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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A Bridge to the Future: The Tulay Ng Kabataan Foundation

Posted on 27 September 2011 by sheg4184

“There are thousands of children living in the streets of Manila who have broken all bonds with their families. Victims of violence and of drugs, they survive by begging, by stealing, by prostitution… living totally in the margins of society.”

The Tulay Ng Kabataang (TNK) Foundation was set up in 1998 by Father Jean-Francois Thomas to provide a safe haven for more than 1000 children living on the streets, in the slums or on the dump sites of Manila. Funding comes from several European charities and covers the cost of feeding, housing, educating and rehabilitating these children in twenty two drop-in centres across the city. For the younger children, the foundation provides informal schooling designed to bridge the gap between life on the streets and formal schooling. For adolescents too old to start school, vocational training is provided.

The ADBSA Social Welfare Committee visits one TNK drop-in centre in Quezon City every Monday to spend time with the boys.  There are currently twenty five boys in the classroom, but numbers constantly fluctuate. The boys are aged approximately between 4 and 14, although many don’t know their real age. Many of the boys have been living on the streets, others have been taken from parents who are either drug abusers, child abusers, or simply too poor to keep them. One newcomer has been quarantined with scabies. Some will climb the walls to run back to the streets, and a few are retrieved by their families but hopefully some stay on to graduate and go on to ‘proper’ school.

Last week I accompanied four fellow ADB spouses on my first trip to Quezon City. We were greeted by a room full of smiling, curious faces. Eventually one held out his hand and bravely asked me:

 

“Hello, what is your name?”

“Hi! My name is Alex,” I replied.

We shook hands, and suddenly there were eager hands reaching out everywhere. Several pulled my hand to their foreheads as a sign of respect. I asked their names, but I couldn’t always understand their answers. They would giggle and make me repeat what they said. Despite my best efforts to mimic them, it seems I wasn’t even close. Or maybe they enjoyed teasing. Luckily, their work folders were handed out, so I could read their names off the covers and finally decipher what they were saying.

“O! You are Jerricho! And Reymart! And you are Darwin?”

This week we arrived in the rain under huge umbrellas. I was greeted with cries of “Hello Ma’am Alex” as soon as I walked through the door. I was really touched that they remembered me.

They are really lovely boys. They have all had their hair shaved close to their heads, which emphasizes their beautiful big, brown eyes. Their skinny little legs are encased in rather grubby shorts, and their t-shirts are hand-me-downs, often over-sized and hanging like dresses from their narrow frames. But despite their scruffy appearances, here they can learn a few life skills, a little English, and some basic reading, writing and arithmetic.

The boys get very excited when Hema begins her lesson. Together, we count and clap and recite our days of the week and months of the year, and revise some common courtesies such as ‘you’re welcome,’ ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. My favourite part was watching Leni teaching them to sneeze into their elbows not their hands, so as not to spread germs to the next person they touched.

Last week, I was thrown in the deep end and asked to sing with them. ’ It was a little nerve-racking on my first visit, but great fun to lead them through several rounds of ‘When you’re happy & you know it’ and watch them join in cheerfully with the clapping, waving and stomping. The funniest moment came when I threw in “when you’re happy and you know it, blink your eyes.” One young lad climbed onto his bench and nearly threw himself into the next row showing me how well he could scrunch up his eyes! Afterwards they proudly sang it back to me in Tagalog.

This week Hema prodded me to the front again to lead them through three rounds of ‘Do Re Me’. I felt terribly grown up as I conducted the choir of joyful voices. Then it was time for exercises. Last week Leni began with a special exercise song. This week, given that I didn’t know the words or the tune, we adapted ‘When you’re happy and you know it’ to stretch and squat, star jump, dance and clap. They participated with huge enthusiasm, flinging their slight bodies around the rather confined spaces behind their desks.

Then they acted out a story with Colin. Last week’s story involved a conga line of characters around the classroom.  This week I got distracted by a boy called Moses, eager for me to help him with some simple addition. This involved a lot of finger counting and jumping to conclusions when it all got too hard, while the rest jumped about the room being goats and squirrels and other woodland animals. After the story they were giving merienda (snack). Apparently the peanut butter cookies are a firm favourite, and often get tucked into their shorts elastic for later, or to con us into believing they haven’t had one yet.

After merienda, it’s time for art. Last week we handed round small boxes of crayons and a new lead pencil each. The pencils were so new they hadn’t been sharpened yet, so I wandered round the room with sharpeners and chatted with the boys. Some were keen to show me how to work the sharpener, others insisted they wanted theirs to be pristine, and wouldn’t let me spoil them. This week they used their new crayons to join the dots to form a goldfish. Quite a few needed help getting the sequence right, but their concentration was breath-taking, and the twenty four beautifully decorated goldfish we stuck on the board afterwards were a sight to behold – and impossibly difficult to judge, when each of us was given 3 stars with which to judge our favourites. Our job done, we headed back out into the rain, with shouts of ‘Goodbye!’ and ‘Thank you for coming!’ ringing in our ears. Some of us responded with “You are welcome” as we had been taught in class. I found myself more inclined to respond as my mother taught me: “Thank you for having me!”

It throws your own life into such sharp perspective to see those boys so enthusiastic and grateful for our tiny contribution to their lives. It humbles me and makes me count my blessings for all that I have.  Not just belongings, but a home, a family, love and security. The foundation made a short film that you can watch on You Tube. At one point a banner announces “Blessed is he who preserves the heart of a child from despair”. But I feel I am the one who has been blessed, as I spend time with these warm, beautiful boys who have been given so very few blessings, but seem to gain such sincere and simple joy from our visits.

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‘Walk this Way’ through Intramuros

Posted on 27 September 2011 by sheg4184

As the title suggests, this is a walking tour. But for those of you who fear a long hot trudge through the streets of Intramuros, rest assured, your guide and entertainer Carlos Celdran is not so masochistic. This three hour tour is a gentle stroll around the park at Fort Santiago, a buggy ride and a short walk to Barbara’s Café. At suitably shady spots, Celdran invites you to sit comfortably on the grass in front of him while he takes you on ‘a journey through Filipino history for people with no attention span’.

Celdran’s performance is off-beat, irreverent, and unorthodox: a constant patter of fact and personal opinion. Dressed in an eighteenth century Spanish top hat and tailcoat, he begins the tour under the frangipani trees by encouraging all the locals to sing the National Anthem. A rousing chorus from at least 50% of the tour group follows. I do love the ability of the Filipinos to burst into song in public places without any qualms. It makes me feel totally at at home, as my mother always carols around the supermarket in exactly the same unselfconscious fashion.

The curtain rises with the arrival of the Spanish in Manila.  In Act 1, Carlos describes the building of Intramuros (literally ‘within the walls’) by the Spanish conquistadors in 1571, after ousting some 10,000 indigenous Muslim inhabitants from the banks of the Pasig River. Intramuros would become the centre of power for the Spanish government, the military and the Church for the next three hundred years..

Act 2 focuses on the national hero, Jose Rizal. As we wander past Rizal’s statue and through the Rizal museum, Celdran gleefully bursts mythical bubbles. This national hero is no gun wielding general but an elitist scholar with leanings towards Spain. Rizal wrote two books against theocracy in the Philippines: Ils Filibusterismo and Noli Me Tangere. He was later used as a scapegoat for the revolutionaries, and summarily shot for treason. ‘Suitably benign and even more suitably dead’, Rizal was apparently selected as a national hero, not by the Filipinos, but by the Americans.

Act 3 involves a change of location and costume, as Celdran replaces the top hat with a stars-and-stripes Cat-in-the-Hat number. Standing by the bandstand and encircled by a riveted crowd, this next monologue describes how the Americans attempted to convert the Philippines into a secular democracy and educated the masses in American English. The Philippines, he tells us, was seen as a decompression chamber between East and West, where the fusion of race, food and culture made Manila the first truly globalized city in Asia.

At this point Celdran invites us to avail ourselves of alternative transport at the gates of the park, and ride in a horse drawn cart to our next location. Beneath the shadowy mango trees we settle on plastic stools beside the hollow ruins of St Ignatius Church and an empty lot (once the University of Manila), bombed to smithereens at the end of World War II. The penultimate act is a somewhat vitriolic speech about the destruction of Intramuros through the combined efforts of the Americans and the Japanese, during which I was quite glad to be Australian, and thus outside the ‘circle of dis-trust!’

Celdran uses a lot of thought-provoking imagery during his performance. In the final act standing before St Augustine’s pink splendor, he describes the illusion that is Philippine culture: a walled city made of volcanic ash; St Augustine’s architectural trimmings copied from every age and corner of the world, and the gift-wrapped jeepneys. Filipinos decorate everything, he says, but while more imitative than innovative, he proclaims “this lack of originality makes us totally original!” To be Filipino is to be a mish mash, a fusion, a blend, a halo halo of world cultures… and the final curtain comes down in the courtyard at Barbara’s Café, with the grand finale of halo halo for everyone.

I have tried not to give away the whole talk – otherwise you won’t bother to go yourselves, and you should!  Keep an open mind and a sense of humour – and know that Celdran’s snappy patter even appealed to my fifteen year old son, something Celdran himself saw as a great achievement!

So who is Carlos Celdran?

His biography is well documented in Wikipedia, and he related the same information to me in the café almost verbatim, but in his own inimitable style and at breath-taking speed. Carlos Celdran is a renowned Filipino tour guide, cited in the Insight Guide to the Philippines and well-known to the expat community in Manila. Perhaps less well known is the fact that he was also a painter, a cartoonist, an actor, stage designer, director and a comic – and is currently described in the media as a cultural activist. Last year he became notorious after staging a very public protest against the Church for its opposition to the reproductive health bill… and for subsequently spending a night in prison, charged with “offending religious feelings.” I asked if he had anticipated such a response and he remarked that he had been very surprised by the experience.

Celdran says he is not a total atheist, but not a very good Catholic either.  But he says he likes religion, because everyone needs a little magic in life and knowing all the answers takes away the colour. He talks a lot about Intramuros as the soul of Manila with its multiple churches, and is clearly grateful to Imelda Marcos who took a hand in funding its rebirth after it had been decimated at the end of World War II.

Carlos Celdran grew up in Das Marinas, where he apparently led a very sheltered middle class childhood and developed a passion for plane spotting. When he was only fourteen, he became the youngest ever cartoonist for the newspaper Business Day. Here he attracted the attention of ‘Nonoy’ Marcello, a famous political satirist.

Once at the University of the Philippines, Diliman, Celdran’s world expanded and he discovered Intramuros. Here he had a broad education in both visual and performing arts that led him to the Rhode Island School of Design where an allergy to paint forced him to change his major to performing arts. This change would later lead him to New York based theatre company, the Blue Man Group.

In 1998 he returned to the Philippines where he began leading tours for the Heritage Conservation Society, a non-profit organization for preserving historical architecture. The experience drew him back to Intramuros and exhibited his natural flair for performance. In 2002 he launched his own tour company.

Now in his tenth year of guiding, Celdran leads an average of 30 people through the streets of Intramuros three times a week. He also offers a walking tour of the National Theatre, Convention Centre and CCP grounds called ‘Living La Vida Imelda!’ which, his website states, is ‘a little bit disco, a little bit New Society, and completely Imeldific’. Both tours claim to have adult content.

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Chinese New Year in Binondo

Posted on 26 September 2011 by sheg4184

Binondo Fire EngineOur special Chinese New Year Edition will begin at 8am on the dot from the Binondo church on the edge of Chinatown. We reach the purple fire truck at 8:02am but can’t see a tour group anywhere ~ they weren’t joking about’ on the dot!’ While I make a couple of quick calls, my two teenage companions discover a basket full of fluffy chicks, dyed a multitude of bright colours. There are even some tiny, finger-nail-sized quail chicks ~ the Chinese version of Easter eggs. Luckily I track down our tour guide before I find myself having to rescue fifty psychedelic chicks, and we dash down the road to find our guide, Ivan Man Dy, and our tour begins…

Tour numbers can vary from six to twenty six. We are a monster-sized group of forty five for this special edition and I wonder how Ivan can possibly navigate the bustling New Year’s crowds without losing anyone. But Ivan is a pro.To quote his website: ‘conceptualized, manufactured, bred and educated in the city of Manila, Ivan is the feet behind Old Manila Walks.’

Our first gathering place is the New Po Heng Lumpia, a pink, al fresco restaurant hidden at the end of a wide corridor beside the HSBC Bank. Here we are served a little local history with our lumpia or spring rolls that originated in the northern Chinese province of Fujian or Hokkien. Lumpia are quite different from the bite-sized, deep fried spring rolls popular in most Asian restaurants. Made with pork, shrimp, lettuce, dried seaweed and crushed peanuts, this fresh spring roll are typically bigger and more savoury than its smaller, better known cousins, and is wrapped in a light rice flour wrapper that must be eaten straight away, after dipping it in a combination of vinegar, hot chilli sauce and a thick, warm, sweet sauce. Lumpia are made to celebrate the Spring Festival (we know it as Chinese New Year), hence the name ‘spring roll’.

Chinatown is just over the Pasig River from Intramuros, on the edge of Divisoria. Our tour meanders through its crowded, narrow streets with their distinct flavour of the Orient. On this, the first day of the Chinese New Year, red dominates, and miniature pineapples hanging in the centre of kiat-kiat wreaths are strung across the alleyways as symbols of wealth and prosperity. Street kids are also on the look-out for wealth and prosperity, but they are not at all insistent, pausing only to tap and nudge and hold out their hands pleadingly. Firecrackers burst our eardrums at regular intervals, and it is wise to be wary as they spit and smoke with unexpected vigour.

Our guide leads us skillfully through the New Year revelers to a narrow, rather dingy little side street where a small gem of a restaurant is tucked away in a quiet back corner. Dong Bei Dumpling can seat twenty people at four laminate tables with plastic chairs. Forty five keen foodies squeeze into every available nook and cranny. Popular with bloggers, the best thing about this tiny restaurant is being able to watch the dumplings made from scratch, or as our guide tells us, ‘lovingly crafted within these four walls by hands.’ The cooks perch precariously around a small table in the window, jostled by the crowd, rolling out circles of dough, and delving into 3 mounds of filling for this northern style dim sum. Two bowls of sauce are brought to each table with a glass full of what looks like metal knitting needles. Very soon, plates of freshly poached dumplings arrive and are quickly gobbled up – at least as quickly as I can manage. Trying to catch a slippery dumpling with knitting needles is no easy task, especially when we are wedged in so tightly. Finally someone loses patience with my fumbling attempts, and tells me firmly to ‘stab it!’

Chinese dragon

Our next stop is at a rather roomier restaurant on the first floor, with a great view over the street. Below us the crossroads is buzzing with excited crowds and Chinese dragon dancers, shaggy-headed Chinese lions gamboling amongst the onlookers and lady-boy dancers strutting their stuff. Staff serve us a simple soup of fish balls and cabbage and a bowl of Hokkien style fried rice that can be added to the soup… or the soup added to the rice… I am still not quite sure which way round it goes. Two lions come dancing up the stairs accompanied by a loud drum beat. Each animal is operated by two dancers like a pantomime horse. Their huge mouths drop open for donations that will ensure the giver a year of good luck and prosperity.

Starting to feel very full, we brave the smoke from a bonfire of used firecrackers, and head down Ongpin Street to a tiny stall making traditional Chinese merienda, that Filipino in-between meal like our afternoon tea. Here we are handed siopao (pronounced shiow pow): sweet warm buns reminiscent of jam donuts that are surprisingly not full of jam, but a succulent pork filling.

Finally ending the tour where we began, we are presented with individually wrapped pieces of tikoy or nian gao: a popular Chinese New Year’s Cake made from glutinous rice coloured green, purple or white, and surprisingly morish. It is eaten widely in the Philippines at this time of year, as yet another symbol of wealth and prosperity.
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It is well worth taking a break from Makati shopping malls to explore Old Manila with Ivan Man Dy. However, I would highly recommend organizing a private tour – or at least joining a smaller group. While it was great fun to be out on the streets for Chinese New Year, the noise of the crowds, the firecrackers and the size of the group made hearing our guide somewhat problematic, and I am sad to think I missed lots of interesting tidbits. Oh well, we’ll just have to go again…

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