tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2051301816422735872024-03-13T12:57:02.221-07:00Cuisinero Los AngelesAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-77220358780289206312013-10-01T16:31:00.001-07:002013-10-01T16:31:44.197-07:00Poached Largemouth Bass (Apahap)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I love saltwater fish, and I love bass even more, poached or steamed. Rummaging in my freezer last week, I hauled out a two-pound largemouth bass (apahap) that I had planned to steam, but discovered that I did not have a steamer large enough to accommodate the fish. If that was not bad enough, I also did not have a fish poacher either, so I utilized a non-stick grill plan; filled it with water and dunked the fish when the water began boiling. I would have preferred steaming the bass, but I was pleasantly surprised that poaching was pretty good. I gave the fish a total of twenty minutes of poaching, ten minutes on each side, poking it with a fork to make sure that that it had reached the desired flakiness and still hold its flesh together.<br />
I then hauled it out of the grill pan with two turners and placed it on a large dinner plate. A poached, unsalted bass would taste bland to a Filipino tongue, so I prepared a spread, or topping, consisting of a cup of mayonnaise, finely chopped white onion, and one chopped hard-boiled egg. Ordinarily, I would have added finely chopped celery or Chinese celery into the mix, but the fridge did not yield any of these, so I made do with what was on hand.<br />
I mixed the ingredients together and added a pinch of salt and spread it on the poached bass, which was large enough for a single serving for me. <br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-29824916156750076412011-06-21T15:26:00.000-07:002011-06-21T15:26:47.734-07:00Cuisinero Los Angeles: Flank Steak Roll (Morcon), a Perennial Favorite<a href="http://cuisinerolosangeles.blogspot.com/2011/06/flank-steak-roll-morcon-perennial.html">Cuisinero Los Angeles: Flank Steak Roll (Morcon), a Perennial Favorite</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-19575866711772303662011-06-21T09:07:00.000-07:002011-07-28T09:18:26.306-07:00Flank Steak Roll (Morcon), a Perennial Favorite<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcUOPTfYHHtlMyadOZnDlIu4CNJDDs7XfKs2o4UbnbYlGsQfGJLw04wCLBw0QZUSUE-FKZoyf5dMS4SvZl0dQg4zwVBrAeXQeNcQXcbMR5m9mz6ynfVhxSaN1T20eZvuANm7Kec3NaaFO0/s1600/Morcon+141.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcUOPTfYHHtlMyadOZnDlIu4CNJDDs7XfKs2o4UbnbYlGsQfGJLw04wCLBw0QZUSUE-FKZoyf5dMS4SvZl0dQg4zwVBrAeXQeNcQXcbMR5m9mz6ynfVhxSaN1T20eZvuANm7Kec3NaaFO0/s200/Morcon+141.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620802632052421362" border="0" /></a><br />Every once in a while, I get the inspiration to cook morcon (meat roll). Morcon is a classic Filipino dinner fare whose origins, I suspect, is Spanish, although I have not verified that. My mother, when she was alive, used to prepare morcon for special occasions like Christmas Day and town fiestas. It belongs to her wide repertoire of culinary specialties, and it is right up there with caldereta (spicy stewed beef) and milkfish relleno (stuffed bangus). I've just recently found the confidence to cook morcon, even though I have considered it one of my favorite recipes for a very long time.<br /><br />On Saturday, while weekend shopping at our Ralphs supermarket in Glendale, we picked up a package of flank steak in the meat section, and handling it, I knew how it would end up. Morcon it is. Although, on this occasion, I am using flank steak -- it is convenient and quite inexpensive -- I have used other cuts of beef, including chuck. In my book, any cut of beef that lends itself to stewing qualifies as starting point for a delicious meat roll. I marinate the flank steaks in soy sauce, rice vinegar, minced garlic, a bit of salt, a laurel leaf, and dash of pepper. I leave the marinated fillets in the fridge for 30 minutes.<br /><br />If, for any reason, flank steak is not available, I look for a large whole, thick cut of stewing beef, and I do the rest in my kitchen, slicing the beef into approximately 1/3-inch thick fillets, making sure while filleting that the meat remains in one piece. If I end up with 12-inch by 6-inch fillets, I am happy with that.<br /><br />Morcon's culinary attraction also lies in what goes in the roll, and in my version, I have adapted what my mom used: sweet pickles, carrots, wieners, and hard-boiled eggs. These ingredients are cut into 1/4-inch strips, and gently and meticulously arrayed inside the fillets of beef. After which, I slowly roll the fillets around them until I decide that they are filled just enough to keep them from bursting. To keep them from bursting and spilling their fillings, I tie up the rolls in twine, rolled all around. My mom used to wrap them in a piece of white cloth, in the absence of twine.<br /><br />Searing the rolls in very hot cooking oil in a skillet -- I use a wok -- until they are slightly browned to give them the right appetizing patina and readies them for a two-hour braising in a 350-degree oven. I use a covered metal roasting pan with a non-stick platform that's about 1-inch tall. I pour in two cups of beef stock, plus the marinade, to keep the meat from drying up. depending on your needs and taste, you can add diced potatoes, carrots, and mushroom into the braise as sidings. I also add onions, tomatoes (canned stewed) or fresh, and a teaspoon of corn starch to thicken the broth a little.<br /><br />My morcon is just right after a 1.5- to 2-hour braising. You need to cut up the twine before slicing your meat roll. Slice your morcon with a very sharp knife, after giving it at least 10 minutes to cool down. That way the slices will be perfect and will not crumble. I think mom would be proud of my morcon.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-71473261252831776362011-04-28T19:52:00.000-07:002011-04-28T19:52:26.285-07:00Cuisinero Los Angeles: A Family's Culinary Tour of San Francisco<a href="http://cuisinerolosangeles.blogspot.com/2011/04/familys-culinary-tour-of-san-francisco.html?spref=fb">Cuisinero Los Angeles: A Family's Culinary Tour of San Francisco</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-41934383538376884132011-04-27T17:24:00.000-07:002011-04-28T09:34:26.768-07:00A Family's Culinary Tour of San Francisco<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh6Ns85jft-o001A2LwcGl2qdp8_mHZ0gxOUNG08zWB-hb3qXWkwuJAplyKEd3EVflHidF0jDSF70uUdCfifdAsRveQbxp3Qu0QS8VwnfjZZTIK1Kotf9cx4R-iglXHqxDIbXiyXvGr7S5/s1600/DSC_3910.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh6Ns85jft-o001A2LwcGl2qdp8_mHZ0gxOUNG08zWB-hb3qXWkwuJAplyKEd3EVflHidF0jDSF70uUdCfifdAsRveQbxp3Qu0QS8VwnfjZZTIK1Kotf9cx4R-iglXHqxDIbXiyXvGr7S5/s200/DSC_3910.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600634932316049986" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKd5fxbnY3gybYOZo17wK749Mrww7MqmsKfsnI7B0KDg71gVEaLksAonnuuzgyO9O6sGN-A54l0YGnK4gJ2omTqMnCnT6Cva1dNkL6JPrHz3e5vkKMXW0gollu0ACHW9R8BAbhOTsUl01H/s1600/DSC_3873.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKd5fxbnY3gybYOZo17wK749Mrww7MqmsKfsnI7B0KDg71gVEaLksAonnuuzgyO9O6sGN-A54l0YGnK4gJ2omTqMnCnT6Cva1dNkL6JPrHz3e5vkKMXW0gollu0ACHW9R8BAbhOTsUl01H/s200/DSC_3873.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600634406320978594" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9WkZRBK4Imf-FjLHS3wg0TSPr_q8qBvjKf6VNRTd56j8HfZd-2Qh7J5fUJ1TEty8-1orNmuwFQlvKAUM_jkzdX4q1zszi4JliRXnL9wPngNPgeWOVAFWMzVS3XG-LEEDZFBm4w57-pMBZ/s1600/DSC_3915.JPG"><img style="display: block; 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margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJhlapYej8tUjvZN83t8fnZ992HqCnes8_4V1GZewAr9JGmT6HPXoGnIF7Bk51wWj51cqOhcBqHThmtcSVWpWLRt8RiUy5xp8QPS1ZLMgnjq-7GJY-AOjT9kUrbYNkqsv2xXYz1CuqMK_d/s200/San+Francisco+Vacation+April+2011+%252812+of+50%2529-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600424343360590162" border="0" /></a><br />Returning from a well-deserved vacation in the country during the height of Great Britain's battle with Germany in World War II, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill was queried by journalists how his vacation had turned out. In his inimitable witty style, Sir Winston replied: "If only the wine were as old as the chicken and the lady of the house were as willing as the maids, I would have enjoyed my vacation more." Or something close to that. My family's recent three-day trip in San Francisco could be summarized in the same vein as Sir Winston's lament. If only San Francisco were a bit less commercialized and driving downtown were a little less stressful, we would have enjoyed our vacation more.<br /><br />San Francisco is not Las Vegas. In terms of available commercial land area alone, Sin City beats it hands down. That is why every time we take a vacation in Las Vegas, parking our car is the least of our worries. The other thing that makes a San Francisco tour more taxing (to a self-guided tourist like me) is the complicated, and to my humble opinion, the tourist-unfriendly system of one-way traffic grids downtown. This is not to say that all of San Francisco is crisscrossed by one-way and left- and right-turn only streets. But it is close. It's very close to a driving experience in the big Apple. If you are not a San Franciscan taking a self-guided automobile tour in this city, it becomes downright stressful. Having said that, the other things that a tourist must also watch for are the fine prints. Yes, the fine prints: on the hotel reservation, the tricky rate signs in the parking structures, etc. You could save a lot of money if you examined the fine prints on your reservation contracts and the other commercial enticements that you are going to encounter during your visit.<br /><br />When my wife made an online reservation at the Best Western Plus Americania Hotel in downtown SF, the web site did not say upfront that parking was valet only and costs 20 bucks a day. It meant that the discounts that we saw on paper had evaporated when we forked over payment for two days of valet parking, plus tips to the valets. The web site also said free "Wi-Fi," but theirs was intermittent and complicated to tap into. Imagine less savvy, non-techies (like some senior citizens) trying to connect to the Internet, and you'll see what I mean. Like I said at the outset, San Francisco is not Las Vegas, and Best Western's defense is that downtown San Francisco is prime real estate district, ergo, parking areas are limited and expensive. Great. If only they told us ahead of time.<br /><br />After processing these setbacks in a collective, if subjective, analysis, we still have a bit of goodwill left in our hearts to not totally slam the "City by Bay". We've visited here many times since the mid-80s, but in those visits we had the good economic sense to patronize the small, unpretentious, mostly Indian-owned motels along Lombard St. My philosophy being that if we could find our way to Lombard Street, from there, I could navigate my way to all the must-see attractions in this city. From Lombard, the Palace of the Fine Arts and the Praesidio are just five minutes away. You can even walk if you are not pressed for time. The Golden Gate Bridge is about a three- mile straight-up northwesterly drive away. The Golden State Park is just 15 minutes away to the East; The Crooked Road is at the terminus of Lombard to the East, about a mile-and-a-half distant. Chinatown is a short two-mile drive. But on getting there, you have to contend with an acute parking space shortage.<br /><br />So this week, navigating from the epicenter of traffic gridlock, I spent an inordinate amount of fuel driving from Point A to Point B due to the city's system of one-way streets. Not only that, when you are driving in San Francisco, you gingerly share the lanes with the streetcars, the electric Municipal buses, and hundreds of intrepid bicyclists. In retrospect, it would have made better sense to leave the car at the hotel and just walk or take the streetcars and buses to our destinations. I'm sure that native San Franciscans have an easier way navigating through these one-way grids, but self-guided tourists like ourselves have a tougher time.<br /><br />After a couple of upsets, we regroup and tackle the next agenda on hand. Where to eat and what. On our way from Los Angeles, some 400 miles away, we limited our food intake to store-bought sandwiches for breakfast. We stop at a travel center south of Coalinga and have hamburgers, and fish and chips for lunch. We are reserving our stomachs for a nostalgic dinner at Fisherman's Wharf or at Pier 39. We choose Pier 39. After briefly shopping for a restaurant, we decide on Chowders. The marquee says Chowders. But that's just the beginning. They serve lots of (red or white varieties) chowders, alright -- thick, steaming hot soup with fewer diced potato but with more clams, celery and herbs -- on a large sourdough bread whose core is scooped out. Almost every diner who comes in, I note, orders this staple. We order one, in addition to a seafood plate consisting of crispy breaded deep-friend shrimps, squid rings, and a large half fillet of fish. My daughter Justine orders a chicken strips plate. But calling them strips would be an understatement. They are more like thick slabs of chicken breast. Quite huge. The sides are thick, crispy potato wedges, and soda. The prices aren't cheap, but affordable. And the chowder and seafood plate are winners.<br /><br />On Monday, we drive to Chinatown for lunch. It takes us 15 minutes to secure a metered parking slot, and the meter only accepts change enough to last one hour. That means finishing our lunch within an hour to avoid being ticketed. Lucky for us, we find our Chinese restaurant a block away. It is Yuet Lee Seafood Restaurant at the corner of Broadway and Stockton. (Just like in L.A.'s Chinatown, there is a Broadway St. here too).<br /><br />I request our server, a nice Chinese lady, if she could tell the cook to hurry it up as we are under the gun, and thankfully, our orders -- a plate of roast duck, seafood chow mien, steamed rice, and beef with Chinese broccoli -- are served inside of ten minutes. Not only that. They are all appetizingly good, cooked in the same style as entrees we are accustomed to at our favorite Hong Kong-style restaurants in Los Angeles. As we are praising the restaurant and ourselves for picking it, I look at a showcase near the cashier's station -- and there it is, a picture of Travel Channel's Samantha Brown and the restaurant's owner. We also note at the door that Yuet Lee is Zagat-rated. No surprise there.<br /><br />The crown jewel in our three-day gustatory journey is a dinner at an Italian restaurant on Howard Street, located four long blocks southeast of our hotel. The receptionist had suggested Buca di Beppo, a family-oriented Italian restaurant that is one of a few that's open on Mondays. We leave the Honda Element and walk the four blocks to a four-storey building in front of the San Francisco Intercontinental Hotel. Going inside Buca is akin to witnessing a slice of Italian history. The restaurant is multi-level, and when it comes our turn to be seated, a hostess leads us to the basement level via a staircase. Framed photos of famous celebrities hang on brown-colored walls, including those of Sylvester Stallone, Richard Simmons of Kiss, Carrot Top, Dom de Luise, Sophia Loren, Stephen Curry of Golden State Warriors, Arnold Schwarzenneger, Charlie Sheen, Danny de Vito, and many others. I am quite sure that all those celebrities have dined here. Framed vintage black-and-white pictures of Italian life also crowd the brown-colored walls. There is a half-dozen busts of the headless David, an iconic Marilyn Monroe statue with the blown white dress, and hundreds of memorabilia from the old country.<br /><br />The restaurant is family-oriented and the food portions are designed to be shared. For instance, we order a small spaghetti with meatballs, good for three persons. The meatballs are so large, my daughter exclaimed, "These are not meatballs; this is a meatloaf." This entree comes in a large bowl, and it is so humble, it is unmistakeably traditional Italian, unlike the overly tomato sauce-based and slightly sweetish and tangy variety that one gets at fast-food places. The small thin-crust pizza comes sliced into finger-holdable squares on a wood tray placed on top of a large unopened vintage tomato sauce can. You can taste the freshness of the green and red bell peppers, onions, tomatoes, and the pepperoni and sausage toppings. It is called Supremo Italiano Pizza, and is aptly named. The entrees, it turn out, are still a bit too much for the three of us, and we leave the restaurant sated and with leftovers to boot.<br /><br />While we feel bad about a few issues, mainly with our hotel's trickery and the craziness of the driving situation in the city, we are unanimous in declaring that when it comes to our restaurant choices, we are right on the money. Prices here are comparatively more expensive than Los Angeles. The lowest grade of gasoline is at least 20 to 30 cents higher; restaurant food is bordering on the expensive end compared to L.A. prices; and the most onerous of all: parking rates.<br /><br />Notwithstanding these negatives, we are coming for more of San Francisco's charm. Only next time, we will get a room on Lombard Street.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-56354633910968696722010-08-28T05:37:00.000-07:002010-08-28T16:37:01.341-07:00A Culinary and Other Adventures in Kalamazoo, Michigan<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizS3hnfTZXGJ1WM7JUj2_foMJjB-EYPVy8vo6klB3t3pV0-qhRj60ofG8jTc-U3GT0sRCfVWihbk9z_su3u0l6e0KMS6Ah_ANmQFHlNX42d-KUhC0k63YNEzK6y3H1dsA4qlNCcNTWqZ5G/s1600/Dwtn+K+5.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 134px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510608658840703138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizS3hnfTZXGJ1WM7JUj2_foMJjB-EYPVy8vo6klB3t3pV0-qhRj60ofG8jTc-U3GT0sRCfVWihbk9z_su3u0l6e0KMS6Ah_ANmQFHlNX42d-KUhC0k63YNEzK6y3H1dsA4qlNCcNTWqZ5G/s200/Dwtn+K+5.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgJrzrVZROgYf2WfPqxOetI2tMQdWa6NJUkIMxWTbWd4lrjji_ufqkV221nZ378h33AF3Y6uRUXVXx_D3V6_ntDQjPjHJlWSfbf1GOuQkaf1-eSWMI0d0BktKBJTLedPHCEJTh0-KyzMB-/s1600/Gus+with+his+Leica+M9.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 134px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510608381241006274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgJrzrVZROgYf2WfPqxOetI2tMQdWa6NJUkIMxWTbWd4lrjji_ufqkV221nZ378h33AF3Y6uRUXVXx_D3V6_ntDQjPjHJlWSfbf1GOuQkaf1-eSWMI0d0BktKBJTLedPHCEJTh0-KyzMB-/s200/Gus+with+his+Leica+M9.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyb7eSpAMam7C6UQAro9mtoxVBW5sBC2XamYCa-BjbUrzCyEAIO-IViVAhbGeWat6lXj4L3Zhgi6Nvk-uVcjK5DlqB9VkoQXQbjK2Ozv8GXVAqn3QUClIu8VAPpOny2lM4awGW2Q2asoqS/s1600/Dwtn+K+2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 134px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510608146954688674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyb7eSpAMam7C6UQAro9mtoxVBW5sBC2XamYCa-BjbUrzCyEAIO-IViVAhbGeWat6lXj4L3Zhgi6Nvk-uVcjK5DlqB9VkoQXQbjK2Ozv8GXVAqn3QUClIu8VAPpOny2lM4awGW2Q2asoqS/s200/Dwtn+K+2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllvWmY72cXj-LewDxzQZ_jR8sL4FbFWz5B0KanfN3InXubSw4YJ7JzFnpiVu1y3BTjPX4Pgi4Yj7JVFq4c9ASMz5-9vx-raTW57AesCJTlUklG6NIp77rIvYIIxETHUqhUgIV6dZ3i1TK/s1600/Venison+5.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 133px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510471800902072530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllvWmY72cXj-LewDxzQZ_jR8sL4FbFWz5B0KanfN3InXubSw4YJ7JzFnpiVu1y3BTjPX4Pgi4Yj7JVFq4c9ASMz5-9vx-raTW57AesCJTlUklG6NIp77rIvYIIxETHUqhUgIV6dZ3i1TK/s200/Venison+5.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqz8sLg7SuccIQTuBIM9h4-fYhq_Qv_QZS8NOLhNLk1WEWnDVByPF_XZYxRqUQXrwfTilGXvVBuuHa-7lbEClitoMxBRRHHVXtIaLp5tKxrBIIBZBuJqD3rZ-S-ENejm68efaWKwdmOEb/s1600/Venison+7.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 133px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510471599529024018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqz8sLg7SuccIQTuBIM9h4-fYhq_Qv_QZS8NOLhNLk1WEWnDVByPF_XZYxRqUQXrwfTilGXvVBuuHa-7lbEClitoMxBRRHHVXtIaLp5tKxrBIIBZBuJqD3rZ-S-ENejm68efaWKwdmOEb/s200/Venison+7.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKiup9Ghjyq6YbG1Peg5H3B9Nv58yvHl3JFMMtRZk-npcDxQBT0PIaSWO2Wg9LHrJdInxJAZ6MC8fbR1yn2SfqE8_i6jgPIT2rz6uQcOhtjMh7rmEGhpu-SFSfGjPU_e9pBvhC6tZYzH8o/s1600/Zion+7.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 134px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510471401956450130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKiup9Ghjyq6YbG1Peg5H3B9Nv58yvHl3JFMMtRZk-npcDxQBT0PIaSWO2Wg9LHrJdInxJAZ6MC8fbR1yn2SfqE8_i6jgPIT2rz6uQcOhtjMh7rmEGhpu-SFSfGjPU_e9pBvhC6tZYzH8o/s200/Zion+7.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>It's been a while since I wrote my last blog in this site, and I am excited to be back, writing about food, cooking and other adventures once again. My daughter and I have arrived in this small, sylvan mid-Western city on Thursday morning after a 24-hour dash from Denver, Colorado in which we covered more than 1200 miles passing through Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois, and part of Indiana. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>We arrived at my friend's house in Kalamazoo at around 7:15 in the morning. Dr. Gus Guerrero and his wife, Ann, and their three girls have lived in this beautiful city 160 miles west of Detroit for about 20 years, in a beautiful house that they had built in a leafy, small-scale development just off the I-94, a major West-to-East corridor in Michigan. There are no Asian and Filipino supermarkets close by. Being Angelenos for most of 25 years, and having all those Asian supermarkets within 3 miles of our home in the Los Angeles suburb of Glendale, it would be difficult for me to prepare my classic Filipino cuisine here as I have done in the past years in California. I tell Gus and Ann that I would love visiting and exploring a city like Kalamazoo, but not live in it. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Last night, after we returned from Lake Michigan, in the small town of South Haven, Ann was braising two large venison steaks that she had marinated with soy sauce, lemon juice, salt and pepper, and left in the fridge overnight. I did not know that Gus, who knew that I love venison, had acquired the meat from a source and asked Ann to make sure that I have an opportunity to savor them. Venison is a luxury in California because deer is harder to bag there than in a heartland state like Michigan, where there is a vibrant hunting tradition and where deer and other wild game are plentiful.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Gus pops open two bottles of Bell's Oberon beer, rated one of the ten best beers in America, and brewed right here in Michigan, and together we saluted life with thin slices of venison and bowls of sotanghon soup with the rest of his family. My daughter, Justine, whose food choices are limited to non-exotic meats, opted instead to finish off a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. The way that the venison was marinated was perfection -- and very familiar because the ingredients are the exact, same ingredients Filipinos use when cooking bistek, minus the caramelized onion rings. There's no gaminess at all in the venison.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I used to get my venison from South Carolina, usually shipped to Glendale, already cured and ready to cook. My older brother, Leo, who had lived in Yemassee, South Carolina for many years, hunted and/or procured venison from his hunting buddies there, and whenever he would have a cache, he sent me more than enough salted venison for me to consume. I gave some away to my venison-eating freinds in Los Angeles. Venison is healthier than beef; it is very lean, like bison meat, and you can cook and eat it in ways that you cook beef. Ann tells me that a friend of theirs never have to buy beef and other meats because they have a constant supply of venison in the freezer. Her friend is a hunter and one of Gus's partners at Physicians Center of Physical Medicine in Portage, MI.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>I met Gus, a native of Cagayan de Oro, in the Southern Philippines, in the early 1970s. He was then taking up Medicine at the University of Santo Tomas, the oldest Catholic university in Asia. We had the same passion for the outdoors, and we scaled some of the major peaks in the Philippines, sharing our adventures in words and pictures with magazines of the day. He is a trailblazer in Philippine mountaineering, having been the first Filipino on record to scale the rock face of Mt. Maculot in the province of Batangas. The way he tells it, after running out of drinking water, while dangling some 1000 feet above a lake, he was forced to drink his own urine to alleviate thirst. He wanted to be a forest ranger as a career. His father, helped him make up his mind, and he acquiesed to his dad's admonition that he would be better off with a medical degree.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Gus, with four doctor partners, practices orthopaedic medicine in Kalamazoo. He had finished his residency in a hospital in Cleveland, Ohio, and like all foreign doctors, had to move up the ranks through the years. His beautiful home here, a successful practice, three beautiful girls who are leaving Michigan to pursue higher education in other states -- San Diego, California for Amber, Cleveland, Ohio for Lhotse, and Chicago, Illinois for Leslie -- are clear manifestations that my friend has truly made it in America. "Now it's payback time," he tells me while we are touring Kalamazoo College, where Amber had finished her 4-year undergraduate degree. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>On Monday, my daughter and I will drive northeast to Toronto, and then view Niagara Falls from the Canadian side. More advertures are in the horizon. Till next time.</div></div></div></div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-17509276929757225662010-01-29T13:30:00.000-08:002010-01-29T16:09:07.275-08:00An Evening of Food and Music at the De la Cruz Home<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg7iabtJjrdYPt2qbCO37G2wolMh7GG8Zz5BiBjukGUUBnlMknPqbMUFJsd8mWWK8vLh46Ehw-DMhyphenhyphenjFGMsyhPnVHjAKOJ_4XPq-bCQF_9JTKgfCR8xR06RzXV9jPSaLWuErS1LxowmIdG/s1600-h/DSC_7161+%282%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg7iabtJjrdYPt2qbCO37G2wolMh7GG8Zz5BiBjukGUUBnlMknPqbMUFJsd8mWWK8vLh46Ehw-DMhyphenhyphenjFGMsyhPnVHjAKOJ_4XPq-bCQF_9JTKgfCR8xR06RzXV9jPSaLWuErS1LxowmIdG/s200/DSC_7161+%282%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432310527943379394" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjVbC1DhNE3wPdGDrZGSsAk2aMazZ2PaeMmhcJpUbUsiG8raoN1RTpf4TVLmxKnj1YowlRKXvh1PFuCh3dFbUAS6JWCAlPlj3xTAJqiNDTV0HfBmYvZLLjl02mjgMNsUEJtCjLkq1izMuD/s1600-h/DSC_7211+%282%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-LsmcscStmyT0bIxB6C04bTNtgiU9wITpNHH98uwOphfD8AbcyrElT9i86K7DjslLpBtpN-GIahN8FlgS9xLm9UijdvmkXLqxHtYThYdEZS1ctYDo5IyoJE-AItDbScAcHIsB-YNBhp27/s200/DSC_7162+%282%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432302573422176594" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYkFdHCxvqQhGFflhmUTYQTFvDpdaB53gCb3iG2Ns6LzRybiJCmaU8u9P7ympcgO9ESFWrq7G62xnNRTKALMN4HrJLNiy_ehce_aCFlhCBVWl660skab1eUq9K5MoegMCkU8q4HGUcNVjM/s1600-h/DSC_7181.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYkFdHCxvqQhGFflhmUTYQTFvDpdaB53gCb3iG2Ns6LzRybiJCmaU8u9P7ympcgO9ESFWrq7G62xnNRTKALMN4HrJLNiy_ehce_aCFlhCBVWl660skab1eUq9K5MoegMCkU8q4HGUcNVjM/s200/DSC_7181.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432281510603534770" border="0" /></a><br />This is a self-imposed assignment: rate the food and the music served up at the mid-city home of my friend and colleague Prosy de la Cruz and her husband, Professor Ike de la Cruz. I would be more at ease rating the entrees that home chef Prosy spent the whole day preparing, but I do not feel that I have the expertise to comment on the music, which was offered up by an impressive group of Fil-Am musicians. (But I will throw in my five cent's worth, anyway). The musicans are top-shelf caliber. Four are members of the newly-constituted Filipino-American Symphony Orchestra (FASO), an operatic singer, and a pianist who is also a physician.<br /><br />Prosy had worked up a sweat preparing the entrees for last Thurday evening's soiree. They consist of a sotanghon-chicken soup, a lettuce-cabbage-chicken salad, braised filet mignon steaks, steamed brocolli tips with shaved Italian mozarella cheese, and a gigantic wild salmon (around 20 lbs.) baked to perfection; and for dessert, iressistible cream brulee. Prosy's take on the sotanghon-chicken soup is quite unique, not so much for the taste, but for the preparation. The chicken pieces are chunky (not pulled), a la chicken arroz caldo, and it is topped with spinach, and made richer with an ample amount of ginger strips. Prosy tells us that she used less sotanghon (cellophane noodles) to reduce the carbohydrate content of the soup; that way we could make room for the steamed rice. When she e-mailed me the invitation, she modestly told me that she would only cook a salmon. So my wife and I came in not expecting a huge feast.<br /><br />The filet mignon, already baked to doneness, benefitted from a brief braising in a soy sauce mix, making them more tender and really acceptable to Pinoy palates that do not favor meat baked rare. I forego the salad in favor of the brocolli tips, and I dabble a few spoonfuls of the filet mignon's sligthly fatty gravy on my steamed rice. Then I cut a little rectangle of salmon meat from the salmon's belly, and I am good to go.<br /><br />At the dining table that Ike and Prosy set up in the study I find myself face-to-face with Jamie Lazzara, the evening's special guest. Jamie is a master violin-maker who is vacationing from her violin-making shop in Tuscany, Italy. Jamie is a born-and-raised Southern Californian from Pomona. When she was 19 years old, she had wanted to be a violin-maker, and she had made that known to the owner of a violin store in Long Beach. But to her disappointment, she was told that girls do not belong in the violin-making craft. Jamie hied off to Cremona, Italy, where she attended a violin-making school. She completed the four-year course and arrived at her dream.<br /><br />Jamie is a very tall girl. If she were to play women's basketball, she would be a center. But, fortunately for the music world, she decided to be a violinist and violin-maker instead. When she told us that it took four years to learn how to be a violin-maker, I was astonished. Did they have a subject on wood selection, or how to wield a carving knife and a wood saw? How to age European spruce and maple woods? Surely, her four-year investment in time and money is now paying off. She makes four violins a year, at around $11,000 each. Not that many. But if you consider how much each Lazzara violin costs, it's a huge deal, indeed. Professor Ike de la Cruz, who teaches Asian-American Studies at California State University, Northridge (CSUN), can attest to this. He bought a violin from Jamie, and from what I hear, it occupies a revered station in the De la Cruz household, probably next to Prosy's home-cooking.<br /><br />Ike tells us that his Lazzara violin had been with him on vacations in various places in North America, and last year, when he and Prosy vacationed in Manila, the Lazzara went with them.<br /><br />Ike is so privileged to own a Lazzara as he is in great company, like world-reknowned American violinist Itzhak Perlman, who played a Lazzara violin at President Barack Obama's inauguration last year. As Jamie tells us, it was ten degrees below zero, and Perlman did not risk using his Stradivarius because the extreme cold could have cracked it. Besides, no violinist in his right mind would treat a centuries-old Stradivarius like a cheap, commercial grade one. Jamie claims that Italian violins are solely made of European spruce and maple for their stability.<br /><br />Tenor Christopher "Pete" Avendano arrives and I introduce him to pianist Dr. Charito Sison, a friend of the De la Cruzes. I tell her that Pete was lead in the original cast of opera "Karim at Jasmin", written by librettist and composer Dr. Ramon Sison-Geluz (no relations to Dr. Sison). There is instant connection between the two musicians, and I can tell they would sing and play soon.<br /><br />I conclude my satisfying dinner with a serving of cream brulee, then I get ready for the musical treat that is coming in a few minutes. Prosy calls it jamming. Musicians can be likened to photographers and artists. Gather them together and they would talk shop at the drop of a hat. This coterie of musicians is no different: they are eager to jam. Musicians do not have to know each other; they only need their instruments to communicate with each other. The product is spontaneous music that touches one's soul. FASO director Bob Shroder whips out a flute; guitarist and Charmaine Clamor accompanist Rick Ickard hauls out a unique 7-string acoustic guitar; and violinists Lito Molina and Andy Tecson share the use of Ike's Lazzara violin. Tenor Pete Avendano unleashes his major pipes; and Dr. Charito Sison tickles the piano keys. Ike and Prosy's Yamaha piano and their house's excellent acoustics complemented the slowly building crescendo.<br /><br />The stage is set for an evening of enchanting music: kundiman, opera, classical, folk, jazz and bossa nova. This is a major entertainment and culinary occasion. I would have kicked myself if I missed the opportunity to be here.<br /><br />Pete is a sensatiion with his soaring tenor which he calmly utilized to negotiate the peaks and valleys of a whole gamut of musical genre, from kundimans to opera. Bob Shroder, Ric Ickard and Lito Molina collaborated on a bossa nova composition of Antonio Carlos Jobim; each musician exhibiting his virtousity. Giovanni, Jamie's Italian companion, indulged us with an a capella rendition of a bawdy Italian folk song that Jamie interpreted in English. Jamie played two Italian folk songs on Ike's violin, and Ike performed a kundiman, accompanied by Dr. Sison and Pete. There are numerous unforgettable musical numbers, and many more that my wife and I missed because we had to leave before the soiree ended.<br /><br />The evening was an absolute success, from what I have seen and heard. Everything from the delicious dinner to the hospitality of the De la Cruzes, to the music performed by excellent musicians, are winners. As for Prosy's home-cooking? They made me a believer in her passion and dedication to the culinary arts. Here's a toast to foodies everywhere!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-69645299647795666982010-01-22T10:39:00.000-08:002010-01-22T13:20:06.562-08:00Music Versus Food at the Prosy and Ike De la Cruz House<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdCpV3DHX6SCbs7IqS6b01nSuQNAN1SXFCwfzPB5oevjI51jMFuUGB2ZAxPB33rqlc1Lhgphrv6ikfKAb1dHKFD42UGySbypD_kX26yKEEPEr9Cnix29Kn3egOSwtTO4YwwVfM2m0i2SfM/s1600-h/DSC_7198.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdCpV3DHX6SCbs7IqS6b01nSuQNAN1SXFCwfzPB5oevjI51jMFuUGB2ZAxPB33rqlc1Lhgphrv6ikfKAb1dHKFD42UGySbypD_kX26yKEEPEr9Cnix29Kn3egOSwtTO4YwwVfM2m0i2SfM/s200/DSC_7198.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429675549961413810" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeo3mKsZSwgpWSPpYTiQLBYSa5B2wjCsbXiO43CpEkEmc0dDW9JRi9q4koKBX6O3Uzdk8qYecprJaA9JosdLqimuI62NVEWtuh0aw8rL1LLexRpzX8CdOH5Vo6I3wu-r56DWPlTSEfZboU/s1600-h/DSC_7169+%282%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeo3mKsZSwgpWSPpYTiQLBYSa5B2wjCsbXiO43CpEkEmc0dDW9JRi9q4koKBX6O3Uzdk8qYecprJaA9JosdLqimuI62NVEWtuh0aw8rL1LLexRpzX8CdOH5Vo6I3wu-r56DWPlTSEfZboU/s200/DSC_7169+%282%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429675138432730338" border="0" /></a><br />This is a tough one to arbitrate. Music versus Food. Treats for the ears versus treats for the stomach. It happened Thursday evening at the mid-city home of Prosy de la Cruz and her husband, Professor Ike de la Cruz. I find myself deciding this poser: who wins, Prosy de la Cruz's cuisine or the music played by an impressive collection of musicians: an accomplished Italian-American violin-maker based in Florence, Italy; an operatic tenor; a medical doctor who is also an acomplished pianist; and four musicians that belong to the Filipino-American Symphony Orchestra (FASO)?<br /><br />Home chef Prosy had worked up a sweat preparing the entrees for the evening. It consist of a sotanghon-chicken soup, a lettuce-cabbage-chicken salad, braised fillet mignon steaks, steamed broccoli tips with shaved Italian cheese, and a gigantic wild salmon(around 20 lbs.) baked to perfection; and for dessert, sinful cream brulee. Her take on the sotanghon-chicken soup is quite unique, not so much for its taste, but for its preparation.The chicken pieces are chunky, a la chicken arroz caldo, and it is topped with spinach, and made more savory with an ample amount of ginger strips. She says that that she used less sotanghon to reduce the carbohydrates, and to make room for the steamed rice. The baked fillet mignon benefitted from<br />a brief braising in soy sauce and the beef's natural fat and juices, making the steak reach a degree of doneness that is most welcome to most Filipino palate. I forego the lettuce-cabbage salad in favor of the brocolli spears, and I dabble a few spoonfuls of the fillet mignon's gravy on my steamed rice. Then I cut a little rectangle of meat from the salmon's belly, and I am good to go.<br /><br />I go to the dining table that the de la Cruzes et up at the study and find myself face-to-face with Jamie Lazzara, the violin-maker. Jamie was born and raised in Pomona, and when she was 19, she had made her dream to become a violin-maker known to the owner of a violin store in Long Beach. To her consternation, she was told that girls did not belong in that trade. So she hies off to Cremona, Italy, where she attended a school of violin-making. She completes the four-year course and followed her dream. Jamie is a very tall girl. If she were to play women's basketball, she would be a center. But fortunately for the music world, she decides to be a violin-maker and violinist instead of a basktball player.<br /><br />I can't imagine how it takes four years to learn how to make a violin. But then again, I have not seen a million dollars. Did they have a subject on wood selection? Wood Selection 101, or Using a Knife 201, or how to age European maple and spruce? Surely, her four-year investment is paying its dividends today. She makes four violins a year. Not too many. But if you consider the fact that each of her violins costs a whooping $11,000, it's a huge deal, indeed. Professor Ike de la Cruz, who teaches Asian-American Studies at the California State University-Northridge, can testify to this. He bought a Lazzara violin from Jamie, and it occupies a revered station in their household, probably next to Prosy's cuisine. Ike says that his Lazzara had been to Manila and in some of his family's vacations in various places in North America. Ike is so lucky to own a Lazzara. It is like owning an expensive Mercedes Benz or a BMW. As soon as Jamie had listened to Ike's violin, she tells him it needed some fine-tuning. She immdediately works her magic on Ike's violin. The tune-up is akin to tweaking an expensive car to attain a faster top speed.<br /><br />While Ike is still learning how to improve as a violinist on his Lazzara, more accomplished violinists like Itzhak Perlman, had already recognized the Lazzara violin. Perlman used one of Jamie's violins during his performance last January at the inauguration of President Barack Obama. As Jamie tells it, it was ten degrees below zero during Obama's inauguration, and Perlman would not risk taking out his Stradivarius because the intense cold could have cracked it. Besides, no violinist in his right mind would treat a centuries-old Stradivarius like a Chinese-made violin.<br /><br />And speaking of Chinese-made violins, Ike says that he had heard some of them played, and says they are "loud", and can be had for as little as $400. In fact, perusing the Music section of eBay a few years ago, I found a second-hand violin for less than $100. Maybe that was made in China. Jamie says that Italian violins are made of European woods, specifically European maple and spruce. I surmise for their stability.<br /><br />Tenor Christopher "Pete" Avendano arrives and I introduce him to Dr. Charito Sison, a physician- pianist friend of the De la Cruzes. She learns that Pete is a tenor and tells him that she had brought a few music sheets of some Filipino kundimans, some composed by her late husband, Ramon Sison, who was a medical doctor, musician and composer. I see a duet forming here. I tell her that Pete was lead singer in the first Filipino opera, "Karim at Jasmin", written by librettist and composer Dr. Ramon Sison-Geluz (no relations to her). I knew they would play and sing together after dinner.<br /><br />I conclude my dinner with a cup of cream brulee that I heard was being served in the kitchen, then I prepare myself for a musical treat;an impromptu concert, if you will. Prosy call it jamming. Musicians are pretty much like artists and photographers. Well, more like photographers. Gather them together and they will make music, even unrehearsed. Gather a handful of photographers, and they will talk endlessly about the virtues of this or that camera, for hours on end. The musicians do not need to know each other. They only need to know how to play their music instrument. FASO director, Maestro Bob Shroder came with his flute, and the FASO guitarist, with his 7-string guitar, and Pete Avendano, his vocal cords. Prosy and Ike have a Yamaha piano, and their beautiful wood-floored house has excellent acoustics.<br />The stage is set for a night of jazz, classical, and folk music.<br /><br />Pete Avendano is a hit, with his major pipes easily negotiating the highs and lows of a Filipino kundiman with Charito Sison. Bob Shroder and a FASO guitarist and a violinist collaborated on a Antonio Carlos Jobim bossa nova number that transports us to the 60s; and Giovanni (Jamie's Italian friend) performs an irreverent Italian fok song, a cappella, which Jamie translates. There are many, unforgettable numbers, and probably many more that my wife and I missed, as we had to leave before the soiree ended.<br /><br />There are no losers. Everything from the dinner to the hospitality of the De la Cruzes, to the different music genres performed, are winners. As for Prosy's the gastronomic creations? They made me a believer in her passion and dedication to cooking.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-28549249729096502352009-11-14T10:48:00.000-08:002009-11-27T11:49:47.293-08:00How Would You Like to Wok Around Binondo?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9lfiUId7VXe0_y5bthImKOqkCTcN2Gv1eAyaSTL5txlV5FSJ8E_PjqqOCyioK3EADrFKaVj7PMaI25nfyxsH4jHedgXK0gCre0NX0Zm5uvERKGw4Nklyrq624AjOoiBC3VN-SWIA_eHoG/s1600/Binondo+Tour+and+Estrada+Declaration+169.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9lfiUId7VXe0_y5bthImKOqkCTcN2Gv1eAyaSTL5txlV5FSJ8E_PjqqOCyioK3EADrFKaVj7PMaI25nfyxsH4jHedgXK0gCre0NX0Zm5uvERKGw4Nklyrq624AjOoiBC3VN-SWIA_eHoG/s200/Binondo+Tour+and+Estrada+Declaration+169.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408872949263655362" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMirTnjZyeDKuVNBCLSX9b8WH7OBK5QBULJ_5YPM5VFjUTWitYDj8zaBhj_GPd6B67IlbK6RrvRIgZZx1aqgGe50WeO4_ImJ0vgJGc4VLYfi8FBnT4dAjSAgl-LRj-Zmte-9DM4kWHQpYO/s1600/Binondo+Tour+and+Estrada+Declaration+173.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MbCnB_QBU0vosVXRu8Q63Mj1KMG5J0Pm_n3w4NF6o2nn1_0HtIh3C9LMGLHD7tczX0p5gbMdCbf-rzDTOFoquurZJRjJju423FMbDKdzouajcPYXCrBI7mF-E2Hc4dMidSoYZGyk56gi/s200/Binondo+Tour+and+Estrada+Declaration+084.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407085351812107266" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh55N52c-AFKKJkIoByZJ9ALYkOpHnQtKvFRff8akCoIh61Ne12XZ-lvhwt8sdQn45cbWHd2zG0hDcAzmFBmNmoV0Ze582w47s2dtyF3Hzw5uBMBno56WkgpgWWjF-pjBGHUCdt4VhkPylc/s1600/Binondo+Tour+and+Estrada+Declaration+077.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh55N52c-AFKKJkIoByZJ9ALYkOpHnQtKvFRff8akCoIh61Ne12XZ-lvhwt8sdQn45cbWHd2zG0hDcAzmFBmNmoV0Ze582w47s2dtyF3Hzw5uBMBno56WkgpgWWjF-pjBGHUCdt4VhkPylc/s200/Binondo+Tour+and+Estrada+Declaration+077.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407084711434456002" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD6lbfhYaL9SzpoT5yNv56iZrX5HlpeaobDbJEWbncbSjJbrp8W8H0t_yVKXV57LgGVkakbzdQ6CSLlTemJZC5nhdPMlTnXgL7OZFDYoD5Wmwf1UvnjyyiAN13tk4U8a2xCEoOA4PsApEI/s1600/Binondo+Tour+and+Estrada+Declaration+078.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyMXib4USpbGEJchdDdx0SqogDWjs-QzCnIMRevrR5yuRngshNvJT8Nk13XUmhGYjyZomxi3bcpNzHzwZVE2lQnrtBKEMp8eDFCEP6-5pIedONit0caf95b7KZsaZbbzlcY8iN9nPuIEk0/s200/Binondo+Tour+and+Estrada+Declaration+055.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407081345144579410" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWpIXh_pWnMWU4R0jkYx8DHILphZ4BWTSNXj_cS8Yg5ja20tZnR6OZZToAId0m6Zm2roWNMrIQPgjnBC4IqylmFFyFhdj0tshmRGkSnGGJKtInrRSeXG3F-OgjeDqQrjd3Y2VflBYBAkhR/s1600/Binondo+Tour+and+Estrada+Declaration+053.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWpIXh_pWnMWU4R0jkYx8DHILphZ4BWTSNXj_cS8Yg5ja20tZnR6OZZToAId0m6Zm2roWNMrIQPgjnBC4IqylmFFyFhdj0tshmRGkSnGGJKtInrRSeXG3F-OgjeDqQrjd3Y2VflBYBAkhR/s200/Binondo+Tour+and+Estrada+Declaration+053.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407080807107570946" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPxjX4LzccH8J8Vc5UxPsR4wf2jKVJTqEnQSuK_5QWlnGb00q6G2GmjNtdNow-6RdFt84TzgIrJKbwkYCSJBNDjYiH5ZOhhLnYqW4qcpeY0jmmXP6hHLd0x3ZRIsJju2CI4mWJ20hm_mdX/s1600-h/Binondo+Tour+and+Estrada+Declaration+017.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPxjX4LzccH8J8Vc5UxPsR4wf2jKVJTqEnQSuK_5QWlnGb00q6G2GmjNtdNow-6RdFt84TzgIrJKbwkYCSJBNDjYiH5ZOhhLnYqW4qcpeY0jmmXP6hHLd0x3ZRIsJju2CI4mWJ20hm_mdX/s200/Binondo+Tour+and+Estrada+Declaration+017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404045531174026146" border="0" /></a><br />On October 19 I went to the Binondo district of Manila for a second time during my one-month working vacation in Manila. This time around, I was with a group of food writers and editors that included chef Claude Tayag of Bale Dutung, and the editors and staff of Food Magazine. Earlier, I had e-mailed Claude and his lovely wife, Mary Ann, asking if I could tag along, and he said, "sure." That makes me the accidental (food) tourist in this group.<br /><br />The tour group met at the centuries-old Binondo Church on the corner of Ongpin St. and Reina Regente, in the heart of Manila's Chinatown. A stone-throw's away is the Eng Bee Tin Hopia factory and restaurant, one of the stops that organizer Old Manila Walks calls "The Big Binondo Food Wok," a romp around the district, visiting and sampling food from close to ten small restaurants and eateries.<br /><br />It is amazing to note that having lived in Manila for half of my life, I was not aware of some of these restaurants in Binondo. For one, we Pinoys patronized well-known and household name restaurants like Panciteria de Santa Cruz, Panciteria San Jacinto, Smart, etc., not aware that there are other, smaller, but truly Chinese restaurants in the heart of Binondo, in streets like Yuchengco and Carvajal, the latter is more an alley than a street. Here, there is one small eatery called Quick Snack, founded by a Chinese woman who originally came from Indonesia. Hence, the cuisine at her eatery is influenced by Indonesian cooking.<br /><br />Knowing that we would be sampling food in number of restaurants, I made sure to eat as little as I could to make room for an eight-hour food binge. Here I sampled a spicy noodle dish, whose Chinese name I did not care to put to memory because it is either unpronounceable or difficult to spell. But the verdict for that noodle dish is: it is too foreign for my taste. A taste that had been cultivated by Macao or Hong Kong-style Chinese cuisine.<br /><br />Our second stop is Sincerity Cafe on Yuchengco St. It's been in that location since 1956, and I never heard or seen it! Walk organizer and historian, Ivan Man Dy tells the group that this restaurant is well known for its fried chicken. Here we were served kikiam, fried chicken, and oyster cake, requested by Chef Claude. Sincerity's version is held together by a tapioca flour base, and as a result, it was quite heavy. We would discover that another version that we would soon eat at another stop, would be lighter and better-tasting than this one. I didn't enjoy this version very much. For one, I did not get the taste of fresh oysters, and secondly, like I said before, it was too heavy due to the tapioca base.<br /><br />It was around noon when we got to our fourth or fifth stop at Eng Bee Tin Hopia factory and the small restaurant that it operates on the second floor. Here, we were regaled with the presence of Jerry Chua, owner of Eng Bee Tin, who related to us his hopia factory's rise to the number one position in the industry. Jerry is an active member of the privately-owned Chinese volunteer fire brigade in Binondo, and he tells us that he became more known as a member of that fire engine company before he made his name in hopia-making. He has a penchant for making light of himself and his hopia-making expertise. After his talk, he gave everyone a bag of three different versions of the Eng Bee Tin Hopia. I became addicted to the langka-ube combination.<br /><br />From Eng Bee Tin, we visited a Chinese Drug Store, Bon Shiang Thay. "Chinese medicine is more on prevention," explains Ivan. It's about balancing the body. Like if you have fever, do not eat chocolate, because it packs heat." Then we crossed the street to another small restaurant that specializes in dumplings that are common in Fujian, a province in the Southern part of China. We were served sio mai, which, according to Ivan, is the most common dumpling of all. When we entered the restaurant, two restaurant workers were kneading dough near the front door, in view of all the diners, while the owner, a shy Chinese woman, gave us the 411 on the origin and prepatiion of the dumplings. "Every region of China has its own version of dumplings, " says the Chinese woman. "We are making northern-style dumplings with ground meat as filling."<br /><br />There is something peculiar about Sa Lido Restaurant. It's perceived as an all-male restaurant, at least before our group arrrived that afternoon. The eatery is located on the second floor, and when we arrive a small gathering of elderly men are already there, smoking, drinking coffee and tea, and talking animatedly. They are "akongs" (elderly Chinese men), according to Ivan. They do not eat a whole lot, but congregate at Sa Lido more as a male bonding tradition. Here, they hold court, talking about what men talk about when their wives and other women are not around. Sa Lido's distinction is "asado" or oven-roasted pork loin that I have known as a young boy. It is one of my favorite Chinese dishes growing up, and is up there with "pancit canton" (chow mein) and "hototay" (pork and vegetable soup).<br /><br />Our last stop is Masuki (literally, small horse). It was established in 1960, and specializes in mami and sio pao. Before we were served our mami and sio pao, the manager, Willen Ma, daughter of the founder, took us to second floor where one of the hands demonstrated how mami noodles is prepared the old-fashioned way (manually kneading the flour, eggs and water), then feeding the dough to a noodle machine (automated). On they way there, we also passed the kitchen where the sio pao fillings are prepared, and where the mami noodles are dunked into vats of boiling water, prior to serving. It was an altogether interesting but elaborate demonstration. But I doubt if that heightened my appetite for mami. For one, this was our last stop, after a long list of other eateries -- and I, for one, was stuffed up to my larynx. For another, I am not a big fan of mami. So when it comes time to eat, I just tackle a half of a large sio pao. It is excellent, but being flour-based, quite heavy.<br /><br />All in all, the all-day walking and food sampling tour of Binondo was a mixed bag for me. Of all the dishes we sampled, I would say that I enjoyed about half, and that includes the humble fishball soup that I had at Eng Bee Tin, the pata tim and the asado at Sa Lido, and the boiled beef with radish, and the oyster cake at another. I grew up on Macao or Hong Kong-style Chinese cuisine, eating with my family at restaurants like Panciteria San Jacinto, Panciteria de Santa Cruz, and Smart Restaurant in Manila. But these establishments are no longer there today. San Jacinto had moved to Pasig City, and the two others have either closed or moved elsewhere.<br /><br />The tour was more than a culinary tour of bacchanalian proportions. It was a trip back in time in Manila's Chinatown.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-76974429335427717982009-10-31T17:00:00.000-07:002009-11-02T18:00:08.873-08:00It's Good to be Back in LA after Feasting in Manila<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDvIEVHzEVFS5mz5GDgwOm_Cu4PHiv0xU-VJAA4kjV4ealh3d7FMleeftp3SFH0BwIDgNnNg2ZXZ6cftg7VuzrKRwUaj9cKO4CMIzBIP3OhsVK98O7mlhC9uCBhD1f4yuSnE9MD2ojanBQ/s1600-h/Vacation+photos+942.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDvIEVHzEVFS5mz5GDgwOm_Cu4PHiv0xU-VJAA4kjV4ealh3d7FMleeftp3SFH0BwIDgNnNg2ZXZ6cftg7VuzrKRwUaj9cKO4CMIzBIP3OhsVK98O7mlhC9uCBhD1f4yuSnE9MD2ojanBQ/s200/Vacation+photos+942.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399307579757525474" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhiSVh63-auCNhXfphzvB-79urpCcrw9Q4m8XI5nYWPmnZcmY1ML25mhwr97RiOcT4VWHAbwGhUsnziUHS22zkz9Hhr0QbJyE5U23SS8Vf1YUPz3Ah4nmLwlEhQ1ZZ6GYsnNVkoJ8KEy9/s1600-h/Vacation+photos+937.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPhJcXRLRSgpmiBOj3fAkipdiG_UPjrIrO02tCkmYQncmm9ctOnbmpsxt25O54M1E1J1QPt7GMicqWNHfRif7yZ_TzTmwwSk7_GrhtYe608REmg5_Ajy3oNA45D9Nag0zg-3i-pzggFpNV/s200/Vacation+photos+929+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399300940296559762" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxL-ts08OrWSnPAJkM5xQmoInHumGFS7OFvD1L86p4wgKD9zEzZF4J0p9KMKo67GPzRfdQNOoXjDFR8fXA3FR5NFV1cuUUo4E1mHdT9K-VwY7Kqm-OEYaqWLRr3XiTEcsNIfhDCv2G3k2g/s1600-h/Vacation+photos+931.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxL-ts08OrWSnPAJkM5xQmoInHumGFS7OFvD1L86p4wgKD9zEzZF4J0p9KMKo67GPzRfdQNOoXjDFR8fXA3FR5NFV1cuUUo4E1mHdT9K-VwY7Kqm-OEYaqWLRr3XiTEcsNIfhDCv2G3k2g/s200/Vacation+photos+931.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399295747240282834" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij00yQi2g1RyI8Xio6o2koL2kYMe0aYfI9_ce9X-dE0SdVNnjc-sSiKVGuEgWSaLvN4Mzxwj6k8Y3HYkCGgVbP2n1rRiqdqp5Rq2j7svx7IZMg0yaW7_uNSyPO4wfkQtmvYMqn_tU29fZC/s1600-h/Vacation+photos+928+copy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij00yQi2g1RyI8Xio6o2koL2kYMe0aYfI9_ce9X-dE0SdVNnjc-sSiKVGuEgWSaLvN4Mzxwj6k8Y3HYkCGgVbP2n1rRiqdqp5Rq2j7svx7IZMg0yaW7_uNSyPO4wfkQtmvYMqn_tU29fZC/s200/Vacation+photos+928+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399295369077094194" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3rMcRxYM9XTRZZ4QucMsLPu4mVJNh0bNschyphenhyphenECe4Byutp9uGrCMll1RynT0vj25rCwbbNGgdPNZ3rmLxg729EkAWK9R6A-cSDFub_4QwK9RFdKYaQ4eRuVSX8Kf3eQeyDF7XNCj7o4nn7/s1600-h/Vacation+photos+926+copy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3rMcRxYM9XTRZZ4QucMsLPu4mVJNh0bNschyphenhyphenECe4Byutp9uGrCMll1RynT0vj25rCwbbNGgdPNZ3rmLxg729EkAWK9R6A-cSDFub_4QwK9RFdKYaQ4eRuVSX8Kf3eQeyDF7XNCj7o4nn7/s200/Vacation+photos+926+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399295093001157250" border="0" /></a><br />For those of you who are thinking that I have been buried under the debris of two tropical storms in the Philippines, the answer is that I am now back in Los Angeles. I have been unable to post my blogs as quickly as before due to the unreliable Internet service in Manila, which had a habit of drifting off to Neverland while I was in the middle of writing an e-mail. Well, it does not end there. On my arrival on Tuesday evening, I found out what I have been dreading all along, that my DSL modem at home had given up the ghost, leaving me at the mercy of free WiFi at Borders and Starbucks.<br /><br />I am writing this at a Borders Bookstore in Glendale, and for while, before I signed up for a free Borders account, the bookstore's WiFi provider, refused to take me to my blog site. So having found that out, I immediately, quite painfully, gave out my personal information, in exchange for free Internet connection. Aaargh!<br /><br />I have been inured to the depressing news that Manila television networks were dishing out day in and out, not to mention the slightly annoying style of local newscasters delivering those depressing news stories. They sounded like auctioneers selling cows at a cattle sale. Every morning and night, the news programs showed graphic pictures of the devastation, plus wailing women and men who had lost their homes and members of their families. Whole barangays under water and assorted images of the deplorable conditions in the affected areas.<br /><br />After I had done my duty documenting the floods in Pasig City (posted in an earlier blog), it's time for some quality time with friends and former colleagues from San Miguel Corporation. My first reunion was with a small group of former SMC officemates that was organized by my cumadre and avid blog reader, Ebol Adorable. She and Ingrid Firme fetched me from my temporary home at Two Serendra, an Ayala-developed condominium complex in Bonifacio Global City in Taguig, then took me to Sentra, a modern Filipino cuisine restaurant in Greenbelt 3, Ayala Center. Bert Pasquin, a former SMC officer, and Yett Aguado, who was one of my writers when I was media relations officer at the public relations office, were already there when we arrived. Mabee Unas, who is a busy bee, now very much involved with Gawad Kalinga, also came, and so did Ron de los Reyes, now a successful broadcast motoring writer and marketing man, and Art Cuevas, also of my staff, who is now into farming, and was helping Ron promote the Quezon City International Marathon. Art Cariaga, a very good friend from way back in college and former SMC officer, could not make it, but took me around town a few days later. Eat<br />your heart out, Dolly Pangan-Specht.<br /><br />These former co-workers, all of them retired from SMC, are doing very well in allied careers. Ron is shuttling between Manila and major Asian cities working deals with automobile companies, drive-testing their cars, and running and promoting marathons in Manila. Yett Aguado had written a book about Filipino culture; Bert Pasquin had retired with a multi-million peso purse; Ingrid Firme, who is now a Filipino-Canadian, shuttles between her home in Vancouver, Canada and Manila, where she operates a burgeoning import business. Ebol Adorable, who recently wrapped up a Masters in Education at the University of the Philippines, looks very prosperous, indeed. Her husband, Boy Adorable, my compadre, is an electrical engineer and now a government contractor. He now tools around town in a sleek, brand-new 7-Series BMW sedan with a 3-liter twin turbo diesel engine. He tells me that a businessman needs a tremendous car like a Bimmer in order to get respect, and I believe him.<br /><br />Art Cariaga, the witty, smart, former SMC AVP, also retired, had written two books recently: one on the 100th anniversary of the University of the Philippines, Los Banos, and the more recent, "Infanta," a coffee table book on Infanta, Quezon, that was illustrated by photos taken by my friend and contemporary, artist-photographer, Emil Davocol. I am really impressed at the achievements of my friends.<br /><br />To celebrate our reunion, we feasted on "kare-kare", without the oxtail and tripe, native hito (catfish) in a teriyaki sauce, and grilled liempo (pork loin), and chicken, Bingoongang Karne, and steamed rice. But what I retained most about this reunion were our remembrances of good and bad times together while we were employed at the then largest public relations office in the country. I would be invited to more lunches and dinners in the course of my vacation at home, and I will be blogging about some of them soon. For now, I worked through this one with difficulty, knowing that some of my SMC friends have been dying to look at our pictures.<br /><br /><br /><a id="publishButton" class="cssButton" href="javascript:void(0)" target="" onclick="if (this.className.indexOf("ubtn-disabled") == -1) {var e = document['stuffform'].publish;(e.length) ? e[0].click() : e.click(); if (window.event) window.event.cancelBubble = true; return false;}"><div class="cssButtonOuter"><div class="cssButtonMiddle"><div class="cssButtonInner">Publish Post</div></div></div></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-66176325495134006152009-10-09T16:13:00.000-07:002009-10-09T18:21:21.090-07:00This is Antipolo Today<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJcgyacL4jY21YU8f01KEnZtKFptC0Qj9d6vNPRxTYfSHPdbn50i3eEQpNvgwl57iD4H7WqwPTm3jLJ3bY6AIAsp949p5dkznpwQo_e3_IFIbqKg1UplZuzATbNZ4pezevCuNQRnt9ovFz/s1600-h/DSC_4072.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUNQ3oaJkkFkhKK8YShu8IwatV6Ytqlql295kKWBxNmMn1cfQwSXsVoYhzhlLWltcLtKVDpLtclGt52DTlkisI7nPE90A2Vzv1WlTlwMxeWRapm0s-1I_FYcibdI_3yr7suyoX91XhGLhk/s200/DSC_4156.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390766003210103506" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXXpknnlhqj25lAvvTuMgTKT7vFrULflbZ3Cz6vS9q5yOKva2NasIo6F6fw7LhMjSn7E-x2djg0KpNYn06hUt7ly66y3DAhsT-TCvIvpS3wRPNy8erGlR6Jr25_YHPx1rcvxT5xprZBbGd/s1600-h/DSC_4159.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXXpknnlhqj25lAvvTuMgTKT7vFrULflbZ3Cz6vS9q5yOKva2NasIo6F6fw7LhMjSn7E-x2djg0KpNYn06hUt7ly66y3DAhsT-TCvIvpS3wRPNy8erGlR6Jr25_YHPx1rcvxT5xprZBbGd/s200/DSC_4159.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390765458500362882" border="0" /></a><br />Remember Antipolo, the pilgrimage town located on the hills above the Rizal towns of Cainta and Taytay? Much of the town looks pretty much the same as I remember it from when my family used to take excursions there when I was young. The streets, paved now, are busy with foot and vehicular traffic. The Church of the Virgin of Good Voyage is the epicenter of human activity, even on a Thursday afternoon when we paid our respects.<br /><br />I can't remember how the altars looked when I was young, but seeing them for the first time after so many, many years, I can't help but be in awe at the delicate ornateness of the church's altars. This church has three: the main one, and two sub-altars on the right and on the left sides of the church near the vestibule. The two sub-altars draw many devotees, and the the right one features a larger-than-life size image of the Black Nazarene, similar to the venerated image in the Quaipo Church.<br /><br />On approaching the church courtyard in a van, we are greeted by a young man beseeching us to patronize the souvenir store that belongs to his family, even before we get out of the car. First, we have to secure a parking space in the church courtyard. My wife's cousin, Tess Villacorta, whips out her senior citizen card and shows it to the security guard, and we are let it. Talk about the advantages of reaching sixty.<br /><br />Competition is intense among the vendors, and some of them employ itinerant hawkers just like the young man that greets us. One of the long-standing culinary attractions of Antipolo is the suman malagkit wrapped in palm leaves, and we buy a bunch of those. Our hosts, Lou and Tom Victoria, owns Bougainvillea Hotel and Resort located about one kilometer away from the church. It is small and quaint hotel and resort with a first-class restaurant featuring superb Pacific Rim cuisine; a mid-size pool and a jacuzzi, a large function room and two videoke rooms.<br /><br />Bougainvillea is located in a sloping piece of land along the town's main street, bounded by a small stream, still rushing with run-off flood waters. The grounds are planted with huge, decorative and fruit-bearing trees. Tom, an engineer, designed the landscaping himself, creating a mini-oasis replete with several family suites and rooms with the latest in modern amenities. We are talking restrooms with flushing toilets, air conditioners, and piped-in music.<br /><br />The resort's tranquil atmosphere is helped in no small measure by the lushness of the vegetation and the ground cover. It is green everywhere, and the trees and the grass cover are in their most verdant at this time of the year.<br /><br />Antipolo -- although it was hit squarely by typhoon Ondoy -- does not suffer from flooding due to its high location. But it suffered a number of landslides, and I saw evidence of these as we wind up the two-lane highway to the town. Driving through the heavily-devastated towns of Pasig, Cainta and Taytay while traversing Ortigas Avenue Extension, I see pictures of Ondoy's onslaught: unsightly mounds of garbage on the street-sides, muddy evidence of water marks on the sides of commercial and residential buildings in Pasig and Cainta; documents air-drying in front of business establishments, and disabled vehicles, some of which are undergoing repairs right on the side of the road.<br /><br />I am amazed at the breadth and depth of the Metro Manila megalopolis; the new skylines dominated by commercial and residential towers; the new, wider highways and parkways, the many shopping malls, and the many other real estate developments. New cities, like the Bonifacio Global City, where my family and I stayed at the Ayala Corporation-developed Serendra condominiums. The biggest surprises are the mega-sizes of these developments: the blockbuster Mall of Asia, the trend-setting Market! Market! and the other great malls in Makati, like The Glorietta, Landmark, SM, and the posh and modern, high-end Greenbelt Malls. I will be writing about them in future blogs.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-18619861800296817002009-09-30T03:02:00.000-07:002009-09-30T04:03:54.998-07:00Metro Manila is Deluged by Typhoon Ondoy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgubzGktK_RopVgBk8OY76NNe5eZXYgIZ0NBzwejESPIh-KhJwQNUgqpQkkDUbLygWrswJw8qEFVm87OrPJUyhrpPARv7u-6TgTnT6twv80yhtzTr3ghRK0jkIzX9a5Xj2bm_t_u6KcNuN8/s1600-h/DSC_4037.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgubzGktK_RopVgBk8OY76NNe5eZXYgIZ0NBzwejESPIh-KhJwQNUgqpQkkDUbLygWrswJw8qEFVm87OrPJUyhrpPARv7u-6TgTnT6twv80yhtzTr3ghRK0jkIzX9a5Xj2bm_t_u6KcNuN8/s200/DSC_4037.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387214546369042338" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVLXNFojc28gXtsYusjj0XkQOn5VE0rXD5o18k7wTiocnI5qh3YpHNXm9lcoblI3WUjsoDK1pt-OjIhx3op6Mvqmjjng3Aj4GH_A_3juE-mU7JN1VA7-UtqQlhug6IJ0tBIZSj8najO9M8/s1600-h/DSC_4033.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmKquPp2NSkKyLM5pqlHo2mSxMNBPtES33pijVxw3fTS5rGngEz-UaGcGXWALJFg4FHvWMUWYtsphFI-ebAsN81aGGZyHiUe7kRBO38AN4fqK8bRwAXfe1ggJp5BDLU3ptxpOYGp1-ZI-F/s200/DSC_3956.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387205519680844498" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvZvNV0OGJOV1lHAIyKQvquTPkkqP3IwEggufQOeSgD-Y2i7vNCg7qLH67jC6ngEOR0W8PFptftMLLHCE_0paY0TzCoXyFogR6oOTpW-yDEHgRD5JalaASO5CUsrcQCOMqjYWbBnIvxAx/s1600-h/DSC_3973.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvZvNV0OGJOV1lHAIyKQvquTPkkqP3IwEggufQOeSgD-Y2i7vNCg7qLH67jC6ngEOR0W8PFptftMLLHCE_0paY0TzCoXyFogR6oOTpW-yDEHgRD5JalaASO5CUsrcQCOMqjYWbBnIvxAx/s200/DSC_3973.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387205163189553682" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDICMDedmWrIfLiasP4s9VSs7Qh_9LafZmYcMl5Gns5AxP09KN5sa8hMAeCOa0L7MNHO5-VDYtVw5bugjkBhFRpY8jKnL5872hBMv_4TFFXGgWJQDHgwqr0TrqpEuzb7vRzmfEL2EduBoB/s1600-h/DSC_3987.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDICMDedmWrIfLiasP4s9VSs7Qh_9LafZmYcMl5Gns5AxP09KN5sa8hMAeCOa0L7MNHO5-VDYtVw5bugjkBhFRpY8jKnL5872hBMv_4TFFXGgWJQDHgwqr0TrqpEuzb7vRzmfEL2EduBoB/s200/DSC_3987.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387204804106179058" border="0" /></a><br />On Tuesday, September 29, I drove to Pasig, Metro Manila, on my way to Marikina, to document the result of the floods brought on by typhoon Ondoy. My family had arrived in Manila on Friday, September 25, for a three-week long vacation, and the storm arrived on the same evening. It rained constantly for two days, and the inundation (several millimeters of rain) resulted in the floods. Today, Manila newspapers reported that more than 200 deaths as a result of the floods.<br /><br />My original plan was to proceed to Marikina, one of the hardest hit communities in Metro Manila, but my limited transportation asset, a van provided by a cousin, Ponch Villaroman, a medical surgeon, and his wife, Mel, a medical doctor and health officer of one Pasig City's several barangays, did not allow me to go any farther.<br /><br />Our first stop was the centuries-old Pasig Catholic Church, where we parked our van. We then proceeded to the city hall, which is also under water. Some of the city's assets, including police squad cars, ambulances, and firetrucks were also hard hit. The city lost several millions pesos worth in damage.<br /><br />On Tuesday, the residents of Pasig went about their activities, despite the flood waters. Some very enterprising residents had a brisk business ferrying other Pasiguenos to different places in the city, charging as much as 100 pesos each passenger. The makeshift "boats" were jury-rigged gallon jugs, large pieces of styrofoam, old furniture, and old bancas.<br /><br />At the city hall, I joined a small group of volunteers that was transporting several boxes of medicine in a large government-owned dump truck, and we drove along the flooded streets to Barangay Rosario, a distance of about one kilometer. But because of the floodwaters, which was thigh-high in some places, the drive to the Eusebio High School in Bry. Rosario took almost one hour.<br /><br />Here, more than a hundred volunteers were repackaging thousands of bags of relief goods consisting of medicine, canned goods, bottled water, and cooked rice. They decided to cook the rice because the typhoon victims have lost their ability to cook after their homes had been under water for several days.<br /><br />The relief goods, whose distribution was being coordinated with a few non-government organizations (NGOs), were donated by the city of Pasig, which is the second largest city in Metro Manila in terms of revenues, second only to Makati City.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-51129914317814054872009-09-19T09:00:00.000-07:002009-09-19T22:36:55.827-07:00What Delights Await in the Places of my Youth, Part IIWhen friends and relatives learned that my family was coming to Manila for a vacation, we received several e-mails from them inviting us to stay in their homes, visit their resorts in Antipolo and in Tagaytay, and in Baguio City. A close friend and schoolmate in college offered a fishing trip somewhere in Southern Tagalog -- Anilao, Batangas, I hope -- and I am so looking forward to this one. So much so that I bought a fishing reel off of eBay so that I could test it during the fishing trip.<br /><br />The last time I went night-fishing in Anilao, Batangas must have been in the very early 70s, with my outdoorsman father, just a few months before he succumbed to a massive heart attack in December 1972. The declaration of Martial Law by President Marcos must have contributed to his early demise. He was 58, and he was working as a dental technician for a dental clinic on trendy Escolta St. in Manila. Back then, open heart surgery technology was in its infancy, and my father could not have benefited from that even if he wanted to simply because we could not afford it. And so he passed, just like his older brothers and sisters later from a common ailment in the clan: heart disease and hypertension.<br /><br />My father was a consummate outdoorsman. He loved hunting and fishing, and was one of the few dudes in our barrio of Caingin, San Rafael, Bulacan that owned an imported Winchester 22 caliber rifle, back when P.B. Dionisio, the only importer of American firearms, brought them into the country from the United States. When I reached seven years-old, my father taught me how to handle and shoot that 22 caliber rifle safely. One morning, he took me and my older brother, Kuya Leo, to our backyard, at the banks of the irrigation canal (rampa) that brought water to the tumana (produce farms) on the other side. He had arranged a few bamboo sticks, two inches wide, some 15 yards from where I sat holding the rifle, and I remember hitting those sticks one-by-one, sitting on my butt, without missing one. The Winchester had a Weaver scope, making target acquisition much more convenient for my young eyes.<br /><br />That rifle accounted for hundreds and hundreds of dalag (mudfish), which were plentiful in the water in the canal, and edible birds, like wild pigeons (bato-bato) shore birds like kanduro, which were plentiful in the mountains and on the shores of the rivers of Bulacan, and bayawak (large, edible lizards), which thrived in the bamboo groves at the river edge of our backyard. The canal, just in case you are wondering, was about ten to fifteen feet deep, depending on the season. It was swollen in the rainy season. Back then, the water was clear and greenish, and harbored mudfish, ulang (crayfish) and catfish (hito), and many other edible marine species. But my papa harvested mudfish the most because their manner of existence made them easier targets for the Winchester rifle. Every now and then, the dalag would surface from the depths, either to scope his surroundings or to get a whiff of fresh oxygen. And that's the moment for my papa to whack them with a 22 caliber bullet. He did not even have to hit them squarely, as even the report of the firearm was enough to stun and render them immobile.<br /><br />My duty, which I performed with a little bit of fear, was to dive to the bottom of the rampa and retrieve the "dead" mudfish. One summer day, my papa and I went hunting for mudfish, and we walked a few kilometers downriver to "Luwasan," which is to say, in the direction of Manila. When we found our favorite spot on the bank, papa, who was a nimrod, began shooting the surfacing mudfish all throughout the morning, and I would dive every five minutes to retrieve the kills.<br /><br />On that day, we brought home enough medium-sized and fully-grown dalags to fill one banyera (large basin), and that kept my mother busy the rest of the day, cleaning and dressing the fish. To keep them longer, she made some of them into daing na dalag ( salted and dried in the sun), and she cooked the larger ones into pesang dalag, with pechay (bok choy), cabbage, potatoes, a dash of black pepper, thin slices of ginger, and stalks of spring onion. If you have not already tasted freshly-caught dalag, you have not really tasted excellent mudfish.<br /><br />More recently, driven by a craving for dalag, I purchased one small mudfish from an Asian market in L.A., and made pesang dalag, but I was let down because the mudfish, imported from Vietnam and frozen, tasted so far off from the way the mudfish of my youth tasted, which was sweet, with the flesh flaky, not mushy like the imported mudfish from Vietnam and Thailand.<br /><br />I plan to make a nostalgic visit to Barrio Caingin during my stay in the Philippines. Maybe, I would even take a jeepney to San Rafael, the sleepy town, northwest of our barrio. I had worked in this town's Catholic church as a sacristan (altar boy) back when Mass was still being said in Latin. Of course, that stint did not stretch for very long, as I found out life away from my family was no picnic. Despite the occasional tip when there was a baptism, working as a sacristan held no financial attraction to me. Besides, it was my papa's idea.<br /><br />My youngest sister still lives with her large brood in Barrio Caingin, although she works in Manila. The barrio is only 56 kilometers from Manila (about 35 miles), and used to take one to one-and-a-half hours by Baliwag Transit, Victory Liner, and De la Fuente Lines. The latter bus line had its depot right in our barrio, and according to my father, we were related to the De la Fuentes, who lived in a big, two-storey Spanish-style house that was de riguer with wealthy citizens of Barrio Caingin.<br /><br />My grandfather, Rafael Villaroman, although not as rich as when his family migrated from Nueva Ecija years before I was born, owned a similarly huge house with a large, dark silong (basement) where my cousins -- boys and girls -- and my brother and sister and I used to play taguan (hide-and-seek) on summer days. I learned how to puff my first cigarette in this silong, goaded by my more adventurous male cousins. I remember choking after my first inhalation.<br /><br />The house had wide narra (Philippine mahogany) floorboards, a very large bedroom, a large dining room, and a capacious but dark dirty kitchen with a big banggerahan, where they stowed china and other dining utensils. The windows had capiz shell lenses. In the salas (living room) hang a large framed portrait of Tatang Rafael, wearing his revolutionary riyadilyo (Katipunan uniform). He died at a ripe old age of 96. If my computation was accurate, my Tatang was born during the same decade as our national hero, Dr. Jose Rizal, in the late 19th century.<br /><br />Our ancestral house is still standing in a lot so large (approximately 1.5 hectare) that it extended from the kamuning bush-lined two-lane blacktop main drag all the way to the eastern bank of the irrigation canal. It is planted with fruit trees, including santol, tsiko, atis, sampalok (tamarind), kamiyas, mango, balimbing (starfruit), guavas, and large avocados, which I liked. and kaymito, which I hated. My sister, whose house occupies a lot closest to the canal's bank, tells me that most of the fruit trees are still living and bearing fruits.<br /><br />When we were young, my papa's older sister (Tiya Nena), used to sell the fruits of the santol, kaymito, tsiko, and tamarind trees to a merchant who arrived in large truck once a year to harvest the fruits off the trees with a long sungkit (large bamboo pole with a net at its tip). I guess, she made quite a bundle from the sales. We younger members of the Villaroman clan contented ourselves by bringing down the ripe santol fruits with our home-made tirador (slingshots) whenever we craved the sweet-and-sour, large-pitted fruits. We made sure, of course, that Tatang Rafael was asleep or out trading stories with our male neighbors on the papag (bamboo table) of the sari-sari store across from our house.<br /><br />My father was in Manila working in his dental laboratory at Palomo Building off Azcarraga (now Claro M. Recto) the whole day, and he took the last Victory Liner or Baliwag Transit bus from its station in Divisoria to go home. He would arrive in Baliwag, some six kilometers from Caingin, before midnight, and to get home, he would hire a kutsero (rig driver) with a caretela (horse rig), which transported him to our house in a ponderous clip in about an hour. The jeepneys that plied the Baliwag to San Rafael route have long retired by this time.<br /><br />On Friday afternoons, papa would walk over to the big Arranque Market on Azcarraga and buy several kilos of the best beef and lots of cabbage, string beans (sitaw), and potatoes (Burbank variety) for our traditional weekend nilagang baka (boiled beef) treat. He did the cooking himself, dumping the beef with bones with marrow in them, and the veggies in a very large stewing pot, and lovingly tending the wood stove until the boiled beef was fork tender. To keep the sitaw together, he tied them with a string, complete with a short handle so that he could retrieve them from the stew in one batch.<br /><br />Last night, we bought a pack of short ribs and a pack of soup bones (with some meat on them) from our favorite Ralphs supermarket in Glendale. We've not had nilagang baka for about two weeks, and for us two weeks was a week too long without nilagang baka. I am chowing down on it as you are reading this blog. Bon appetit!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-91290053985725195892009-09-18T12:20:00.000-07:002009-09-19T22:44:36.862-07:00What Culinary Delights Await in the Places of My Youth<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbZ137addHYq8VuDbcbS5i4fPP-zrEKaebEBuIceHf8QGnmY3_K2jFtFVr6dyl4KoSURWhpuwb5_nBNL3AJ_dKzYN14fsqBGG_8s2tKUHXynpnbYD7d44RhHCJA2q7gViWUpAbW3K5YzYg/s1600-h/DSC_9596_2486_edited-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbZ137addHYq8VuDbcbS5i4fPP-zrEKaebEBuIceHf8QGnmY3_K2jFtFVr6dyl4KoSURWhpuwb5_nBNL3AJ_dKzYN14fsqBGG_8s2tKUHXynpnbYD7d44RhHCJA2q7gViWUpAbW3K5YzYg/s200/DSC_9596_2486_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382919808098829922" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGBO0RJ-_M41DGe1W__i4UtufOFYgzUsx1QKXvOAuCyvUoP4CVOP6V2Nx9ZMWPid3bcT95h-9UFknAQZlzHVS7HFtHD7XyL1WPttPkcbEr7kuBtuPrczeP-p5MVDCF-3VnDD4jd3Xu2mY/s1600-h/Bulalo+Soup+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 164px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGBO0RJ-_M41DGe1W__i4UtufOFYgzUsx1QKXvOAuCyvUoP4CVOP6V2Nx9ZMWPid3bcT95h-9UFknAQZlzHVS7HFtHD7XyL1WPttPkcbEr7kuBtuPrczeP-p5MVDCF-3VnDD4jd3Xu2mY/s200/Bulalo+Soup+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382918501451412914" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkPSKDdyiefkDNL2NSyqzzGBdrzqxn1pWo-Jk1tJ3HCrb4Ib6BB68O4-KwI6ZC3RIdMw2plLrP5VcjVAlPpvKuw-ytwhyphenhyphenjL5Nzahyphenhyphen1ID3EvAfhHxs1_MTu6NfilWvGTw2owL3nLCqGUIbi/s1600-h/Pagi+5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkPSKDdyiefkDNL2NSyqzzGBdrzqxn1pWo-Jk1tJ3HCrb4Ib6BB68O4-KwI6ZC3RIdMw2plLrP5VcjVAlPpvKuw-ytwhyphenhyphenjL5Nzahyphenhyphen1ID3EvAfhHxs1_MTu6NfilWvGTw2owL3nLCqGUIbi/s200/Pagi+5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382918178724976898" border="0" /></a><br />As I laid the last piece of garment in my used American Tourister travel suitcase, which I purchased for $40 from the UCLA Thrift Store in West L.A., I reflected on ways to go around the 5o-lb. weight limit on check-in baggage and the 15-lb. limit on hand-carried bags. I had earlier packed my green Domke F2 bag with all my photo gear, including a small camcorder, several lenses for my digital SLR, and assorted accessories. The weight hovered in the 15-20 lbs. I had also stuffed my laptop bag with a 5.7-lb IBM Thinkpad and battery charger (bought on eBay), some software in CDs, and three digital voice recorders, and two small notebooks down to a total weight of 15 lbs.<br /><br />Technically, I am over the limit for my hand carry items by 15 lbs. because I packed two hand-carry bags. In a panic, I unlock the American Tourister and I pull out one denim jeans, three dress pants, four T-shirts, three long-sleeved shirts, several handkerchiefs, and in their place, I dump 10 lbs. worth of photo gear: flash, alkaline batteries, a couple of lenses, etc. I call my friend, Vics, and I ask him how strict the airlines are regarding hand-carried bags. "Don't even think about it," (going over the weight limit) he tells me sternly. "It's going to cost you."<br /><br />So what am I to do? I need those photographic paraphernalia and computer stuff. In desperation, I pick some of the gear that I think I can live without, and decide to scuttle the plan to haul every piece of equipment that I deem essential: the Coquin and other trick filters, the high capacity Quantum batteries, even the underwater film camera. So when I board the Philippine Airlines PR 103 flight to Manila on Wednesday, I will be carrying my digital SLR around my neck, two lenses in large front pockets of my photojournalist's vest in order for me to take as much of my photo essentials as possible. "Good idea," offers Vics, when I tell him about my sly plan. "They are not going to weigh you," he says, laughing.<br /><br />I will also carry a pair of Reeboks sneakers, and a nylon windbreaker in a shopping bag. My daughter says, that OK. So I am set. I tell her that I would dump two items -- a fishing reel and a spool of fishing line -- in her own travel suitcase. I am pretty much covered.<br /><br />Vics, who visited Manila a couple of years ago, tells me how to not attract the attention of bad elements who will be on the lookout for items like cameras and laptop computers. "Do not put them in your regular camera and laptop bags," he cautions. "Put them in a backpack, especially if you are taking public transportation."<br /><br />When I first visited New York in 1983, I felt the same apprehension about carrying my camera gear in the open while sightseeing in the Big Apple, so I borrowed a cheap-looking burlap bag from my aunt, in which I stashed my expensive gear. I soon discovered that most of my fears were unfounded. I hope that Manila would be a kinder and safer place. After all, I had lived there for 37 years without losing my wallet. But, you never know. So I will be on safe mode, especially when traveling solo.<br /><br />I don't think that I would be confident enough to drive a car in Manila, not having done so in more than 20 years, and knowing how some Pinoys drive in a reckless way. So I will be taking public transportation most of the time. I would take a ride in the much-talked-about Light Rail Transit system, maybe take an air-conditioned tour bus to Baguio City. The City of Pines (used to be) holds a long-standing fascination with me. I do not know how the city on top of the Cordilleras looks today. But my memories of Baguio City have been mostly romantic and unforgettable.<br /><br />When I was in college in the mid-60s, I made my first trip to Baguio City to attend my first College Editors Guild (CEG) convention there. It was held at the Teachers' Village. I was then one of the editors of the Advocate, the weekly student newspaper of Far Eastern University. There was no hot water in the showers of the dormitories. In the morning I would hear the blood-curdling screams of the hardy souls who braved the cold showers. I also met a comely college editor from the University of Santo Tomas who hailed from Pampanga. We became an item, and that made the three-day convention a little more interesting. I still remember her name, but I will not reveal it here for the sake of domestic entente.<br /><br />I had made many trips to Baguio City in the ensuing years, and that city holds a special place in my heart, having honeymooned there in 1983, for one, and having spent many memorable summer vacations there when I was still a bachelor. I also have discovered some of the culinary secrets of that city during these peregrinations, including the popular hole-in-the-wall called "Slaughterhouse," close to the city's public market. I have savored the best nilagang baka (illustrated above) and fried steak in all my life in that unpretentious establishment. It was called "Slaughterhouse" because it was adjacent to one, which explained why their beef always tasted so fresh. I am not sure if this diner is still there, but if I visit this city, I would certainly look for it.<br /><br />One of my Facebook friends, writer Babeth Lolarga, lives in this mile-high city now, and she has taken painting as an avocation. I met her during the 70s, when the Philippines was reeling from Martial Law. We used to play tennis at the courts in UP Diliman, and from the way she played, (she was a beginner) I deduced that it would take her many years to learn the basics. So my other friends and I used to tease her, "ten more years." The taunting did not bother her though, and that's how I remember Babeth. More recently, we-reconnected in Facebook, and the distance between us had been narrowed.<br /><br />I may also visit my other hometown of Samal, Bataan, where I studied high school. St. Catherine of Sienna Academy, my HS alma mater, had grown larger from the time we graduated there in 1964, say my classmates. That school was the best in that province during our time. Founded by a former Catholic military chaplain, SCSA was like a military school for boys and girls. It was the only private high school in Bataan that required students to learn two years of Spanish (conjugations, mostly), and attendance in Sunday Mass every week. One of my classmates, Lito Villanueva, a vaunted basketball player during our time, had sent word through a classmate who is based in Chino, that he would want me to visit Samal during my Philippine vacation. Looking back, I tend to favor his invitation because Samal, a seaside town, holds a lot of culinary memories for me. This is the place where I learned the value of self-reliance and culinary training. I used to fish its many bangus (milkfish) ponds, catching giant tilapia with a bamboo fishing pole when the owners were not around. I had caught hundreds and hundreds of blue crabs by hand there when the sea was on low tide, and I had ridden shotgun with a fisherman in his pumpboat, while trolling for gasang (tiny seashells) that were fodder for the ducks in the town's many duck farms.<br /><br />The trolling method of fishing is indiscriminate, catching all forms of sea creatures, including sea horses, shrimps, and many kinds of fish, big and small, and it was my duty to sort them out, separating the edibles from those that were considered trash.<br /><br />Samal is also the town where I learned to cook pesang karlitan (poached baby shark with bok choy and cabbage), and pinais na page (stewed skate with alagaw leaves, illustrated above). Living in California, I pine for these traditional seafood dishes that only Samalenos can make. This is another reason why I would consider visiting Samal. I would like to eat pinais na page and pesang karlitan in a home setting in its place of origin.<br /><br />I have many more stories to tell about the places of my youth. But they would take so much space and test the limits of your concentration. So I will say adieu for now, and leave some morsels to your imagination. Until next blog. Bon appetit!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-86543688246609510332009-06-12T09:39:00.000-07:002009-06-13T23:13:42.610-07:00Pala Casino & Resort: You Could Win at its 10 Restaurants Too<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaDf0VXXOD4UzF3DnO2sNB0QA0WK2KTRWr7z2FbAfagcznTjEgSMZriZJisNcHmwFOBTu9RInpIJCMHofi1BWR6UwQezL1Q13o-xrq_qZEQHNnarEkLCtRsIFUwoCM7dgv0GLgrJJ-l7F6/s1600-h/DSC_9450_2242_edited-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaDf0VXXOD4UzF3DnO2sNB0QA0WK2KTRWr7z2FbAfagcznTjEgSMZriZJisNcHmwFOBTu9RInpIJCMHofi1BWR6UwQezL1Q13o-xrq_qZEQHNnarEkLCtRsIFUwoCM7dgv0GLgrJJ-l7F6/s200/DSC_9450_2242_edited-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346510455625287458" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCuOFn0P3m7jGt6E79JsPjL4OVAYASQtbkE6jEzRIK4I5f-xtsVIg7wakuGE3QZPdTs0loClpI7xsCQD_LwG8bRM1TQ1zGY81CEN8OAQ1AhfgJp-n1mm_RZP-xFYaYl6EbNbigUkzusupq/s1600-h/DSC_9448_2240.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCuOFn0P3m7jGt6E79JsPjL4OVAYASQtbkE6jEzRIK4I5f-xtsVIg7wakuGE3QZPdTs0loClpI7xsCQD_LwG8bRM1TQ1zGY81CEN8OAQ1AhfgJp-n1mm_RZP-xFYaYl6EbNbigUkzusupq/s200/DSC_9448_2240.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346509538876811538" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHfVwYWNEutAFTchINbYmDWFfEbLBCAgNPS8XPR2NkRLN6AganHFZqVeHD5oG_8OrqLrWGhumKibEQ_CUfXpCbWAlcyLPm8Sb68uxlbo-SxnWcofUQSA5wZmMrYSYDRvS3uOVXtPM5yCUe/s1600-h/DSC_9443_2235_edited-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHfVwYWNEutAFTchINbYmDWFfEbLBCAgNPS8XPR2NkRLN6AganHFZqVeHD5oG_8OrqLrWGhumKibEQ_CUfXpCbWAlcyLPm8Sb68uxlbo-SxnWcofUQSA5wZmMrYSYDRvS3uOVXtPM5yCUe/s200/DSC_9443_2235_edited-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346508453295445138" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNfnsoIvlLUouhJQUjTonzIU5cjBDHkvbAQ6PFyTAPuHiOF1MnOtLs1s4Y7HL6al2kCv0JBAHQDLgmb1qr_XNDiDQHIveqhhiy707AGKtWCn9MYExUto4mpf6mH1_L5Hd556wv3OlmJAuh/s1600-h/DSC_9429_2221_edited-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNfnsoIvlLUouhJQUjTonzIU5cjBDHkvbAQ6PFyTAPuHiOF1MnOtLs1s4Y7HL6al2kCv0JBAHQDLgmb1qr_XNDiDQHIveqhhiy707AGKtWCn9MYExUto4mpf6mH1_L5Hd556wv3OlmJAuh/s200/DSC_9429_2221_edited-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346507583944364546" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBTCrOxH3Lh-cBENBa-9oGLfUYdLOK5Z-lfDjqeyb27Tb3iEsFVn6DH_UDmbbGea5y89vQIfvm33ueGI3CJ2oJpunYYsbIG1Vxr2UszQixyBoCLlOMmKzzTVSKfXPmyPo3VWu-ApmCZkPy/s1600-h/DSC_9393_2194_edited-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBTCrOxH3Lh-cBENBa-9oGLfUYdLOK5Z-lfDjqeyb27Tb3iEsFVn6DH_UDmbbGea5y89vQIfvm33ueGI3CJ2oJpunYYsbIG1Vxr2UszQixyBoCLlOMmKzzTVSKfXPmyPo3VWu-ApmCZkPy/s200/DSC_9393_2194_edited-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346506601218927730" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLpMTIq2EvxCC1YBmTTqGeoMW7wIe60dzKJGCQ2z88YtDMNbo5Wxvd65Jsmp7ZaA6JFpCMVyKJOXaWVhN2jIifcOXL7lFOlQpJu5oCS_yVKrxDkIjzMZ0qxSyKEs4J1ylLuB5eFhbpmHKK/s1600-h/DSC_9375_2180_edited-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLpMTIq2EvxCC1YBmTTqGeoMW7wIe60dzKJGCQ2z88YtDMNbo5Wxvd65Jsmp7ZaA6JFpCMVyKJOXaWVhN2jIifcOXL7lFOlQpJu5oCS_yVKrxDkIjzMZ0qxSyKEs4J1ylLuB5eFhbpmHKK/s200/DSC_9375_2180_edited-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346504534400491298" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjrynGNOVxpCy7ppNYsPfKWajZ8uITSshZIgXa1w-x4F_A36VqTgSSyKesDtkucZqg2boWnJKKuv1oci3fZi0oHUccPM1u9T8tVmz-DXtqTO07ohQmNCoJzem-Idw79T0wVGua3MTENFad/s1600-h/DSC_9423_2218_edited-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjrynGNOVxpCy7ppNYsPfKWajZ8uITSshZIgXa1w-x4F_A36VqTgSSyKesDtkucZqg2boWnJKKuv1oci3fZi0oHUccPM1u9T8tVmz-DXtqTO07ohQmNCoJzem-Idw79T0wVGua3MTENFad/s200/DSC_9423_2218_edited-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346503240859396066" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisSFpPOoJtbSKdqUzAm1AzO16R2D6lWtUHoA3PRHv4yK5Oq-j2ra8dVyr9ZefH0ZUt2y0dEJsi8WDKldhfvHoLubUvCHn3YjQnO6OUbXi93koUAL4nZLQqP9mHiE77JbVSRnwdkXwutkAZ/s1600-h/DSC_9390_2191_edited-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisSFpPOoJtbSKdqUzAm1AzO16R2D6lWtUHoA3PRHv4yK5Oq-j2ra8dVyr9ZefH0ZUt2y0dEJsi8WDKldhfvHoLubUvCHn3YjQnO6OUbXi93koUAL4nZLQqP9mHiE77JbVSRnwdkXwutkAZ/s200/DSC_9390_2191_edited-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346500360763334018" border="0" /></a><br />When I found my way to the locker room of Pala Spa, I opened my assigned locker, and I was greeted by a welcome card that had my name on it; a bottle of drinking water, and an artfully folded beige-colored bathrobe. I struggled out of my clothes down to my underwear, put the bathrobe on and waited for the next surprise in this wonderful one-day visit to Pala Casino & Resort. The invitation-only trip would include a tour of the hotel's different amenity-level rooms and suites, the business center, events center, several restaurants, and the casino floor, culminating in a "progressive" dining schedule that would feature some of the offerings in the resort's 10 restaurants and bars.<br /><br />I almost missed this tour because of a persistent cough that began a week earlier, but to forego this once-in-a-blue-moon treat would be a shame. I do not get to be invited to a luxury spa treatment very often. In fact, the last free facial I had was some five years ago, at Gandi's clinic in Glendale, California, my hometown. Those in the know -- mostly women -- including my technician, a beautiful lady by the name of Monica, suggested I have a facial every week. And I thought, was that a commentary on my bad skin? I almost laughed out loud. "On a journalist's salary? You've got to be kidding," I whispered to myself.<br /><br />Because this treatment is free, I willed myself to relax and enjoy the whole procedure, all 45 minutes of it. I thought that I could get away by slipping into the bathroom on top of a T-shirt and skivies, but I was wrong. Monica asked me to take the T-shirt off, while she stayed out of the room. I found out later that the treatment included a massage of my upper chest and back areas, and my arms and hands. I looked around the room, out to the open, adjacent space outside, all the way to the swaying eucalyptus trees beyond, and I settled on the warm massage table, something akin to being sedated before a surgery in the operating room, minus the sedative. I let Monica do the talking and the stroking.<br /><br />The operative words here are "peel" and "lift." These are what my face needs, anyhow. Monica takes control, applying a thin coat of exfoliating gel with fruit acids over my face, neck and chest, just barely avoiding my eyes and lips. Sometimes the gels feel cold, sometimes they sting mildly.<br /><br />She sprays the room, and the space around my head with jasmine scent. It permeated the small room and stayed on my face even after I stepped out of the spa room. It was a good scent. She then covers my eyes with a gauze that's been soaked in rosewater, then she begins stroking my face and forehead with circular movements of her fingers. She tells me the strokes are said to relax and relieve stress.<br /><br />She follows this up with an application of cryo-elastic mask, which contains Vitamin C, to lift, lighten and erase age spots (how apt). The mask stayed on my face for about ten minutes. Monica then peeled the mask off. I did not see what the mask had stuck on it, after it was lifted from my face. I guess years of accumulated dead skin and grime. Although there was New Age music playing over the PA system, and the gently swaying eucalyptus trees beyond the spa room were supposed to lull me into a sleep, I remained awake.<br /><br />After she was done, I thanked Monica profusely, and promised that I would come back to give her a tip. I stroked my face with my hand to feel the smoothness and firmness that I expected would be the result of the treatment, and I was convinced of the facial's efficacy. My self-esteem must have attained a quantum leap. Monica suggested that I buy some of the gels that she used in my facial so that I could continue the treatment at home. But after I found out how much they cost, my heart sank. I politely declined. Maybe later, I could buy my own home kit and radically bring the cost of facials down, as suggested by my friend, Grace Walker. But until then, I would remain without regular facial treatments.<br /><br />After I emerged from the spa, I headed to the casino floor to try the 1-cent machines in the smoke-free area in front of Mama's Italian Restaurant. I did not win, but my $2 investment lasted me more than one hour of entertainment. Pala has one of the largest selections of slot machines in every denomination.<br /><br />It was now 5 p.m. and time to meet our hosts again in front of the registration desk. They would take us around the hotel, including three different-size rooms and suites with different amenity levels, and the Pala Event Center, where concerts and such are held. Then we would proceed to "Mama's." Here pastas are made from scratch in one corner of the restaurant in full view of the diners.<br /><br />At 7 p.m., we all repaired for the first of the "progressive" dining lined up by our hosts. Waiting for us at "Oak Room" -- a steaks and seafood restaurant -- was a gaggle of chefs, and Pala Casino CEO Bill Bembenek, who welcomed us profusely. Mr. Bembenek is especially proud of "Choices," the buffet restaurant, which was recently renovated under a $100 milliion expansion. "Choices" is now the largest buffet restaurant in Southern California. It has been expanded to 20,000 square feet, with eight live-action cooking stations -- American, Italian, Asian, Mexican, Seafood, Soups/Salads, Desserts, and Specialty. On any day, "Choices" features 200 different hot and cold food items.<br /><br />At "Oak Room," we were treated to sushi and sashimi freshly made at "Sushi Sake," a full-service sushi bar, just around the corner from "Oak Room." Next came one large quesadilla lovingly made by Chef Jaime de Alba of "Amigo's." There were bottles of warm and cold sake and white wine to go with the tuna tartare and the salmon and tuna sashimi.<br /><br />I am almost full after the "Oak Room" samplers. "Choices" buffet, and its 200 different food items, would be our next and final stop. I have dined here twice before, and the food arrays were always overwhelming. With its recent expansion, "Choices" beckons much, much more. Lots and lots of shrimp cocktail, Alaskan crab legs, tender and succulent roast beef, ham, fried chicken, Italian pasta, Pacific Rim cuisine, cakes and pastries, ice cream, etc. I had five shrimp cocktail, one small slice of roast beef, a few pieces of sauteed mushrooms, and a tall glass of iced tea. If we had not been plied with Japanese sushi and sashimi at "Oak Room" an hour earlier, I would have had enough intestinal fortitude to tackle a fraction of the 200 food items at "Choices."<br /><br />For non-Californians, Pala Casino & Resort is located in Northern San Diego County. It is about a one-and-a-half-hour drive from Los Angeles through two freeway routes. It is some fifteen miles from another resort town, Escondido, and twelve miles from Temecula, a wine country destination in Southern California that is also famous for its annual hot-air balloon festival.<br /><br />The community of Pala is about six miles off the South15 Freeway, a north-south artery that begins in California's San Bernardino County and wends its way down to the city of San Diego. The casino and resort is situated within the shadow of the Palomar Mountains, and in the fall, the trees that surround the establishment assume the bright yellow and orange colors of autumn. Close by is a horse and cattle ranch that also raises a token herd of American bison. It is such a sight to behold in this part of the United States that is far removed from the prairies of Montana and Wyoming. It is a rustic place that would delight avid photographers.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-26521339059023144562009-05-28T10:41:00.000-07:002009-06-03T12:03:15.834-07:00"A Book of Her Own, Words and Images to Honor the Babaylan" by Leny Mendoza Strobel<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghO4oFHGeBAq8gBSNJmGtTOIJ_8sSjIGC-qGHlo2vQalp81dfgzX6qiwFQNyU7Qte_NME5oXN4Ob6oaXiXTvd2FoiMcaMnklgcpYMYfQ2VEDOZXOGajS0RzZhRHnrw2XqcVjpUT7XoZy-k/s1600-h/IMG_2944.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghO4oFHGeBAq8gBSNJmGtTOIJ_8sSjIGC-qGHlo2vQalp81dfgzX6qiwFQNyU7Qte_NME5oXN4Ob6oaXiXTvd2FoiMcaMnklgcpYMYfQ2VEDOZXOGajS0RzZhRHnrw2XqcVjpUT7XoZy-k/s200/IMG_2944.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343178211844755314" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj9WnjprBRLCHV-7OoyOpH1615zah70OSyRnCmWFGHznaY9rhyLXlfxslGSF11ZlQVFmmjwsWt88ttdrR9C6InK_8vS-hggC_RFCMM1F8W-HGZx1XvjSwypPZDZsjtlu1gI9lLdq9wVc_J/s1600-h/IMG_2909.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj9WnjprBRLCHV-7OoyOpH1615zah70OSyRnCmWFGHznaY9rhyLXlfxslGSF11ZlQVFmmjwsWt88ttdrR9C6InK_8vS-hggC_RFCMM1F8W-HGZx1XvjSwypPZDZsjtlu1gI9lLdq9wVc_J/s200/IMG_2909.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343177414607767826" border="0" /></a><br />A couple of months ago, while attending a book event at one of the tony restaurants in Ports O' Call in San Pedro, I bumped into Leny Strobel. I did not know her, but from the way she said my name ("Oh, Rene Villaroman from the PR Office"), I found out that she really did know me. We had worked with the same company-- San Miguel Corporation -- during the 70s until I left and became a freelance journalist in 1984.<br /><br />"I worked with Dick Sotelo," she told me. I knew Dick Sotelo (Head of SMC's Human Resources Division), and probably everyone in San Miguel did. Leny said she was one of the correspondents of Kaunlaran, the SMC monthly employee magazine, where I was one of the assistant editors. My heart sank because, honestly, I did not have a recollection of her, but at the same time, I felt flattered that she had remembered me after more than 30 years. But it was downhill for me from that point on.<br /><br />Leny had always wanted to be a journalist during the time that she was working as Dick Sotelo's executive assistant. I am sure there were hundred others like her in our company that wanted to fill our shoes and show that they had the writing gene in them. We thought then that we were the cream of the crop, at the top of our game in the corporate communications industry, which was partly true. The Kaunlaran is an award-winning employee publication, and at one time, some of its writers, including myself, have been honored by the Philippine Council of Industrial Communicators (PCIC) for our excellent feature articles.<br /><br />But none of these honors and achievements could approximate, or even come close, to the body of work and various other feathers-in-the-cap that Leny had plucked after she had left SMC and immigrated to the US in 1983. Leny had parlayed her passion for writing and research into masters and doctoral degrees here. She had gotten married to a white American-- an earth scientist from Montana-- and as an assistant professor, she now teaches American Multicultural Studies at Sonoma State University in California.<br /><br />I am bowled over by Leny's body of work, and in one of them, her book, titled "A Book of Her Own, Word and Images to Honor the Babaylan," Leny published a compilation of her writings in different forms: poems, essays, musings, journal entries, magazine articles, and letters to fellow writers and artists. It is lushly illustrated with ethnic line drawings and black-and-white photographs. In the book, you will find a list of her favorite writers, and questions asked of Filipinos by Americans. One particularly loathsome question she is asked is, "Did he buy you from a catalog?" or "Do you eat dogs?"<br /><br />I did not purchase her book during the book event, but our encounter had triggered in me a desire to look deeper into her philosophies and core values. I was silently attracted to the babaylan principles and values. Ours was one of those serendipitous meetings that produced a productive collaboration rather than just a torrent of nostalgia.<br /><br />The first thing that I asked Leny in the question-and-answer session that followed her 45-minute talk at the book event was the meaning of "babaylan." She explained that "babaylans" were shaman/medicine women who occupied revered positions in the ancient villages of the country. "Historians write that matriarchal societies ended at the beginning of the agricultural era 10,000 years ago," Dr. Strobel said in her speech. "Matriarchal societies are non-hierarchical, egalitarian and deemed the relationship to the universe and all species as sacred; with the rise and evolution of patriarchy, these feminine values and energies were repressed and exited into the narrow spaces of expression under the control of patriarchal institutions and systems."<br /><br />After hearing her talk about some of her philosophies, and after reading her book, I can see a pattern in Leny's "search" for ways to shake off the remnants of colonization, and she continues that search even after she had immigrated to the US, while studying for her masters and doctoral degrees here, and even now, while moving around her milieu as an assistant professor married to a white man. In her present scheme of things, she still considers herself belonging to the "others" category, and in her book she talks about how she had tried to please some of her white friends early on by trying to mimic them, but admits that her earlier attempts at assimilation into the "white" world were failures.<br /><br />Her book is also a testament to Leny's undiminished nationalism, advocacy, and reverence for the babaylan spirit and its associated values, among them "Kapwa" (fellow human), "Bathala Na" (God's will), "Loob" (inner self), "Dangal"(honor) and Pakikiramdam (enmity).<br /><br />Leny talks about her strictly Methodist upbringing in a barrio in her native Pampanga, in Central Luzon. Pampanga is one of the thorns at the side of the Spanish administrators during the Spanish occupation of the Philippines, and that province's rebellious streak had coursed in her family's veins. Her grandfather was one of the first Methodist converts in her barrio, and he had kept that faith entrenched in his family, all the way down to Leny's generation, and farther down the line, I believe. She relates that being a Methodist in a predominantly Catholic province was quite a burden to carry, but they kept at it.<br /><br />I am not much of a poetry reader, much less, a poetry writer. I had enjoyed and understood the depth of Leny's ideas when she laid them out in prose. The poems left me dangling, for lack of a better description. I felt that if she had written them in prose -- like her encounter with a Pinoy couple while jogging in her Sonoma County neighborhood -- the piece would have answered every question in my mind and filled in all the details about the encounter with the couple. But what the heck. Leny had to address a wider reader base with a multifarious reading preferences. I was trained as a journalist. I needed all the answers that a reporter could provide.<br /><br />Leny Mendoza Strobel's "A Book of Her Own" is a chronicle of the author's early realization that it would be difficult for a citizen to fit in a given societal setting if he/she carries the confounding remnants of a colonized past, as in 300 years of Spanish, and 100 years of American occupation. But her early American assimilation experience, although quite personally disappointing, were no bars to the author's drive and commitment to defeat those demons and achieve her goal of decolonizing herself and as many of her Filipino and non-Filipino friends who had been immersed in a similar national experience. I know she will continue to sing the praises of the principles of the babaylan spirit and the values that it espoused.<br /><br />At this point, it is safe to say that she has achieved decolonization nirvana? I do not believe so. But she is forging ahead.<br /><br />"A Book of Her Own" is available at Philippine Expressions Bookshop, a Palos Verdes-based importer and distributor of books by Filipino and other authors writing about their roots and their Filipino experience.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-19326382232330011682009-05-22T12:31:00.000-07:002009-05-22T16:01:30.094-07:00When in Hawaiian Gardens, Do as the Natives Do; Go to J Korean Barbecue Restaurant<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWFgBj5HYkk5TfHlE6lRuANsLY8fxDeY7MjUph-M6C5aA7_a9-yDjyiAT3PKGlp0W-kgxD5icXBQe9UwaB0STsqLB4Mks_qwONm189RbsocmmdlxtZS5ygjN2tnCuTG3a5vedPWwGG8fyN/s1600-h/DSC_8741_1636_edited-1-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 164px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWFgBj5HYkk5TfHlE6lRuANsLY8fxDeY7MjUph-M6C5aA7_a9-yDjyiAT3PKGlp0W-kgxD5icXBQe9UwaB0STsqLB4Mks_qwONm189RbsocmmdlxtZS5ygjN2tnCuTG3a5vedPWwGG8fyN/s200/DSC_8741_1636_edited-1-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338755625238667906" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJK2uiBqUSyXByBmc4vi9Uk8NdjVKEsWlTHPQdEZIrJUsUuCy_MmVi5CtK-bnDWatcqMZAq5xGr64fAa102pwIwSYK-DVy2StZ0nH94UXDgJBIjVJLX14WtE2bSML7r1PSzSSmL5TfkBex/s1600-h/DSC_8709_1617_edited-1-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjNGuMRkBf4ac8sYCp6XjpEJjkXzRLsnlt9IEP_10UDSXFxAcdHrpuUKq5IjrO0GmqTAVWnN0qqDETtkEdFYFxVsr9Vc8RMNkrg7MOzrMZydEC3G-BpIH6onhaxOu2a187jjVZSVdMdK4r/s200/DSC_8702_1610_edited-1-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338747427949205394" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyad0hcF_cjhS1YXjq4hBQPHTbQy3GOaU_rysySFAhtF1O2-EuFG5fT74BQKDeBEP840wEwkbP6qfXBda7mLIlv0xrCIZN6nU-fJExGhTaPAf-LQZqFLGm139th0QMETCt554TBrGQJkae/s1600-h/DSC_8697_1605_edited-1-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyad0hcF_cjhS1YXjq4hBQPHTbQy3GOaU_rysySFAhtF1O2-EuFG5fT74BQKDeBEP840wEwkbP6qfXBda7mLIlv0xrCIZN6nU-fJExGhTaPAf-LQZqFLGm139th0QMETCt554TBrGQJkae/s200/DSC_8697_1605_edited-1-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338747182138309378" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj49nPjmHjRoIX6_1cObGVzaHzXT3hz4WXUSdQpu6uWHiaACcGT5ltlKRzN66-XoKNlUzb0UpItMgNi62kMPM7ybtV2tpIxOErL-kJe37cc6fcEnRTMsn6CXnnWK87GPhwtthI_7IwGke9s/s1600-h/DSC_8696_1604_edited-1-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj49nPjmHjRoIX6_1cObGVzaHzXT3hz4WXUSdQpu6uWHiaACcGT5ltlKRzN66-XoKNlUzb0UpItMgNi62kMPM7ybtV2tpIxOErL-kJe37cc6fcEnRTMsn6CXnnWK87GPhwtthI_7IwGke9s/s200/DSC_8696_1604_edited-1-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338746877604520578" border="0" /></a><br />There is no denying that all-you-can-eat dining is the most delectable culinary invention during the last two decades or so, with hundreds of these restaurants sprouting like mushrooms in the Los Angeles basin. The early players, which opened their restaurants in the early 80s, have ruled the restaurant landscape and have retained their distinct markets. However, the phenomenon had given birth also to a sub-specialty -- Korean-style Barbecue all-you-can-eat dining. During the intervening years between the early 80s until the late 90s, more and more all-you-can-eat restaurants of different persuasions had been established, some specializing in Chinese, Thai, even Filipino foods, and a combination of these. The Japanese restaurants took a while to jump into the fray owing to the more expensive ingredients required in Japanese cuisine. But a few daring Japanese establishments were forced to join the scramble in order to retain their competitiveness. Years ago, a friend took me out dining at Genghis Khan BBQ restaurant in Alhambra, and that first experience had converted me into a Korean Barbecue devotee, even driving all the way to the South Bay city of Lomita when Genghis Khan opened a branch there.<br /><br />I'm not your typical all-you-can-eat gourmand, in the sense that my capacity to ingest pounds over pounds of food is limited to the a certain degree by the slowly receding size of my stomach, so I am on the lookout for all-you-can-eat establishments that do not pursue the practice of unlimited dining because it is fashionable and it is what other restaurants do.<br /><br />My recent meanderings had taken me to the city of Hawaiian Gardens, close to Cerritos, where J Korean BBQ Restaurant was in the thick of introducing a very popular beef barbecue (in South Korea). Andy Moon, the amiable owner, informed me that "kolbi" (barbecued marinated rib-eye steak) is the most popular barbecue item in his homeland South Korea. Not that Andy is new to kolbi, and boolgogi, two very popular and succulent barbecue iterations. It is because he wants to liven up his business and to cater to another segment of diners that prefers all-you-can-eat dining, minus the related excess and unchecked gluttony that are the stock-and-trade of other bigger establishments.<br /><br />Over at J Korean BBQ, the concept is pursued not with wild abandon, but with a little more restraint. Don't get us wrong here. J subscribes to the concept, the only difference is that his servers, and sometimes Andy himself, would be on hand to serve every customer's pick for as many times as the customer asks for the array of meat barbecues and other delicious entrees, including pork and chicken. Just like in other AYCE restaurants, each customer pays a fixed amount for each combination that he orders.<br /><br />When I dined there one afternoon recently, I was very lucky to find Andy, being that it was close to three in the afternoon, and the restaurant was serving just a handful of customers. There are three big screen television sets tuned to Travel Channel and Animal Planet. It serves liquor and other alcoholic beverage, and it is open for business from 10:30 a.m. until 10:30 p.m. everyday. The tables are large and can accommodate six to eight diners, and most of them are topped with built-in gas-fired hibachi grills. After he is served with the uncooked, marinated beef, the customer takes things into his own hands and grills the meats himself.<br /><br />The entire dining area can accommodate around 90 diners at one time. When a customer orders a particular entree, say the newly introduced "kolbi," a server brings a tray of the marinated rib-eye steaks and sidings that include pickled radish with diced red chili; pickled cucumbers, marinated soybean sprouts, potato salad, and kimchi -- fermented napa cabbage. There is also a green salad with vinegar, soy sauce and honey dressing, and steamed rice. This combo is quite substantial: the rib-eye steaks alone weigh approximately two pounds, or one kilo. That's pretty big. Here's the surprise: the whole package is only $21.95 plus tax.<br /><br />From my point of view, that one combination should suffice to feed me and my family (wife and daughter), leaving just enough space for the desserts (not included). But that is not the coup d' grace. It's the taste and the rib-eye's reputation as one of the most tender beef cuts of all. Andy, in his desire to prove the superiority of his culinary offerings to me, made me taste kolbi that's been marinated for 24 hours versus kolbi that's been soaked in its marinade just minutes before grilling. Well, the difference is like night and day. The beef that's been marinated for 24 hours was the hands-down winner.<br /><br />Andy tells me that they make the marinade from scratch. He was even generous enough to tell what ingredients went into the marinade. But I will not disclose that information to everyone because I would want you to go to J Korean Barbecue to savor Andy's kolbi barbecue in person. However, having said that, I would tell you that it was one of the best rib-eye steak barbecues I ever had. I also enjoyed the sidings, particularly the pickled radish and the kimchi.<br /><br />If you are not into kolbi, or boolgogi ($9.99 per person, indefinitely), you may opt for the other offerings, like the thin-sliced beef brisket, sliced pork neck, marinated beef, non-smoked bacon, and marinated short-ribs for $14.00; the thin sliced beef brisket, sliced pork neck, marinated beef, non-smoked bacon, marinated chicken, marinated pork, marinated beef short-ribs, sliced beef tongue, also for $9.99.<br /><br />J Korean BBQ is located on the northeast corner of Norwalk Bl. and Carson St., in the city of Hawaiian Gardens. It is about three-quarter mile east of the Hawaiian Gardens Casino. "This restaurant has become a regular with casino dealers," says Andy. "They come here to dine after their shifts."<br /><br />For somebody that routinely drives some twenty odd miles to have an enjoyable dinner, I am not at all discouraged by J Korean BBQ's distance from my home in Glendale. After all, on weekends, when there's relatively little traffic on the freeways, almost every point in Los Angeles County feels like a twenty-minute drive. J Korean BBQ is on 11201 Carson St., Hawaiian Gardens, CA 90716, with telephone number (562) 865-1178.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-33745385181354434132009-05-16T07:07:00.000-07:002009-05-16T07:07:10.317-07:00Cuisinero Los Angeles: I missed Chef Cat Cora at the "Vegas Uncorked"Grand Tasting Event at Caesar's Palace<a href="http://cuisinerolosangeles.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-missed-cat-cora-at-vegas-uncorked.html#links">Cuisinero Los Angeles: I missed Chef Cat Cora at the "Vegas Uncorked"Grand Tasting Event at Caesar's Palace</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-26037229821777535012009-05-16T04:03:00.000-07:002009-05-16T23:16:30.342-07:00I missed Chef Cat Cora at the "Vegas Uncorked"Grand Tasting Event at Caesar's Palace<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4xdaJiNVy6O5l0DWHwaLLWmR257GKg0ofr62j5FJXzukEfcAAi9H3GF0OfsmoP1oiwBjiQIRZG2v_B5lSpz4Ah6rQXC60y-FIB-WwVhBDhSIlP9IlXwsyPeMLv6ef1Ds47vN_5vE1jv3c/s1600-h/DSC_8504_1497_edited-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWtzYv9M5VARyGwA7Fxk3IVMJxFoDohuKU7jjX0SL_lCjDpf9NqxWfk_Lpsf8sbmaV6Ra6oPsLAblmKWug63i01qYFCSXxJYDMoc4SkQ2z-J8Rqrsux6K_rfyPC19WTwfQBZOhExsKZ6wi/s200/DSC_8491_1484_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336402616122268818" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo3AvNI99D5GoYuHoBs1TUwc4mIc10HN7NTLtsApusmP9EA0E_6tTo1fFjsGqMMYMf0tYWYg5saGUD7-u0tU1bJadoGSrviwuxEqqBROvklMqh7WySd9hd3vVcGb1JlknGG8MYkkKYKzHf/s1600-h/DSC_8489_1482_edited-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo3AvNI99D5GoYuHoBs1TUwc4mIc10HN7NTLtsApusmP9EA0E_6tTo1fFjsGqMMYMf0tYWYg5saGUD7-u0tU1bJadoGSrviwuxEqqBROvklMqh7WySd9hd3vVcGb1JlknGG8MYkkKYKzHf/s200/DSC_8489_1482_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336402394781345314" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeoO_8tWhvSJPtvvTFqSY5FhcNMQxMXeqtc28RgPPy3y-O5KhlTEZI9AfteBilzzNAYTh8eEj_QSDn_0YQYJ0UhqgOL_0OMqkGo7QOqaa_lwCwdq8dH-WVyZb0_XLuMRzHXuhNsmyAjRD0/s1600-h/DSC_8540_1530_edited-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeoO_8tWhvSJPtvvTFqSY5FhcNMQxMXeqtc28RgPPy3y-O5KhlTEZI9AfteBilzzNAYTh8eEj_QSDn_0YQYJ0UhqgOL_0OMqkGo7QOqaa_lwCwdq8dH-WVyZb0_XLuMRzHXuhNsmyAjRD0/s200/DSC_8540_1530_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336402162341860306" border="0" /></a><br />I was quite unprepared for the scope of "Vegas Uncorked," a grand tasting event featuring world-famous chefs at Caesar's Palace on May 8th. And I would have missed the opportunity to be a part of that culinary event if not for the generous offer of a Fil-Canadian foodie friend to buy a ticket for me. "Vegas Uncorked" would be for us longtime friends the centerpiece of our reunion (after forty years). We almost missed getting to Caesar's Palace on time, having missed the entrance to the the hotel's parking entrance twice; my friend's husband was ready to burst. Getting off the car, he made a beeline to the restroom. "Let's meet at the poolside," my friend reminded her husband, and she and I headed instinctively in the direction of the poolside. Getting there, we were astounded by a long line of people who were walking slowly towards the venue. I stayed in line while my friend retrieved our tickets. When she came back she had her husband in tow.<br /><br />It's a sultry evening; there is a slight breeze very slightly cooling the open-air venue, and we were dressed appropriately for that kind of weather. Several high amp speakers are blaring Motown-era songs. Two beautiful girls with bottles of Avian water met us at as we stepped into the poolside area. I accepted one Avian, which I stashed in my journalist's bag. It turns out later that the bottle of Avian would be very helpful.<br /><br />Raffy, my friend's hubby shows me a plastic snifter as we plunged deeper into the crowd. I do not know him well enough to say that he was a teetotaler, but it sure looked to me that he is getting ready for a night of getting in the spirits. I am getting worried that we would get separated in the crowd, which I estimated at around a thousand foodies, tourists, vendors and marketing types, and I asked my friend if her cell phone was on. She assures me to not worry, as the venue is not that huge.<br /><br />I am quite disoriented, or mesmerized, or both during the first 15 minutes. I take a long look at the arrays of liquors, wines and food samples around me, not picking anything up until I have made one full circle around the pool, jostling, dodging and appreciating the beautiful ladies who were already in the thick of the culinary event. In my limited and unscientific count, I estimate that the wine and drinks people equal the number of dining establishments that participated. Caesar's Palace outnumbers the other nearby hotels with as many as ten restaurants, including Mesa, Rao's and Beijing Noodle No. 9.; Valentino Las Vegas at The Venetian; Wolfgang Puck's Spago and Chinois at Caesar's, Postrio at The Venetian, CUT at The Palazzo, Lupo at Mandalay Bay, and Wolfgang Puck Bar & Grill at MGM Grand; Strip House at Planet Hollywood are participants too. So is Table 10 at The Palazzo; Society and Botero at Encore, and Fleur de Lys at Mandalay Bay, and many others. Or to tell it another way, the foregoing represents the number of business cards that I managed to collect while taking notes, pictures, and grabbing what I can in a mildly chaotic scene.<br /><br />The first drink that I pick is a vodka. At least that's how I remember it. I am not sure whether that was a good idea, as my mother had always admonished me to not drink before eating. I make another circle, this time in a counter-clockwise direction, looking, sniffing, and deciding what to try first. The venue is redolent with the scent of grilling meat. Primerib, I wished. I stop at the Beijing Noodle No. 9 table and pick up my first food sample. It is a shrimp tempura-like preparation that the person at the counter describes to me is coated with a special batter. It is delicious and crispy. I picked a second.<br /><br />All that time, I am wishing and hoping to see in person two of my favorites chefs, Bobby Flay and Cat Cora. But no luck. On my fifth or sixth full circle, I finally spy Bobby Flay at the MESA booth. He is very handsome in his immaculate white chef's coat with his name in stylish letters on the chest. I also notice the beautiful girl at his side. She is spreading kosher salt on the table where Bobby Flay's offerings -- shrimp ceviche ensconced in a half-coconut shell -- are laid out. It is a work of art. I pick up one of the ceviches, and without so much fanfare, I begin eating the crustacean. There are two shrimps in my sample. I know Bobby Flay's southwestern style, having watched him in the Food Network all these years. But I have never dined in any of his restaurants. So what follows is a wake-up call. That ceviche is hot. I mean it is nuclear hot. If I were to write about it years down the road, I would still remember its being very spicy hot. I remember the bottle of Avian water in my bag and I pull it out to douse the fire in my mouth.<br /><br />I saunter to Wolfgang Puck's table at the northern edge of the pool. He is not there but three chefs representing his restaurants are. They are serving desserts, and I pick one up. It is a chocolate mousse that slightly cooled the ceviche's embers in my mouth. All in all, I have probably tasted more desserts than entrees. The mini-burgers being served to a long line of people at the BLT booth hold no attraction to me. The pork chops and steaks grilling at Botero's beckon, but I can't stand the wait, so I move on. By about 8:30 p.m. I am walking aimlessly, just taking in the other sights: ladies in fashionable dress, in animated conversation with their equally fashionably garbed companions. The crowd is generally friendly. Maybe it's due to the relaxing effect of the spirits, which is flowing in unending abandon. Raffy offers that it would have been a better deal to eat at a restaurant with a targeted menu, and I tend to agree with him. I mean I am good for ten Beijing Noodle No.9 crispy breaded shrimps. But to sneak that many times would have attracted the attention of other foodies who are in line, if not the chefs at the booth themselves. There are other entrees that I tasted, whose names and descriptions have escaped me. They are not as memorable as the crispy breaded shrimps at Beijing Noodle No. 9, and the fiery ceviche at MESA. And I missed Chef Cat Cora.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-21617933076075436822009-05-02T10:49:00.000-07:002009-05-02T12:46:35.741-07:00Kulinarya," Claude Tayag's Other Book, Puts Philippines in World Culinary Map<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-dasrYFw24SZ-WopslXrflGiGKvJlxkIhi0sWZQnkQPM3zVAbqQGBAcwmCuS2M6X89XXUprZwVXchwXZcBt24nM18G8EAlTIQLPLccl5KjqXuToY6JXIXaabtargb8ipWc1jvUztt7z6V/s1600-h/IMG_3300_0919_edited-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-dasrYFw24SZ-WopslXrflGiGKvJlxkIhi0sWZQnkQPM3zVAbqQGBAcwmCuS2M6X89XXUprZwVXchwXZcBt24nM18G8EAlTIQLPLccl5KjqXuToY6JXIXaabtargb8ipWc1jvUztt7z6V/s200/IMG_3300_0919_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331307646133916274" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKBKkH8JO4B3njb8a2ASR8DsfZserJ1Bt-8vGlovVZsYVZBC3OlwhtJMJrOA-aaaTU9iFk-Z8FHtlK1a0yd5LtHJ5yGqAz6XjeBOqsGIbZUn9wg1yT3k5_84nQPOIIRdfvaDZVzvfN2SN/s1600-h/IMG_3297_0916_edited-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKBKkH8JO4B3njb8a2ASR8DsfZserJ1Bt-8vGlovVZsYVZBC3OlwhtJMJrOA-aaaTU9iFk-Z8FHtlK1a0yd5LtHJ5yGqAz6XjeBOqsGIbZUn9wg1yT3k5_84nQPOIIRdfvaDZVzvfN2SN/s200/IMG_3297_0916_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331307396822926674" border="0" /></a><br />The moment I saw "Kulinarya" during the "authors' night" event at the Philippine Consulate last Friday, I knew I had to have it. I am a book junkie, and I particularly cannot resist picture books. "Kulinarya" is a guidebook to Filipino cuisine, but I called it a picture book because, well, the illustrations in the book are superb photographs taken by Japanese photographer Neal Oshima, who had made Manila his home in the last 30 years or so.<br /><br />It is amazing how the Philippines can run neck-to-neck with the West in almost every endeavor (except in car-making) including in the publishing industry. Well, I am being naive having professed my surprise. We are probably the most Westernized country in the world, next to the United States itself. And that is meant not in a derogatory way, but was meant as a compliment.<br /><br />If you displayed "Kulinarya" with other American-published books, say, in a display case at a Borders or a Barnes & Noble bookstore, you would be hard-pressed to not believe that it was a book written and designed by Filipino culinary writers and designers. The only non-Filipino involvement were the inputs of Japanese photographer Oshima. But having lived in the Philippines for so long, I would venture that Oshima himself should be a big fan of adobo after all these years.<br /><br />As mentioned in my first blog of Claude Tayag's culinary books, he is one of six culinary writers responsible for writing portions of this guidebook. But being the painter and artist that he is, Tayag also is the book's food stylist. His culinary perceptions and Oshima's photographic expertise have combined to give this seminal piece of culinary literature a stamp that spells E-X-C-E-L-L-E-N-T.<br /><br />Tayag said that many foreigners who have been to the Philippines and tasted Filipino food were wondering, how come, Filipino cuisine has not been launched to a higher level in the gastronomic arena. The reason, according to Tayag, is the way we Filipinos present our cuisine. Tayag said that foreigners who have sampled Filipino cuisine invariably left Manila with a lackluster impression of our foods.<br /><br />One of the reasons "Kulinarya" was published was to address the Filipino cuisine's lagging popularity when arrayed with, for instance, Chinese, Thai, and Japanese cuisines. "What we need to do is create a strong branding for Filipino cuisine," Tayag told book lovers and foodies who trooped to the Philippine Consulate last Friday. "We need to brand Filipino food in such a way that when one sees it, he recognizes it as Filipino cuisine," he postulated.<br /><br />"For instance, in Japanese cuisine, you are given a plate of tempura; you know it's tempura, not camaron rebosado," Tayag said. "You, right away, know that its crumbly batter is very different from the camaron rebosado's batter. And the number of pieces (of shrimp tempura) is always three; and three pieces of vegetables, and its always like that," Tayag said.<br /><br />"Kulinarya" seeks to establish that branding practice, or a more exact definition and standardization of cooking and preparation practices, like uniform cuts and sizes of the ingredients; standard cooking times, and standard measurements of other ingredients and seasonings; and the meat cuts, too.<br /><br />"For example, adobo; you would find adobo in so many styles -- a different version in the north, and other variations in the south. This book tries to establish the correct procedures, and at the same time, the right ingredients; the best ripeness of the fruits, the correct maturity of the vegetables, and the correct cuts of the meats," he said.<br /><br />Explaining his role as stylist, Tayag said, one of his responsibilities, was to make the dishes look appetizing and mouth-watering, "so that when you see it you want to eat it right away."<br /><br /><br />Showing a color photograph of pinakbet in the book, Tayag said it was a new take on the famous Ilocano vegetable dish. "Here I used a modern, not nouvelle, image of pinakbet. The traditional pinakbet, as Ilocanos prepare it, is overcooked; the vegetables are wilted," Tayag observed. "We are not saying it's no good; that's how the Ilocanos want it. But in the modern kitchen, you want your vegetables looking fresh, crunchy, and not overcooked."<br /><br />He then pointed to a red cherry tomato (on the pinakbet), saying that the addition of that ingredient was for the purpose of adding a bit of bright color to the dish. He notes that Ilocanos never use squash in their pinakbet. "It's a very simple dish made up of leafy vegetables, like the slimy saluyot, but it is a succulent, complete and nutritious dish," Tayag observed. The Tagalog and the Kampampangan versions use diced lechon kawali (fried pork), and other variations that I have eaten -- and cooked -- used grilled fish, more likely, mudfish and hito (Philippine catfish).<br /><br />"These are the things that you'll discover in "Kulinarya," Tayag explained. "The most special thing about Filipino cuisine is that it is flavorful and diverse," he said. "There's the Chinese influence; the Spanish, even the Mexican; and of course; the Malay, which was native to the country."<br /><br />"Everything in this book was cooked in a regular kitchen. Kulinarya is an easy-to-follow manual. More than a cookbook, it's a manual because it describes and talks about the dish itself, and how it can be served better," Tayag commented.<br /><br />"I hope that this book will promote a Philippine culinary revolution," Tayag offered. "An American friend of mine, the wife of a high-ranking American Embassy official, once commented to me: 'Filipino food is so emotional.'" "Why is that? I asked her. "<br /><br /> "Look at us. I am going to have dinner by myself, probably a plate of salad, and at my house, I hear the (Filipino) staff giggling when they are sharing a meal," she told me.<br /><br />"This is how we are as Filipinos; the meals are always to be served, not eaten like a sandwich by yourself in a corner. Our meals are always shared and eaten family-style, the same as in other Asian countries," Tayag said.<br /><br />If you enjoyed, or hated, reading this blog, please let me know by e-mailing your comments to: renevillaroman@sbcglobal.net. Thank you and bon apetit!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-62831025784017445982009-05-01T15:59:00.000-07:002009-05-03T11:52:18.502-07:00Claude Tayag's Book, "Food Tour" is a Delicious Read, Indeed<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7hDO0g1MWwOGcDEu3BHQm3bKKvJ2iZyB0T9RvzjNWcd5GAoykR0earhrpZvib4Tum-sBomPWyMqnen7QSf3xucER4tz238S3CAU_RovzBjt5zL3fV6i0ho4X8ZOTikA4hcFmNGrBhGBsW/s1600-h/IMG_3288_0907_edited-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 189px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7hDO0g1MWwOGcDEu3BHQm3bKKvJ2iZyB0T9RvzjNWcd5GAoykR0earhrpZvib4Tum-sBomPWyMqnen7QSf3xucER4tz238S3CAU_RovzBjt5zL3fV6i0ho4X8ZOTikA4hcFmNGrBhGBsW/s200/IMG_3288_0907_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331031986755262274" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUnEqjw8Ut0oi1VypVllZGQC0VVGBQuIVMrTNPLyzhMElGmLvtCBnkya07klTQ9KCaujSpgN6aWflSLzLtb42xIrQ0pMaPc4K6JUFyQjvFZDftJTxiTP4317o7wTFm3afMQD11ArI2eNWT/s1600-h/Pagi+4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUnEqjw8Ut0oi1VypVllZGQC0VVGBQuIVMrTNPLyzhMElGmLvtCBnkya07klTQ9KCaujSpgN6aWflSLzLtb42xIrQ0pMaPc4K6JUFyQjvFZDftJTxiTP4317o7wTFm3afMQD11ArI2eNWT/s200/Pagi+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331021679339646290" border="0" /></a><br />As I read the first twenty pages of Claude Tayag's book, "Food Tour," I couldn't help laughing out loud, to the extent that my daughter, who was using my desktop computer a few feet away from where I sat, would give me a look that said, "is he off his rocker?" It would be patronizing to say that the man could write. But I will say it anyway. Claude Tayag, the chef, sculptor and artist can write. And he is very engaging, funny and witty to boot. Many, many years ago, I got into a reading habit because I was very fortunate to begin with the novels of Nobel Prize-winning writer John Steinbeck. I particularly loved his novel, "Cannery Row," which was about a coterie of middle class Americans who lived and worked in the town of Monterey, near Salinas, Steinbecks' birthplace. But what made this novel more unforgettable to me was the fact that the storyline would have passed for a Filipino's own story. John Steinbeck was a down-to-earth kind of novelist and he had a simple, tongue-in-cheek writing style that readers found very engaging. If you had read his memoirs, "Travels with Charley," you would know what I am talking about.<br /><br />But, let's get back to Claude Tayag and his equally gifted wife, Mary Ann. Claude calls her darleng, and, given the opportunity, as in the article that she wrote in "Food Tour," titled, "She Said, He Said," she held her own versus her husband when she defended the culinary traditions of her side of the family from the ribbing that it got from Claude in his article, "He said, She Said."<br /><br />The journalistic jousting between husband and wife could be compared to a poetic duel, an ancient Balagtasan tiff, if you will, in which the protagonists brought each other down with words in stead of swords and pistols.<br /><br />The other thing that enamored me with Claude Tayag's book is that it opened up in me a bulwark of nostalgia, (which I have a lot of) and it tweaked my journalistic fervor to continue writing about food. This blog has been dormant for about two months, and a foodie friend who had encouraged me to write this blog in the first place had chastised me recently for slowing down. Thank you, Claude for your book. It gave me the tap on the wrist that got my creative juices flowing again.<br /><br />While I was reading the first article in "Food Tour," I was reminded of parallels in Claude and Mary Ann's partnership with my own family. My wife too is a writer, although she never tried writing about food and cooking. She assistant-edited the Life and Style section of the defunct Philippine Daily Express with Tere Orendain, but the closest she got to writing about food was to make the headlines and captions for some of the "packaged" food and cooking feature articles that their section printed weekly. Which reminds me, she caught my attention, when she called me at my office in the public relations office of San Miguel Corporation and asked me for a recipe that used some of the SMC products.<br /><br />I took that call as an invitation to get to know each other better. During those years (early 80s), I was just one of her many corporate contacts; one of the "glamor boys" of the SMC PR department. I usually came into their office in the Port Area, press releases in hand. After I had paid homage to Pocholo Romualdez, the paper's editor-in-chief, I made a beeline to her desk and handed her a press release. She dutifully printed most of them. We PR writers were careful not to make the press releases blatantly commercial. Back then we called the practice product publicity. In reality, they were designed to sell more San Miguel food products, sans advertising costs.<br /><br />At any rate, after I sent her the recipe that she requested, I asked her for a dinner date. To my surprise, she took the lead, and we dined at Josephine's Restaurant along Roxas Boulevard. That was the first surprise. The second surprise was that she offered to pay for our dinner. Those were the women's liberation years. I called it beginner's luck. I still remember to this day what we ate at Josephine's: inihaw na baboy (grilled pork) and corn soup and rice.<br /><br />The first time I visited her at her family's house in Pasay City, she cooked dinner, and one of the entrees she prepared was camaron rebosado. She was unaware that I cooked. She obviously used too many eggs and very little flour in the batter, so it was very thin. The rebosado looked like an omelet because the batter formed around the shrimp in a large thin circle.<br /><br />The second time I visited, I readily won the approval of her dad when I cooked a fish dinner for the family. I can't recall what particular fish entree I prepared. But his father took the bait, hook line and sinker. He was an avid fisherman and a cook too. I may have impressed him as a rare bird.<br /><br />Needless to say, that from the time we got married, a little less than one year after we began dating, I assumed the role of the family cook. Having seen her initial attempt at the kitchen (the failed camaron rebosado), I knew that I would be the dominant cook in the family.<br /><br />In their family yard there is a kamias, a guava, and an alagao tree. But I remembered the alagao, a rare tree (in the city) that sprouts fragrant leaves. My mother used alagao leaves as an ingredient in pinais na pagi (skate) when we were living in Samal, a coastal town in the province of Bataan. I had learned to cook pinais na pagi by watching my mother prepare them when I was a high school student. The public market was a ten- to fifteen-minutes walk from our house, and she would buy the fresh skates, already cleaned, but the liver, which was made into a sawsawan (dipping sauce) with patis, was still in the cavity. But the slimy outer membrane had been scraped off by the tindera.<br /><br />One day, my girlfriend and I --her name is Tet Santos -- took the jeepney to nearby Baclaran market, where we were lucky to buy a whole skate the size of a bandehado (serving platter). I cooked the pagi, using some fresh leaves of alagao that I plucked from their tree, and that cemented my preferred status in the Santos household. Tet, who is citified, did not eat the pinais na pagi, but her father, an avid fisherman and cook, was quite impressed at my culinary demonstration. (Please search past blogs for my recipe of pinais na pagi).<br /><br />Unlike Claude and Mary Ann, Tet and I did not duel very much over food and how they are cooked. I pretty much made the cooking and marketing decisions. We both loved to eat the same things: Chinese, Filipino, and Japanese food, especially sashimi, which, when we could not afford the prices in the Japanese restaurants, we would buy one to two-pound chunks of fresh tuna at the Baclaran market; grab a pound of fresh seaweeds for salad, and we would feast on sashimi to our heart's content. Our only luxury were the large bottles of Kikkoman soy sauce that we bought from the Cash and Carry store in Makati.<br /><br />When we moved to California in early 1986, we readily found the same foods and produce that we used to buy in Manila markets, and in bigger sizes: the largest bangus (milkfish), white shrimp and prawns, even bisugo (golden thread), that I cook into paksiw, with slices of talong (eggplant) and ampalaya (bitter melon). Hasa-hasa (mackerels), pompano, bacoco (goo) and large and small pusit (squid). We moved from cooking camaron rebosado to cooking tempura.<br /><br />Nothing has changed much since we got married in 1983. I continue to be the cook, and she has stopped cooking camaron rebosado, and most everything else. Except the occasional dessert. She makes an excellent fruit and buco (young conconut) salad.<br /><br />I do crave feedback. Please e-mail me at renevillaroman@sbcglobal.net if you liked or hated my blog. Thanks. Rene VillaromanAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-45203086354502670452009-04-30T06:51:00.000-07:002009-04-30T06:51:38.467-07:00Cuisinero Los Angeles: Culinary Artist Claude Tayag Wows Angelenos with His Book, "Food Tour",<a href="http://cuisinerolosangeles.blogspot.com/2009/04/culinary-artist-claude-tayag-wows.html">Cuisinero Los Angeles: Culinary Artist Claude Tayag Wows Angelenos with His Book, "Food Tour"</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-41505679597979159332009-04-29T13:42:00.000-07:002009-05-02T09:06:22.058-07:00Culinary Artist Claude Tayag Wows Angelenos with His Book, "Food Tour",<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiocaMjjNdNmGOGUaNo3aWXzZwmArWoHzmeajAi-3Dh3DBNKU1kjpNvp3JLN4i1PsMQQAnNN2nFxpp9go0ao97b_i5AucD5aBfezrbhjjTO8QkRM80TSEM1S8Vj2AiInz-Ni-uu1C-dRNSj/s1600-h/IMG_3291_0910_edited-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 186px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIxLNjSzh4aIvvdy9edQm7OR-49PmPdhkeqrrCC3DeAQ2AEnRE5ZKWhW-4hFN0NHQCzTgmgIZ_CefP6T6poIeP2Nn1IucXGliiGULh3LwBggQAmTRhhG-7ZfsfRVQLVyWueAPPk_Kmv28p/s200/IMG_3285_0904_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330242178667207938" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7OFNJ432DvhFAN7NwW4AKn8HYjujJeBwu33DUwTBNA2AG-kHVPZhIvhl0Yw-9Tgbsjr4Ds0ryIHq613ZfpRFSz12k-L3gTxvQgtv8pZv1cmx96kAFseBWwfhEUgTIIR9txC_GLrV6VlCh/s1600-h/CRW_3277_0896_edited-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 198px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7OFNJ432DvhFAN7NwW4AKn8HYjujJeBwu33DUwTBNA2AG-kHVPZhIvhl0Yw-9Tgbsjr4Ds0ryIHq613ZfpRFSz12k-L3gTxvQgtv8pZv1cmx96kAFseBWwfhEUgTIIR9txC_GLrV6VlCh/s200/CRW_3277_0896_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330241903382456178" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9p2utdwsAoRr5yCYNKyef-SdaPQvNHis4vLq8rcIwIkCPXYAsRwZSBfma9awGldrBrHDZEt8dfHKvV_nayRydQ1DMYsYeuoQhXZkGDNjPxwcMF3rUmwI-FMJ5tEZMuZdKxCblu99emXZ_/s1600-h/CRW_3276_0895_edited-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 185px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9p2utdwsAoRr5yCYNKyef-SdaPQvNHis4vLq8rcIwIkCPXYAsRwZSBfma9awGldrBrHDZEt8dfHKvV_nayRydQ1DMYsYeuoQhXZkGDNjPxwcMF3rUmwI-FMJ5tEZMuZdKxCblu99emXZ_/s200/CRW_3276_0895_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330241640047080418" border="0" /></a><br />Culinary expert Claude Tayag is a rare gifted individual who navigates through a maze of talents and skills and makes a dent in each discipline that he is involved in. This Angeles, Pampanga native is a chef, a culinary writer, a furniture designer, a painter and artist, and a restaurateur to boot. Whew! That's quite a handful. As if that is not enough, he is also fun to be around. A raconteur of the first order, Claude is naturally at ease talking about his craft, his family, and his most recent food and travel adventures.<br /><br />He loves food, creating them, and searching for the best examples of down-home Filipino cooking wherever they can be had. For instance, a few years ago in 2006, Claude and his beautiful wife, Mary Ann, and three others, traversed the length of the Philippines, from their native Pampanga, in Central Luzon, all the way to the largest city in the world (in terms of land area), Davao City, in the big island of Mindanao. These peregrinations in search of the best dining places in the country are retold in one of two books that he introduced to Angelenos during the annual "Author's Night" at the Philippine Consulate in Los Angeles.<br /><br />The "authors' night" is an annual project of the Philippine Expressions Bookshop, a mail-order importer of books written mostly by Filipino authors and other foreign authors who write about their experiences in the Philippines and with Filipinos. The event precedes the popular Los Angeles Times-sponsored Book Fair held annually in the campus of the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) in Westwood. "Authors' Night" is a well-attended event that Linda Nietes and her husband, Robert Little, Jr., put every year.<br /><br />"This book," says Claude, holding a paperback copy of "Food Tour, A Culinary Journal by Claude Tayag," "takes you vicariously all over the Philippines. From the north all the way to the south. I would say it is the best way to see the countryside in the Philippines, next to being there in person." Claude added that "Food Tour" is akin to a tourism book, which talks about their experiences "in simple, plain English." He said the narrative is straightforward and direct. (I still have to read mine, which I had autographed by him). Claude calls these dining places, holes-in-the wall, "they are nothing fancy or sophisticated, and can be found in every town or city in the country."<br /><br />The food tour took 14 days, beginning with the first leg from Pampanga to Batangas City, in the Southern Tagalog part of Luzon where they took a ferry, in what is called "roll-on-roll off" (Ro-Ro) method of traveling over land and on the bodies of water that separate the islands in the Philippines archipelago. The Tayags drove a pick-up truck, stopping at cities and towns and hunting for the best dining places in some of their destinations. "It took us 14 days to reach the south," Claude recalls. "But there was not one single negative incident that happened to us," Claude narrates. "We traveled in a pick-up, and by day's end, the bed of the truck is usually filled up with produce that we picked up along the way, like durian, mangosteen, and rambutan."<br /><br />And how do they find the best places to eat? The secret is to have friends in the places that a tourist is visiting. "If you do not have friends in certain places, the next best persons to ask are the jeepney and taxi drivers. "I would ask my friends, if we had one meal to eat in their town, where would it be? Something like that," Claude says. "Or if not, we would ask a jeepney driver or a taxi driver where they would usually eat; after all they are the best persons to ask," Claude said.<br /><br />Even the notoriously unsavory stories from the south -- the killings, the bombings, and the Muslim insurgency-- did not faze the Tayags from visiting Mindanao. "None of those happened when we were in Mindanao," he said. "I would say, the most ironic thing happened when we were in Mindanao; we received news that there was a bombing in Makati," Claude said chuckling. "People in Mindanao are just as scared to go to Manila."<br /><br />I asked him about Tony Bourdain, who did a segment on Filipino cuisine in his Travel Channel show, "No Reservations" and Claude had very kind and admiring words for the sharp-tongued chef and writer. "Anthony Bourdain is a very nice person, a persona that is quite contrary to his television image," Claude attests. "He is very polite. He never demanded anything." Claude and some friends were the fortunate Filipinos who took Bourdain to the traditional Pampango restaurants in Pampanga, a food tour that culminated in a sit-down dinner at Claude's own "Bale Dutung" home-restaurant in the city of Angeles, where Bourdain experienced the delights and adventures of partaking in a traditional Filipino dinner that was cooked by Claude himself.<br /><br />"He (Bourdain) is very courageous; more courageous than some Filipinos, in trying everything that is served to him, and at the same time, he loved it," Claude said.<br /><br />Next blog: Claude Tayag talks about "Kulinarya," the other book in which he is one of the featured writers, and in which he did the food styling.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-66721230835034622782009-01-22T13:42:00.000-08:002009-02-03T17:47:54.411-08:00Chef Cece de Castro's Mini Cooking Demo at Island Pacific Supermarket<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6512eOwqJxfHdtIfPoveh0tRpkdtO8EYklpX2kkLPBmO0_CADORH7_m09cJ7wJPd4nVf4IbZyZYyILcHUSDDJ36pgd0zPjpdABzxythfkItZaIJfRiBD2s81pESCyEgv8Keo2-N9Lm9-O/s1600-h/Chef+Cecy+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 152px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilwoFDpBYsJg39Zv2Uc1DFMV9nMTAA0EoVDn6dvWf5JAG8LOm_zNMyTJxUyEtyPgomNl8Rony5wI0eDhDuPqELzb8WQj5NprV4Kf8H201Fl4RIsVaGpndEzEAx-iNyetGeoDKOl5PFQ8ov/s200/Chef+Cecy+%26+Me+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294257992490540802" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDz_cqw1kVZSjrdXndqX1lEtMII60ZxoZwxziF6SED4HrFaDhr04PVC3kwYKCQAT4Ui1la7P0Ys0vuPEG-yqXG3IiyUkCF5Adp3FGR4hdd9oQ4L4NBRToHFOGoc28p_yKZCE4VGJiee8MP/s1600-h/Chef+Cecy+%26+Students.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDz_cqw1kVZSjrdXndqX1lEtMII60ZxoZwxziF6SED4HrFaDhr04PVC3kwYKCQAT4Ui1la7P0Ys0vuPEG-yqXG3IiyUkCF5Adp3FGR4hdd9oQ4L4NBRToHFOGoc28p_yKZCE4VGJiee8MP/s200/Chef+Cecy+%26+Students.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294257687086591378" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwiP7zlMyElykpAJGA5TRnNYHrdI9XWbcHmYnJJD21fYCJKFzf3wSwiAUoxOXnyvvflcyde7224vkVLhd4XSMPuGGBC-0oScZNFEkwHaAhwSU51zrAXDZHm9OryACpff7t9wkZRrMAn4KV/s1600-h/Chef+Cecy+%26+friends+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 128px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwiP7zlMyElykpAJGA5TRnNYHrdI9XWbcHmYnJJD21fYCJKFzf3wSwiAUoxOXnyvvflcyde7224vkVLhd4XSMPuGGBC-0oScZNFEkwHaAhwSU51zrAXDZHm9OryACpff7t9wkZRrMAn4KV/s200/Chef+Cecy+%26+friends+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294257404920674482" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZeDssR7Hhqcnco79GnAhHsBLPXB_mxtzOJkcF6I1A2kPurvRvxlqwdibtlvWJuUat6O9I9h6BBfUhO8PthpcN5HicIjwYACMaEbYpO7AVn2hKVH41wsbEzgTD4ToFzTxXU5dtbkrtOJAZ/s1600-h/G5+Test+26.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 175px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZeDssR7Hhqcnco79GnAhHsBLPXB_mxtzOJkcF6I1A2kPurvRvxlqwdibtlvWJuUat6O9I9h6BBfUhO8PthpcN5HicIjwYACMaEbYpO7AVn2hKVH41wsbEzgTD4ToFzTxXU5dtbkrtOJAZ/s200/G5+Test+26.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294257071018055250" border="0" /></a><br />The other week, I received a call from FilAm Chef Cecilia de Castro. "I will be doing a mini cooking demonstration at Island Pacific Supermarket on Saturday," she said. "Would you like to join me?" she inquired. Of course I did in a heartbeat. The last time we talked in person was on December 13, 2008, when the Pampanga Day Commission bestowed her with an "Outstanding Kapampangan" award at the San Gabriel Hilton. On that evening we talked about projects that we could collaborate on. She as a trail-blazing FilAm chef, and I as amateur cook. One of the things that we had agreed on prior to December 13 was to make myself available for a cooking demonstration at her culinary school in Northridge. When I told her that I have a food and cooking blog (cuisinerolosangeles.blogspot.com) it started the ball rolling.<br /><br />Saturday's mini cooking demo was held at the activity center of the Island Pacific Supermarket in Panorama City, the same venue where "Ploning", the movie was screened free to the public in December. When I got there, a large pot of beef<span style="font-style: italic;"> sinigang </span>was stewing, and Chef Cecilia, assisted by a gaggle of culinary students who are attending her culinary school in Northridge, California, was extolling the benefits of an array of sauces and mixes made by the popular Mama Sita brand. The audience was made up of homemakers -- men and women -- a Disneyland pastry chef who is a friend of Chef Cece's, and some female students from Chef Cece's culinary school. (Chef Cece's next big cooking gig will be in February when she will assist celebrity chef Wolfgang Puck cook at the after-Oscar Awards "Governor's Ball" in Hollywood).<br /><br />The cooking demo, according to Chef Cece, was organized in about two weeks by her and "Kababayan L.A." host/producer Jannelle So. It was videotaped by Joey Gonzalez of DEMO (Diversified Entertainment and Media Organization) for future airing at KCSI Channel 18. It was a one-and-a-half hour cooking demonstration in which some of Mama Sita's mixes and sauces were featured, including the tamarind "<span style="font-style: italic;">sinigang</span>" mix, the <span style="font-style: italic;">Pang Gisa</span> mix, and the oyster sauce. Other pre-packaged processed foods like <span style="font-style: italic;">tocino </span>were also used, for instance, in a green salad, prepared by Chef Cece. When my turn came, I prepared a simple, easy-to-cook veggie stir-fry consisting of American broccoli, green pea-pods (<span style="font-style: italic;">sitsaro</span>) and mushrooms. I used the Mama Sita Pang Gisa mix, tossing the contents of a small envelope and adding 1/2 cup of water. No mixing, no slicing of onions and smashing garlic. No sweat.<br /><br />The audience participated, often asking questions on how the entrees achieved this and that consistency, color and taste. Chef Cece and myself quizzed the audience with simple questions pertaining to the entrees the demo participants had prepared, and prizes -- Mama Sita products -- were given away to everyone with correct answers.<br /><br />Cooking from scratch, using the freshest and homegrown ingredients, is the best way to go. But, let's face it, there are fresh ingredients like tamarind and <span style="font-style: italic;">kamias</span> that are not readily available in the States, unless you are fortunate enough to have a tamarind or a <span style="font-style: italic;">kamias</span> tree in your backyard. This is where companies, like Mama Sita, Pamana, Tropical, Pampanga Brand, UFC, McCormick and many others, come in. They process these ingredients into ready-to-use mixes and sauces freeing us cooks and homemakers from the task of finding and processing these indigenous produce so that we could cook an authentic <span style="font-style: italic;">sinigang</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">caldereta</span> or <span style="font-style: italic;">adobo</span>. They are time-savers, and yet, they retain their authentic essence and flavor. The tamarind <span style="font-style: italic;">sinigang</span> mix is really piquant, the adobo mix is savory, and the <span style="font-style: italic;">lechon</span> sauce is just right.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-205130181642273587.post-1323728464587895462009-01-07T16:55:00.000-08:002009-01-08T14:54:43.840-08:00Fine Dining is Alive in Cerritos' Issan Thai Restaurant<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM0D-9kYjJcZaXV6iCxoBj_0UPlITX-TEpp1J8h8DUJJHqpRSvR3ePmbSZIE7PVhm8BMmiD8y5EziyyEbuqs-G9F7GO7DsN5rUmTth1YBrT1Ah8COaFrgtOtSA1JPLPEneCluyRtd5d5Wx/s1600-h/Sam+Woo+9.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 123px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM0D-9kYjJcZaXV6iCxoBj_0UPlITX-TEpp1J8h8DUJJHqpRSvR3ePmbSZIE7PVhm8BMmiD8y5EziyyEbuqs-G9F7GO7DsN5rUmTth1YBrT1Ah8COaFrgtOtSA1JPLPEneCluyRtd5d5Wx/s200/Sam+Woo+9.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288794134409663554" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju7qv7gUR-KhahtHa-IScne38aaEfnd-VLpNlqZwfq72Pe6fWZlsU1Lo9Q4HiHSJaavI3_oYbutw52h7fO1ZNGSEdEawUaDnzKrHRSkekHycjH66aa1qBfMDs7zT9ya8NZh3qVx_jeSEte/s1600-h/DSC_7166.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju7qv7gUR-KhahtHa-IScne38aaEfnd-VLpNlqZwfq72Pe6fWZlsU1Lo9Q4HiHSJaavI3_oYbutw52h7fO1ZNGSEdEawUaDnzKrHRSkekHycjH66aa1qBfMDs7zT9ya8NZh3qVx_jeSEte/s200/DSC_7166.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288784399779736690" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOuw0DN9l3hgu92UTKF8eNiH433SYTUibjoWU7I3ullVJWGPbaXXniHkf_wEu9rMjp8QnqIvTHey_AiXaSvmrWqr50eD8P9T9axoJUVqb6sKylYN890I6K2rezPZGmc3Nmkb-eax6mu4t4/s1600-h/DSC_7168.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOuw0DN9l3hgu92UTKF8eNiH433SYTUibjoWU7I3ullVJWGPbaXXniHkf_wEu9rMjp8QnqIvTHey_AiXaSvmrWqr50eD8P9T9axoJUVqb6sKylYN890I6K2rezPZGmc3Nmkb-eax6mu4t4/s200/DSC_7168.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288784009438396002" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgtdhN0fSdMmd0VHpc_XlBvpCXk5LzZ3rcfn-kYSq0LV0T0YMmGHEJkgXdV-BRjMhGfRMPmaT0gWsnfu9Sl5f0ILqplmXpeiFvnC1PnYmCprAt5MLBhr09T6DV8qbvJRBZ9ytCNnQcbNj4/s1600-h/DSC_7169.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgtdhN0fSdMmd0VHpc_XlBvpCXk5LzZ3rcfn-kYSq0LV0T0YMmGHEJkgXdV-BRjMhGfRMPmaT0gWsnfu9Sl5f0ILqplmXpeiFvnC1PnYmCprAt5MLBhr09T6DV8qbvJRBZ9ytCNnQcbNj4/s200/DSC_7169.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288783697633198034" border="0" /></a><br />Thai cuisine, which is so popular in Southern California, has assumed a level of familiarity here that rivals that of Chinese cuisine. As a consequence, a few of the so-called "original" Thai restaurants in the Los Angeles area have lost some authenticity and novelty. I used to believe that Thai cuisine was engendered by a number of cookie-cutter Thai establishments that served <span style="font-style: italic;">pad thai</span>, chicken barbecue and<span style="font-style: italic;"> thom yum koong</span>. These restaurants are a dime-a-dozen here in Southern California, and despite the establishment of more non-franchised Thai eateries, these California icons have dominated the dining scene for so long as to dictate the Angelenos' culinary preference.<br /><br />In summer 2008, I was proven wrong when I was assigned to write a review of a newly-opened restaurant in the city of Cerritos. That restaurant is Issan Thai. After my first lunch there, I realized that fine Thai dining is alive and well and can be had in some restaurants in Southern California. Thai Issan's owner, a likable dyed-in-the-wool Southern Californian named Thomas Mulvihill, gave me a history lesson on the origin of his restaurant's name. Issan is Thailand's northeast region-- Mulvihill tells me -- where the culinary style is slanted toward spicy and hot. But his most welcome revelation was that Issan-style cuisine was his restaurant's specialty. The cooks, a Thai couple, are his mother- and father-in-law, Linda and Tony -- their Americanized names -- both fine, accomplished cooks in the Thai tradition.<br /><br />Linda, who had lived in Issan, is a stickler for that region's cooking practices, and Tony, who grew up in Bangkok, is more laid-back. He cooks the straight-up Thai dishes. Of the two, Linda is the outspoken and gregarious type. She tells us she is very proud of Issan Thai because of its adherence to the culinary legacy of Thailand's northeast region. "You go to Phuket (a northern Thailand resort city), and some of the cooks in the restaurants are not even Thais," she rails. What she is trying to say is that authenticity is her claim to Thai culinary nirvana.<br /><br />We ordered the shrimp rolls to whet our appetite (in photo), and it caught my attention because of the way the shrimp were wrapped, like seashells. We followed that up with the piquant<span style="font-style: italic;"> thom</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">yum koong </span>soup, as a foil against the winter chill, then for a main entree, the garlic chicken, and a fried rice. The garlic chicken came nestled on a bed of shredded Napa cabbage. The fried rice had a hint of curry, but the amount was not overpowering as to dull the taste buds. Probably a concession to us East Asians who are not used to too much heat in our food.<br /><br />Issan had recently raised its prices by about a dollar each for all their main entrees since they opened in Cerritos in 2008. But their portions are proportionately abundant, and I feel that avid Thai foodies like ourselves should pay a fair price for high quality and authenticity; these attributes are evident in their offerings and in the restaurant's ambiance.<br /><br />If there such a thing as fine Thai dining in the Los Angeles basin, it can be found in a few restaurants like Issan Thai. It is located at a strip mall called Fountain Plaza on South Street, a half-mile east of the 605 Freeway. Don't expect to find a fountain -- a lawn sprinkler is more like it. But there is ample free parking, and the establishment is open every day except Tuesdays.<br /><br />Linda and Tony have lived in California for many years and had cooked Thai foods almost all their lives, and a few years ago, in their original Thai establishment in nearby city of Norwalk. That restaurant had built a strong and devoted following among Latinos, Anglos, Asians, including a lot of Pinoys, before Tom decided to move a few miles west to Cerritos, right in the midst of restaurant row on South Street. Tom told me that some of these former customers had followed them to Cerritos. He even had some discerning words about the Pinoy's proclivity for Thai cooking. He said that the Filipinos' taste for food is more adventurous and he theorized he was not surprised that Pinoys loved Thai cuisine.<br /><br />Having been piqued by Tom's choice of Issan as a restaurant namesake, I did a little research and I discovered in "Thailand, The Beautiful Cookbook," written by Panurat Poladitmontri and Judy Lew, and photographed by Luca Invernizzi Tettoni and John Hay that, indeed, Issan (called Essan in the book) had figured prominently in Thailand's history, and not just in it its culinary legacy. "Indeed, more and more frequently, one hears connoisseurs of Thai cuisine proclaiming that northeastern fare is the best in all that country," the authors declared. "Typical Essan dishes can now be found on the menus of the smartest Thai restaurants in Bangkok, and many of those humble side-street food shops are crowded with well-dressed diners as well as taxi drivers," the food writers noted in the book.<br /><br />As in neighboring Laos, where Linda was born, and in northern Thailand, the food writers noted that glutinous rice is the staple, eaten either as a base for other dishes or as a sweet when steamed in a hollow piece of bamboo with coconut milk and black beans. Typical Laotian herbs such as dill or cilantro (coriander) also turn up as seasonings. "Perhaps in a sort of culinary reaction to their difficult lives, or perhaps merely because some of the traditional ingredients needed strong seasoning to make them more palatable, Northeasterners like their food not just spicy but very hot, and chili peppers are used with greater abandon than almost anywhere else," the authors noted.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13634345009623574288noreply@blogger.com0