The invitation was to a class on “Culture and the Senses.” But the venue wasn’t a classroom but the dining room of Café Ysabel in San Juan. Wished I had this kind of learning in my time.
The invite was from Fernando Zialcita, professor in the Anthropology and Sociology Department of Ateneo de Manila and head of the Cultural Heritage Studies Program. We met at Madrid Fusion Manila last April where the talks of Mexican chefs Enrique Olvera and Jorge Vallejo were among the most interesting, given the close historical and cultural ties between our two countries brought about by the Acapulco trade.
The subject of the “class” dinner was “Rooted Cooking,” focusing on root crops that, according to the handout, “have been the salvation of East and Southeast Asians because they are easier to grow than rice. They require less labor and resist strong winds. Yet they continue to be looked down upon as ‘inferior.’”
Bad reputation
For instance, camote or sweet potato has been used in the phrase “nangangamote,” which means having difficulty in school.
Edgie Polistico, author of the “Encyclopedic Philippine Food, Cooking, and Dining Dictionary” (hopefully out this year), says camote comes from the Visayan word “kamot,” referring to the hand that scratches the head when one doesn’t know the answer to the teacher’s question. That was my contribution to the class, which may have earned me my dinner.
The bad reputation of root crops is also felt in many countries, Zialcita said. In Japan, mainland Japanese deride Okinawans for eating root crops. Europeans had the same attitude toward potato until the French glamorized it in their soup, vichyssoise. Zialcita said he wished the same would happen to our camote.
But a look at the menu showed that the root crop was just one of the comparisons to be made with our food and those of other countries.
Our first course was a comparison between a Peruvian ceviche and our kinilaw. The ceviche had a citrus and chili marinade for the raw jackfruit, mixed with camote and corn. The kinilaw, tagged as a Bohol version, had raw tuna with radish, sea salt, coconut vinegar and taken with cassava.
Both demonstrated the oldest food preparation method without cooking.
Main suspects
The second course was to answer the question of where the use of squid ink originated—Spain, the Philippines or Italy? Before the answer was given, we ate our adobong pusit (braised squid in its ink) and arroz à la bruta, or rice blackened with squid ink from Catalonia, Spain.
Zialcita said that cooking with squid ink was unknown before the 18th century, so that should scratch out Spain from the list. It couldn’t have been Venice, because the ink was considered toxic there. So its origin must have been the Philippines, and the main suspects were the just expelled Jesuits who were deported from here to Spain and then Italy in the 18th century.
The next course was to answer why dishes from opposite ends of the Pacific are so similar. There was lau lau from Hawaii—fish and meat wrapped in taro leaves then steamed. Its counterpart was our laing, braised taro leaves in coconut milk, shrimp paste and chili.
We have to go back to our Austronesian heritage to explain the similarities between cultures such as the liking for marine food, for instance, and the repetition of words in the language. Hence, the Hawaiian lau lau and the lawlaw, which is the local name of our sardine.
The use of pork informed the next course—or at least that was the connection I could make. Humba was to be paired with an Afro-Puerto Rican dish called mofongo. The humba the chefs prepared was the version of pork belly with banana blossoms, like the paksiw na pata in other places. Mofongo was green plaintain starch topped with chicharon of pork belly.
‘Binignit’
The last course was a comparison of Thai thim krob (water chestnut dessert) and our ginataan halo-halo or the Cebuano binignit. The Thai version is served with crushed ice, while the Filipino version is usually served hot (unless you are like my friend who likes it cold from the ref).
While our food looks like a hodgepodge of elements, Thais neatly present ingredients. But our ginataan is a good example of how root crops make the dish so good—also, by the way, an effective wrap-up of the dinner’s purpose.
But the night wasn’t over yet, as two digestifs were served—tequila and lambanog. That really wrapped up the night because, this is where the Mexico-Philippine connection is strongest.
Filipino sailors are said to have jumped ship during the galleon trade, then settled in Mexico, “in Coyuca, on the Costa Grande,” so that the place was once known as “Filipino Town.” Those Filipinos are said to have introduced the game cara y cruz (heads or tails), mangoes and the cultivation of coconut trees, so that the palm fronds used as roofing of houses is still called “palapa” to this day.
Assertions
And then, making tuba or coconut wine from coconut sap was also taught. The word tuba is still used to call mezcal wine, or the alcoholic drink from agave before it becomes tequila. Tequila is brought about by distilling the agave wine, and that distillation in simple stills was said to have been taught by Filipinos as well.
There were more suggestions about what Filipinos taught Mexicans during that period. At Madrid Fusion Manila, someone said that Mexicans were also taught how to ride horses and how to eat shellfish. And that the “China Poblana” that Mexican chef Jorge Vallejo cited as the woman slave who arrived on board a galleon in the 1600s and had the most influence in the design and colors of Mexican wear is said to have been a Filipino noblewoman, because Filipinos at the time were called “Chinese Indians.”
But as professor Zialcita said, there should be documentation to back those assertions.
Email the author: pinoyfood04@yahoo.com.