FOOD TRIP IN NARVACAN

OTHER than the scenic or rather memorable places of my hometown, one thing that made me so eager to go home again, is the food.

Fortunately, in my latest homecoming, I was not deprived of this rare opportunity to indulge in as many of my favorite Ilocano food as I can. My family, particularly Manong Ben and his wife Cion, were tireless in serving me the food that I crave so much. 

Good thing, Lloyd and Melchor, my classmates in PUP College of Law who joined me in my last visit to Narvacan, joined me in this gastronomic foray. My friends were only familiar with the popular pinakbet, dinengdeng, and the bagnet, while the rest of the Ilocano foods are exotic to them. That’s why I could see either a reluctance of a Fear Factor contestant or that why-not-try attitude when some of these foods were served to them.

Life was tough in Ilocos, but there was always food to give you a bit taste of heaven. Oh my, I have always loved these foods that were served during my homecoming.  

Imbaligtad. This is my number one in the list, because it has always been my usual request that my father would cook one as a welcome treat for me everytime I arrive here for vacation. Unlike the papaitan, which uses beef tripes and innards that are cooked over medium heat until tender, our delicious imbaligtad uses the freshest beef (laman or any lean part). The beef is just stir-fried with garlic, ginger and onion, and some hot chili to spice. Imbaligtad literaly means flipped over (“binaliktad” in Tagalog), so the beef is just quickly stir-fried at high heat on a few turns or flips. The effect is a steaming half-cooked fresh meat that tastes sweet and not rubbery. 

 

Sinanglaw. This is a pinapaitan minus the bitter taste of cow’s papait (a part of the stomach of a ruminant or a bile). Instead of bitterness, it is sourness of sukang Iluko (Ilocos vinegar) or a young tamarind (kamias can be an alternative) that dominates its taste. Thanks to Manong Ben who ushered me and my friends to a well-known sinanglawan in town, those found adjacent to the town hall, for a late-morning breakfast. I haven’t tasted a real sinanglaw (literally means “steamed” in the local dialect) for many years now, although according to my father, that type of sinanglaw we ordered in town is just replication of the better known Vigan sinanglaw which uses meaty portions of the cow, instead of cow’s heart, large intestines, tenderloin, lungs and skin that we usually do here in Narvacan. The ingredients are cut in small sizes and stewed with ginger, onion and pepper. For Melchor and Lloyd (who is from Batangas), sinanglaw tastes a lot like bulalo except the vegetables and ginger-y taste. 

 

Warekwarek. This is sometimes called dinakdakan by the non-Ilocanos. It is usually made of grilled pig head and face, similar to the Kapampangan’s sisig. Pork inards or entrails are also used for our local warekwarek. But I like it best when it contains liver (submerged in vinegar, not cooked or grilled) mixed with pig’s brain (or mayonnaise as alternative ingredient), onions, pepper and sukang Iluko, and spiked with calamansi. I usually prepare a dinakdakan at home for my kids and they really love its taste. And sisig, which is very close to warekwarek in taste and presentation, is my all-time favorite in carinderias. But whenever I have the chance to go back North I always look for the original warekwarek of my hometown. 

Kilawing kambing. The real thing or Ilocano way of this kilawen (eaten raw) uses the goat skin and meat, which is sliced into small sizes or thin strips just after it is grilled. It is mixed with sukang Iluko and finely chopped fresh onions and ginger, seasoned with salt and pepper, and usually with the goat’s papait for more flavor. I always associate kilawing kambing with a big clan reunion in Ilocos. We can’t have one without this favorite pulutan of the Ilocanos. During my youth in barrio Nanguneg, I would always help in the preparation, together with my brothers, cousins, and uncles, from the pulpog (burning off the hair of the carcass through fire) up to the slicing of the grilled meat and other ingredients to the tasting and the ensuing tagayan or drinking for celebration. That’s why for my father’s birthday last November, I volunteered to share an amount to buy a goat for his party, just to ensure that we have one for the gathering. 

Bagnet. This Narvacan delicacy is a dish of deep-fried chunks of pork similar to the Tagalog’s lechon kawali. What distinguishes bagnet from other fried pork dishes is the tremendously blistered skin, because it is fried longer, which literally transforms the pork skin into crackling, and the exterior portion of the meat well-browned and very crispy. How I love that succulent, flaky crisp pieces of skin and meat oozing with fatty goodness, especially when dipped in bagoong with crushed (I prefer this to sliced) tomato or calamansi! Other than the Narvacan longganisa, bagnet is my favorite take-home goodies from our town. This time, Manong Ben brought me and my friends to the market to buy for ourselves our take-home from a stack of newly fried bagnet at a stall. 

 

Jumping salad. These are shrimps straight from the net of a local fisherman to the dining table. They are literally jumping from the bowl while they are eaten raw. The rawness of the food makes first-timers really go argghh! But not to the adventurous kind like Melchor and Lloyd. I even teased Melchor to just open his mouth and wait for the shrimp to jump into his palate and chomp it at once. And to build up the activity, making the shrimps jump higher, I squeeze fresh calamansi or a drop a pinch of salt over the live shrimps. For the sawsawan (dip), I would pour patis or fish sauce (bagoong or soy sauce is a good alternative) into saucers.   

Ginataang palaka. It was Manong Ben’s idea to buy a kilo of frogs, which were already skinned to tender white flesh. “Let your friends, know we’re eating them,” he told me. Everyone needs to remember his or her first time, he would say, that is, eating this exotic food which to some is yucky or kadiri. I myself hadn’t eaten this childhood favorite of mine for years. When cooked, the dish looked like diminutive drumsticks on a milky soup. “It tasted just like chicken,” I had to explain to Lloyd and Melchor when a bowl of the dish was served to them for lunch. They were easily convinced and had another serving. My memories of these edible farm frogs are actually not limited to just eating but also catching them in the rice farms during rainy season in the barrio. Those were part of my happy childhood that I cherish to this day. 

 

Maritangtang. Next to tirem (local name for oyster) and unnok (a kind of clam), maritangtang (sea urchin) is one seafood that I crave so much when I’m home. According to my sister Mahren, this delicacy, called uni by the Japanese, is very expensive when ordered in a five-star hotel where she is working. Its yellowish flesh is the most expensive topping for sushi due to its scarcity in Japan. But this edible sea urchin were abundant in Ilocos, and it is sold very cheap, but not as cheap as when they were sold decades ago, according to my father who told me also that people of old would simply gathered them during low tide. During our last picnic in Nalvo beach of nearby Sta. Maria town with my classmates, my father upon my prodding, went to buy freshly harvested maritangtang worth P400 from a village sea pen. We roasted each maritangtang, and when it is done, we cracked the shell open and scooped that scrumptious yellow flesh. Actually almost everything inside the spiny shell is edible, including the briny water inside that tastes delicious as well. 

Dinengdeng. Enjoying a serving of my favorite dinengdeng, the real one as it is traditionally cooked by my mother, or my sister-in-law Cion, is another highlight of my food trip. Unlike the more popular pinakbet, dinengdeng, also called inabraw, uses fewer vegetables and contains more bagoong soup base. It is cooked with practically any vegetable that can be placed in the pot, and then simmered together until cooked. We, Ilocanos are, without a doubt, a vegetable-eating people. I think a lot of it has to do with the abundance of vegetables that are common ingredients of our dinengdeng, such as eggplant, squash fruit or its blossoms, string beans, okra (ladyfinger), paria (bitter gourd), saluyot (jute), marunggay (moringa) leaves or fruits, kabatiti (luffa), pallang (winged bean), kamote (sweet potato) tops and roots, and kangkong leaves. I like the dish with bits of roasted fish, like dalag or bangus, for added flavor.  

source of buridobod photo: pinakbet.wordpress.com

Buridibud. I have been longing to try this dish, which is another version of dinengdeng, using the combination of alukon (green worm like flowers of a local tree), patani, and diced kamote to give texture to the broth, and some eggplant, kumpitis (a local pod) and marunggay leaves. Roasted fish, especially the local fish called bunog, is a good sahog or flavoring. It’s truly a unique Ilocano concoction of what’s sweet and pulpy to go with a variety of vegetables, leaves, fruits and tubers. I have also tried preparing it at home in Bulacan with my kids, and among the vegetable dishes that I introduced them, buridibod to them is one of the best. But nothing could beat my mother’s own version, of course.

Melchor and Lloyd

I’VE listed 10 here, but I should have more if I was able to gobble other exotic Ilocano food that I crave so much, such as any dish with mushroom (uong saba) and the ipon (a small fish endemic to Ilocos). Some of the local delicacies are missing in my last vacation because they are seasonal.

So I can now characterize my vacation as full of hearty burps.

HOMECOMING

I WENT home to Narvacan, Ilocos Sur (320 km north of Manila) to attend my father’s 71st birthday last November 11. “It might be my last,” he went on when he invited me a month before. So off I went, and gave respect to my father who’s now suffering a heart ailment. But I found the opportunity to visit my hometown and to REALLY get home.

I awfully wanted this homecoming, not only for my father’s sake, but also to fulfill a wish for myself. That is, I went home to unburden what seems to be a heavy load inside me, to return and discern the essence of my life again, and to see if I had achieved what I had dreamt to achieve as a child to achieve, and had done things to make my parents and my childhood playmates proud. 

It’s a perfect moment of reconnecting ties, a rekindling of relationships, and a revisit of that bond that connects me with my kin and the place of my birth. 

And my homecoming would not be complete without a visit to Paraiso ni Juan, a low-profile but beautiful beachside landscape in Barangay Sulvec, and a trek in its rocky shores to a local landmark as if in a pilgrimage for a hidden sanctum.

This time for my latest homecoming, two of my classmates in PUP College of Law accepted my invitation to visit Paraiso ni Juan. This might not be a setup, of course, because while I only have personal reasons to reach the spot, I have desired my visitors to appreciate the beauty of the place, telling them that they couldn’t really say they visited Narvacan when they haven’t gone to Paraiso ni Juan.
 

Several steps away from the rocky shoreline of Paraiso is the Immagamang, the local name for the two-storey-high craggy boulder, where a grotto of the Virgin Mary stands solitary on top. This seaside landmark, which got its name from the Ilocano word agamang meaning “rice granary or storehouse,” is very visible when you are travelling on a curve of the coastal road several kilometers away. 

Although both were first-timers in Ilocos and for this kind of trek, my friends willingly braved the craggy shorelines with me.

There was a part of water which we have to cross to get there. We took off our sandals and folded our pants higher. It was high tide, and the swells were big, while some parts were very slippery. We were fortunate that a relative who also drive us to the place was kind enough to guide us until we reach the wide flat area just below the rock. We lingered for a moment to catch a glimpse around the enticing landscape, that calm and shimmering blue ocean surrounding us, with the verdant coastal hills and mountain ranges providing a picturesque backdrop on the other side, everywhere illumined by the silvery glow of the morning sun. My friends heaved a sigh of relief as they looked back on that part of the shore where we have started.

I took the lead in climbing the rock using the man-made steps on its side (this was not yet made when I was young, so back then only the brave and able would dare to climb the rock with bare hands).

There’s always something about the rock that simply tugs at my heart. As I gaze at the pristine water of the South China Sea at its foot with its intermittent swells breaking at the craggy shores, I can feel the warmth, love, and tranquility of the surroundings.  And best of all the memories it brings are endearing.

During my college days, I couldn’t help looking at the solitary rock while passing this place on my way to Vigan. Because the place is situated in the northernmost boundary of Narvacan, the rock would serve as a perfect marker that would tell me I am leaving my hometown, and when I went home after a week of study in the kabisera, it would be a welcome mark for my homecoming (our home is in Nanguneg, which is situated at the town’s southernmost boundary). When I was in high school, our rowdy group of all boys would haunt the place as a favorite getaway for the awesome view, for fun and adventure, as we loved to race around the rocky area, and for a dive. 

My late wife’s had also scaled the rock with me during our vacation in Narvacan in 1999. She liked it so much when, after a tortuous trek and a risky climb on the side of the rock, we reached the top and got to see the view.

And when I was on top of the rock this time, it was like feeling in love again. That kind of love that makes you feel lost, and yet you know you’re safe. If only I could stay here alone until sundown, I might find the solace I am looking for after a tragic event in my life. I would like to think of my immediate future and at least feel some sense of peace and consolation.

Even for a brief moment with my classmates on top of the rock, I had at least the feeling, that thrill of being on a familiar spot, and be finally home.  

Three days after that climb, I went back to Manila with my friends. It was really for a brief visit, as my life, work and family have been enmeshed in some other place. But again that particular day of November was a moment of being at home and feeling the real comfort of a seafarer after finding a sturdy shelter from a “storm.” And like just any traveler, it was the solace of a home that I tried to seek and succeeded even for the briefest time.

I feel I’ve been uprooted again from my home, away from my father and the whole family, our close-knit clan, our neighbors, and a newfound love. I thought of another homecoming soon, or I risk wasting my life in loneliness away from home.

GRIEF IS NOT A FAILURE

(Published in The Philippine Star, Sunday, November 27, 2011. Weekly Winner of the My Favorite Book contest sponsored by National Bookstore) 

THIS one is a brief review of the novel Ordinary People by Judith Guest. It was a fairly quick read, but I still feel its lasting impression.  And here’s why.

I didn’t know anything about the book, its author, or its theme until I picked it up and browsed it. Upon reading the backside that its movie adaptation, directed by the legendary Hollywood actor Robert Redford, was highly praised and won the Oscars for Best Picture in 1980, I didn’t hesitate to buy it.

Why not? Choosing between bestsellers and award-winning books (Pulitzer Prize, National Book Awards, Nobel Laureates’ magnum opuses, etc.), I prefer the latter category. And books made into highly acclaimed movies have always been a good alternative. After reading Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front and Michael Ondaatje’s The English Patient, both winners of Best Picture in the Academy Awards in 1930 and 1996, respectively, I’ve been on a frantic hunt for novels whose movie adaptations won the Oscars’ most coveted award. 

Ordinary People is one of those novels (actually an old book from the ‘70s, when no cell phones, computers, or social networking got in the way of a good story) I didn’t realize was out there to be discovered or explored. Its theme is universal, which is the loss and the different ways people deal with it.

It is written from the perspective of a reserved teenager, Conrad Jarret, trying to tackle by himself the loss of his older brother. Out of guilt for not being able to do anything to help his brother in an accident while boating together, and feeling disconnected from his parents, he attempts to commit suicide, which lands him in the hospital for eight months. Later on, his father helps him find a psychiatrist.

The family the book depicts is appropriately “ordinary,” that is, they’re familiar to us. They could be your neighbors or relatives, or could be your own. The characters seem real: you hear them speak and you see their pain, and feel for them.
I can relate to the book’s compelling theme. I really felt for the surviving son and his father Cal, as he tries to reach out to him. I felt connected to both of them. I lost my wife last August, or barely a month before I read this book. With her untimely demise due to breast cancer, all my dreams of getting old, complete and satisfied, with her and our children sank into a black hole and I have yet to cope with the ordeal of being a shocked survivor. I had this uneasiness, however, in seeing my own incomprehensible emotions laid out before me page after page in this novel.

Reading through the struggles of the surviving family members, it brings to mind Hamlet’s affecting question: “To be or not to be?” You suddenly feel envious of the dead, because they are in peace while the survivors have to live long and deal with the traumatizing event, and suffer with more and more issues, like the idea of suicide, isolation, brokenness, deep longing for connection, and a cesspool of unwanted memories.

I’ve read some novels with the same subject—bereavement—and I can only remember Bag of Bones by Stephen King (a writer suffering a severe writer’s block after the death of his wife); The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold (a father who is consumed with guilt at having failed to save a daughter and a mother who drifts away and leaves her husband after the tragic death); and The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett (a rich hunchback shutting off from his mind a sickly son and a beautiful garden after an accident killed his wife), but none had put more than the usual amount of emphasis on depression from a clinical standpoint. 

Ordinary People is a very psychologically astute book that tells us matter-of-factly that depression is, in the words of the novel’s psychiatrist, Dr. Berger, “not sobbing and crying and giving vent, it is plain and simple reduction of feeling.” It’s your own choice why you feel numb or void of feelings, because it is your mind’s way of protecting itself. But it is the kind of isolation and being lonely and miserable that is unforgiving and cannot be forgiven when there are people who are more than willing to listen and patiently try to lift you up. I really like that shrink.

So for anyone who has ever struggled with similar loss or depression, this is an eye-opening book. It shows how grief may drive people away from the shelter of the family unit, and yet the same grief may also draw some closer together, like the son and his father in the story. Even “ordinary people” can overcome difficult and unthinkable circumstances all the time, and some handle these poignant and razor-sharp emotions differently, most of them with success. And some made good with the help of a counselor or a psychiatrist.

There is goodness about all things. The book tells us then that there is no insurmountable pain in bereavement. Life may be a lot of problems, yet it is full of hope. The good Dr. Berger has also remarked that after bereavement, “there is just Phase Two. Recovery. A moving forward.” That could be a guiding principle, a perfect mantra, in any depressing time or some shattered relationship.

Except for the deterioration of the marriage between Cal and his wife, the novel ends on a positive note. Conrad Jarret slowly starts to respond to Dr. Berger, and comes to terms with his feelings. The teenager becomes his own man and gets over wallowing in his intoxicating survivor’s guilt and identity crisis, thus resolving the internal conflict of the story.

People just need to learn to work with and around each other in order to live their lives and be happy. I would not have learned these things if I didn’t pick up this outstanding book. I am now well reminded of the reasons that life is still worth living in spite of some horrible things.

After all, grief is not a failure.