Black Bean Soup with Sotanghon

I constantly think about my relationship with food - what it does to my body, how it makes me feel about my body, how it makes me think about other (usually fit) bodies and how I long to have one, how it makes me feel about people who don't really care about food beyond nourishment and trend, what it does to me emotionally, how my choices affect my body and the environment, how it shapes my identity, and the karmic repercussions that come with consuming especially when killing is involved. Initially, I wanted this blog as a casual go-to for Southeast Asian recipes for vegetarians and pescatarians, but the more I cook, and the more I write about what I cooked and food in general, the more I go into a deep excavation of the self. Memories spill out, both good and bad, and with them the foods that I ate, or foods that other people ate. I realized that I am incapable of making this blog casual and that it is always going to be deeply personal. And as I try to learn Philippine cuisine through my family as a producer (not as someone who just eats it), there's going to be a lot of fucking up - just read my Jackfruit Mechado post. Learning from family members is tricky at the same time, because to be honest, I found out that they were lured by the convenience of packaged soup bases, and powdered stocks, and bouillon cubes. Nothing at home is ever really completely made from scratch, and I wanted to learn from scratch...

Recently, a powerful memory has surfaced that made me question everything again. I had a really good friend in high school. She was a year older than me so by the time I was a senior she was already a college freshman. I hadn't been in touch with her for a couple of months for whatever reasons. So I called her up one afternoon to see how she's doing and found out that her mother had just passed away. I went and visited her and while I was in her apartment kitchen, she pulled out a tin foil plate tightly wrapped by Saran plastic from the freezer, and in it was a thick slice of cake. She opened it, took a small bite, re-wrapped it and put it back in the freezer. I asked why she only took a small bite and she said that it was the last thing that her mother made and she was trying to preserve it for as long as possible...After thinking about that memory, a few days later I watched a documentary series called Cooked which is based on Michael Pollan's book, which is an anthropological take on why we cook our food (or rather what made us human).

As I was trying to learn recipes from my mom, the question of cooking with and eating red meat keeps surfacing up and this memory gave me the answer. I haven't fully made a decision but what I do know is that I should really enjoy my mom's cooking whether or not it has meat, and to try to learn from her as much as possible before she leaves this planet.

Today I made black bean soup with sotanghon noodles (bean thread noodles). My memories associated with this dish doesn't involve my mom, but my grandmother. It was one of my favorites growing up. My grandmother was the one who always cooked, from sunrise to sundown every single day. The recipe for this dish was the only recipe that I asked from her. And I asked her during one of my last nights in Manila, before flying to California for good. I lost the recipe and eventually forgotten it. She passed away Christmas Eve in 2012. I remember that night vividly. I was at a Christmas dinner party, then went to a friends house for another get-together, and received a text message from my mom saying that she's gone. Drove home and had a panic attack. And I just remember walking in the house, everyone had just finished crying except for my mom who was in her bedroom, gave her a hug that she rejected because she needed to be alone and then I sat down in front of a laptop monitor, watching my grandma's dead body over Skype, took a photo of her and saved it for quite some time and eventually deleted it... She was 80

I'm pretty sure I fucked this recipe up. I asked my mom and my aunt what the ingredients are and they very quickly just went over how to cook it. I made it today without their supervision. My grandma made this with beef and I'm pretty sure she made it with dried black beans that she soaked and then simmered for long hours. I, however, chose to use canned beans, no beef involved. I also am sure that I put too much bagoong terong/bagoong isda which is salted and fermented fish sauce unique to the Philippines. I also used spinach instead of sweet potato leaves or cassava leaves. I'm going to make this again the proper way. But for now it's the pescatarian version.

Here's how to fuck it up.

half of a large onion, half-inch dice
one tomato, half-inch dice
five cloves of garlic, minced
two cans black beans, drained (I used Trader Joe's)
two small bundles of sotanghon or bean thread noodles
1/4 cup of bagoong terong
2 cups of spinach
pint of hot water, plus more if needed
fish sauce to taste
sea salt
black pepper
jasmine rice
vegetable oil

In a small pot, heat the oil over medium high heat and saute the onions and garlic until fragrant and onion is translucent. Add the tomatoes and saute until mushy. Add in the beans and stir for about a minute then add in bagoong terong. Saute for about a minute more then pour in hot water. Lower the heat to medium and simmer the beans for about 15-20 minutes. Add in the sotanghon noodles and a couple of cups more of hot water. Simmer until the noodles become transparent. Season with fish sauce, salt and pepper. Turn off heat, and throw in the spinach leaves. Serve with jasmine rice.

"Singapore" Curry Noodles

Today is Thanksgiving Day and I have been binge-watching Parts Unknown. My friend Nino just came back from his week-long adventure in Tokyo, and lately, there has been a lot of talks about travel among my friends. And I just couldn't help but think about where my place is. I have been uprooted from Manila in 2001 and I've been living in California ever since. For 15 years my family has been trying to establish a ground; grow new roots. But I don't think 15 years is sufficient enough to call this place home, especially when I learned that half of America want people who look like me, or darker, to go back to where we came from.

I have been thinking about my personal relationship and personal history with food as well. I am dumb in Philippine cuisine, and only learned very basic information about food from other cultures when I attended cooking school. And watching Anthony Bourdain talk to people who have been making regional, land-specific food for decades made me sulk over my knowledge and skills. Envy is an understatement.

Growing up in Los Angeles, I was exposed to several types of cuisines; I have countless vivid memories of bests and worsts and first-times... I had the best sushi from Urasawa - a two Michelin-starred Japanese restaurant that requires months in advance for reservations - I ate there without actually sitting in the restaurant (and paying for the meal). An old room mate used to work for free for Chef Hiroyuki, and he took home fresh fish and superb sushi rice as his wage. I went to Wat Thai Buddhist Temple in North Hollywood and exchanged my cash for tokens to get food at the stalls - papaya salad, pad Thai, mangoes and sticky rice, fritters dipped in several kinds of nam prik... One night I had dinner with a Mexican friend's family - there I ate pozole for the first time, then had coffee brewed with cinnamon right after. I had the fanciest 9-course meal at Providence - discounted because I worked there. My most memorable dish there: Santa Barbara spot prawns cooked table side, and custard cooked in the egg shell itself topped with uni, caviar and lobster paired with Taittinger bubbles. Meanwhile on the nights when I worked at Providence, I would drive to Leo's Tacos after my shift and order cabeza, lengua, and buche tacos, then drive to the nearest 7-11 and buy a six-pack of Victoria and just eat and drink in the parking lot. Samosa House is my go-to for vegetarian Punjabi and Gujarati food. I had (what I think is) the best godeungeo-mujorim when a group of Korean chefs visited my culinary school to promote their cuisine. Pho from Phorage. Khao Soi Gai from Night Market + Song. Laksa and Mee Goreng from Singapore's Banana Leaf. Otak Otak and Beef Rendang from Ramayani. Etc. Etc. Etc.

It is of no surprise then that my palate is highly confused - no mastery of taste and smell from a specific cuisine from a specific region, just dabbled in everything else. Which is why I ended up making a dish that is just as confused as my palate. Singapore Curry Noodles is apparently not at all Singaporean, it's Cantonese. I first encountered this dish when I was a little more ignorant - when I thought the dish was actually Singaporean - at this pan-Asian restaurant called Buddha's Belly. It is typically with rice vermicelli, stir-fried with shellfish and chicken with curry powder and chili. I wanted to make mine creamy and not stir-fried. So I made a thick sauce from caramelized onions, turmeric, toasted coriander seeds, Madras curry powder and coconut milk. This sauce, by the way, is also a good marinade for satay.

To make the sauce:

2 large onions, small dice
5 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon turmeric
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
1 tablespoon Madras curry powder
1/2 can of coconut milk
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon coconut oil

Heat the coconut oil and the butter in a large sautoir on medium-low heat. Add the onions and cook slowly, stirring frequently. Caramelizing onions in this manner takes a while. It's important to not become impatient - do not turn the heat on high. Once the onions have become golden, or the halfway point to full caramelization, add the garlic and keep stirring frequently. Once you've hit the golden brown point, add in the turmeric, coriander and curry powder. Stir for about 30 seconds then pour in coconut milk. Cook until thick. Transfer to a food processor or blender and pulse until smooth. Set aside.

To make the noodles:

10-12 pieces of tiger shrimp, peeled and de-veined
10-12 pieces of New Zealand mussels, taken off the shells
5 large pieces of scallops, cut in half
1/2 teaspoon Madras curry powder
3 stalks green onion, cut into one-inch pieces
4-6 portions of egg noodles, cooked according to package directions
1 tablespoon kecap manis Indonesian sweet soy sauce
curry sauce (full recipe)
salt and pepper to taste
vegetable oil

Heat vegetable oil in a sautoir over medium heat. Add in all the shellfish and cook until shrimp starts turning pink, about 30 seconds. Add salt and pepper to taste then sprinkle curry powder. Stir until curry powder is well distributed and toss in the noodles. Stir to coat the noodles with the shellfish juices then pour in the curry sauce. Mix noodles using tongs until sauce is well incorporated, season with salt to taste. Add in the sweet soy sauce and green onions. Cook until green onions are slightly wilted. Serve hot. If the sauce gets too thick, loosen it a bit with a little coconut milk. This version is quite heavy, good for dinner. I know I wrote 4-6 portions of egg noodles but it can really feed 8.

Fried Rice / Nasi Goreng

Grocery shopping and cooking for one is hard and I'm realizing that it can be as expensive as eating out (which I have been doing a lot) because of the amount of waste that it produces. Greens and fresh herbs don't last long enough to be used for the next dish (or only very little survive). It's really tricky if you have a busy schedule. I bought a whole bunch of groceries that are just sitting in the fridge for a couple of weeks now. My bank account was thinning and I still had leftover rempah from when I made laksa almost a month ago. I was surprised that the rempah was still good, so I made the same laksa broth and just added Thai eggplants that I bought a couple of weeks ago thinking I have time to make jungle curry. I also added grated coconut which I also bought a couple of weeks ago thinking I have time to make rendang. I ate it with jasmine rice for lunch and I didn't really like it...partly because I had to wait a few hours to eat it and the rice just absorbed all the sauce, but also the sauce is just not good with rice.

I had some leftover shrimp in the freezer and bought a whole sword squid from Mitsuwa a couple of days ago. I have a bunch of green onions wilting away in the fridge. So I decided to make fried rice, Indonesian-style before everything goes to waste. That being said, I don't mean to reduce fried rice as a leftovers dish because it's definitely an elegant dish. It's also a very comforting dish. I would eat garlic fried rice (called sinangag in Tagalog) with fried egg almost every morning even to this day. There's also plenty of family dinners where we would eat Chinese-style fried rice and fried squid, Chinese-style pork chops, roast chicken, etc... And I love kimchi bokkeumbap!

I learned Indonesian fried rice (nasi goreng) in culinary school and the most important ingredient in this dish is kecap manis. This sweet, syrupy dark soy sauce is ubiquitous in Indonesian kitchens. If you can't find this ingredient, do not substitute regular soy sauce, just omit it from the recipe.

12 pieces tiger shrimp, peeled and de-veined
1 whole squid, cut into batons
5 cups cooked jasmine rice, preferably a day old
1 large shallot, sliced thin
5 cloves garlic, minced
1 tbsp shrimp paste
1/4 cup kecap manis
1/4 cup green onions, sliced into rings
2 eggs, beaten
cilantro, roughly chopped
fish sauce, to taste
coconut oil

optional toppings:
sliced cucumber, sliced tomatoes, limes, shrimp chips

Heat coconut oil on high in a large saute pan or wok. Cook shrimp until it starts to turn pink, remove from the pan and set aside. Add in squid and cook until semi-translucent, about 30 seconds, remove from the pan and set aside. Saute garlic, shallots, and shrimp paste until garlic starts to caramelize. Add in rice and stir continuously until grains separate. Drizzle in the sweet soy sauce, then stir fry until rice is coated with the sauce. Push rice to the side of the pan to make room. Drizzle a little oil in the empty area and pour in the eggs, stir until it starts to solidify then slow stir in the rice into it. Keep stir frying until moisture evaporates and rice is relatively dry (a little bit of toasted crunchiness at the bottom of the pan is highly recommended). Add back in the shrimp and squid, then add in the green onions. Drizzle fish sauce to taste and stir fry until shrimp is completely cooked. Sprinkle cilantro and mix. Serve with cucumber slices, tomatoes, lime wedge and shrimp chips on the side.

Jackfruit, Mechado-style

Mechado is a Filipino dish that is essentially beef stew. Classically, a cheap and lean cut of beef is used. It is cubed, and pork back fat is inserted through the pieces in order for them to not dry up during the cooking process, which is apparently a Spanish cooking technique. The name came from the word mecha meaning wick, which is what the back fat resembled hanging out of the beef pieces. The beef is marinated in citrus, soy sauce, garlic, and other spices. They are browned and then braised in the same marinade along with stock and tomato sauce, potatoes, carrots and spices.

My mom has a special version of this dish though. She forgoes the pork back fat and the tomato sauce and uses beef short ribs and tomato paste instead. Stews with bones in them are especially flavorful and has better mouthfeel, in my opinion. And then she adds star anise which made everything brighter, and floral and beautiful, and more...Asian. I wanted to recreate it using vegetarian and pescatarian ingredients. I also wanted to make it more aromatic and use Southeast Asian spices and herbs in an attempt to exorcise it of its Spanish-ness. As usual, I research and read a few recipes and find a common thread among them especially if it's something I've never made before. I then asked my family - in this case, my mom - how they make their versions (if they know how) and then I come up with my own. When I presented the idea to my mom that I was going to cook this using jackfruit, she said "Yuck!"

My mom is my toughest critic, I mean she rarely eats what I make. And I don't mean to put her in a bad light but her palate is specifically (and dedicated to) Filipino flavors. She's not open-minded about other cultures' foods, understandably so. She's an immigrant, and food is home.

As I was cooking and asking her to guide me through some processes (she was cooking breakfast next to me), she was already weirded out that I'm using cinnamon, lemongrass, kaffir lime leaves, daun salam which is Indonesian bay leaf, and young green peppercorn on top of star anise. I also added fresh tomatoes on top of the tomato paste. When I was nearing the end of my cooking, I had her taste the sauce.

"It's too sour!!! Did you use the entire can of tomato paste?!"
"Yes, I did..."
"Why?! Don't you know you're only supposed to use a little bit? It's only used to help thicken the sauce! What kind of a chef are you? Shouldn't you know this already? I didn't even go to cooking school and I know this! You already used fresh tomatoes! It's so sour!"

Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.

I just laughed at myself because she's right. I had forgotten some basics. I mean what was I thinking using the entire can of tomato paste? I think I became overconfident. And so to fix it, I added palm sugar to balance out the sourness. I had her taste it again.

"NOW IT'S TOO SWEET! I'm gonna make mine tomorrow (with meat) and have you taste the sauce. The sauce is how you hook people!"

Damn.

I mean, I actually think that what I ended up making is delicious. But it puts into perspective where her palate is and how much my palate has evolved - if you can even call it that. Most of the time my palate is just bored and is constantly looking for depth, and hints, and notes, and all that frou frou. What's most important is that it recalled culinary school teachings of "learn and master the classics first, and then you can put your own twist."

Anyway, here's how to fuck it up:

2 cans young jackfruit in brine (DO NOT use the ripe jackfruit in syrup)
2 medium carrots, sliced on a bias
2 medium shallots, thinly sliced
5 cloves garlic, minced
2 roma tomatoes, diced
1 can tomato paste
2/3 cup calamansi juice
2/3 cup soy sauce
1 stick cinnamon
1 kaffir lime leaf
2 stalks lemongrass, bottom part (light green) only, bruised with back of knife
4-5 star anise
2 Indonesian bay leaves, or regular bay leaves
3 tablespoons palm sugar
4 sprigs young green peppercorn in brine
fish sauce to taste
tomato paste can-full of water
vegetable oil

In a pot, heat oil on high and brown carrots. Add in shallots and saute until translucent. Add garlic and saute until fragrant. Add diced tomatoes and cook down until most liquid has evaporated. Spoon in an entire can of tomato paste, cinnamon and star anise and saute until paste loosens up and becomes fragrant. Drop in jackfruit and mix to coat with the paste. Saute for about 5-7 minutes and then pour in the calamansi juice, soy sauce, and water. Drop in lemongrass, peppercorns, lime leaf, and bay leaves. Turn the heat to medium and simmer for about 20 minutes covered. Add fish sauce to taste and mix in palm sugar. Simmer for 10 more minutes and then it's ready. Always with jasmine rice!

Banana Blossom in Coconut Milk and Chilies

I can't remember the last time I had this dish. I must have been 8 or 9, and I've only had it maybe once or twice, but I remember really liking it. I came across banana blossoms when I went to A-Grocery Warehouse in Echo Park - a Southeast Asian market - a couple of days after the election. I instantly wanted to make it even though I've been posting recipes that mostly require coconut milk. I'm gonna change it up real soon though.

I have never made this dish in my life, but I vividly remember what it tasted like when I had it. So I searched through the internet for several recipes, and of course they all have variations. I then asked my mom and my aunt if they knew how to make it, but apparently my grandma was the only one who knew how. She passed away in 2012. So I made up my own based on a couple of recipes I've read.

It was timely when I saw this banana blossom. Her birthday was on the 7th and I have been going in and out of flashbacks. I grew up with her in the kitchen - she's probably the main reason why I love cooking. I can still smell her garlicky hands.

I have been thinking about her, the outcome of this election, and the current happenings in the Philippines, and history in general. I'm living in a scary time and I could not believe it. I guess every generation has a point of high fear. And that's when I realized that my grandparents and my parents and aunts and uncles lived through intense terror back home. They survived martial law. They survived the Marcos regime.

In Tagalog banana blossom is called puso ng saging or directly translated as heart of banana - and if there's any sign to show up during this time, I think this is it. I'm going to channel the strength of my ancestors and I start by making this dish. Give me all the banana hearts I need.

1 medium banana blossom
1 large shallot, thinly sliced
4 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
4 dried Thai chilies, leave as is
1/4 cup plus 1/8 cup coconut vinegar
1 can coconut milk
Salt and pepper to taste
Fish sauce to taste
Vietnamese coriander for garnish

Prepping the banana blossom is a bit tedious. Start by peeling the tough layers of the blossom (about three layers). In between layers you'll find a bunch of florets. Those are edible. Slice them into small pieces. As soon as you get to the tender part of the blossom, trim the end, and cut the blossom in half lengthwise. Then slice each half into about 1/8 inch pieces. You'll find that the inside of the blossom is a bit waxy and "webby". It's the bitter sap. Transfer the bottom slices in a bowl and add in a large handful of sea salt (or any type of large granule salt). Rub in the salt until the blossom becomes purplish grey, tender, and releases water (about 15 minutes into rubbing). Wash off the salt until the water becomes relatively clear. Squeeze out excess water and set blossom aside. It should smell a bit like cucumbers. In a wok, heat vegetable oil on high heat and saute shallots, garlic and chilies until shallots are soft and translucent. Add in blossom and saute for about 5 minutes until it turns yellowish. Add in the 1/4 cup of coconut vinegar and add in salt and pepper to taste. Pour in coconut milk and simmer until reduced by a little over than half. Add in the last 1/8 cup of coconut vinegar. Season with fish sauce. Garnish with Vietnamese coriander and serve with jasmine rice.

Banana blossoms are unique in flavor. I think the closest vegetable that I can compare it to is artichoke. This dish is good by itself with jasmine rice but better if served with grilled or smoked milkfish.

Laksa

Laksa is a Malaysian, Singaporean, and Indonesian noodle dish with a flavor profile that is hard to define because it has so many different versions. It's also hard to pinpoint its origin but it is believed that the dish was created when Chinese immigrants combined their cooking practices with the local cooking practices.

The kind of laksa that I made is a variation of what is typically called in Malaysia as nyonya laksa or curry laksa and it uses coconut milk with a spice paste called rempah - similar to Thai curries. I first had this dish at a food stall in The Farmers Market called Singapore's Banana Leaf and it instantly became one of my favorites. It has a sweet and mellow flavor but it can be spicy depending on the amount of chilies used in the rempah (in contrast to Thai curries which I think has more complex flavor profiles because of the layering of aromatics). I learned the basics of spice pastes (and this recipe) when I briefly worked for an R+D chef - Robert Danhi - who is also the author of the James Beard Award nominated book Southeast Asian Flavors. I only worked with him for about a month and I kinda wished I worked for him for a longer time. His knowledge on Thai, Vietnamese, Malaysian and Singaporean cuisines are so extensive and I wanted to learn more.

Usually, in nyonya laksa, the rempah is made with turmeric which gives its golden yellow color, as well as candlenuts and Malaysian shrimp paste called belacan. It is typically made with seafood (shrimp or prawn) stock perfumed by daun kesum or Vietnamese coriander and coconut milk, served with rice noodles, fish cakes, tofu puffs, and topped with bean sprouts and sambal. Its mellow flavor makes it a good breakfast dish.

In my version, I used Chef Robert Danhi's recipe as a framework but I did a little bit of tweaking (not necessarily to make it better) and also used some substitutions based on what I already have in the pantry and the fridge.

To make the rempah (you will only use half the amount this recipe makes for the soup - keep the rest in the fridge, it'll keep for about a week):

3 large shallots (or 4-5 small ones), chopped into small pieces
3 medium sized lemongrass stalks, sliced thinly
about 1 tablespoon galangal, minced (better if grated)
3 cloves garlic
1 tablespoon palm sugar
1 tablespoon bagoong alamang (Filipino shrimp paste)
small handful of cashews
2 teaspoons turmeric powder
2 teaspoons coriander seeds, toasted and finely ground using a coffee grinder
about 15 to 20 dried red Thai chilies (or less if you want the soup to be milder), seeds removed, soaked in room temperature water for about 45 minutes then chopped in small pieces
1/3 cup vegetable oil

- puree everything in a food processor

To make the soup (will make 2-4 bowls depending on hunger level)

12 pieces of shrimp, peeled and de-veined, save the shells
small bunch of cilantro
1 quart of water
1 cube of shrimp bouillon (this is optional)
1 can of coconut milk
rempah (half the quantity of the recipe above)
4 calamansi citrus, juiced
fish sauce to taste
cucumber, julienned for topping
bean sprouts for toppintg
soft boiled egg for topping
egg noodles, cooked according to package directions
vegetable oil

In a small pot, heat a small amount of oil and add shrimp shells, saute until pink and fragrant. Pour in water, add in bouillon cube, boil then simmer. Add in cilantro (both leaves and stems) and simmer for about 15 minutes. Strain the stock in another small pot, then poach the shrimp in the liquid. Set shrimp aside. In a larger pot, pour oil enough to cover the bottom and heat on high. Add in the rempah and saute until fragrant and the paste becomes a darker yellow. Stir constantly to prevent the paste from burning. Then pour in the shrimp stock and the coconut milk, boil then lower heat to simmer. Simmer for about 15-20 minutes then adjust saltiness with fish sauce. Add in the calamansi juice last.

To assemble:

Put noodles in bowls then pour soup over them. Then top with cucumber, egg, bean sprouts, and poached shrimp. I like my soup smooth so I strain it before pouring over the noodles. Make sure to squeeze all of the juices out of the strained rempah!

Surprisingly, this soup is also really good ice cold. If you are gonna eat it cold, you might want to add a little more fish sauce and calamansi juice.

Adobong Talong

 Adobo is both a cooking technique and a dish. It came from the Spanish word adobar - to marinate. I guess when the Spaniards came and saw this cooking technique, they called it adobo. It's completely different from Latin America's adobo, and it's pre-colonial name is lost forever (BOO!). It is widely known today as meat - typically pork - marinated in a mixture of either cane or coconut vinegar, soy sauce, garlic, onion, bay leaves, and black peppercorns, and then simmered in the same marinade. During pre-colonial times though, adobo is pork cooked with just the vinegar, a little bit of water, and salt in a clay pot.

It's sort of the national dish of the Philippines, and each household have their own versions. Today I revisited an adobo recipe that I've done before made of eggplants and tofu. Previously, I made it with bagoong alamang shrimp paste and discovered that the dish is too pungent and intense. So I redid the recipe by omitting the shrimp paste and made it a little sweeter by adding caramelized asian pear sauce and replaced black peppercorns with young green peppercorn in brine - an ingredient typical in Thai food.

3 large Japanese eggplants, cut into thirds, then each third cut in half exposing the flesh
1 package extra firm tofu, cut into roughly one inch cubes
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 of large onion, small dice
4 sprigs young green peppercorn in brine
3 bay leaves
1 cup soy sauce
1 1/2 cups cane or coconut vinegar
1 large asian pear, peeled and finely minced
1/4 cup palm sugar

I first made a caramel out of the palm sugar. Palm sugar comes in blocks so shave it down as small as you can. Place the sugar in a small sauce pot. Add water just enough to make it wet. Cook over high flame until it turns dark amber in color, then carefully add in the minced pear. Cook it down until most of liquid is gone and the puree turns golden brown. Set aside.

Heat oil on high in a wok or sautoir then place eggplants flesh side down. Fry until flesh is golden brown then set aside. Add a little more oil in the pan then brown sides of cubed tofu, set aside. Then add in onions, fry until caramelized. Add in garlic, fry until fragrant. Pour in soy sauce and vinegar then add in green peppercorns and bay leaves. Simmer and reduce for about 7 minutes then add back in the eggplants, tofu, and pear sauce. Mix gently, cover, then simmer until eggplants are fork-tender. Serve with jasmine rice.

Palm sugar is another atypical ingredient in Filipino cuisine but can be found in other Southeast Asian cuisines particularly the cuisine of Thailand. I chose to make a caramel with palm sugar because it's more flavorful yet let less sweeter than white sugar. While caramelizing, it also has this sharp smell almost identical to the sharp smell of fish sauce. I used Asian pear because I was inspired by a Korean dish that used the fruit as a sweetener. Young green peppercorns have this kind of pepper flavor that is green and almost piney. It's also soft and pops in your mouth as you bite into it. It's the perfect flavor to cut into the saltiness, sharpness, and tang of the dish.

Ginataang Kalabasa, Sitaw at Hipon

I learned how to cook with French techniques. But my primary influence is obviously Southeast Asian, specifically Filipino. This is exactly why I can't go completely vegetarian or vegan - I love cooking with fermented shrimp paste and fish sauce. These two ingredients impart a kind of funk that no other fermented foods that I've ever eaten have, except for maybe cheese. They really deepen the flavor of the dish and the umami is so pronounced that I don't care if the dish has meat or not.

Ginataang kalabasa, sitaw at hipon, or squash, green beans and shrimp stewed in coconut milk, is not a Filipino dish that I grew up with. I did, however, grow up eating a version of this without coconut milk, and with pork instead of shrimp. When I was in cooking school I learned how to make Thai green curry (curry paste from scratch!) and pad Thai from Chef Sirichalerm Svasti, otherwise known as McDang (who is apparently a celebrity master chef in Thailand - still sorta shocked by this fact). It's really during this time that I fell in love with coconut milk and learned about Southeast Asian aromatics not typical in a Filipino kitchen.

Usually this dish is sweet and mellow so I added a little Thai influence. I used aromatics like galangal which is similar to ginger and smells a bit like eucalyptus and tastes sorta medicinal, but it gives this irresistible floral note when fried in combination with garlic, ginger, and shallots. I also used kaffir lime leaves and lemongrass to complement the sweetness of the squash and coconut milk. The shrimp paste used is bagoong alamang which is prominent in the dishes of Pangasinan, a coastal province north of Manila where my grandparents from both sides are from.

When cooking savory foods, I don't usually measure my ingredients. I rely more on taste and smell. So here's the ingredient list with the approximate amounts:

3 cloves garlic, finely minced
1-inch knob (or roughly the same amount of garlic) ginger, finely minced
1-inch knob galangal, finely minced
1 small shallot, thinly sliced
2 small roma tomatoes, small dice
handful of green beans, cut in half
1/2 of a small kabocha, peeled and cut in 1-inch pieces
1 lemongrass, cut in 3-inch pieces
2 kaffir lime leaves
12 black tiger shrimp, peeled and deveined
1 can coconut milk
1 tablespoon bagoong alamang
2 tablespoons fish sauce
vegetable or canola oil
jasmine rice - always

If you're like me who likes to take time slicing and chopping, prep time is about half an hour. This amount serves four unless you're really hungry.

Heat oil in a wok or a sautoir pan. Add shrimp and sauté until barely pink, remove from pan and set aside - the shrimp should not be fully cooked. I do this to give a little shrimp flavor to the oil and to prevent it from overcooking. Turn heat on high, add a little more oil if needed, then add garlic, ginger, galangal and shallot and fry until very fragrant. Add shrimp paste and fry until your entire house smells like butt. Add the tomatoes, cook until it releases a little bit of water then add the kabocha squash and mixed to coat them with the aromatic mixture. Sauté for about a minute then turn down heat to medium and add coconut milk and lemongrass - make sure to pound the lemongrass with the back of the knife to release its aroma and essential oils. Simmer until kabocha squash can be pierced by a fork but still have a little hardness to them. When simmering, occasionally stir to prevent coconut milk from burning. Add green beans. Tear kaffir lime leaves into smaller pieces and add in - make sure to tear over the pot so the essential oils will be caught into the pot. Cover and simmer until green beans are done then add shrimp. Keep simmering until shrimp is completely cooked. Season with fish sauce to taste and you're done!

What I especially like about this dish is that unlike the typical Thai curry, the coconut milk really cooks down into a thick sauce and really develops its sweetness, so there's no need to add palm sugar.

All Rise!

In late 2009, I became Spago's pastry stagiaire for one night and Sherry Yard was not even there to observe me work. She came in at the end of my shift though, and asked me technical questions about what happens to sugar when it starts caramelizing - I wasn't able to answer properly. She sat me down, offered me a glass of water, and told me that I'm a wannabe. I didn't get the job.

A couple of months later, in 2010, I became one of Providence's pastry cook. (Providence, by the way, has one more Michelin star than Spago and I really wanted to rub it in Sherry Yard's face.) Long story short, I burnt out 6-8 months later, and left the restaurant industry overall. Learned a hell of a lot though. I never really understood the point of making and serving food under fear and guilt anyway.

These days, I'm primarily an artist - a painter. But my love for cuisine is still strong and I find myself nostalgic of my good days in the kitchen. I need to stay in practice, and I think blogging about what I cook will be a good motivation because eating out is getting really expensive. I quit eating land animals though.

So here I am. And Sherry Yard is still wrong about me.