The Kinilaw Connection February 27, 2008
Posted by Alexander Sawit in Food & Drink.add a comment
By Alex Sawit
27 February 2008
Everybody knows Bochok. A member of that Friday trio of arguing scoundrels whom we fondly refer to as the Blue Babble Battalion, he’s one of the most assertive and loyal characters you can befriend at Cyrano. Put simply, I can’t think of any other Cyrano Friend whom I can ask on a moment’s notice, “Let’s go to some bar and pick a fight,” and not be surprised to hear my call to action immediately affirmed with a response of, “Okay, let’s go!!!” No wishy-washy double talk. He just goes all in with his chips.
Beyond the Shakespearean “band of brothers” camaraderie, Bochok is also an extraordinary, off the beaten path gourmet. If you want to talk anything and everything about Filipino food, look no further than the barstool he might be sitting on. He is an encyclopedic resource about the culinary traditions of the Philippines, offered to you in a condensed, easy to understand format. No fancy connoisseur terms. No condescending snobbery. He just tells it to you like it is.
So when Bochok dropped by, I made sure to ask his opinion about an intriguing topic of debate – a debate that raises a provocative question about the striking similarity between one of the great indigenous dishes of the Philippines and one of Latin America’s classic seafood snacks.
Kinilaw versus Ceviche: Which is the original?
Separated on opposite sides of the globe, kinilaw and ceviche represent a similar offering of zesty, lip-smacking seafood salad that has captured the attention of Western foodies and trend setters. Both dishes are made by marinating fresh fish or seafood in a souring agent such as lime juice or vinegar, causing an immediate chemical reaction that pickles the food or “cooks” it without heat.
Ceviche, which is made purely with citrus juice, is currently a favorite on the international food scene. In the U.S. ceviche has acquired a popular following, easily reflected by the growing number of New York bars that serve it as a chic snack as well as from the number of new cevicherias that have sprouted in major cities along the coasts. I’ve even read a write-up somewhere touting ceviche as the “in” food of the early 21st century.
Now I have to think that folks who would say stuff like that probably haven’t tried kinilaw yet. But I won’t argue about which is better. What interests me is the true origin of the South American dish. You see I’ve recently come across an argument, purportedly suggested by food historians, that ceviche is not native to the Americas and that it actually originates from Southeast Asia. According to the theory, the dish was brought across the Pacific a couple of hundred years ago by Spanish galleon traders and sailors, who picked up the original recipe in what was then the Spanish colony of the Philippines.
Interesting theory, eh? Given the potential for controversy that such a theory holds – not to mention the comical possibility this it could strain diplomatic relations between the Philippines and a couple of Latin American countries – it is important that we first tediously establish some facts before proceeding.
Enter good old Bochok, who temporarily abandons his glass of white wine to expound on the subject.
Kinilaw, he explains, is what the native dish is called in the Southern Philippines, from the Visayas to Mindanao. In the Northern Philippines, where Bochok hails from, the dish is called kilawin. In either case the name is derived from the root word “kilaw” which means “to pickle” (Bochok mentions that Ilocanos are renowned for making kilawin also out of fresh meat from goat, carabao and other livestock; for the purpose of our investigation, however, I am limiting things to seafood). In its most familiar form, kinilaw is made from meaty oceanic fishes like mackerel, tuna and marlin (any fresh seafood is welcome; oysters, for example, are popularly used wherever the shellfish is harvested). After slicing, the fish is marinated in vinegar and lime juice; different vegetables, herbs and spices are combined depending on regional tastes. The fish is then left to pickle for a pre-determined time.
Kinilaw made from talakitok (jackfish), marinated for 15 minutes before draining.
Most popular recipes call for hours of steeping to bleach the fish, giving its flesh that white appearance preferred by today’s diners. Afterward the dish is served as is, the marinade now functioning as a sauce to keep the fish moist. While Bochok appreciates kinilaw made in this fashion, he says that this is a modern interpretation. Traditional kinilaw, he emphasizes, has no “sauce.” Classical recipes never call for soaking the fish for a prolonged period; actually there is no soaking at all. Instead the fish is rinsed quickly in the vinegar-lime juice bath, minimizing the contact time between fish and liquid so that the flesh is “cooked” ever so slightly (fresh tuna, for instance, is allowed to acquire just a glow of pink). The dish is drained and the marinade discarded, leaving a refreshing salad of fragrant, marvelous semi-sashimi.
Even the choice of vinegar makes a difference, says Bochok. Modern recipes are usually confined to the mass-produced sukang puti (literally “white vinegar” but not the same as the white vinegar in Western kitchens) that dominates supermarket shelves and offers little character beyond face-puckering intensity. While this product rapidly bleaches fish to the whiteness preferred by modern diners, it is avoided by traditionalists. They favor authentic regional vinegars that are not only less harsh but offer great depth and complexity. Bochok says that Ilocos is famed for its Sukang Iloko made from basi (sugarcane wine). This dark, mellow potion is sometimes compared to balsamic vinegar and imparts exceptional flavor to Ilocano kilawin. Down south in Mindanao, where the off-shore waters are rich with the fruits of the sea, vinegars made from coconut and nipa palm are the staple choice.
It is in Mindanao, in the city of Butuan in the northwest, that our investigation into the link between kinilaw and ceviche picks up. Butuan (say “boo-twan”) is a mecca for kinilaw aficionados, who welcome the constant arrival of fresh catch from the nearby fishing ports of Surigao and General Santos (the latter airlifts considerable quantities of tuna to Japan). It is also one of the oldest communities in the Philippines connected to kinilaw. Indeed, the people there have a saying: “Before there was the Philippines, there was Butuan.” It was the discovery of ancient food discards, consisting of fish bones and husks of tabon-tabon, at a local cave in the 1980s that led archeologists to conclude that kinilaw has been a staple here for at least a thousand years – proof that this is one of the oldest indigenous dishes in the Philippines, if not the oldest (tabon-tabon is a fruit with a coconut-like shell that Butuanons have always used for kinilaw, owing to the its ability to neutralize fishy odors and prevent stomach hyperacidity, allowing diners to eat more).
From here on, things get contentious. Citing the archeological evidence of Butuan, proponents of the kinilaw connection argue that the Philippine dish must predate its South American counterpart by at least half a millennium. Experts confirm that ceviche emerged in South America, most likely in Peru, only after the Spanish conquest, explaining that the dish could not have existed there prior to that. They point that the most authentic ceviche is always made exclusively with citrus juice, an ingredient that didn’t exist in the Americas until after the arrival of the Spaniards, who introduced lemons, limes, oranges and other citrus fruits to the New World. By comparison, citrus fruits have been used as cooking ingredients all over the Philippine Islands since the Pre-Hispanic era. Proponents suggest that kinilaw was brought to the Americas following the establishment of the Manila-Acapulco Galleon Trade in 1565, after which the South Americans adopted the Southeast Asian recipe and then switched to a pure citrus marinade, creating the ceviche we know today.
Not so fast, say the skeptics, who claim that Peru, home of the ancient Inca Empire, is the most likely birthplace of ceviche. They cite records of Spanish conquistadors in the 16th century, who reported the peculiar Inca practice of eating raw fish spiced with chilies; crucially, among these records exists a rare account about how some Incas would dip raw fish in chicha to enhance its flavor. Chicha, which is as popular today in Peru as it was in Incan times, is a maize beer that has a slightly sour aftertaste. The mentioning of chicha as a possible pickling agent might suggest that the Incan delicacy is the direct ancestor of ceviche. The explanation is that once citrus fruits became available, the use of chicha with raw fish was abandoned completely.
Kinilaw proponents respond by saying that the idea of a citrus marinade could easily have been copied from the Philippines, where the use of lime juice was already well-established, by Spanish colonizers on their way to the Americas. Further, they interpret the use of chicha with raw fish as merely a convenient method used by Incan diners to add flavor, the maize beer functioning as an alcoholic condiment that gave a sweet-sour taste to the dish.
At this point I have to observe that Bochok, having already disseminated his knowledge about kinilaw, has no particular opinion about the possibility of a connection. Having moved from a Chardonnay-Sauvignon vin de pays to a Syrah from the Northern Rhone Valley, he reacts with good nature toward such a flattering idea.
“Hmm… maybe,” the thought balloon would read.
It was an honest, uncomplicated non-verbal answer. I know what’s on his mind because I share the same opinion. While I consider the theory to be both attractive and genuinely plausible, I am of the predisposition that different cultures separated by geography and time can arrive at similar ways of making similar foods. It does happen all the time.
As our group of comrades moved on to clink glasses with good single malt whisky, we understood beyond words that where a great dish may or may not originate from is less important to us than the fact that it is a great dish. Kinilaw and ceviche have both become a glorious part of our taste experience and we are all the richer for it.
Thanks, Bochok. That’s telling it like it is.
Realizing Ratatouille February 19, 2008
Posted by Alexander Sawit in The Opinion Page.add a comment
By Alex Sawit
19 February 2008
As part of the Chinese New Year celebration at Cyrano (we officially celebrated on the 15th so as to include a few folks we had been waiting for), I thought I’d mark the Year of the Rat by revisiting a movie that extols the virtues of our four-legged friend, honored in the Chinese zodiac for its cleverness and hard-working nature. “Kong hei fat choy!”
“Anyone can cook.”
So goes the catchphrase from my favorite film of 2007, Ratatouille, that hugely successful computer-animated movie from Pixar about a heroic little blue rat who goes to Paris with dreams of becoming a great chef. I love that movie from start to finish – from the moment I hear the opening bars of “Les Marseilles” to the moment I see Rémy’s happy new bistro overlooking the rooftops of Paris at the ending. It’s a whimsical yet remarkably thought-provoking tale (thanks to the storytelling genius of acclaimed writer-director Brad Bird), which persuades us in a most imaginative way that no one should be disqualified when it comes to making food. There are cooks and there are great cooks. But while not everyone can be a great cook, anyone can strive to make food that is simply better.
Yes, anyone can learn to cook.
Not surprisingly, the folks in France loved this movie too. Take it from a people who are proud of their culinary spirit to rejoice about a movie like this. Even the narrator’s opening line affirms what the French honestly believe about themselves, that “the best food in the world is made in France” (although the narrator hedges by conceding that there are other countries that will dispute this… buon appetito, anyone?).
“It’s been a long time since any film celebrated, with so much kitsch energy, France: its cuisine, its finest features, and Paris, capital of taste,” gushed the weekly entertainment magazine Télérama as the movie went on to make almost $16 million on its first week, eventually shattering all French box-office records for an animated feature film. So unanimous was the affection felt by the French that no less than their most iconic newspaper, Le Monde, was moved to proclaim the movie as “one of the greatest gastronomic films in the history of cinema.”
I understand what they mean. There have been food films before, but none has portrayed the journey of the cook as heroic artist as poignantly as Ratatouille has done; that this has been achieved by an animated film makes it that much more unique. In the hands (technically paws) of our furry blue hero, food is wholeheartedly transformed into something that just has to be celebrated and treated with loving respect. French audiences get that. That’s why they approve when our hero exults in triumph after scoring a tasty mushroom and some Tome de Chèvre cheese outside an old country cottage; that’s why they cheer him when he takes over a disastrous sweet-bread recipe at Gusteau’s restaurant and improvises it into a sensational hit. That’s why the French love this movie. Just like our hero, they too believe that making good food is something to be proud of and passionate about.
Yet even as I smiled at how the French instinctively connected with this movie, on the flipside I was taken aback by a different reaction on the opposite side of the Atlantic – in America.
Last December 2007, the influential American business magazine Fortune, which is famous for its listings of the world’s top corporations and wealthiest individuals, published its annual list of the “101 Dumbest Moments in Business” in its year-end issue. Described by the editors as “the absolutely dumbest of the dumb that the gods of fate and humor delivered into our laps,” the list identified a hundred and one instances of what the magazine perceived as the year’s most hilarious lapses in business judgment – the “Made in China” product recall disaster, Eli Lily’s decision to market Prozac for dogs and Citigroup’s $11 billion subprime write-down fiasco are just three of the stories that made the top ten.
Stunningly, Ratatouille was mentioned at No. 9 on the list.
The editors at Fortune didn’t poke fun at it directly. Instead they singled out the French newspaper Le Monde for having lavished the movie with so much affection. Unable to contain their chuckling, the Americans ridiculed their French counterparts for daring to suggest that a movie – an animated movie at that – about something as disgusting as a rat in the kitchen could qualify as one of the great gastronomic films of all time. “Ooh-la-la, gross!” were the magazine’s exact words.
Excuse me? Did we watch the same thing here?
It takes someone who has actually seen Ratatouille to fully appreciate the magnitude of ignorance that the magazine just displayed. As one who has actually done so, I have to come to the inescapable conclusion that the folks at Fortune never even bothered to watch this movie.
What a bunch of morons. Yup, this was one of the dumbest business moments of the year. And Fortune magazine belongs at the top of its own sanctimonious list.
There is something else here, something that goes to the heart of what I believe about cuisine and culture. By revealing how clueless they were about the movie, the folks who dismissed it also betrayed their ignorance about an Old World culture that just so happens to be universally acknowledged for its culinary excellence and gastronomic judgment. How often, after all, does one read of Americans belittling the French about their core competency? One never does. It therefore reeks of misplaced smugness for them to laugh to the tune of, “Hee-haw, do you Frenchies understand what nonsense you’re talking about?”
My point is that if the French, who appreciate great cuisine, can appreciate a charming fantasy about a four-pawed protagonist who has the courage to cook, what does this say about those who can’t figure it out?
Let’s explore this, shall we?
There is a saying among great travelers: If you want to understand a country, you have to eat it. I first heard this years ago from bon vivant cook Keith Floyd in his BBC series Floyd on Spain and I’ve been passing it to others ever since. Honestly, if you want to explore a country and its culture as richly and as satisfyingly as possible, then you’ve got to experience it through its food. Nothing reflects the heart of a people more expressively than their food traditions. Put another way, a people’s attitude toward their food tells you a lot about who they are – about what they believe in, what they value in life.
Consider the following story.
When celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain of No Reservations fame embarked on his first television adventure in Japan, it didn’t take long for him to be captivated – and humbled – by the Japanese culinary soul. As he traveled from one dish to another, from painstakingly fresh soba in a bustling noodle house to the exquisite creations of a master sushi chef in Tokyo to the Zen-like artistry of a kaiseki meal in a tranquil countryside inn, he encountered a spiritual respect for traditional food that did not seem to have a counterpart in the West. No other people, he observed, are as obsessive about fresh ingredients and as compulsive about crafting those ingredients with amazingly impeccable precision as the Japanese (“You do not see this level of knife skills in French kitchens,” he said admiringly while watching from his seat at the sushi counter). And no other people seem to possess such a sublime aesthetic sense to go with such delicately tuned palates.
It was so different, he reflected, so much a world removed from what was back home in America, where industrial quantities of burgers, pizzas, fried chicken and barbecue are put away by folks who feel that eating pleasure is about shoveling as much as you want. In the land of the eat-all-you-can buffet, bulk is bliss. “For us, restaurants are like gas stations,” Bourdain lamented. “You pull in, you fill up and you move on, preferably as quickly as possible. The idea of volume is much more important than quality. “Hey, did you have a good meal? Yeah, they gave you all the shrimp you could eat!” That’s really silly. It explains a lot about our culture.”
To be fair, it should go without saying that there are a lot of Americans who have discriminating tastes. I for one have befriended many who take pride in cooking with authenticity and sophistication.
But Bourdain drives his point home. It is his implicit observation that Americans are quite happy to settle for mediocre food as long as it is easy-to-cook and easy-to-eat. Hence his legendary contempt for food celebrities Rachael Ray and Sandra Lee, those superstars of the Food Network who use media-savvy to cover up deficient kitchen skills and an appalling lack of talent (Bourdain has referred to both women on separate occasions as “evil”). In a country where it is already easy to be lazy about cooking properly, these kitchen gurus see no shame in teaching bogus methods that offer people entertaining excuses to be even lazier. The titles of their best-known shows, 30 Minute Meals and Semi-Homemade Cooking with Sandra Lee, are tragically revealing.
Clearly the most profiteering food charlatan in America today, Rachael Ray is cable television’s loudest advocate of kitchen “cheats” (ask yourself: why does she always resort to using tons of chicken stock and extra virgin olive oil just to boost flavor in everything she makes?). Granted, even great cooks use legitimate shortcuts every so often (and I emphasize ‘legitimate’). But Ray gives it new meaning by insisting, with that very wide smile of hers, that her abbreviated cooking is a justifiable method anyone can use to make good food in less time, all the time. It’s a dishonest spin, of course, if not an outright lie. Ray deliberately passes off mediocrity as excellence and she knows it sells. And she is happy to do so for as long as her fans are lapping it up. They’re buying her books and keeping her shows in the money, so expect her to continue flattering them with ditzy clichés like “Delish!” and “Yum-o!” and also to keep getting paid to do endorsements for everything from mass-produced breakfast cereal to sugar-filled donuts (mercifully, at least I never have to see her pose for FHM again… ugh, my eyes, my eyes).
But if Ray is merely an unscrupulous fraud, then Sandra Lee is one sick, twisted lady. Permit me to dramatize:
Why chop your onions, Sandra might ask with Stepford Wives innocence, when you can easily buy pre-chopped opinions in a plastic bag at the supermarket? Gee, it must be so bloody hard to chop an onion, Sandra. Ooh, ooh, she continues, wanna know my secret for making Italian gnocchi dumplings in cheese that’s almost as good as the stuff in a fancy New York restaurant? But heaven forbid you should use real Italian cheese like Gorgonzola or Parmigiano-Reggiano to make this… I recommend Velveeta® instead! It’s nearly tasty and sooooo cheap and easy to find! Oh, don’t forget to use pre-minced garlic that you can buy already in a jar. None of that messy whole clove freshly-cut stuff, okay? Now that’s the way to make my “gourmet-tasting” meals! That’s what “Semi-Homemade Cooking” is all about! Way to go, Sandra, you psycho!
Mind-numbing, isn’t it?
There is something insanely obscene about cooks who champion bad shortcuts just to make cheap food, which they masquerade as “gourmet-tasting” cuisine to the public. Yet these pseudo-experts wouldn’t exist at all if they had no market. That they have become hugely successful and are becoming increasingly influential is an indictment against American popular culture. It is proof that a great many consumers want what these celebrity gurus are offering – and they aren’t selling food, really. What they are selling is convenience. And in America’s consumer culture, convenience is everything.
These celebrity gurus also have well-intentioned defenders, who argue that the cooking convenience offered by Ray and Lee is not entirely unjustified in America’s city block kitchenettes. They point that many urban households don’t always have time away from work to devote to making a proper home-cooked meal, especially given the faster pace of today’s talk-and-text workplace (which is one reason why microwavable frozen boxed dinners represent a $3 billion business in the U.S.). For such households, lazy shortcuts make sense even if the results are predictably mediocre.
Yet such an argument loses its validity in the face of one simple truth: Everyone can learn to cook.
Even Anthony Bourdain likes to point this out whenever he is asked to explain his polarized opinion of you-know-who. “The standard I hold her (Rachael Ray) to… is Julia Child, who wasn’t a professional chef either,” he says about the most famous, most beloved cooking presenter in the history of American television (her kitchen studio is now on display at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History). “When you watched Julia Child, you would see her make Coq au Vin, or some classic French dish, and you’d say “Wow, that’s classic French food, that’s not so difficult. Julia can do it, I can do it. I’m gonna try that.” And it made people aspire to more.”
I am suddenly reminded of Jaime Oliver, about how on his first TV series he was able to teach a group of children at his old school to actually cook from scratch, helping them put together an elegant menu of Chicken Breast and Mushrooms in White Wine followed by a dessert of Chocolate Cambridge Cream. And I suddenly remember that Nigella Lawson, Britain’s beautiful “domestic goddess,” has been stylishly showing global audiences for nearly a decade how to follow honest recipes to make pleasurable food that is neither too difficult nor too time-consuming. I now even find myself thinking about the sometimes mad yet brilliantly easy-to-follow cooking sketches of that old drunka… er, I mean, geezer Keith Floyd, who inspired my elder sister and I as kids to try to cook quality food on our own. It’s then that I realize that cooking really is for everyone.
I’ll say it again. There are cooks and there are great cooks. Not everyone can be great. But everyone can strive to be better and aspire for something more. And while such things as little furry blue heroes may exist only in our imaginations, they do live and breathe in the power of our ideals, hopefully inspiring us to always take pride and passion in what we do.
After all, anyone can cook.
Those Who Speak Filipino Know Why It’s Really Called Cyrano February 12, 2008
Posted by Alexander Sawit in Stuff in General.add a comment
By Judith Albano
12 February, 2008
Okay, I love Cyrano, I really do. This is just me doing the psychological equivalent of a bouncer’s work. Yep. That sounds about right. Now. How much do you really want to get in?
* * * * *
Mos Eisley’s cantina, my foot.
Sure, some of us that hang out at Cyrano are aliens, alternately sighing, rolling our eyes up, or laughing at the petty travails of humans, but to call it the Mos Eisley cantina is somewhat imprecise. For one, the barkeep and his lovely assistant/VP look much better. Still falling in the bilaterally symmetrical carbon-based group and all that. The rest of the regulars too. Of course, they could very well be wearing rubber suits like that worn by those folks in V, but as far as I remember I’ve never seen anyone down a live rat. Then again, I’m not around all that often, so I really wouldn’t know.
Star Wars? Heck no.
It’s One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest meets Twelve Monkeys meets
The Dream Team.
You don’t remember The Dream Team? Christopher Lloyd plays a burnt out creative director who lost it after being blamed for the failure of a new line of sandwich-flavored ice cream. Michael Keaton is a guy who thinks he’s God. Ah, you never saw the movie, but you know people like that? Sure. Bet I can tell you where they are.
Cyrano.
Also known as the padded cell you keep people in so they won’t hurt themselves. Or other people.
Forget therapy. It isn’t as much fun. Plus I’ve heard the medication turns people into drooling idiots, and there are already too many of those in Makati. We don’t really need more.
Which brings us to Cyrano. Think of it as another alternative to alternative medicine. Sure, it looks perfectly normal, these places always do. The people look and sound intelligent enough. But that’s your first clue that something strange is afoot. Because, come on, is there really any place anywhere in the Makati of this dimension, where you’ll find halfway decent conversation after hours (Maybe even during office hours, but that’s another rant, er, topic, entirely)?
Now here’s the test: Try to ask for beer. Perfectly normal thing to do at a drinking place in Makati, right? Wait and see as to what kind of response you’ll get. Mostly hysterical laughter. Maybe some mumbling about religious beliefs. Does that seem normal to you? Didn’t think so. Now, as an added exercise, try telling Alex at the bar, “Alex, I want coffee.” You will be told that wanting and having are two different things. Which they are, of course. Just ask any English, Theology or Philosophy student.
Anyway.
Then there’s the final test: Ask if they serve food. Chances are they will hand you a phone and a folder. It’s okay. Ordering tapsilog, Chickenjoy and MiniStop chicken will not get you thrown out, I assure you. We’re crazy, not stupid. It might even earn you coolness points, depending on who’s around.
Of course there will be days when instead of a folder, you will be asked if crackers and slices of some smelly cheese are okay with you. That’s also good. And if you’re nice enough to the inmates, they’ll share the rare and wonderful foodness smuggled in and stashed away.
If that happens, lucky you. Those are really, truly, good. After all, losing one’s sanity doesn’t mean the loss of one’s tastebuds. (You’ll have to refer to the other posts for examples, though. Being the only Philistine in the lot, my food reviews only have two settings: Good and ick.) Although I do vaguely remember being served something with fava beans.
That’s only out front. There’s still the back room to be explored. Come in. But don’t be fooled by the pretty girls – they’re just as bad as the rest of us. Look. Listen. Learn. Then ask yourself this: Are these the kind of people you really want walking around innocent, defenseless humans at the end of a long hard week? Didn’t think so. You will notice a distinct scarcity of census-takers there. Must be the fava beans.
It’s okay, however. Don’t be afraid. Well, not too afraid. It’s not really as scary as I’m making it sound. It’s actually a fun place, in the Blair Witch-summer camp in Halloween-island in Battle Royale sort of way. You’ll be fine as long as you keep your wits about you and that prissy tendency to be judgmental at the door.
Otherwise, there are other places we’ll be glad to direct you to. They won’t be as entertaining, though. But it’s okay. At least they won’t be laughing you out the door when you ask for SMB.
