uniformed students.

V. de Costa's mini-farm occupies its entire courtyard

What a sight! And certainly not one we're familiar with from the United States. We entered the schoolyard, began nosing around, and were eventually introduced to Head Teacher Carazon Yaya and agriculture studies instructor Ergado Yaya, who were happy to show us around.

Concrete planters are also devoted to edible plants

V. de Castro was founded in 1959 and built on land donated by the owners of an agricultural bank in Santa Rita. At the time of our visit the school's farming program had already been in existence almost twenty years.

Even though Pampanga is a largely agricultural province (rice and sugar are the main cash crops) "many of our children here at the school do not come from farming families," Ms. Yaya told me. "But we want to be sure that they learn to respect the land and the farmers who work so hard to grow our food."

The school has a room dedicated to agriculture classes. Its rear window looks over rice paddies stretching to hills beyond. There, the kids learn the names of vegetables and grains and herbs, talk about rotation and fallowing and seasons and weather, and plan the next planting's crops.

All of the work on the V. de Castro mini-farm -- from preparing the land to washing the just-harvested vegetables -- is done by the students, except for school holidays when teachers and other community members may lend a hand.

The students do all the work on the farm, and take fresh produce home to their families as a reward

The kids' reward for all this hard work? A pleasant break from sedentary book work in the form of time spent outdoors engaged in physical activity. The pride in literally seeing seeds that they've sown bear fruit. The freshest possible produce to take home to their families.

 

And in December 2007 there was another possible reward in the offing: V. de Costa was up against two other schools in a competition for the Best Farm School in the Philippines (unfortunately we never learned whether or not V. de Costa claimed the prize).

We left the school with a gift: bunches of perky mustard leaves, long, skinny eggplants, shiny green bitter melons, and a few taut-skinned daikon radish.

 

The vegetables turned up later, as lunch.

Daikon radish and mustard were made into a piquant pork sinigang (sour soup), the bitter melon and eggplants were blanched and ready to dip into balo-balo (pungent fish fermented with rice -- an acquired taste but absolutely addictive once you're 'there'), and more mustard leaves were served fresh, for wrapping around more balo-balo and bits of crispy fried tilapia.

(This meal might serve as a rebuke to those who deride Filipino cuisine for its 'lack of vegetables'.)

In two weeks of over-the-top fantastic meals, most from the kitchen of a skilled Pampangan cook, this was among our memorable meals. Seeing V. de Costa's students diving so whole-heartedly into the work at hand certainly put a feel-good sheen on the vegetables that made up our lunch.

But there's no doubt that it was some of the most flavorful produce we've eaten anywhere, ever.

 

Victoriano de Costa Elementary School's students cum farmers in their 'fields'

In the Philippines, Delectable Confections Made From Water Buffalo Milk

Water buffalo are still used to plow rice paddies in the Philippines

Water buffalo milk is most often associated with Italy, where it's made into mozzarella. But did you know that the water buffalo originated in Asia? And that on Sumatra its milk is made into yogurt? In Southeast Asia water buffalo milk is most widely consumed in the Philippines. There it's used in myriad ways, not least to make a range of fantastically rich confections.

In our latest article and slide show for food and wine website Zester Daily we take you to a 60-year-old confectionary in the Philippines' Pampanga province that specializes in some pretty amazing water buffalo milk sweets. We meet the proprietress and watch her make plantanillas, egg yolk crepes filled with water buffalo milk paste.

We challenge you to read and view, and not walk away hungry.

 

Water buffalo milk sweets for sale in the Pampanga, the Philippines

Philippine Duman: An Artisanal Product Par Excellence

It takes at least twelve hours to transform one 800 square-meter of rice into duman, a cool season specialty made in Pampanga, a Philippine province about an hour's drive north of Manila. We were lucky enough to observe the amazing production process. Read about it, and view Dave's slide show (be sure to go to full screen, and select captions) over at Zester Daily, a newish site devoted to the culture of food and wine.

While you're there, have a look around. Zester Daily was founded by a former LA Times reporter, benefits from the skills of seasoned editors, and counts some great writers and photographers among its contributors, You'll find us there at least once a month.

I'm Dreaming of ....

If that title led you to expect a sticky-sweet reminiscence of snowy Stateside holiday seasons past, a bit of wistful Christmas nostalgia from an American passing Christmas in a decidedly un-Christmasy land, well -- I'm sorry, but you've come to the wrong place. Living where we do for as long as we have has pretty much cured us of any thought of conjuring a holiday equivalent to what we'd be observing if we were in the States.

We last attempted to 'do' Christmas in Asia in 1996, when we lived in Shanghai. We erected a fake tree in a corner of our living room and paid an ungodly sum for a turkey. The weather, at least, should have cooperated, but the day dawned hazy (not unusual -- the Shanghai skyline never once enjoyed the backdrop of a clear blue sky when we lived there) and dishearteningly warm.

Dave had taken the day off work but the rest of the city was its usual weekday busy-bee self; it wasn't Christmas carols but the sounds of honking and horking that drifted up to our apartment from the street below. It didn't feel like any sort of holiday, let alone the second-biggest holiday of the year (for me, anyway ... Thanksgiving has always felt more important than Christmas).

After rising late and exchanging gifts we wandered the Bund for a while before ending up at one of the city's two new malls, where we celebrated the holiday with the purchase of an air purifier for our bedroom -- not to cleanse the air, but to drown out the 24-hours-a-day racket from the construction site behind our building.

That evening I made my mother's turkey dressing (which is absolutely the world's best, I'm sure -- and why shouldn't it be, when the ingredient list includes two whole sticks of butter?), jammed some in the bird and put the rest in a covered casserole, fired up the oven, and set the timer. But our cooker -- which we hadn't used much up to that point -- hadn't been properly vented when it was installed, and we discovered that the only way to keep the gas flame going was to prop the door open with the handle of a wooden spoon.

Not the most efficient way to bake a 12-pound piece of protein, as I discovered six hours later when I pulled the turkey -- golden in some spots, pale in others, dry at the breast but disturbingly pink at the bone -- out. Mom's stuffing was barely tepid (thank goodness for the casserole -- we reheated it for lunch the next day).

And so we gave up -- on the bird and on pretending to have a real Christmas in places that just aren't real Christmas-y.

 

But that doesn't mean we close our eyes to the season altogether.

For us the whole gift-ing aspect of Christmas lost its glow years ago. Dave and I both detest shopping, you see, even if (especially if?) it's for each other. And one of us really, really detests wrapping gifts. So we put the money we'd spend on stuff that neither of us needs into two things we enjoy together: travel and/or food.

This year, but for a brief sojourn in George Town, we'll be at home, so over the next week and a half I'll be cooking a few extravagant meals as a nod to the Season and its Excesses. Our 'extravagant' meals will incorporate ingredients more dear than is the norm -- no caviar in this house folks, but perhaps some fresh mussels or a nice cut of American beef -- and rather more rich and bad-for-you than is our habit.

Kicking off this year's Ten (on-and-off) Days of Gluttony: Philippine ulang sa gata, huge prawns cooked in coconut milk.

Two years ago we spent Christmas in Pampanga province, the Philippines, in the old family home of a Filipino friend. By my request, this is what we ate for lunch on Christmas Eve day. It's a dish that for me epitomizes an oft-overlooked characteristic of many Philippine dishes: beautiful ingredients, with minimal embellishments, that star in simple preparations.

For her ulang sa gata Lucia, our host's uber-talented cook, stews freshwater prawns averaging about 6 inches (15 centimeters) in length in lightly seasoned coconut milk until the liquid is reduced to almost nothing but a shallow pool of coconut-scented oil ruddy from the fat in the heads of the shellfish. 

As the prawns cook the coconut milk seeps underneath their shells, flavoring the meat. The real reward comes when you separate the prawn's head from its body: out spill delicate coconut milk-and-prawn-fat curds.

And if that's not unctuous enough to qualify as 'of the Season' I don't know what is.

 

Ulang sa Gata (Philippine Prawns Cooked in Coconut Milk)

This dish is dead simple, requiring not that many ingredients and little technique. But what you must have to make it work is fresh coconut milk (easily made with fresh OR FROZEN grated coconut, the latter available in many Thai groceries) -- or at least a very high-quality coconut cream, such as the one Andrea Nguyen writes about here -- and big, fatty shell-on prawns. Because the shellfish are cooked well past the 'barely-there' point frozen prawns would work; many Asian markets carry prawns like those in the photo above in the freezer case. Female crabs would substitute well or -- if you really want to take this dish over the top -- use a lobster or two instead of prawns (not that you may need more coconut milk).

White rice -- to sop up those prawny coconut curds -- is really all the accompaniment you need, but if you'd like to add a vegetable and want to keep with the Philippine theme try pinakbet, stewed mixed vegetables with bagoong or shrimp paste (substitute Thai shrimp paste if you can't obtain bagoong). Or perhaps follow with an orange, red onion, and butter lettuce salad -- something light and citrusy to chase the richness of the dish.

Note: do NOT stir the dish after the prawns are added, so that the red oil from the fat in the shellfish can rise to the surface of the liquid; this tells you the prawns are done. Chilies are left whole so that they don't add heat to the dish as they cook -- diners seeking spiciness can cut the chilies on their plate and eat with the prawn and rice.

How many this dish serves really depends on the size of the generosity of the host and the size of the prawns. Prepare to get dirty -- for these prawns hands are the utensil of choice.

About 2.6 lbs (approx 1.2 kilos) large shell-on prawns -- say 6 or 7 big ones

10 cloves garlic

1 red shallot, thinly sliced

1 small red onion, thinly sliced

5-6 mild long green chilies (cayenne), washed but stems -- or at least caps -- left on

1 3/4 cup thick coconut milk or coconut milk mixed with coconut cream

freshly ground black pepper

scant 1/4 cup vegetable oil

1 Tbsp patis (Philippine fish sauce - substitute Thai or Vietnamese - a lighter sauce is preferred), or more to taste

1/2 Tbsp white sugar

1 Tbsp white vinegar

1. Pound the garlic cloves to rough shreds in a mortar, or very roughly slice.
2. Heat oil in medium-sized heavy pot (eg. Le Creuset) over medium-high heat. Add the garlic and stir constantly until it starts to brown and crisp, about 2-3 mins.
3. Add onions and shallot, stir once or twice, then add coconut milk.
4. Add fish sauce, two very generous pinches of black pepper, sugar, and vinegar. DO NOT STIR.
5. Bring the coconut milk to a boil. Taste for seasoning and add a splash more fish sauce if necessary.
6. When the entire surface of the coconut milk is covered with bubbles lay the prawns into the pot side-by-side, and then in a second layer if necessary. Lay the chilies on top. Don't worry if the prawns are not completely submerged in coconut milk, as long as the milk is touching the top layer of prawns. DO NOT STIR THE PRAWNS under.
7. Bring the liquid to a brisk simmer and cover the pan. After about 8 minutes remove the cover and baste the shrimp with the coconut milk, but do not stir.
8. Continue to simmer the shrimp with the cover off, basting occasionally as the liquid reduces. When a reddish oil appears on the surface of the coconut milk the prawns are done. There should be a little thickened liquid in the bottom of the pot.
9. Serve the prawns -- and chilies, if desired -- with rice.

Green Papaya Fritter of (Tennis) Champions

This morning I shared a late breakfast of noodles, pork chop, and roti babi at Yut Kee with a friend visiting from Manila. It was a reminder of how long it's been since our last trip to the Philippines (a year and a half, in fact) -- and how, when we embarked on this 24/7 photography-writing thing we thought that we'd have all the time in the world in between assignments and work at home to travel for our own interest.

Not so. As it turns out I've barely got time to finish the work that sits on on corner of my desk, taunting me. And I'm so behind in posts - there's still much of Taiwan, Penang, where we've spent a lot of time over the last couple months, and even Chiang Mai yet to write about, Dave's got a bit more of India to share, I haven't blogged anything about Kuala Lumpur in months, and tomorrow we leave for Sulawesi, where we'll no doubt find many more culinary traditions to photograph and write about.

And now here I am revisiting material from Christmas 2007, which we spent in Arayat, Pampanga, on assignment. Can it really have been over 18 months ago? We returned from that trip with so much great material in the form of over 2,000 photos and three well-marked thick notebooks. By necessity there's much that didn't make it into our article, including a couple recipes.

Here's a taste.

Much of the action that week took place in Medina kitchen, a beautiful 100+-year-old grass-roofed, wood-beamed room with a wood-burning stove at its center. Saturday December 22nd was no different - that morning family cook Lucia (above, right) and her coterie of helpers (including daughter Maricris, left) were putting the finishing touches on the feast that would cap off the annual Medina Christmas tennis tournament, open to anyone in Arayat who cares to show up.

The kitchen's capiz shell-paned windows overlook the tennis court on one side and the side yard, where two whole spit-speared pigs were being turned slowly over a bed of coals, on the other. By late morning, as the tourney finals wore down and the pigs' skins cracked and began to drip fat, most of the stove-top dishes (chicken and pork adobo; balo-balo, pungent fish fermented with rice to eat with mustard leaves; menudo - pork and parts with carrots, potatoes, and red pepper) were already finished. All that remained to be cooked were the beruya (known outside Pampanga as okoy), or shrimp and green papaya fritters.

Beruya are one of Maricris' specialties (which doesn't preclude Lucia from peering over her shoulder to make sure she's preparing them correctly, as you can see above). She starts by cleaning (but not peeling) small shrimp and slicing red onion and camote (sweet potato). After grating green papaya halves she squeezes the shreds to remove as much water as possible,

and then adds in chopped onion and Chinese celery.

Beruya use a rice batter made from soaked ground rice rather than rice flour, and also incorporates egg, salt, and achuete (annatto seeds), the latter for color.

The fritters are assembled in a large shallow ladle: first a pool of batter and then on top of that a layer of papaya, a single shrimp, a piece of onion, and a slice of potato.

Then, enough batter is poured on top of it all to nearly cover the fruit-vegetable layer.

 

The spatula is lowered into hot oil, and after a few seconds the underside of the fritter is cooked enough to float free.. The beruya are done when well-browned.

The rice batter makes these fritters light and crispy. But they're also just a little bit evil, in that way that all delicious deep-fried foods are. Beruya are fine on their own (excellent with cocktails), but best eaten dipped a sawsawan (dipping sauce or accompaniment) of vinegar flavored with freshly ground black pepper, a few chopped fresh chilies, garlic and chopped shallot.

They are also known - or at least they were that day a couple Decembers ago - as snack food of tennis champions.

 

Beruya ni Maricris (Maricris' Green Papaya and Shrimp Fritters)

These fritters make an excellent hors d'oeuvre with cocktails. Best right out of the fryer, they're also quite okay if left aside for up to an hour. The sawsawan-vinegar dip is a must; it cuts through the oil and complements the sweetness of the shrimp and sweet potato. If you can't find small shrimp use larger ones cut into pieces. If you're more comfortable shelling and deveining your shrimp, so be it - the fritters won't suffer much.

The batter recipe is inexact - depending on how wet your rice is you might need less or more water. What you want is something with the consistency of thin pancake batter. It's important to squeeze the papaya as much as possible and make sure your shrimp are dry.

Batter:

2 c medium or long-grain rice

1 cup water

5 annatto seeds

1 egg

1 tsp salt

Fritters:

1 green papaya, grated

2 small red onions, finely chopped

1/4 cup finely chopped Chinese celery, including leaves

2 small red onions, finely sliced

1 sweet potato, thinkly sliced lengthwise and then cut into 1-inch-ish squares

1/2 pound whole shrimp, washed and dried (optional: heads removed)

Sawsawan:

1 cup white vinegar

2 cloves garlic, smashed

1-2 fresh chilies, chopped (optional)

Plenty of freshly ground black pepper

1-2 shallots, finely chopped

Vegetable oil for deep-frying

1. For the batter, mix rice with 1 cup water and leave overnight
2. Soak the annatto seeds in 1 cup water for 1 hour and remove.
3. In a food processor or blend grind the rice and water until somewhat, but not completely, smooth. Remove rice to a bowl and stir in annatto water, egg, and salt. The batter should be thinnish, like thin pancake batter. Add more water if necessary.
4. Squeeze as much water as possible from the papaya; use a piece of cheesecloth or muslin or your bare hands. Place it in a bowl and add the chopped celery and onions and a pinch of salt. Mix thoroughly and set aside.
5. Mix the sawsawan ingredients together in a bowl, smashing the chilies (if using) and garlic against the sides of the bowl to release their flavor into the vinegar. Set aside.
6. Add oil to a depth of at least 3 inches to a deep pan or wok and heat over medium high. Have batter and papaya, sliced onions, sweet potato, and shrimp nearby.
7. Spoon or pour enough batter into a wide, flast ladle or cooking spoon just to cover the bottom. Lightly place on top about 1 Tbsp papaya mixture, spreading it over the batter. Place a shrimp, a piece of onion, and a piece of camote on top, pressing down lightly with your finger. Spoon or pour enough batter over theshrimp and veggies to almost cover them.
8. Carefully lower the ladle into the oil and hold it there for a few seconds, then lightly shake the fritter off of it. Cook for a few minutes until browned on bottom, then flip and cook for minute or so. Remove with a slotted spoon and drain on a paper bag or paper towels.
9. Repeat with rest of ingredients. You can fry several fritters at once, but don't crowd the pan lest the temperature of the oil drop too much.
10. Serve hot or room temperature with the sawsawan.

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?'

---

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 in the article, though.

Update: Here's a pdf of the article. "Days of Feasting", Saveur December 2008

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.