Our childhood involved routine visits to see our family in Pampanga, Philippines. Baryo life in the province was a hot, tropical escape from California urban living. Each day was greeted with the syncopated crows of the neighborhood roosters, and the melodic calls of Taaahhoooo, bellowed into the air by the local street vendors. What always followed was the clapping of tsinelas smacking the heels of children who craved the warm snack of silken tofu, brown sugar syrup, and tapioca pearl.Ep. 2, Barkada: L.A.'s Exploding Filipino Food Movement
In Del Pilar, San Fernando, at my grandparents' home, our morning breakfasts were of local sweet pork longanisa sausage, torta talong (which is akin to an eggplant omelet), pan-fried bangus (milkfish), endless bowls of garlic-scented rice, and chili-spiced vinegar. On one particular morning, I recall my grandmother asking me, Have you ever had a tamale before?
Memories of home in California raced through my head, envisioning the steaming cornhusk-wrapped Mexican delicacy I first tasted at a neighbor's party. Of course! I responded, but she abruptly cut me off before I could continue, calling over one of the local kids to fetch us some tamales. In a heartbeat, the child returned with a steaming wrapped package in what looked like a green banana leaf. I gave my mother a perplexed look, to which she responded with a telepathic death stare that said, Just eat.
I got the message loud and clear, and began unwrapping this foreign treat. As I opened the banana leaf, the sweet aroma of coconut milk, rice and annatto engulfed the dining table. Inside, coconut-marinated ground rice served as the base, and in the center were slowly stewed onions and carrots, chicken, chorizo and a sliced hard-boiled egg. The mixture of ingredients looked familiar, but I couldn't recall ever seeing a tamale using this type of preparation.
Patis and the making of pochero. | Photo: Oriana Koren
I took a breath and went in for my first bite. I never felt so much cultural and gastronomic confusion in one morsel. My taste buds couldn't make sense of it. My palate yearned for the combination of spice, warm masa and succulent chicken - what I thought was a real tamale. Instead, the rich flavors of coconut, onions and carrots coated my mouth. The texture of ground rice was more delicate than the masa I was accustomed to. The chicken marinated in annatto oil, and bits of chorizo tasted foreign. As I took several more bites, I hid my confusion deeper into my belly and I looked at my family with a false joy. Delicious! I exclaimed, and reluctantly continued eating.
More From The Migrant Kitchen
Ukoy: A Filipino Fritter Side Dish
How We Know Who We Are : A Reflection on Preserving Culture with Chef Isa Fabro
Chirmol Recipe: Guatemalan Salsa, a Perfect Compliment to Carne Asada
1 of 3
next
The Filipino and Mexican tamale conundrum was one of many bewildering food experiences I've had in life. Researching for LASA, our team sought recipes, memories and experiences like this to learn the foundations of our rich, complex (and sometimes confusing) cuisine. During our developmental process for LASA, we constantly uncover numerous cross-cultural flavors and preparation techniques found in dishes from the Philippines. Those culinary connections of various dishes in Filipino cuisine can be found across different continents and oceans.
From a gastronomic perspective, throughout its history, the Philippines acted as a large stop for cultural food exchange. The Manila galleons of the Spanish Colonial era brought ingredients like chayote, avocado and papaya along with culinary ideas like the Mexican tamale to our shores, ultimately integrating these overseas food customs into our cooking. Over time, we replaced ingredients of the tamale with what was abundant in our native soil to make it our own. Filipino cuisine evolved by the intermixing of food brought along by traders, merchants, travelers and colonizers who passed through the island chain over the centuries. It is a melting pot and cross-cultural mash-up of Indonesian/Malaysian, Chinese, Spanish/Mexican and American food culture incorporated into local food traditions. Although centuries have passed, outside influence remains in our cuisine, ultimately adding depths of flavors and techniques unique to our culinary story.
Prior to the arrival of the Spanish in the 16th century, the 7,641-island nation was never ruled by one homogenous group of people or culture to establish a society with shared foods, customs and traditions. Instead, several tribes, maritime states and kingdoms such as the Tondo Kingdom of Luzon, Rajahnates of Cebu, and Islamic Sultans of Mindanao ruled independently from each other carving out their own territories in the region. Maritime Southeast Asia was based on customs of seafaring, trade, cultural exchange and migration. During this time, culinary practices in the region began to be established. Remnants of these food exchanges can still be seen today.
Indo-Malay Impact
A Filipino daily food custom, merienda, is a small mid-day snack or meal before dinner. Often you will find Filipinos having coffee and snacking on a warm savory empanada pastry or a pork bun siopao. Some seek something sweeter like my personal favorite snack, puto bumbong. This rice cake is made out of glutinous rice that is often a dark purple color due to the local black rice and ube (purple yam) in the dessert mixture. The rice is first ground, soaked and dried. It is then shaped and placed in a bamboo tube to be steamed. Coconut oil is used to coat the steaming bamboo vessel so the rice cake can be easily shaken out of the tube and still retain its cylinder shape. Once out of the bamboo tube, the puto bumbong is topped with muscovado sugar and freshly grated coconut. The result is a warm, so
