Who Will Buy?

Posted on 25 October 2011 by sheg4184

The Flowers
All the names I know from nurse:
Gardener’s garters, Shepherd’s purse,
Bachelor’s buttons, Lady’s smock,
And the Lady Hollyhock…
by Robert Louis Stevenson

Well, we didn’t find Lady’s Smock or Hollyhocks, but then the Dangwa market is a million miles from London’s Covent Garden, somewhere in the wilds of Manila. To be precise, it is tucked behind Tondo, north of the River Pasig from Intramuros, and about a 20-40 minute drive from Makati depending – as always – on the traffic. And it gets its name, less-than-poetically, from the Dangwa bus depot in Santa Cruz and Sampaloc.

Dangwa is Manila’s largest fresh flower market. Reputedly set up in about 1976, it was then surrounded by middle class neighbourhoods, obviously all on the look-out for freshly cut flowers to fill their homes. The market rose to glory during the Marcos Era, when it provided vast quantities of flowers for the florists who stocked Malacanang Palace. By 1994, the market was open 24 hours, 7 days a week, with flower deliveries arriving mostly in the late evening to ensure freshness and longevity.

Flowers pour in daily from all over the Philippines, and from as far afield as Ecuador and the Netherlands. And this wholesale market is still a popular source of fresh flowers for local florists. Peak seasons include Holy Week, Valentine’s Day, All Saints Day, Mother’s Day, and Christmas, when prices soar. On Valentine’s Day, customers will flock to the market until almost midnight.

It has been suggested that late evening or very early morning are the best times to visit, but we ignored all such ridiculous advice and arrived at the more civilized hour of 10am. A small boy ushered us into a parking space outside Chow King and then attached himself to us for the morning. This young but cheeky guide then proceeded to present us with single red roses and pink carnations, till we had to tell him to stop pilfering the stalls.

The market stalls spread up and down several streets. We began our walk at a covered market, wandering past banks of vividly coloured daisies and walls of roses. Glorious arrangements for weddings and funerals were set up on bamboo tripods down the centre of the street, and clusters of smaller, rainbow-coloured table decorations dotted the pavements. We cheerfully acknowledged a stray poinsettia, gerberas, irises and carnations.

It was fun, too, to introduce ourselves to the tropical plants – note that these will last longer in the heat than the more vulnerable imported flowers.

~ See those soft, velvety, tightly crimped celosias in musky pink, dusky red and dusty orange?

~ And the banana-coloured ‘Mickey Mouse ears’? Although, personally, I think they look more like giraffe heads.

~ And look at the extraordinary, prickly red pineapple flower!

One stall was choc-a-block with greenery – ferns, variegated leaves, grasses – another boasted a pool of blue chrysanthemums. We found huge white orchids bowing gracefully from terracotta pots; fragrant, butter-coloured cassia in vast, grape-like bunches; numerous varieties of regal heliconias, with their distinctive geometric stem pattern some that can grow as tall as 30 feet. Some looked like bright orange crab claws, others resembled pink flamingos. We stroked the watermelon pink torch ginger, soft and girlish, but with a slightly unpleasant scent. And I love those lanky shower heads – some kind of water lily..?

We wandered down the two or three streets that are closed to cars, but the river of flowers didn’t end there, flowing down the narrow pavements along the traffic-laden roads. As we dodged jeepneys and pedicabs, potholes and puddles, I suddenly realized why it might be better to come earlier. Gradually our arms filled with newspaper wrappers. I couldn’t resist the deep marmalade rose buds, despite knowing they would wilt like braised cabbage in a couple of days. They did too – not lasting even a day, but drooping limply over the edge of the vase like languorous ladies-of-leisure before dinnertime. But they did smell sweetly nostalgic.

I also acquired some hardier flowers which are still standing upright a week later. Much to my delight, I discovered stalks of achuete – like pod-shaped rambutan – feeling very proud to recognize them after only being introduced in Pampanga quite recently. I had to ignore the lilies, they give my husband instant hay fever, but I found some interestingly pale, corn-coloured flowers, stiffly shaped like a fossils or a centipede on a stick – but actually, I later discovered, nicknamed for the rattlesnake.

And everywhere we looked we saw those waxy red anthuriums with the large stamen you need to touch every time to check they are not made of plastic. We nodded to stately vases filled with white calla or arum lilies that I hadn’t seen since I was a child, when they grew under our almond tree, happy feasting for snails. We also unearthed some mini ones in daffodil-bright-golden-yellow, and others of a dusky claret or mangosteen.

By the time we decided to flee from the heat, the boot of the car was heaped high with flowers of all kinds and colours. We gloated over our purchases which included a couple of tall and promising vases. Now if I only had some talent for flower-arranging…

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Volcanoes in Salcedo!

Posted on 20 October 2011 by sheg4184

Once upon a time, an Aussie wandered east to California, to train as a chocolatier. Returning to Sydney some time later, he launched a range of chocolate dipped fruit, fresh, dried and glace. He dubbed them Naughty Fruits and supplied them to delis and cafes across Sydney. Then he packed his bags for Melbourne where he and his family wove their magic to create the Chocolate Fire Coffee Lounge to captivate the chocolate capital of Australia.

Now, grab my hand and we will whizz through time to September 2011. Chocolate Fire has vanished in a puff of smoke from central Melbourne, and has magically reappeared in the heart of Salcedo Village in Manila.

“Why Manila?” you ask? So did I. As the magician’s daughter Koby was upstairs designing a chocolate wedding cake, her new husband Casey related the family history.

The Parcell family first came to Manila in the early 80s. A far cry from chocolate-making, Peter, our audacious chocolatier, was now on a mission to run around the world. This particular chapter involved running the length of the Philippines, from Ilocos Norte to the Malacanang Palace in Manila. During this episode, Peter and his family fell in love with the Philippines and the warmth of the Filipinos. So they stayed on and made an early attempt to start a business here with “Fudgies.” Despite the infamous Filipino sweet tooth, the locals weren’t too sure what to do with fudge and the idea never really took off. In the meantime, however, running became a family pastime. To celebrate the fifth anniversary of Peter’s first run Koby’s sister, aged only fourteen, ran the length of the country with her father, at the particular request of President Corazon Aquino.

Several years later, with the success of Chocolate Fire in Melbourne, investors suggested developing the brand internationally. After much debate, it was decided that Asia might just prove to be a better market than the States, and Manila, (strategically placed, English speaking, and still friendly) could be the best starting point. The café in Melbourne was sold, but the family took the name and the product with them and Chocolate Fire opened for business in the Philippines in March 2010.

Walking into Chocolate Fire is a delight, even if you are not a chocoholic. Slabs of chocolate, truffles and cakes elbow for room inside the glass display counters. And I was like a kid at Christmas even before I started to notice a vein of Aussie nostalgia running through the cafe.

Chocolate frogs and chocolate crocodile lollipops; chocolate crackles and cornflake crackles, the mainstay of every 70s children’s party; chocolate dipped ANZAC biscuits; a slab of chocolate bark called True Blue seething with Macademia nuts (yum!) AND the honey comb crunch, a firm favourite with every visiting Australian, and a close relation to the long-time Aussie favourite, Violet Crumble.

The chocolate dipped fruit strikes a chord with the locals: Californian strawberries, orange slices and dried figs, as well as seasonal favourites such as pineapple, mango and papaya.

Kids love the chocolate lollipops and the Baby Chinos, and the coffee is the best I have found in Manila.  Planning a romantic tête-a-tête? Try the chocolate fondue for two with a bottle of wine.  Or for ladies-who-lunch, there are fabulous toasted sandwiches, something I fear I will be revisiting on a daily but doubtless calorific basis! Perhaps you are thinking of Christmas? There are some lovely boxed treats for family, staff and friends. And there are some great little dome-shaped, muffin-sized cakes nicknamed ‘blobs,’ that come in chocolate, banana and carrot.

Chocolate Fire also supplies other cafés, and is happy to cater for private events in the upstairs lounge. An earlier dip into the World Wide Web found Chocolate Fire starring in popular Filipino blog ‘Our Awesome Planet’ as the venue for a baptism party, complete with white-chocolate-Angel-cupcake. My son recently celebrated  his sixteenth birthday there, and had a brilliant evening. Simple but sweet: Spaghetti Bolognese and chocolate fondue – at the same time, if you don’t mind!  But, I hasten to add, at his guests insistence, not Koby’s.

Koby apparently excels at creating buzz for the café. “Twitter is a really strong tool for us” says Casey. And new creations pop up on their Facebook page daily, although Koby laughingly says she’s run out of room on the register and has told Peter to slow down on the inventing.

When dropping in for the BEST mortadella paninis, I asked my sons if I could pick them up some treats. ‘What is your favourite?’ I foolishly asked. Anything and everything it seems. “Mum, its chocolate!” came the heavily sarcastic “der” response.

And my favourite? Without a doubt the pyramids of dark chocolate heavily flavoured with chili to make your tongue tingle, known as Volcanoes. Happy days…

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Drifting Down the Mekong

Posted on 15 October 2011 by sheg4184

Flying into Saigon provided a stunning aerial view of immense snaking waterways, twisting and turning through the city and surrounding countryside.

Growing up in a South Australian city that boasts only a narrow creek, I am always impressed by the presence of real rivers, and Saigon is generously endowed with these, situated as it is on the Mekong Delta. (Please note that I will continue to call it Saigon – it sounds much more romantic than HCMC, and the locals don’t seem to mind.)

On day two we boarded a bus to visit it eye-to-eye. Our guide lugubriously warned us that the bus trip would be long and slow, the floating markets were ‘not for tourists,’ so there would ‘not be any souvenirs for sale,’ and a number of other equally dismal messages that I couldn’t decipher over the crackling of the microphone. As a result, we felt mutinously cheerful that the day would be fun. Luckily for the reputation of the tour company, it was. Our guide got us to the river in less than the anticipated 4 hours (managing expectations, perhaps?) and our boat was waiting for us at the pier as we descended stiffly from the bus, thanks to the whiplash-inducing potholes in the road.

The Mekong River is considerably wider and faster than the Pasig at this point, and the water is the colour of turmeric. Our boat was powered with a clamorous 2-stroke engine that set our teeth on edge, and we perched precariously on folding wicker dining chairs on the highly polished deck. For US$1.00 I had purchased a traditional Vietnamese cone hat at a street stall – a very wise extravagance as it turned out – and off we went, to find the not-for-tourists floating markets. As we turned off the Mekong onto a slightly narrower tributary, the river started to resemble EDSA at rush hour.

Barges and boats cluttered the water and the riverbanks. Many sported eyes like those of the ‘wise-eyed boats on the Yangtze River.’ (Remember “The Story About Ping”?) The boatmen announced their wares by hanging them from poles on the deck. We looked about and saw mostly potatoes and pumpkins on display. Not for us to buy, though, but for the local shopkeepers to buy wholesale. Many of the traders were sprawling nonchalantly from hammocks strung across the decks, as we wove between the slumbering flotilla, making our way upstream to a handicraft market that was, unquestionably, designed for tourists.

Here, we were enticed to buy all sorts of artifacts crafted from polished coconut shells, while admiring the skills of local sweet makers. We then took a short walk along a riverside track, hemmed with rockeries of coconut husks and hillocks of rice. Through the village, we were dodging bicycles and motor bikes, chickens and children, morning glory vine winding itself exuberantly around fences and trees.An open-sided café produced a cool place to sit and sip local tea, sweetened with honey.

Later, suitably replenished, we wove our way between the ‘wise-eyed’ barges and headed back out on the Mekong. There the 2-stroke and the current hurtled us down the river to a creek which narrowed rapidly as it was squeezed between walls of invasive jungle. At this point we were unceremoniously unloaded, four at a time, into roughly made wooden gondolas, where we sat in single file, every one of us bedecked in a borrowed cone hat – for those of us that hadn’t sensibly invested earlier! Our gondolier stood calmly at the rear of boat, resting on two long paddles, until we were settled. He then steered us smoothly upstream to our lunch.

This was a simple repast on the shady verandah of an elegant, old wooden house. After our rice and chicken we could choose to board either an old, but sturdy black bike, or a string hammock. Given barely half an hour before we were due to head homewards, three of us cycled furiously up the road, standing on our pedals to push up and over several hump-backed bridges, until we reached a small village and a curious little white church. My companion, a very efficient girl guide, earned her cyclist’s badge by cleverly contriving to tie up my recalcitrant bike stand with a piece of yellow string she found on the verge, which thankfully saved my ankles from further bruising.

We made it back before our guide could miss us, to join a throng of nervous tourists admiring the length and weight of a 3-year old python caged at the gate. Only a handful of us was prepared to make his acquaintance, but I have a photo to prove I was one of them, as we draped him round my sagging shoulders like an 18th century milkmaid’s yoke, and attempted to keep his tongue out of my ear. He was surprisingly heavy; a long, length of rather soft muscle, as indeed who wouldn’t be after spending his life in a 5 foot cage?

The return trip was long, and seemed longer. Many dozed on the boat, many more snored on the bus, but we finally made it back to Saigon in time for a late, lazy dinner, tired and sunburnt and culturally satiated!

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Cooking up a Storm in Saigon

Posted on 15 October 2011 by sheg4184

Our day started at dawn. We were to meet Chef Bao from the Vietnam Cookery Centre at the Ben Thanh Market in downtown Saigon. Chef Bao proved hard to miss. Dressed in his white chef’s jacket, he was shaped just like the cook in The Magic Pudding: a roly poly puddin’ of a man, the polar opposite of his companion Miss Khanh, our petite and quietly spoken Interpreter and guide.

Ducking through the crowds, we followed our guides through the market, examining longan and rambutan, jackfruit, dragonfruit, durian and marvella – or gac in Vietnamese which you say in the back of your throat without any vowels, like you’re choking.

We trawled through the seafood where live soft-shell crabs were being packed on a tray like packs of cards. Surprisingly, they don’t run away: apparently they are too weak. However a hefty, blue-pincered crab, despite being tied up with string, was hanging from the side of the basket by one huge claw. I suggested a rescue mission, but the stallholder merely shrugged and went on gutting fish. We inspected an assortment of fish, many still alive and squirming in an inch of water. There were shellfish of all shapes and sizes, and buckets of giant, British-racing-green garden snails.

Then a stall of offal had to be deciphered, as I was not familiar with pig’s womb, its intestines, stomach, or gizzards. And what was this? I asked, pointing. A ball of cooked blood, of course. Good for soup I am told.

Vegetable stalls abounded with green leafy plants such as water spinach and morning glory. There were knobby Lotus roots, hairy Indian taro and gourds called bittermelon that looked like elderly, wrinkled cucumbers. One stall was overflowing with a wide variety of bean curd tofu (dau hu). Another was crammed with small sacks of different-coloured rice, jars of sharks fins and dried sea horses, crystallized ginger and crates of small dried fish. It was like something out of Diagon Alley: myriad stalls brimming with exotic ingredients for Potions classes.

Miss Khanh was finally forced to deflect my barrage of questions and take us to the cooking school. It seems Chef Bao came in even earlier to buy the ingredients for today’s class, so the shopping was done. A short taxi ride ended down a pot-holed lane at the wide, open doorway of the cooking school, an old-fashioned, wooden structure with a cool, dim interior. There was a distinct lack of the stainless steel we are used to seeing in professional western kitchens. Instead all was polished wood, ceiling fans, pretty blue and white china bowls, clay pots and coconut shell stirring spoons.

We joined the only other student at the dining table – another Australian – and together we explored a large bowl of favourite Vietnamese spices: cinnamon or cassia sticks, fresh chillies, turmeric, star anise, cardamom, gingko and galangal. The three of us were then encouraged to don aprons and look at the day’s menu. Chef Bao took his place on the dais and we sat down obediently at our stations as Interpreter Khanh took us through the ingredients we were to use: ingredients which had already been prepared earlier by the kitchen fairies. The tiny bowls were filled with chopped garlic, slices of ginger, fish sauce and Thai basil.

Vietnamese cuisine may not yet be as well-known, globally, as Chinese or Thai, but it is rapidly rising up the charts. Here in South Vietnam the food bears a distinct family resemblance to Thai, with undertones of Chinese, which is hardly surprising after more than one thousand years of colonization, (from approximately 200 B.C. to 1000 A.D.) Stir-frying, egg noodles and Buddhism have made their mark. Buddhism dictated strict vegetarianism, which led to the evolution of many delicious vegetarian dishes designed to tempt the carnivorous locals.  In the south, Indian immigrants arrived with the French in the nineteenth century and introduced hotter, spicier dishes than can be found up north. And indeed, freshly chopped red chillies glisten brightly in one of the bowls at our station.

From the French, the Vietnamese took bread, coffee and dairy products which are still very popular here in Saigon, if the number of bakeries and coffee shops around the city are anything to go by.  We discovered a special local coffee named ‘Weasel’ because the beans have been eaten and regurgitated by rare Vietnamese weasels. This cycle radically alters the taste of the coffee resulting in a strong, smooth coffee with appealing hints of chicory. The French influence also means that here in the south, sautéing is often preferred to wok stir-frying.

In general, the Vietnamese use oil lightly and heavy sauces are rare. There is a profusion of vegetables, eaten raw or lightly steamed, and an abundance of fresh salads that often include fruit such as pomelo or mango for that popular combination of sweet and sour. And like many South-East Asians, the Vietnamese prefer grazing over a feast of small, shared dishes rather than indulging in individual plates heaped with food as we do.

So, back in the kitchen we began to create our own Vietnamese feast. Chef Bao started us gently with a yellow soy bean sauce to accompany the fresh spring rolls we would make next; an easy enough exercise to follow the Chef’s instructions step-by-step. The fresh spring rolls proved a little more problematic. Apparently we had to dampen the rice paper first, before folding in the edges and arranging the prawns, pork slices, rice noodles and julienne of egg omelet on top. All of us made the error of using too much water and ended up with a limp, sticky sheet, but we salvaged what we could and learnt a valuable lesson before wrapping a second, and a third. Each ingredient was settled in place like a mosaic on the slightly damp rice paper. I was pleased to be able to adjust the ingredients, as the spring rolls we had eaten in the market earlier had been heavily over-worked with Thai basil, and other more delicate flavours were lost. Our results may not have been perfect, but we were pleased with our efforts nonetheless.

We then gathered around Chef Bao to watch him prepare the rice, just a little differently from me with my electric rice cooker. The rice was rinsed three times and poured into individual clay pots which were then placed in a huge steamer, a couple of knotted pandan leaves tossed in for extra flavour. We were then asked to produce what I understood was a dish of salty chicken with ginger, until I later examined the recipe book: Miss Khanh was actually saying sautéed chicken!

Ginger was common to all the recipes we were using, so each of us cheerfully adapted the quantity according to our personal tastes. We marinated our chicken in a long list of ingredients, before stir frying it in a small clay pot until fragrant scents began to waft temptingly under our noses. Our final task is to prepare the soup: mustard leaf soup with minced pork. The minced pork gives the stock a light, salty flavour, but I think next time I will strain it out before serving, as it is too inclined to become over-cooked and then the texture becomes rubbery and unappetizing.

At last the feast was complete and we carried our various pots to the dining table to test what we had created. Thumbs way, way up for our spring rolls and the chicken dish, and I haven’t eaten such sticky steamed rice in years – the sort that only needs fingers and a good appetite. There was not time for us to make the pudding as well. Too much talking, perhaps? Instead we were given ones the kitchen fairies prepared earlier.  Familiar with the moreish rice cakes available in Manila, I was the only one who enjoyed the sticky corn pudding. Admittedly the rice looked a lot like Clag paste, but it was gently flavoured by the sweet corn, and it cleared the palate effectively after all the garlic and spices we had used. I am truly sorry this was one dish prepared beforehand, as I would love to have learned how to make it.

As a grand finale, Miss Khanh had prepared a short presentation. We arranged ourselves before Chef Bao and took it in turns to pose for a formal photograph on the dais as he shook our hands and presented our certificates. Chef Bao beamed at us, obviously delighted with his excellent students. I am very envious of those who are living in Saigon, and who are now contemplating a different class next week. Maybe I could fly back for the day..?

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Sailing across Lake Ta’al

Posted on 12 October 2011 by sheg4184

As a relative newcomer to Manila, I have been trawling the guide books and the memories of long term residents for good day or weekend trips out of Manila.  I quickly discovered that Tagatay and Lake Ta’al tend to be at the top of everyone’s ‘to do’ list.

Lake Ta’al (two syllables) is approximately 60 km south of Manila, and encircles  an island where the smallest but most active volcano in the Philippines resides. To prove its potency, recent rumblings led to the evacuation of the seventy-odd resident islanders. Over the centuries, volcanic eruptions have buried numerous lakeside towns under volcanic ash or submerged them under rising waters, so they were hardly over-reacting.

Barely a fortnight earlier I had driven up for the day with my son and his grandfather, daring him to accompany me on the flying fox across the gorge at Picnic Grove. That adventure has yet to be realized as we were frog-marched off to the shores of Lake Ta’al by two eager guides. Apparently, a trip across the lake to the volcano would suit our spirit of adventure much better.

So instead of the anticipated flight across the canyon in a hammock-like harness, we found ourselves driving down a steep and tortuously winding road to the shore, past a dozen or more mad cyclists pedaling furiously UP. From there we tottered aboard an outrigger boat and headed across a white-capped lake to the island.

The ride across was unexpectedly rough, thanks to a wildly exuberant wind. Draped in tarpaulin sheets that gave us no protection whatsoever from the tidal waves sweeping over the sides, we were rapidly drenched, as the captain dodged and bounced over white-capped waves.

Eventually, saturated to the bone, we landed on the island’s grey beach, hair dripping into our eyes and shirts clinging, thankful only that the water had proved unexpectedly warm. But as it turned out, we were also thankful for the natural air-conditioning from our wet clothes. As we set off up the hot, dusty track to the edge of the crater, we were degrees cooler than most in the late morning sun – and far more comfortable than those who chose to clamber onto the backs of the bony Korean ponies that limp back and forth up the track, their riders often visibly heavier than their steeds, their feet dragging in the dirt.

We also rejected the overtures of a dozen local salespeople determined to sell us their protective surgical masks.  Their sales technique failed dismally, as they were all wearing their own bandanas which they cheerfully  admitted were “much better ma’am!. So we battled on without assistance, although we were occasionally forced to duck low and blink furiously to avoid handfuls of swirling volcanic dust entering our eyes, mouths and nostrils as the ponies skidded past us down the narrow track.

Fortunately, we were soon clear of the dust and skimming along the ridge path, with sumptuous views across the island to the lake, and across the lake to the hills and the sea beyond. Despite the growing heat – “mad dogs and Englishmen” began to reverberate in my ears – dodging the galloping mustangs and frequent photo opportunities to slow us down, the end came in sight sooner than I had anticipated. A final clamber across volcanic rocks and we were greeted by the cloying scent of diluted sulphuric acid and the deep blue waters of a lake within a lake within a sea. We ignored the ubiquitous t-shirt stalls to pose against the railings and admire the view…

And then we raced back down the hill, reaching the beach just as our jeans had finally dried out, in time to leap up the ramp onto the boat and get soaked all over again. The guides were right. It was a hell of an adventure.

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Housekeeping in Tondo

Posted on 9 October 2011 by sheg4184

Brigada Eskwala is an initiative designed by the Philippine Department of Education (DepEd) and organized by the Head teachers, to clean up and refurbish schools for the beginning of the school year. As part of a nationwide effort to raise the levels of basic education, this project encourages local communities to actively – and practically – support their schools. Students and staff, church groups and local government officials, parents and friends voluntarily come together to repair and repaint, tidy up and improve their schools.

Yesterday I travelled to Tondo High School with a team from the Australian Embassy to see how this project really worked. Tondo – for those of you who have not driven further west than Intramuros – is largely a shanty town. Many dwellings are cobbled together with sheets of cardboard and tin. Even those made of brick or concrete seem precariously balanced. Small children play naked in the road. Chickens peck between packing boxes and fruit stalls. Our large American 4-wheel drive was totally at odds with the bicycles and jeepneys that clog the narrow roads.

On reaching the school, we joined the city of Manila’s Mayor, Mr. Alfredo S. Lim and the school principal Dr. Arnulfo Empleo at the front gates to await the arrival of His Excellency the Ambassador to Australia, Mr. Rod Smith. While we waited in the heat, I talked to several parents, students and volunteers from the Mayor’s office.  One parent explained that there were around 4,000 children in the school aged from 12-16, with 70 kids per class. The principal later verified that there were currently 4,750 students attending Tondo High. Classes are conducted in shifts between 7am and 7pm each day,  to avoid crowding all 70 children into one classroom at the same time. Everyone was keen to talk to me about the conditions here and pose for photos. As the time passed, several parents and embassy volunteers wandered off to man paintbrushes and rollers.

At last the Ambassador arrived to greet the crowd of waiting staff, students and local dignitaries. TV crews and photographers herded the triumvirate of Ambassador, Mayor and Principal (in almost comically descending height: the Ambassador is approximately 6’4” the Principal about 4’6”) through the school. We crocodiled past a brass band hired especially for the occasion (of course the school can’t afford to fit out its own band) and a student dance group practicing near the stage, to an almost bare top floor classroom.

One could easily be a little cynical about the marketable photo opportunity as senior officialdom took up positions with paint rollers and began to paint the back walls. In fact it was a moving display of community solidarity, much appreciated by the parents and staff who gathered to watch and encourage. All three men made the effort to paint two main walls while the paparazzi flashed away furiously behind them. Staff dragged chairs out of the way and quips from the Ambassador kept the crowd entertained.

And even that one coat of paint brightened up the basic and rather grim classroom considerably, although there was no escaping the bare walls, concrete floors, barred windows and broken glass. One narrow desk for the teacher, thirty battered wooden chairs, two scratched green boards, and one small ceiling fan completed the furnishings, while the brass band in the playground continued to accompany the workers’ efforts. For those of us who have enjoyed education in Australia and New Zealand, it was humbling to remember how extraordinarily privileged we are.

Eventually the walls were done and the painters duly christened in cream paint. We were then taken downstairs for the formal proceedings in the New Room: a tiled hall complete with air-conditioning. Here merienda had been laid out on two long tables, while a third had been set up for the visiting dignitaries and senior staff. As we settled ourselves around the edges of the hall, two rows of smartly presented student arranged themselves in the centre.

The formal proceedings included speeches from the Principal, the Mayor, the Chairwoman of the Philippines-Australian Alumni Association, Inc. and of course our Ambassador who began and ended his speech in Tagalog to delighted applause. He talked of helping to build schools, the community and the quality of basic education in the Philippines. In between speeches we were entertained by the school choir, a duet and the group of traditional dancers we had watched practicing earlier. The Head Boy and Girl then invited everyone to share merienda.

Finally, after every group had had its requisite photos taken with the Mayor and Ambassador, I was able to get a quiet moment with Mr. Smith and the AusAid representative Elaine Ward, Counsellor for Development Cooperation. Loud music from the sound system didn’t make this easy, and we were often interrupted by parents and staff keen for a couple more photo opps, but it was sufficient to fill a few large gaps in my knowledge.

The Australian Embassy has been actively participating in the Brigada Eskwala scheme for two years. This week eighty embassy staff members and their families will visit eight schools in Metropolitan Manila, while funding is provided to the tune of Php 2.5 million to support the refurbishment of 50 schools across the country that are in serious need of repair. Each school receives up to Php 70,000 to purchase cleaning products and materials for renovation, and equipment such as electric fans.

The Ambassador also talked fervently about other projects the Embassy is involved in.

I have to admit to being a complete fraud. I had assumed we would all be given a brush and a tin of paint, and I would contribute to freshening up the dingy grey classroom walls. In fact I picked up nothing but my pen. Yesterday, it turned out, was more about publicity than painting. Nonetheless, the message was strong, and the response from the school community was incredibly positive and enthusiastic. I was swept up with the Embassy staff and thanked profusely several times over for making the effort to come along and write about the event. I came away feeling utterly humbled by the gratitude that was poured upon us for giving of our time and attention to help them improve their school. It was a very heart-warming, touching experience, and I found I was being equally as effusive and sincere in my thanks to them for having me, and extremely proud of our government’s involvement in improving education in the Philippines.

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Lu’s

Posted on 4 October 2011 by sheg4184

We found Lu’s on a busy, wet Friday night after a string of unexpected turns. Firstly, the rain had prevented us walking to our intended destination, and it apparently prevented the taxis coming our way, too. We ended up walking through Power Plant Mall, where every restaurant we liked was packed. And then Jean remembered a little place around the corner…

And there we were. At Lu’s.  All the tables were occupied or reserved. I sighed, preparing to turn on my heel and walk out into the rain, disappointed again. ‘But if you don’t mind sitting upstairs..?’

Upstairs proved the best possible place to sit. Above the madding crowd, in comfortable padded seats, we all breathed out, sipping gratefully at our Gin & Tonics, white wines et al. (My husband has just reminded me to mention his cloudy Blonde served in a salt-rimmed glass with lemon that ‘made it more than a beer’.) Annoyingly, I had forgotten my glasses, so found myself alternately squinting and widening my eyes at the menu until I achieved a balance that allowed me to inspect our choices.

Described alternately on various foodie web pages as Moroccan, Mediterranean, or both, it is a creatively eclectic menu blending any number of international dishes in unusual and often unexpected ways. Lu’s opened only 18 months ago. The menu was created by the original chef Luis (hence the restaurant’s name). Although Luis has since moved on, current chef, Enrique Moreno, is developing the menu in the same vein of international fusion.

Thus our first appetizer reeked of the Middle East: a trio of dips that included the ubiquitous creamy, slightly smoky hummus and garlic-laden baba ghanoush, yet accompanied by a splash of Spain in the form of pico de gallo in little crispy cups which worked like a refreshing sorbet between its heavier eastern messmates.  And the roasted eggplant was like no baba ghanoush I had ever tasted. A good dash of chilli, and more than a hint of lemon gave it a novel and irresistible zip. I admit I was tempted to wipe the plate clean with my fingers.

The Vietnamese rice rolls were bite-sized and crispy. One style was packed with shiitake mushrooms, the other with prawns and chicken, the pair accompanied by two sauces – one vinegar based, the other a fascinating, piquant blend of orange and mint.

The third dish we chose finally lived up to the misnomer of Mediterranean – a melt-in-the-mouth plate of delicate zucchini blossoms, fried in a fairy-light batter and filled with a creamy goat’s cheese.

There was talk of continuing in this tapas style eating over a bottle of deeply red, deeply flavoured French wine. But in the end we succumbed to the main courses, which again, showed no signs of conforming to the label of either Moroccan or Mediterranean, but blended both with a Filipino twist, with often surprising but tasty results.

Good old Australian lamb medallions wrapped in bacon were accompanied by miso butter, an asparagus risotto (swirled on the plate, as creamy as mashed potato) and zucchini flower tempura: a sublime merger of east and west.  My own meal, a newcomer to a list of old favourites, was a dish of contrasts. Sounding suitably Asian (sweet and sour tamarind prawns with green mango fried rice), it ended up making me think Deep South and gumbo. Jean felt the same about her pasta. From the aptly named ‘carb closet’ the angel hair pasta with prawns ‘al ajilo’ was a fusion of cultures redolent of Thailand more than Italy. And at last something truly Moroccan… or was it? A North African lamb and bean stew with merguez. A little on the cool side, but tasty. It was like opening presents at Christmas – expecting that Santa had brought you what you had asked for, and finding inside something completely different, but on consideration, better.

So of course we had to try dessert! And we weren’t disappointed:  our choices from the ‘happy ending’ proved to be exactly that. A familiar-sounding lemon cheesecake, that somehow exceeded expectations with its minimalist crust and overflowing filling of lemony lightness; a deliciously deconstructed mound of apple pie with butterscotch (or was that butterscotch with apple pie?) and my firm favourite, two morsels of baklava made with apricots and walnuts, that avoided that cloying sugary sweetness so that the clarity of the dried apricot and walnuts took me on a nostalgic flight to my childhood in South Australia where most backyards boasted an apricot tree, a walnut tree or a lemon tree… if not all three!

An unexpected turn. A good result!

Lu’s can be found at Joya South Tower, Rockwell, Makati

Reservations: 0915 246 8420 or info@lu-restaurant.com

www.lu-restaurant.com

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Messing About in Boats

Posted on 3 October 2011 by sheg4184

There are few holidays as peaceful as drifting down a river in a boat. Or as Ratty puts it so blithely in Wind in the Willows, ’there is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.’ Even in Winter!

During the Filipino wet season this year, we headed south for cooler climes. My parents had booked a house boat on the Murray River, from the South Australian end. Packed to the gunnels with a week’s supply of meals and wine, games, dvds and two teenage boys, we drove over the Adelaide hills in search of water.  Having crossed the swollen river twice at Murray Bridge, we then crossed it a third time on the little ferry at Mannum. It’s only a short trip, and we’ve done it many times over the years, but it still gives me a thrill. Accompanied by a straggly collection of magpies and seagulls, we ate pies, pasties and hot chips on the riverbank, before heading on to the Kia marina. Kia Marina Houseboat Hire is just one of many houseboat rental companies along the river.

The first River Murray houseboat was launched in 1961. It was built by Ian Showell at Renmark, had inspired by houseboats he had seen on the Nile. The Murray River version is traditionally a motorized catamaran: a pontoon with a shack on top. Like a rather ponderous hippopotamus, it lumbers down the wide, eucalyptus-lined waterway.

Nearly two and a half thousand kilometers from the Alps to the sea, the River Murray is Australia’s longest. Since 2000, severe droughts have seriously lowered the water level, damaging the river’s delicate eco-systems, putting strain on river red gums, native fish and birdlife and causing the river mouth to fill with silt. Only constant dredging has kept the river mouth open and prevented the demise of the Coorong. However, recent rains have ensured that the Murray is flowing again. So, it was a good time to witness the rebirth of a river.

We finally reached the marina and located our boat, but were disappointed to discover that high winds made it too dangerous to enter the river that afternoon. Instead, after an hour’s driving lesson with Kevin, we did a lap of the marina and pulled up on the river bank just beyond the entrance – a mere 200m from where we had started! Luckily, a stormy beginning was followed by four glorious days of clear blue skies and crisp cold nights. I hadn’t been out on a river boat since I was seven, rugged up then too, not against the cold, but to disguise fat hamster cheeks from an untimely bout of mumps. Any photos that have survived depict a miserable, scowling bundle of mohair scarf and fierce eyes!

Clear of all germs for this trip, we set off up the river, dodging pelicans, ducks and cockatoos. During the week, we spotted several foxes skimming surreptitiously along the riverbank. In the early mornings, tiny, pocket-sized swallows rested on the boat’s railings, while pelicans circled down through the rose gold beams of sunrise, surprisingly graceful for a large bird that looks so ungainly on land. Surrounded by such a lush display of avian splendour, I have to admit I came frighteningly close to becoming a twitcher!

Each night, after mellow days drifting upriver, we pulled into a much debated parking spot on the riverbank, gathered firewood and built a campfire. The boys baked potatoes and corn in the coals, and they even had a go at cooking marshmallows on long sticks, although more ended up amongst the flames than in their mouths! Being mid-winter, it got dark early, but at least there was not a mosquito to be seen, and Yahtzee and Scrabble kept us entertained through those long evenings.

The houseboat itself was a delight. It is literally a box-shaped, floating shack that, against all boat-building wisdom, manages to meander remarkably smoothly down the river. With decks front and back and another on the roof, we had amazing views in all directions. There was also a tinny (dinghy) on board, although unfortunately ours had a hole in it, so rowing was not an option this time. But we made good use of the barbecue, the TV, the microwave and an extremely noisy generator!  Houseboats come in a variety of shapes and sizes: Google the glamorous 5-star, 10-berth cruiser, The River Dream Boatel. Ours was a little simpler: three double rooms, a spacious kitchen/dining/living room, a bathroom and a loo.  Simple but spacious – and we couldn’t help but compare it to a similar holiday we did with my parents on a very narrow Narrowboat in England!

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Kapampangan Food Safari

Posted on 2 October 2011 by sheg4184

Last weekend I joined a convoy of cars and a small coach bound for Pampanga. It was my first trip further north than Quezon City, and I was wide-eyed with curiosity like Alice down the rabbit hole. As we left Manila behind us, billboards loomed over the motorway. The landscape was open and unvaryingly flat. Corrugated iron farm buildings squatted along the roadside, liberally coated in rust, Palm trees pepper the rice fields, and telephone towers punctuated the horizon like exclamation marks. Occasionally we passed a solitary carabao. (More of them later, but please note the carabao is a water buffalo not a Canadian moose, pronounced carabow not cariboo).

The infamous Mt. Pinatubo lowers from the outskirts of Pampanga. As such, the province is often threatened with the destructive force of volcanic mud slides, which have even been known to breach the FVR Megadike designed to contain them. On the other hand, the benefits of that same volcanic mud are apparent in the lush river cane and rice fields, and perhaps as a result of such plenty, Pampanga is also known as the culinary capital of the Philippines.

Eventually we arrived at the home of ‘culinary luminary’ Lillian Borromeo, just in time for merienda. Staff greeted us with a glass of chilled pandan tea in the delightful open air kitchen at the rear of the property. The sala was choc-a-block with culinary artifacts. There were flat bottomed copper pots hanging on the walls, good for cooking paella or mango jam; curvaceous old palayoks (clay cooking pots) were piled on a well-worn table top; a giant bamboo whisk shaped like a squash racquet – for making giant meringues perhaps? And finally, a selection of intricately hand-carved 17th century wooden molds for impressing on the San Nicolas religious cookies for which Lillian is renowned. The walls and ceilings were made from woven rattan, like a Fijian mat we once owned, reminding me that despite the cultural influences of both Spain and China, the Philippines are Pacific islands at heart.

As we explored the hoard of kitchen knick-knacks and paraphernalia, Lillian quietly took her place behind the kitchen bench and, speaking in a soft, almost whispery voice, shared the local fables about San Nicolas before demonstrating how to make the cookies. As she prepared the dough, she explained how the recipe came about. During Spanish times, the local churches were apparently built with stones cemented together with egg whites. Overwhelmed by a subsequent surplus of yolks, someone invented a recipe for these shortbread-style biscuits. The results are a little dry and surprisingly lacking in sugar for a Filipino cookie, but they are moreish, and apparently perfect for dipping into hot chocolate.

Lillian proved her point by concocting a steaming bowl of hot chocolate in a copper pot over an open fire. The cacao beans had been ground together with peanuts using an ancient chocolate grinding stone in the back garden, similar to those used for grinding grain, and it provided enough heat during grinding to melt the chocolate. It was a long, slow process for those manning the wheel, as it can take an hour to grind a small take-away tub of liquid chocolate. This was then stirred with creamy caribao milk over the heat, till thick and foamy, it was transferred into a copper jug and whisked with a traditional wooden molinet or molinillo.  The Spanish replaced the traditional chillies with sugar to make the sweeter chocolate drink which we all enjoy today. Lillian suggested a dash of condensed milk as well, and then showed us an antique copper pojia (pronounced po-hi-ya), a ladle-shaped saucepan specially designed to make hot chocolate for two.

For lunch we moved on to a 17th century Spanish-Filipino Heritage house, which was built in 1824 by the city founder, Don Ángel Pantaleón de Miranda. It is the oldest house in Angeles, and walking through the door is like stepping back in time. The rooms are cluttered with antique furniture and clocks. The ceilings are molded and highly decorative. One bedroom had an unusual cone-shaped ceiling and tiny square window panes made from the translucent window pane shell Placuna placenta that was traditionally used in windows in Asia. A richly robed saint and the Angel Gabriel stand, full-size, in glass cases, watching over the dining tables. Apparently every 17th century Spanish-Filipino house had its own saint that would be carried through the streets in the Saints Day procession.

Eventually we joined local celebrity Chef Sau and his nephew – the most recent in a family line-up of chefs spanning four generations – in the kitchen for a cooking demonstration of chicken tamales wrapped in banana leaves. Steamed and unwrapped it looked like a Spanish omelette. The texture was similar too. But the dark orange acheute oil provided a whole new taste for me. Acheute is a small red fruit with a Mohawk, not unlike a rambutan. It originally came from South America, and when the tiny red seeds are steeped in oil it makes an interesting smoky taste.

Then it was time to sit down to a seven course Kapampangan banquet. Renowned ‘organic’ celebrity chef Sau del Rosario, has impressive international credentials: Raffles in Singapore, Luna in Shanghai, the EDSA Shangri La. He has also made an extensive study tour of France and French cuisine. Closer to home, the Ayala Museum Café benefitted from Chef Sau’s imaginative take on Asian fusion. Today, it was time to set up camp in his home town and introduce us to some local specialties.

First up, firm, steamed prawns served with a salad of local ferns and sprinkled with red and purple geranium petals for colour. This was sprinkled with a light coconut vinegar dressing. I had never tried coconut vinegar before, but I loved it. It gently spiced up an otherwise rather bland dish.

The second dish was wonderfully crispy catfish wrapped in a tangy mustard leaf and served with buro, a paste made from fermented rice and shrimps, indigenous to Pampanga. I am learning to enjoy these Filipino fish pastes in the right context. They can enhance a meal with a satisfying dash of saltiness.

A pork rib sinigang came next, served in a tea cup and saucer. Chef Sao then poured a thick pork broth over the ribs, guava, okra and beans. I found that the guava gave the rich pork broth a satisfying dash of sharpness.

The penultimate savoury dish was a beautifully cooked piece of Bangus or milkfish stuffed with pork and served with pork gravy (Filipino Surf & Turf?) which delighted the palate (mine anyway!). To complete the main meal, we were given a serving of Beef Morcon. Like a roulade, this rolled beef was very prettily presented with a tomato sauce and a pingpong ball of rice.

And still there was dessert. I finally got to taste the Philippines famous Leche flan (think crème caramel) which was accompanied by a sweet ube (yam) paste. Although ube can be a rather off-putting colour (ube means violet in Tagalog, and so it is!) it proved a perfect accompaniment to the light, creamy flan. This was followed by Tibok tibok, a traditional Kapampangan dessert made from carabao milk and rice. The name means ‘heart beat’ due to the sound of the thick milk and rice mixture as it boils – can’t you hear it? This was Chef’s Sau’s version of one we had watched Lillian make for us: sticky rice and molasses sprinkled with toasted coconut. “Delish-oos”.  And I couldn’t possibly choose a favourite, I loved them both. Finally we were presented with a small woven purse containing a selection of local lollies – pastillas de leche – made from the ubiquitous carabao milk, with their traditional pabalat (coloured paper) wrapper. Unfortunately I had not an ounce more room for, and had to take them home to my children!

Our final stop was a tiny shop house on the outskirts of Santa Ana. Our guides had told us that this place serves the best halo-halo ever. Local food writer and chef, Claude Tayag says so too! So despite the late hour (it was already after 5pm and we were supposed to be back in Manila by 5.30… well that’s not going to happen!), we made a detour and, like musical chairs, we squeezed our 25 over-fed bodies onto a dozen plastic stools to await the grand finale. For a true devotee of halo-halo, it may have been worth wait. I was too tired and too full to care. It was certainly refreshing – shaved ice with a dash of carabao milk, and none of the usual multi-coloured palaver you will find at Milky Way or other such cafes competing for the most glorious version of halo halo. Instead there was a simplicity that was appealing at the end of such an over-indulgent day. But only if you like your dessert with sweet corn and mashed white kidney beans. However, the response from the rest of the group was positive, and if Mr. Tayag recommends it, who am I to argue..?

Tour Flair: Signature Philippine Tours. For more information, contactT eresa, Lory-Vi  or Mindy by email: tourflair@gmail.com

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Skipping the Light Fandango!

Posted on 28 September 2011 by sheg4184

I recently spent a delightful evening with a friend at the newly refurbished Diamond Hotel on Manila Bay for The Ambassadors Spouses Fashion Show and Charity Gala. Barely through the front door, we were swept up and delivered to the foyer of the Diamond Ballroom. Trays of delicious canapés, champagne, wine and vodka floated past. It was the first time this event has been held here, and the Diamond Ballroom was a splendid venue.The evening oozed style and sophistication, with a fashion-conscious crowd in eager attendance and all the polish and expertise from, Rustan’s, one of Manila’s major retailers.

As the show began, some of theAdd an Image models looked decidedly overwhelmed, but after the first nerve-racking lap, they relaxed into the jolly mood of the crowd. By the end, everyone had loosened up and was thoroughly enjoying her five minutes of fame. Eighteen Ambassador’s wives participated, displaying a colourful array of casual dresses and ball gowns: claret and charcoal, teal and turquoise, feathered and fitting, strapless and layered, satin, silk, chiffon…

As cameras flashed from all over the room, some of the Ambassadors themselves got in on the act and wandered down the catwalk grinning, wine glasses in hand.  In the front row, the Italian ‘groupies’ were most enthusiastic, providing ample encouragement to all the models as they left the stage.

One thing I particularly loved about the evening was the fact that we were able to enjoy watching a group of real women, with real women’s figures, strut their stuff – and did not have to sit feeling inadequate in front of a line-up of anorexic models with impossible figures!  And all the ladies truly looked gorgeous up there. I think everyone was impressed with the proof that we don’t need to look like super models to wow the crowds!

For those accustomed to being the formal representatives of their individual countries, the fashion show enabled each model to express her own personality through her clothing choices and unique catwalk style, and to have a little fun.  All those who participated showed they were prepared to step out of their comfort zones for a worthy cause, which was a wonderful reflection on the countries they hail from. After the fashion parade, guests and models mingled in an ever-more relaxed manner to celebrate the evening’s success.

Later, I asked the New Zealand Ambassador’s wife what life’s been like since then, and whether she has been overwhelmed with modelling work. Her reply?  “The Ford Modelling Agency just keeps on calling but, you know – I’m just too busy!”

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