A Note on Bitter

 A couple of months ago, along with a larger institutional conversation about pay equity and the lack of advancement opportunities for BIPOCs across the board, I decided to investigate the wages of the previous title holders of my current job position. Sometimes when you're eating a crisp, refreshing salad, you accidentally bite into a stray citrus seed and it turns everything bitter. And you're mad that it ruined your palate. In my case, I bit into the seed deliberately. As a matter of fact, I bit into so many bitter seeds, I started foaming in the mouth. I induced and triggered my own bitterness.

Bitter is a contrast. And it makes you aware of everything. I haven't been able to stop comparing myself to others. The bitterness from my job spread to other projects. Constantly scoffing at every twitter announcements of success, especially from white chefs and food writers, and the POCs who put them on a pedestal. We are far from the reckoning we think is happening. And when my desperate calls for advice from writers I looked up to were ignored, more bitterness was extruded. But I get it, they don't owe me anything. Bitter at all the books being published that contained ideas very similar to mine. Bitterness from questioning if I am actually skilled or if I'm just delusional. Food media seems to circulate through the same roster of writers, even though I think anyone who can string words into sentences and are given the proper and right amount of information and resources can write a decent article. (Yet, I have trouble writing shit). Gatekeepers make it that much more bitter.

Bitter is raw and we find every which way to cook it out. I've been cooking out for a long time that i'm swimming in my own steep.

I am burnt to crisp. Is bitterness a defense mechanism if i'm a deboned fish on the grill, being open and vulnerable about it?

Bitterness is a sore loser.

But, in the same way as smelling the bitter, roasty notes of coffee beans clears your olfactories and sets you up for accurately smelling a fragrance, bitter resets and serves the magnetic north for my personal moral compass. how much more sweetness do I add? How long do I want to stay in this? How much success do I want to gain from it? How much bitter to relieve the salt? Do I continue writing? How much sour to mask the very flavor I'm embodying?

Bitter aggregates. Bitter is a call to action, asking, is everything else about you balanced?

A Note on Sour

During sticky, humid evenings, piping hot sinigang is refreshing. I used to try and find the largest kangkong stalk from the large bowl of the soup set on our lazy susan at dinner time, and then use it as a straw to drink up the tart refreshing broth in my own bowl. There are always a couple of floral patterned platitos on the table filled with freshly squeezed calamansi juice combined with patis. Its citrusy funky scent wafts as the round glass spins by. My mother, the genius that she is, separates the meat off the pork bones, dips it on the platito using her bare hands and puts it back on her plate only to scoop it up again with steamy jasmine rice. This wisdom that I observed from her, is the ultimate bite of sour on sour. Sourness lingers throughout the meal. Thick pineapple slices that pricked my tongue usually followed the course. That, or sweet mangoes bleeding yellow, scored and flipped like a blooming flower. In Manila, this is how we dined.

Immigrant mothers who work two jobs cooked foods that lasted days on their only day off. A large simmering cauldron of this sour liquid rarely gets eaten fresh, as each family member rarely saw each other to have a meal together. This sinigang is designed to be eaten later. In America, I preferred charred burgers and fruity milkshakes. But sinigang reheated over the stove the next day is far superior than freshly made sinigang. It all boils down to the broth: melting taro roots thicken the stew, disintegrating pork bones add grit and milkiness, meat reduced to miniscule shreds, and the kangkong leaves’ sliminess lend a silkiness, while its hollow stalks remain ever. so. crisp. This is the sinigang of dry winter; a heavy coat. And while I prefer the flavor of day-old sinigang, I usually eat this by myself. No merry-go-round of food on the table, no platitos containing sour salty amber, no sweet flowers nor pricked tongues that follow. In Los Angeles, this is how we dined.

Sourness has duality. It adds freshness, yet it’s a sign of ferment. It uplifts, but it sits on a high note. It tenderizes, but it also preserves. It awakens the senses, yet it’s an indication that something is approaching its expiration. We turn sour when we part from things we love. In thinking of sour moments, sweet foods are eaten for comfort. But when sugar sits in the mouth for too long, the more sour sweetness becomes.

Mushroom Adobo Version 2

Finally, after brooding over a failed recipe and other things outside of my control over the past several months, I now have a mushroom adobo recipe that I actually like. Here's the recipe:

Ingredients:

• oyster mushrooms, tough parts trimmed, torn into shreds, 1 lb.
• garlic cloves, minced, 6-7 each
• large shallot, minced, 1 each
• green onions, sliced thinly, white parts separated from the green, 3 stalks
• garlic chives, chopped, 1/3 of small bunch (roughly 2 tbsp. chopped)
• grapeseed oil, as needed
• cane vinegar, 1/3 cup
• Filipino soy sauce, 1/4 cup
• Thai oyster sauce, 1/4 cup
• water, 1/4 cup
• brown sugar, 1 tbsp.
• black pepper, ground, to taste

Instructions:

- Heat some grapeseed oil in a sautoir over high heat. Add in the mushrooms in one layer (it's okay to overcrowd) and saute until some sides turn golden brown and edges are starting to crisp. Add more oil to the pan if you notice it's getting dry. You might have to cook the mushrooms in two batches. Set mushrooms aside.

- Heat a little more oil in the pan. Saute shallots and white part of the green onion until shallots become translucent. Add garlic and saute until fragrant. Pour in cane vinegar, soy sauce, oyster sauce, and water. Turn heat down to medium and reduce sauce until it becomes the consistency of loose maple syrup.

- Add mushrooms back into the pan and toss to coat in the sauce. Add green onions and garlic chives and toss until heated through.

Eat over hot rice. It's also good as a side. I imagine it's also good to eat with fried chicken and mash. It's probably also a really good bao filling. Eat it with everything!

**You can make this dish vegan by swapping the oyster sauce with hoisin sauce and just adjust the brown sugar accordingly.

Variations on Filipino Adobo: Spice Paste

I keep imagining what Filipino food would be like if the Spanish influence was scaled down to a minimum. I keep looking at Indonesian cuisine and Malaysian cuisine; all three countries have a shared history and culture. Perhaps that kind of Filipino food already exists in the southern islands, but there is another factor that I would like to add in: being a Filipino in California. What happens to Filipino food if the use of spice pastes became more common, just like in Indonesia and Malaysia? What does California- Malay-amplified- Filipino diasporic cuisine look like? What if the Fujian influence was amplified? What if the South Indian influence was amplified?

**edit: As with all adobos, I suggest not eating this on the same day. Adobo tastes better the following day. My theory is that the vinegar mellows out and the meat marinates even longer.

Ingredients:

• chicken legs and thighs, attached, skin on, bone in, 3 each (total of 3 thighs and three legs)
• soy sauce, 1/2 cup
• cane vinegar, 3/4 cup
• water, 2 cups
• coconut milk, 1 can
• garlic cloves, 10 each
• shallots, slice into large chunks, 4 large
• fresh turmeric, sliced unpeeled, 2-inch piece
• cilantro stems, roughly chopped, 2 tablespoons
• limes, 2 each
• ground coriander, 1 teaspoon
• bay leaves, 5 each
• whole black peppercorns, 2 tablespoons
• tomato paste, 2 tablespoons
• kale, ribbed, cut into 1-inch pieces, 1/2 bunch
• brown sugar, 2 tablespoons
• sea salt, to taste
• grapeseed or any neutral oil, 2 tablespoons

Season chicken with salt. Set aside.

Make a spice paste with garlic cloves, shallots, fresh turmeric, cilantro stems, 3 strips of lime zest, and ground coriander using a food processor or an immersion blender. Set aside.

Heat grapeseed oil over high heat in a heavy bottomed pot. Sear chicken legs and thighs on both sides until skin is golden brown. Lower heat, remove chicken from the pot and set aside.

Slowly and carefully add in the spice paste and gradually increase the heat to medium. Cook the spice paste until fragrant and darkens in color. Add the tomato paste and cook until the mixture starts to coat the bottom of the pot.

Add the chicken back into the pot along with the bay leaves and peppercorns. Pour in the soy sauce, vinegar and water. Increase heat to high and bring to a boil. Cover and lower heat and simmer for 40 minutes.

After 40 minutes, uncover, and increase heat to medium high, and simmer for 15 more minutes.

Pour in coconut milk and mix in brown sugar. Simmer for 15 more minutes or until the sauce thickens to a consistency of heavy cream.

Turn off heat and add in kale. Let the residual heat of the curry wilt the greens. Adjust seasoning and add in lime juice. Garnish with cilantro leaves. Eat with jasmine rice.

Variations on Filipino Adobo: Coconut Milk

I am currently in a deep dive into the Philippines' pre-colonial history. I have so many thoughts and feelings that haven't solidified. It might take a while to put them into words. One thing that I now completely understand is that cultures do not exist in isolation.

Before the Philippine Islands were unified under Spanish control, it consisted of separate Austronesian sovereign states heavily influenced by empires all over Asia via the Maritime Silk Road: the Song and Yuan Dynasties influenced the north (Pangasinan was a tributary state where the Yongle Emperor became an honorary leader), the Sultanate of Brunei, the Majapahit and Srivijaya Empires (which the Visayas region is named after), and the Chola Empire of South India (a minor prince from the empire saw opportunity to establish his own Rajahnate in the island now called Cebu, effectively including the region in the Indosphere). Pre-colonial Filipinos welcomed Islam, Buddhist, and Hindu influences.

I am beginning to understand why Filipino cuisine is difficult to define because it has so many layers of history and influences. It explains why we have dishes similar to curries of other South and Southeast Asian regions. Today I made pork adobo with coconut milk. The use of coconut milk is probably a direct influence of the Chola Empire of South India where the use of coconuts are ubiquitous. In the Philippines, the use of coconut milk is typically found in the Visayas and Mindanao regions, where this variation was probably born. I added kale in the recipe. It is completely optional. I just needed to eat some greens.

Ingredients:

• pork roast shoulder, excess fat trimmed, cut into 1-inch cubes, 3 lbs.
• soy sauce, 1/2 cup
• cane vinegar, 3/4 cup
• water, 1/2 cup
• coconut milk, unsweetened, 1/2 can
• garlic cloves, crushed, 10 each
• red onion, small dice, 1 large
• green onions, sliced, white parts separated from green, 3 stalks
• Anaheim chili, split in half lengthwise, seeded and cut into thirds, 1 each
• bay leaves, 5 each
• whole black peppercorns, 2 tablespoons
• brown sugar, 2 tablespoons
• sea salt, to taste
• grapeseed oil, 2 tablespoons

Season the pork with salt. Allow it to sit at room temperature while you prepare the vegetables, but no more than 45 minutes.

Heat oil on high flame in a heavy bottomed pot. Sear pork on two sides until brown but not completely cooked. You want to develop a fond at the bottom of the pot. Take pork off the pot and set aside.

Add onions, white part of the green onion, and garlic cloves in the pot and saute until fragrant and onion is translucent. Make sure to scrape the fond at the bottom of the pot at this stage.

Add the bay leaves, and whole peppercorns in the pot along with the seared pork.

Pour in the vinegar, soy sauce, and water. Bring to a boil, cover, lower heat to medium, and simmer for 45 minutes.

Uncover and pour in coconut milk and then add the chili. Bring back to a boil, and then lower heat to medium and simmer until pork is tender, around 30 minutes. During simmering add in the brown sugar.

Turn off heat then stir in green part of green onion. Eat with jasmine rice.

Variations on Filipino Adobo: Mushrooms

This is a recipe that I will have to develop further. I sort of knew that mushrooms won't really work as the main ingredient of adobo, but I went ahead and tried anyway. Firstly, I am not a fan of the texture of stewed mushrooms, but this could be from the types of mushrooms I used - king trumpet, maitake, and buna-shimeji mushrooms. Secondly, since this is a vegan recipe and is a relatively quick cook, it lacks the flavor development that happens when something is stewed for a long time. Thirdly, I only used about a tablespoon of brown sugar for sweetness, but I think it needs another form of sweetness - perhaps from oyster sauce (but it wouln't make the dish vegan anymore). I personally cannot eat a lot of it, but the dish is good with jasmine rice. I can see the recipe being modified further for steamed buns if I add crumbled tofu, scallions, honey, and sesame oil. Or maybe even as empanada filling. For now, I'm gonna have to mix these mushrooms with other quick stir fry dishes. Here's the recipe if you want to try it: (Feel free to cut the recipe in half.)

• maitake mushrooms, broken into large segments, 2 packages
• buna-shimeji mushrooms, broken into large segments, 2 packages
• king trumpet mushrooms, cut into thirds and torn into large chunks, 1 package
• shallots, large, minced, 2 each
• ginger, 1-inch knob, minced
• garlic cloves, minced, 6 each
• soy sauce, 1/4 cup
• water, 1/4 cup
• unseasoned rice vinegar, 1/4 cup
• white miso, 1 tablespoon
• bay leaves, 2 each
• whole black peppercorns, cracked, 1 tablespoon
• grapeseed oil, as needed
• chives, minced, to taste
• parsley, minced, to taste

In a small bowl, whisk soy sauce, rice vinegar and white miso until cohesive. Set aside.

In a wok or a sautoir, heat oil over high heat. Saute maitake mushrooms until at least one side has browned. Remove from the pan and set aside. Do the same for the rest of the mushrooms in batches. King trumpet mushroom will take the longest to brown as they release a lot of water.

Add a little more oil in the pan and saute shallots, ginger, and garlic until fragrant and shallots are translucent.

Pour in the sauce mixture and add bay leaves and peppercorns. Simmer for a minute and then add the mushrooms back in along with the 1/4 cup water. Simmer until the sauce reduces into gravy consistency, around 10 minutes. Lower the heat and mix in brown sugar. Taste and add more sugar if you like. Turn off heat and mix in parsley and chives.

Variations on Filipino Adobo: Tomato

This week was tough. I watched so many YouTube videos and read so many recipes about adobo. I also read through Reynaldo Alejandro's The Philippine Cookbook from 1983. It was probably one of the first Filipino cookbooks catered to the American kitchen, and it was disappointing. It isn't surprising though, since it was published in 1983. While reading, I started to become aware of this large hole in Philippine history. When I was a young student in Manila, Philippine history was taught starting from Spanish colonization. There was maybe a day dedicated to prehistory, but nothing in between that time and the Spanish era was taught. On top of that we were taught to be grateful for all the "innovations" that the Spaniards brought, mainly Catholicism. The Philippine Cookbook has the same underlying tone. 

Adobo was named by the Spaniards even though the dish existed even before the Spaniards came. They just didn't know what to call it. That is what exactly got me deeply emotional. The Spaniards changed our lingua franca, changed our names, and erased our history.

I was uprooted from my home country at a very young age, but being in a different country made me feel a lot more Filipino. I was craving my history. I have no knowledge of what the Philippines was before the Spaniards came, but there is so much power in being able to define and decide what it means to be a part of the Filipino diaspora in the now and in the future. I choose to define it through food.

Many might say that this recipe is not adobo. But I will argue that it is cooked in the style of adobo: meat stewed in soy sauce and vinegar with bay leaves, garlic, and peppercorn. I changed the ratio of vinegar and soy sauce to equal parts and used fresh tomatoes and tomato paste to compensate for acidity. This would be really good with buttery mashed potatoes. It's also important to know that this was a stove-top braise but it can definitely be done in the oven. However, the sauce will still need reducing on the stove-top.

Ingredients:

• beef short ribs, bone in, 3 lbs.
• soy sauce, 1/2 cup
• balsamic vinegar, 1/2 cup
• water, 1 cup + 1/4 cup
• garlic cloves, crushed, 6 each
• large shallots, sliced, 4 each
• whole black peppercorn, 2 tablespoons
• bay leaves, 5 each
• large vine-ripened tomatoes, chopped, 2 each
• double concentrated tomato paste, 2 tablespoons
• chives, minced, to taste
• sea salt, to taste
• grapeseed oil, 2 tablespoons
• (optional) calamansi citrus or lemon juice, to taste

Season ribs with salt. Over high flame, heat oil in a large heavy bottomed pot. Sear ribs, fat side down until rendered and golden brown. Lower heat, remove ribs from pot and set aside.

Turn heat to medium and add in shallots and garlic. Saute until shallots are translucent. and in tomato paste and cook until the paste darkens in color and oil begins to separate. Add in fresh tomatoes and let its juices deglaze the bottom of the pot.

Add the ribs back into the pot along with bay leaves and black peppercorn. Pour in soy sauce, balsamic vinegar and water. Bring to a boil.

Once it boils, bring back down to simmer and cover. Simmer for 2 hours or until ribs are tender. Check after 1 hour to see if water needs to be added.

After 2 hours, uncover and turn heat to medium and reduce the sauce by half. Season with salt to taste.

Squeeze calamansi citrus over the dish. Sprinkle with chives.