Breakfast at Portabaga Falls, Santa Praxedes

Everything extremely fresh: sautéed-yet-tender eggplant, a fried egg (the way I like it the few times I have it––devoid of runniness), with tomatoes that were slightly tart and not savory.

Along the 5+ hour drive from Tuguegarao to the Santa Praxedes multipurpose hall (basketball court), we stopped at Portabaga Falls for a government-sponsored breakfast

It turned out to be a "pescetarian" spread––fried eggplant topped with those bright red northerly tomatoes, fried eggs, and some small fried fish (dilis). Literally a lighter, coastal version of the heavy meat-centric rice-and-beef versions that are usually available along the roadsides in the province. Save for the fish, everything was probably a tinge less savory than one would expect, but that is always remedied by the available sawsawan (this time it was soy sauce with vinegar).

Chafing dishes lined up for the buffet-style breakfast.

Eggplant with tomatoes, dilis, and more tomatoes.

Portabaga Falls and its pools. We didn't take a dip––it was way too cold.

Fishy Ferments

A not-unimportant part of fisherfolk income and local cuisine, and also our contribution to the world of savory protein ferments: fermented fish products, namely bagoong (a general word that also pertains to fermented shrimp paste) and patis (fish sauce). Not-unimportant because, as my former-fisher hilot (traditional massage therapist) claims, these salted and stored tiny fish usually ferment just in time to provide income during fishing's inevitable low seasons. Furthermore, they satisfy that key basic human need for savoriness. They are also very nutritious, providing a lot of calcium and whatnot, but that's information for a future post.

Sea salt, two types of bagoong, and patis. The first bagoong is bonnet-head terong, the second is a mysterious (to me) white sort, about which all vendors have a different story.

Fishmongers' Containers

Here are various improvised containers that small entrepreneurs use to bring fish to the market.

Aluminum drums with perforated lids held down by synthetic rope strung through carrying handles. Smaller synthetic rope also pulls the larger rope taut.

Plastic tubs with tuna inside plastic.

A crate covered by styrofoam, which has seen better days and is sewn together by plastic straw. Carrying handles have been added to crate and covered by plastic tubing for more comfortable hands.

A drum much like the first photo, but this time with a wooden cover, which also provides ventilation.

Fishy Interests and Hacking Tools

I generally avoid meat and fish sections of the market. Though I am not a meat eater, I wouldn't say I have a real flesh aversion (I stop and stare and have this inner dialogue about nature being amoral) but I do avoid the slippery, smelly, humid section. Anyone who has picked scales off their wallet after dropping it on the wet floor will understand.

A fishing boat off Currimao, Ilocos Norte.

But recently I have gotten interested in fisheries. Perhaps if you're from the Philippines, you already know that fisherfolk are considered some of most vulnerable, improverished people in our country. For a nation with a really long and varied coastline, that says a lot about living context-appropriately. A chef friend of mine has recently gotten involved with the Oceana campaign for sustainable fishing, and our recent trip together got me thinking a lot about underutilized marine species, and observing the fisheries sector in general.

Mallet, large knife with handle, chopping board, with fish segments.

When I would ask vendors in houseware stalls selling mallet-like heavy wooden sticks with ends wrapped in rubber what they were for, I was always told they were for smacking animal or fish heads to kill them. Recently, though, I noticed that cleaver handles were in short supply, but the dull thud from the rubberized sort of clubs allowed vendors to hack away at larger tuna-family fish. I have no doubt that these are also used for chopping pork or beef.

Handle-less cleaver on chopping board.

Segment.

Fruitmix

Meet fruitmix.

I dwell in the realm of "hot" "coffee-like" beverages, but the summer almost got me consuming the cooling pampalamig (cooling) beverages available to aid in temperature regulation.

Ambulant vendors do well in poorly-insulated and open areas.

Fruitmix is basically chopped up fruit with milk, sugar, and ice. The cooling variety of drinks usually have fruit or jellies in them (think sago't gulaman, Thai iced whatever with weird jelly and fruit). You can find some version of them in all tropical places. Fruitmix is found most especially among fruit vendors, who transform their produce into this ready-to-eat/drink form. This genre of sweet-starchy drinks are somewhere in between a beverage and a snack, a kind of low-commitment merienda. I rejoice when I see such populist, fresh, bordeline-junk-food maintaining popularity despite the ubiquity of commercial drinks and sweets.

Fruitmix-- karatula-official.

Secretly Recreational Jamu Drinking

Don't let the froth fool you...

Drinking jamu can hardly be classified as recreational. But then again, how often do we twenty-first century humans subject ourselves to slightly unpleasant experiences for the sake of our long-term benefits? It's like getting a tattoo. Your happiness is mutilated for a few minutes but you soon feel like getting another that is even more hardcore ugly-tasting.

Jamu is a blanket term for Indonesian medicinal formulations. We were hunting down some idli recently in Melaka when we spotted a makeshift stall apparently selling refreshments. We perused the little packets in a plastic bin and saw photographs and illustrations denoting ailments addressed or positive endstates after drinking some jamu.

Left, we concluded it was a woman with an aching back and not a rape scene. Right, virility via dried seahorse.

Aside from being an "unintentionally funny funny" enthusiast's dream, the packets symbolize something a phenomenon that evades many "developing country" cultures (save for India and a few more maybe?)-- the mass-marketing of "indigenous health products".

The jamu lady, dispenser of health and beautifying Indonesian products for immigrants.

From the smoky room of an herbalista or albolaryo (our local Filipino blanket terms for people who deal with leaves-as-medicine, or pigs' blood smearing-- yes, we lump them together) to an easily-distributed packet that can be sold anywhere and served by anyone with a few ingredients and a wire whisk. You wonder about the journey. This article describes fresh jamu in a wet market setting. I imagine a succeeding phase of commerce, of jamu propagated through market stalls of loose dried herbs and home-repacked plastic bags of powders, like you see in places like Quiapo.

A jamu packet for every need. Boxes are cut halfway to display the different types.

But this sachet-ization of jamu is something else. The just-add-water state is the easiest path to third-world domination (Nescafe, yes?). It has been attempted by energy drinks locally to limit transport, storage, and spoilage costs.

Powdered energy drinks and a jug of purified water, Manila streets.

All you need.

You begin by selecting the packet you like. If you can't read Indonesian, you can base it on the packet art, but sometimes that can be ambiguous, e.g.:

Be the strongest shadow-puppet on the block.

The lady at the jamu stall helped us select suitable packets, to do with virility and being a nice-looking female with shiny hair. She cut them open, emptied the earth-colored powders into a blender.

The biodiversity-reflecting muck that is jamu.

A kampung egg with a marvelously orange yolk.

Afterwards, she added a raw kampung (village, or non-industrial) egg yolk. Before you judge, raw egg yolks are, like, an original superfood, as long as they're "native" or backyard, with deep-colored yolks. Remember Disney's Gaston? Yes, from Davao to Romania, tales abound of grandmothers mixing egg yolks into great-tasting things like wine, sarsaparilla, and hot chocolate. But in jamu? You can't tell which bad taste is trying to mask which, apparently (I skipped it).

Mystery fermented syrup.

Then follow two kinds of fermented syrup, which were blessings, really. The lady topped it off with some hot water and ran the blender. It is worth noting that most of herbs and spices were obviously not water-soluble, so the beverage was a little grainy, like consuming a well-spiced German Christmas cookie without flour or butter.

It is also worth noting that I felt exceptionally great and bright-eyed the whole day despite all the eating that had taken place against my better judgement. Which leads me to conclude that megadoses of pleasure deserve megadoses of displeasure, which are in turn perversely pleasurable.

Want some jamu with those raw eggs, Gaston?

Best in Fish Arrangement

Assam fish at Long Fatt, Melaka.

Post-Hari Raya Snacktime!

Our spread. Where's the table? That's the table!

Because the Moslem population of the Philippines is somewhat geographically concentrated, we rarely witness non-Catholic festivities in the capital. Nope, no families dressed in the same color, no replicas of ketupat hanging everywhere. From what I gather from Malay friends, Hari Raya is their version of Christmas (i.e. a traditional celebration on steroids), with spreads ranging from humble to ultra-elaborate, with the accompanying consumer lunacy.

Feels like Southern Philippines.

We were welcomed into a farmer's home for some merienda. From what I gathered, these were leftover snacks from the bright festivities that had just dipped into the horizon. I didn't understand much of what they were saying, but there was a lot of laughter.

A platter of "cookies", rendang, murukku, lemang.

The food is a mixture of Malay, Tamil, and Western food. The cookies, in particular, are hard little versions of the sort of stuff you will find in Philippine bakeries-- garishly colored, very sweet, margarinized.

They turned to me and mouthed: "Malay Kool-Aid".

Vague flavor, generally sweet.

Tokak

Dressed frogs.

The weekly market in Paoay features a few things that would make the Manileño throw up a little in his mouth. I am a slightly morbid non-meat eater who is often faced with things that make me shudder, but my cultural curiosity often outweighs any initial horror.

I can imagine siblings fighting over the frog segment that has the eggs hanging from them.

But also, the presence of frogs, ant eggs, and whatnot in the Ilocano menu is an encouraging diet that is "hedged"-- i.e. still includes a variety of species, in particular some that haven't quite made it into the industrial realm. Frogs or tokak from the rice fields are eaten just like chicken-- battered and fried, stewed in coconut milk or adobo-style.

There was a lady from Paoay, bla bla selling frogs, bla bla pink flower on slippers bla bla.

Halo-Halo Girls

Bunch of cute kids eating halo-halo in Adams, Ilocos Norte.

Ilocano Halo-Halo and Ice Shaving Improvisation

Halo-halo in cups, waiting for ice and milk in Ilocos.

Other countries have this flower or that blooming, or some bird singing to mark the coming of spring, the Philippines has the gradual cropping up of halo-halo stalls to mark the coming of summer. This weird rainy summer is no exception.

Colored gulaman (seaweed jelly) and sago pearls at the Alabang market.

Propped up by a seasonal halo-halo economy of market vendors selling sweetened beans, garishly colored jelly, and colored (pinipig) toasted rice. Truthfully, there's a little too much color for my tastes in it, but once in awhile is okay.

Gulaman being molded in plastic cups in a kind of grody setting, Alabang market.

 Ilocos Norte is not usually the place you would expect halo-halo. Of course, it's all over the country, but you wouldn't be surprised not to find it in this relatively sedate province. It is terribly hot out there. Its delicacies consist generally of rice cakes on the sweet side, and deep-fried pork things on the savory side.

I was fiending for something cold, and had been asking the locals about halo-halo for days. I got some free time and stopped by a stall with some friends along Paoay Lake.

The stall, under a bamboo frame, with a curtain shading the owner from the harsh sun.

So of course, Ilocanos being the resourceful and the tightwads that they are (local stereotypes are fun), supplement store-bought ingredients (colored jelly and sago balls) with cheaper (but better) ingredients such as freshly grated coconut, boiled and lightly sugared sweet potato, and my favorite thus far (in place of the usual canned or yellow sweet corn), nixtamalized corn (usually used in binatog). It sounds fancy, but nixtamalized corn is really creamy, alkalized white, glutinous corn that does not have skin. More on that later.

Colored toasted rice, sweetened beans, sweetened sweet potato, sweetened banana, nixtamalized corn, and grated coconut.

Nixtamalized corn. Creamy and super delicious.

Grated coconut.

Another super great thing is that the woman manning the stall (sounds funny doesn't it. What-- womanning?) had invented an apparatus to keep the ice (made from water frozen in plastic bags) from slipping while she shaves it. It was made from pieces of wood and bottle caps.

Bottle caps nailed to a small piece of wood board.

The wood hold the ice while the vendor shaves, thus allowing her to exert maximum force.

Ice on bottle caps.

A nearly spent piece of ice. The board also has bottle caps as legs so it doesn't slip either.

Ice Man Ice Shaver.

Peanut Emporium in Palengke

Varying levels of roasting, all skinless.

On the left, a price change resolved by making dark circles with the markers on the old numbers.

Peanut vending from a permanent wet market space in Valencia Bukidnon. Peanut butter, freshly milled and sweetened a la Lily's Peanut Butter (put in cheap plastic cups and covered in foil-- a cheap way around a jar, in the tradition of using glasses as jars), skinless, sugarcoated, salted, raw, any way you like it. Get a kilo and it's cheaper, get a "salmon" (a term based on the measuring receptacle they use, an empty salmon tin). and it's a bit steeper.