In Defence of English Cooking

By George Orwell

We have heard a good deal of talk in recent years about the desirability of attracting foreign tourists to this country. It is well known that England’s two worst faults, from a foreign visitor’s point of view, are the gloom of our Sundays and the difficulty of buying a drink.

Both of these are due of fanatical minorities who will need a lot of quelling, including extensive legislation. But there is one point on which public opinion could bring about a rapid change for the better: I mean cooking.

It is commonly said, even by the English themselves, that English cooking is the worst in the world. It is supposed to be not merely incompetent, but also imitative, and I even read quite recently, in a book by a French writer, the remark: "The best English cooking is, of course, simply French cooking."

Now that is simply not true, as anyone who has lived long abroad will know, there is a whole host of delicacies which it is quite impossible to obtain outside the English-speaking countries. No doubt the list could be added to, but here are some of the things that I myself have sought for in foreign countries and failed to find.

First of all, kippers, Yorkshire pudding, Devonshire cream, muffins and crumpets. Then a list of puddings that would be interminable if I gave it in full: I will pick out for special mention Christmas pudding, treacle tart and apple dumplings. Then an almost equally long list of cakes: for instance, dark plum cake (such as you used to get at Buzzard’s before the war), short-bread and saffron buns. Also innumerable kinds of biscuit, which exist, of course, elsewhere, but are generally admitted to be better and crisper in England.

Then there are the various ways of cooking potatoes that are peculiar to our own country. Where else do you see potatoes roasted under the joint, which is far and away the best way of cooking them? Or the delicious potato cakes that you get in the north of England? And it is far better to cook new potatoes in the English way — that is, boiled with mint and then served with a little melted butter or margarine — than to fry them as is done in most countries.

Then there are the various sauces peculiar to England. For instance, bread sauce, horse-radish sauce, mint sauce and apple sauce; not to mention redcurrant jelly, which is excellent with mutton as well as with hare, and various kinds of sweet pickle, which we seem to have in greater profusion than most countries.

What else? Outside these islands I have never seen a haggis, except one that came out of a tin, nor Dublin prawns, nor Oxford marmalade, nor several other kinds of jam (marrow jam and bramble jelly, for instance), nor sausages of quite the same kind as ours.

Then there are the English cheeses. There are not many of them but I fancy Stilton is the best cheese of its type in the world, with Wensleydale not far behind. English apples are also outstandingly good, particularly the Cox’s Orange Pippin.

And finally, I would like to put in a word for English bread. All the bread is good, from the enormous Jewish loaves flavoured with caraway seeds to the Russian rye bread which is the colour of black treacle. Still, if there is anything quite as good as the soft part of the crust from an English cottage loaf (how soon shall we be seeing cottage loaves again?) I do not know of it.

No doubt some of the things I have named above could be obtained in continental Europe, just as it is possible in London to obtain vodka or bird’s nest soup. But they are all native to our shores, and over huge areas they are literally unheard of.
South of, say, Brussels, I do not imagine that you would succeed in getting hold of a suet pudding. In French there is not even a word that exactly translates ‘suet’. The French, also, never use mint in cookery and do not use black currants except as a basis of a drink.

It will be seen that we have no cause to be ashamed of our cookery, so far as originality goes or so far as the ingredients go. And yet it must be admitted that there is a serious snag from the foreign visitor’s point of view. This is, that you practically don’t find good English cooking outside a private house. If you want, say, a good, rich slice of Yorkshire pudding you are more likely to get it in the poorest English home than in a restaurant, which is where the visitor necessarily eats most of his meals.

It is a fact that restaurants which are distinctively English and which also sell good food are very hard to find. Pubs, as a rule, sell no food at all, other than potato crisps and tasteless sandwiches. The expensive restaurants and hotels almost all imitate French cookery and write their menus in French, while if you want a good cheap meal you gravitate naturally towards a Greek, Italian or Chinese restaurant. We are not likely to succeed in attracting tourists while England is thought of as a country of bad food and unintelligible by-laws. At present one cannot do much about it, but sooner or later rationing will come to an end, and then will be the moment for our national cookery to revive. It is not a law of nature that every restaurant in England should be either foreign or bad, and the first step towards an improvement will be a less long-suffering attitude in the British public itself.

1945

[taken from here]

Hong Kong and Macau: Food Pics

See the pictures on my Multiply site here.

Sunday Lunch

Sundays are a great day to stay in and cook, free from the busy hours of weekdays and the errands of Saturdays.  I usually set aside Sundays to make slow-cooking stews that we'll eat the rest of the week, sometimes in different reincarnations.  This Sunday, however, my Dear prepared for us a Filipino-Korean lunch, which, unholy as it sounds, actually worked.  I helped, of course, though it felt new to me to be relegated to prepping in what used to be my own kitchen.

For the Korean part, we had a side dish of sukjunamul (숙주나물), which is basically blanched mung bean sprouts seasoned with minced garlic, sesame oil, ground black pepper, vinegar, and soy sauce.  We put in a tad too much garlic on this one, resulting in a pretty pungent sukjunamul which I liked but my Dear found quite overpowering.

The main course was boiled-then-fried Tuguegarao longganisa, named after the capital city of Cagayan Province.  Compared to the more famous Vigan longganisa, the Tuguegarao longganisa has bigger links, a more yellow colour (thanks to atsuete), and a milder garlic taste.  To serve, they are first boiled in water to fully cook the sausage and render the fat; the links are pricked so they won't burst.  After the water has evaporated you are left with sausage links frying in their own fat, which then browns the longganisas.  

After cooking, we ate the sukjunamul and longganisa with steamed brown rice.  Although both dishes were strongly garlicky, they presented the ingredient differently-- raw and pungent on the sukjunamul while sweet and mild in the longganisa.  The fresh taste of the bean sprouts also complemented the fatty richness of the pork sausage.  For dessert we had some fresh lakatan bananas, all washed down with senna leaf tea.

Spice Trade

There was a time when spices were so expensive in Europe that they were more expensive than gold.  After centuries of subsisting on salt, herbs, and cheeses to flavour their food, Europeans couldn't get enough of exotic Eastern spices when these were introduced by Arab merchants.  This hunger eventually forced Europeans to find alternatives to the Arab spice monopoly, bringing in the Age of Exploration, the "discovery" of the New World and the Philippines, and eventually colonisation and all the problems it generated.

Fast-forward to today where mass production means spices are affordable by everyone and globalisation means they're potentially available everywhere.  Thanks to these economic forces of our day, here's what I got from my last Bay Area trip, and how I plan to use them:

7 Spices-- Arab spice mix, also known as bokharat; stews, rub for roasts

Berbere-- Ethiopian spice mix; stews, rub for roasts

Cayenne Pepper-- ground Mexican cayenne pepper (really a chilli powder); seasoning

Chile Arbol-- Mexican dried chile, hot; stews, sauces

Chile Chipotle-- Mexican dried chile, hot; stews, sauces

Chile Pasilla-- Mexican dried chile, mild; stews, sauces, for stuffing

Furikake-- Japanese condiment mix; rice topping

Jerk Spices-- Jamaican spice mix; rub for roasts

Kabsah Spices-- Arab spice mix; stews, stock base for rice

Ras El Hanout-- Arab spice mix, literally meaning "head of the shop"; stews, rub for roasts

Shichimi Togarashi-- Japanese seven-spice mix; seasoning, rice topping

Sumac-- ground Iranian sumac fruit; seasoning, stews, rice topping

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By the way, for the English nuts out there, here's a guide on the proper usage of chile, chili, and chilli:

Chile refers to the pod of the Capsicum genus of plants; e.g., habanero chile.

Chili refers to the Latin American or Southwestern dish made with meat and beans; e.g., chili con carne.

Chilli refers to the ground spice sold as a seasoning or in a mix; e.g., chilli powder.

i can has paneer

Paneer is one of the oldest of cheeses and has been made since milk started turning sour. Born in Persia (پنير) and raised in South Asia (पनीर) and Turkey (peynir), paneer is often made daily in households and is a common ingredient in the cuisines of Iran, India, Pakistan, Turkey, Azerbaijan, and Tajikistan.  Credit to BBC and fxcuisine as my source sites.

Ingredients:

1 litre full cream milk
1 to 2 tbsp lemon juice (15-30 mL)

1. Gently warm the milk. When it starts boiling add the lemon juice and stir well with a wooden spoon. Don't use a metal spoon because this will react with the lemon juice and influence the taste. The milk will start to curdle.

2. Continue stirring and after five to seven minutes the curds* will have totally separated from the whey*. Those curds will be your cheese.

3. Line a large bowl with muslin, cheesecloth, or any clean cotton cloth (I used an old white shirt) and pour the curds and whey.  The whey will filter out and leave the curds in the cloth.  Allow it to drain for around 30 minutes.

4.  When it's cold enough to handle, squeeze out more of the whey by wringing it through the cloth.  The more whey you squeeze out the dryer and harder your paneer will be.

5.  Place your yet unformed paneer between two plates, press it with a weight, and leave for a few hours.  This will squeeze out yet more whey and form the paneer, filling in the air holes.  As is obvious in the picture, I skipped this step thus my very crumbly paneer.

My one litre of milk produced a fist-sized amount of paneer (I guess around 150g to 200g) and about 900mL of whey.  As it wasn't fermented, the paneer was expectedly bland but it still had that hint of milky/cheesy flavour which will only get stronger with age.  The whey was essentially cheese-flavoured water which I still keep in my ref pending some idea on how to use it.  I ate around half of the paneer on its own and the other half I used in an omelette with Vienna sausages.  

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* Milk is basically an emulsion of butterfat and water held together by proteins (primarily casein, alpha-lactalbumin, and beta-lactoglobulin).  When milk is acted upon by heat and acid (in this case the lemon juice), some proteins curdle with the butterfat to form the curds (which, when formed, become cheese) while some proteins stay dissolved in the water to form the whey (the yellowish liquid in the picture).  This process is called acid coagulation, as opposed to the more frequently used method of coagulating milk using rennet (enzymes extracted from mammalian stomachs).

Ay, Pottage!

Remember that ginisang munggo dish our moms made, usually during Lenten Fridays? That green, beany, savoury, soupy dish that's the perfect side for plain rice and fried anything? What do you call it in English? Soup? Stew? Porridge? dr.sbdink and I were discussing this recently and, well, we were stumped.

After some research, I can confidently say the answer is pottage, which is basically a vegetable soup or stew and is the root of the word porridge. The granddaddy of this word is the Latin porrum which means leek-- a common ingredient in soups and stews. From there it became the Old French potage meaning soup and then the current English pottage. Pottage and porridge were originally interchangeable terms, both basically meaning boiled vegetables or cereals. In the 17th century, however, the terms started to have the distinct meanings we have today, with pottage keeping its original association with vegetable soups and porridge referring to cereals (primarily oatmeal but also encompassing rice, corn, barley, etc.) boiled in water or milk.

Pottage is actually mentioned in the Bible, in Genesis XXV 27-34 where Esau sells his birthright to Jacob for a bowl of lentil pottage and some bread. The Hebrew says וּנְזִיד עֲדָשִׁים (naziyd 'adash), which literally means boiled lentils, and is translated as pottage of lentils in the King James Version. Esau eventually regrets the trade with Jacob and this becomes the nucleus of their (and their descendants') endless conflict. Jacob, after wrestling with a mysterious man, later thought to be God himself, eventually became known as Israel (literally he who wrestled with God). Thus, Jacob's lentil pottage set the stage for the Arab-Israeli troubles we see today. But I digress.

Therefore, since our munggo dish is thickened by legumes rather than cereals, the precise English term would be mung bean pottage. Hopefully our mung bean pottage won't start any wars.

Singapore Food Trip

Took a lot of pics, so I'm posting on my multiply. I have two posts:

Hainanese Chicken Rice, Char Kway Teow, etc.

Sha Tin Kitchen- restaurant review

Paprika Pork with Paprika

See the recipe at the Food Blog for Hungry Bachelors.

Sweet Cat's Tongue for Merienda

I bought myself a container of lengua de gato-- those small, crumbly, buttery cookies that are a favourite of mine-- and it got me wondering what the name literally means. Well, for those who wondered the same, here's my small list of Spanish-named Filipino snacks and desserts and their literal meaning. Some are straightforward, others quite imaginative. Do tell me what I missed.

barquillos = rolled wafers
brazo de mercedes = arm of favours/gifts (so it has nothing to do with someone named Mercedes?)
canonigo = a priest serving in a cathedral
crema de fruta = cream of fruit
empanada = pie or stuffed pastry (from empanar, to wrap with bread or dough)
ensaimada = sweet bun (from the Catalan saim, or pork lard, which was traditionally used to make the bun)
galletas = hardtacks or hard biscuits (from the galleon; hardtacks are also known as ship's biscuits in English)
leche flan = milk custard
lengua de gato = cat's tongue
maiz con hielo = corn with ice
maja blanca = white belle (but maja can also come from from majar, or to mash)
maja maiz = corn belle
mamon = small baby (noun); suckling (adjective, as in suckling baby)
merengue = meringue (supposedly named after the Swiss town of Meiringen)
pan de regla = menstruation bread (regla's association with menstruation comes from regla menstrual, or menstrual rule/period)
pastillas = pills
pastillas de leche = milk pills
rosquillos = ringlet cookies (from rosca, meaning ring-shaped roll)
torta = round cake or loaf (the Spanish word for omelette is tortilla)
turrones = nougats

References:
Castillo, Carlos and Otto F. Bond. 1948. Spanish-English English-Spanish Dictionary. Chicago, Illinois: University of Chicago
Duran, Carlos Francisco. 1942. English-Spanish Spanish-English Dictionary. Cleveland, Ohio: World Publishing Company
Free Translation Online
Online Etymology Dictionary
Wikipedia

Ziggurat Cuisine Restaurant

As far as I know, Ziggurat Cuisine Restaurant is the only place in Metro Manila that serves African cuisine. While it also serves Indian, Mediterranean, and Middle Eastern food, which we can find in various other restos, it is African food that lured my me to Ziggurat.

First, a few notes about the location. The restaurant is located on the corner of Euphrates and Tigris streets in Makati, which I'm sure figured in the owner's calculus before he opened the restaurant. It is not exactly the easiest place to find, especially if you're not used to Makati's latest permutation of one-way streets. I actually got flagged down by Makati's finest on my way there; luckily I got off with a friendly reminder. I can also see parking being hell during peak hours-- my Dear and I went there on a Sunday, which was a pretty slow day for the restaurant, and there was only one parking slot available.

The decor is predominantly Turkish/Middle Eastern-- think carpets, gold thread, and hookahs-- which can either be tacky or exotic depending on your taste. Although there are a few high chairs and tables, most of the seating is on the floor with lots of throw pillows and carpets to keep you comfortable. Indoor lighting is quite dim, which might be nice for the after-work evening crowd.

Now on to the food:

Moussaka (P150) with Arabian Khobiz (P10/piece)-- The moussaka was very good and flavourful, equal in flavour to the one from Arya Persian Restaurant but not in presentation. I had the impression that they make a big batch early in the day then just reheat portions as people order. This is not necessarily a bad thing, as food like moussaka actually get better when you reheat them (stronger flavours). Khobiz, the classic Arabian flatbread, is basically pita bread. The bread with the moussaka can easily serve as an good-sized appetiser for two or a hearty snack for one.

Algerian Grilled Vegetable Cousous (P250)-- While Ziggurat has around 20 rice dishes, we opted for the Maghribi staple, couscous. It was a very good decision, as the couscous with vegetables was a meal in itself. I've had couscous only a few times before, and I have to say this was among the better tasting ones. The grilled vegetables, which they chopped and mixed into the dish, added a sweet and savoury taste to the bland couscous. As you can see in the picture, they made no effort towards presentation, which to some people might matter, but to me was more than made up for by the taste.

Ethiopian Chicken We't (P375)-- If you watched NBC during the mid 90s, you might remember this filler segment they called World in a Stew. One of the dishes they featured was a chicken stew from Ethiopia. This is that dish. Chicken we't (or doro we't) is a stew of chicken cooked in butter and berbere spices, served on injera bread with hard-boiled eggs and cottage cheese. Ziggurat's version of this dish was mildly spicy and a bit pungent-- I liked it but it wasn't exactly every day fare for my Filipino taste buds. The bland eggs and cheese were a good complement to the we't, cutting through the strong flavour of the berbere spices and butter. The injera bread, where it was dry, was also a good complement to the dish; however, the butter-based sauce soaked most of it that it was no longer nice to eat. Next time I order this dish I'll ask them to serve the bread on the side.

Moroccan Mint Tea (P75) and Ziggurat Iced Tea (P60)-- Nothing really spectacular here, just mint tea in a pot and iced tea. Next time I'll try their lassi, an Indian yogurt-based drink.

Dessert Trio A (P250)-- A trio of (from the top) shir berenj (Persian rice pudding), kulfi (Indian frozen milk dessert) and mihallabiya (Egyptian milk pudding). The shir berenj was a milky rice pudding with a hint of rose water, similar in texture to a thick rice guinataan. The kulfi was basically hard ice cream, like a very sweet rum-raisin ice cream. The mihallabiya, which for me topped the trio, had the texture of soft bilo-bilo made from sticky rice but flavoured with yogurt and rose water.

Ziggurat, which has been around for a few years, was a very good discovery for me. It impressively offers a very diverse and ambitious menu of dishes, and does a decent job of them. While I wouldn't say that it serves the best dish X or the perfect dish Y, I think it does a pretty good version of those dishes. Very much worth the trip (and a return trip) if you're getting tired of the usual East/Southeast Asian, Italian, or American fare we often find in the city. Although we spent around P650/person during our visit, one can have a hearty meal in Ziggurat for around P450; their shawarmas even go for less than P200 if I remember correctly. Now for the scores (in case you missed it, see the explanation here):

Quality = 7.5
Size = 7.0
Taste = 8.0
Ambience = 6.0
Service = 7.0
Value = P677.64
Price = P450
Sulit Rating = 1.51 > 1

Of Corned Beef, Fasting, Salmon, and Chorizos

This week marks two major food events-- St. Patrick's Day and Holy Week-- both being Christian holidays and unintentional food days.

St. Patrick's Day is known for copious pints of Guinness and corned beef with cabbage. While the pints are truly St. Paddy's Day "fare", this article says that corned beef with cabbage is more of a stereotype. Speaking of corned beef, there is no corn (i.e., maize) in corned beef. The term "corned" refers to the old method of dry-curing beef with grains-- or corns-- of salt. Nowadays, corned beef is cured in salt water (process called brining), but the name has stuck.

Of course, this week is also Holy Week, so there will be no corned beef in Catholic homes on Friday. So when should Catholics really fast and abstain? According to the Code of Canon Law (Can. 1248-1253), "abstinence and fasting are to be observed on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday", while abstinence is to be observed on "all Fridays". Note, however, that the bishops' conference (in our case, the CBCP) has final authority to determine what fasting and abstinence entail (Can. 1253). From what I remember of catechism, Catholics (at least Filipino Catholics) may substitute fasting or abstinence for some other act of piety or charity. In my experience, though, fasting is the first penitence to be substituted for piety as abstinence becomes an excuse to enjoy an all-seafood feast.

Speaking of seafood, I am the happy owner of eight 16-ounce fillets of smoked Alaskan sockeye salmon. I have four preferred ways of eating them: as is, in an omelette, with pasta, and sauteed with potatoes. The fillets are smoked and packed by Kasilof Fish Co.; their website-- ILoveSalmon.com-- perfectly describes me. Aside from the eight smoked fillets, I have six cans of salmon chunks and seven fillets of frozen salmon. Salmon ranks up there with bangus and fatty sardines as my all-time favourite fishes. One guess what I'll be abstaining into this coming Maundy Thursday and Good Friday.

Come Easter I'll be all fished out and will be raring to go back to meat. I currently have a pack of Campofrio jamon serrano and a can of La Noreñense Asturian chorizos in my pantry, and I'm looking for the perfect time (and recipe) to open them. As I said in a previous post, I think Spanish cured meats are the best of their kind out there. The Italians come close with their salami, pepperoni, and prosciutto, but chorizos, salchichon, and jamon still have a slight edge. I heard somewhere that the Spaniards concocted their great pork dishes and cured meats after the Reconquista, celebrating their freedom to eat pork after kicking out the Moors. Well, that's at least one unambiguously good thing that happened as a result of all those wars.

How sulit is sulit: A quantitative approach

Sulit, or value for money, is a concept we often use when reviewing restaurants. Basically, it is the difference between the value of a meal (i.e., how satisfied we are with the experience) and the price we actually paid for it. By definition, sulit is a subjective measure since we are comparing something subjective (value) with something objective (price). In this post, I will present my subjective quantitative measurement of value, which I will then use for subsequent reviews.

First, let us identify my five criteria for measuring restaurants:

Quality (Q)-- refers to the quality, freshness, and authenticity of the ingredients used in the dish. Presentation, cleanliness, and temperature of the dish are also considered in this scale.

Taste (T)-- refers to the overall taste and texture of the food.

Quantity (W)-- refers to the serving size of the dish.

Service (S)-- refers to the attentiveness, friendliness, and efficiency of all crew who have contact with customers. Their attention to detail and management of complaints (if any) are also considered.

Ambience (A)-- refers to the overall quality of the restaurant's physical space. Considered here are ambience (of course), cleanliness, facilities, and even parking availability.

All scales are rated from 1 (very bad) to 10 (perfect) with 5 as barely acceptable. For criteria Q, T, and W, if more than one dish was sampled (which is often the case), the rating will reflect the average rating for the dishes. Value (V), which is our main interest, is expressed in peso terms and is a function of the five criteria with the form
V = (QTWSA)^(2/3).

The result of V(.) is my subjective valuation of the meal in current pesos, so it represents the maximum I am willing to pay per person for a meal in the restaurant given their scores in Q, T, W, S, and A. Thus, for a perfect restaurant that scores 10 in all criteria, I am willing to pay P2,154.43 per person for a meal. On the other hand, a restaurant that scores 5 in all criteria (just enough not to piss me off and still walk away with a smile) is worth P213.75 per person at most.

Sulit (S), then, is defined as S = V/P where P is the actual price per person for a meal. If S is greater than one, the restaurant is considered sulit; less than one it is not sulit; equal to one it is neutral.

WARNING: Technical Content (apologies to Mythbusters)

Any student of Economics will recognise the form of V(.) as a Cobb-Douglas utility function (homogeneous of degree 10/3). In this case, however, I am taking liberties with the definition of utility and I'm attaching a peso value to the utility measure (i.e., one unit if utility is equivalent to one peso). To illustrate, consider the following graph in Q-W space (forget about T, S, and A for now since I can't draw in five dimensions):


The 45-degree line from the origin represents increasing price and value given in pesos. Now consider the blue curve: each point in the curve represents different values for Q and W that yield the same V; the curve crosses the 45-degree line at only one point so the peso value is unique. Thus, restaurant A, with its low quality but big serving size, can have the same value as restaurant B, which has high quality but a small serving size. Restaurant C, however, being on a lower curve, has a lower value than restaurants A and B.

Suppose now that restaurants A, B, and C charge a per-person price of D pesos. A and B would then be considered as sulit restaurants while C would not.

To illustrate, consider some restaurant K which I rate as follows: Q = 7, W = 6, T = 4, S = 7, A = 7. Thus, we get V = P407.70. However, you can expect to spend around P500/person for a meal and a drink in restaurant K. It therefore registers S = 0.82 < 1, so it is not sulit.

Angel's Kitchen

After getting all psyched up by the positive blog posts about the restaurant, my Dear and I finally tried Angel's Kitchen over at Connecticut Avenue in Greenhills, San Juan. The place was exactly what the posts said it would be-- very cozy and homey, with lots of warm yellow to enliven the place. The restaurant has ample parking (well, good for at least eight cars), and a very clean rest room-- very important yet often overlooked aspects. The service was also very friendly and efficient. And now the food:

Toast with liver pate (free)-- Well, the name says it all. This is the standard house appetiser, and it isn't bad, with plus points for uniqueness (at least this side of Asia). I found the liver pate quite good-- good texture with a mild flavour-- but I'm not much into liver (or any other innards for that matter) so I didn't get much of it.

Garlicky Caesar Salad (P258)-- Honestly, not worth the price. There is usualy a tradeoff between size and ingredient quality that would justify any price; neither aspect in this salad justified its price. The serving size was small and the ingredients not exactly gourmet. The dressing was pretty good, but it was closer to a garlicky ranch than garlicky Caesar. For just P40 more, I could get a much bigger and much better solo Roka Salata at Cyma, and with recognisable parmesan cheese at that.

Sardine Pomodoro Pasta (P268)-- This was what my Dear ordered for her main course. It was pretty good, just the right amount of spice from the Spanish sardines and sour from the tomatoes. The serving size was also decent and well worth the price. However, it doesn't come with bread, which surprised me. And since it's pasta, I'm pretty confident I can make it at home if I buy some of those gourmet sardines they sell in the restaurant.

Honey Garlic Spare Ribs (P308)-- This is what I got, upon the advice of the server who said it was a popular dish. I like fried spare ribs, I like garlic, I like honey, but this dish just didn't work for me. It totally did not work for me. Now, I've had quite a few honey-something savoury dishes, like honey-mustard bangus or honey-apple chicken barbecue, and and in all those cases you'll barely see the honey and just have a hint of its sweetness when you taste the dish, the honey enhancing the flavours rather than overwhelming them. For this dish, think of the garlic fried spare ribs that you might find in Chinese restaurants. Now smother it with loads of sweet raw honey. Really, that's what it was. No kidding.

Banana Cream Pie (P118)-- This was the reason we went to this restaurant, the raison d'etre for this restaurant, we were told by the blogosphere. It was good. Very good, actually. But not spectacular. Maybe we just got all hyped up by the write-ups that we set a pretty high bar, but I can't say it's the best banana cream pie I ever had. And I'm just talking about banana cream pies in this country.

Lemon Tart (P98)-- Now this was the spectacular dish of the evening. So far the best lemon tart I've tasted, and I'm very much into lemony/citrusy desserts (the balance of sweet and tart is just perfect). The flavour of the tart is very balanced and the crust is rightly bland so it doesn't interfere with the flavours, plus there's a very thin layer of crunchy caramelised sugar* on top to enhance the texture. If anything, I'll come back to this restaurant for this and this alone (as soon as I forget what I got for my main course).

Caffee Lungo (P88)-- Full-bodied brewed coffee. No more, no less.

Usually I have a bottomline to summarise my review, but I guess I'll stop here.

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* "Caramelised sugar" is a redundancy because, technically, only sugars can get caramelised. Caramelisation involves the oxidation-- i.e., browning-- of sugars, be it sucrose from table sugar or fructose from fruits and vegetables. Meats, on the other hand, cannot be caramelised since its browning is not due to the oxidation of sugars but due to the reaction of amino acids and sugars (i.e., the Maillard reaction). However, caramel-- that sometimes rock-solid sometimes gooey sweet stuff-- can be made either by caramelisation or by a Maillard reaction depending on the ingredients. O.o

Found Grechnevaya Kasha

A few months ago, I wrote a post about looking for grechnevaya kasha, or roasted buckwheat porridge. Well, I found some during my trip to the Bay Area-- in Safeway Supermarket, in the international food section underneath the Israeli flag beside the matzo. They were only selling one brand of kasha-- Wolff's. Their website is pretty modest, but has loads of information including recipes and tips for cooking.

I got the meduim granulation, which is midway between fine and coarse. This granulation is usually steamed and eaten like rice or bulgur (that yellow circle on the box says "instead of rice"), which is exactly what I plan to do with the kasha. A 13-ounce box (369 g) costs $3.85 (around P150), if I remember correctly-- much more expensive than brown rice which costs P50/kilo-- and I got two boxes. Well, I think it's worth it for a little taste of Russia and Central Asia.

To say that the Russians like kasha is an understatement (or so I hear). They have a saying: щи да каша-- пища наша. It literally translates as, "Shchi (cabbage soup) and kasha-- our food." Now, that may not sound like much, but in Russian it is pronounced as, "Shchi da kasha-- pishcha nasha," which rhymes well. If you're looking for some profound meaning behind this saying, well, there's none. It's just a rhyme about their staple food, something kids can easily memorise and in the process form a national identity.

A Filipino equivalent could be something like, "Adobo't kanin-- ating pagkain." Other suggestions?

Cyma (see-mah)

Last Friday, a day after that idiotic episode at Manila Pen, my Dear and I ate at Cyma in Trinoma (for those who don't know, Trinoma is a new mall in Quezon City, near SM North Edsa). Cyma is a Greek restaurant owned by a Filipino chef, and apparently it has already carved a name for itself. I actually wanted to go to a Persian resto last Friday, but my Dear wasn't too keen on it so we compromised on Greek cuisine. And it turned out to be a good decision indeed.

First, the non-food review. Cyma has a casual and relaxed ambience, and the decor captures the flavour of the Mediterranean. Being on the 5th floor of Trinoma, an unobstructed view is an added bonus. Service, I should say, is friendly in the American hi-my-name-is-XXXX-and-i'm-your-server-for-today style. But unlike American restos, they don't kick you out the minute you're done with your meal and are unlikely to order anything else. One thing they can change is the layout-- the bathroom door is in plain view of the dining area and it ain't a good sight.

As for the food, here's what we ordered:

Melitzanosalata (P100)-- basically a roasted eggplant and tomato salad served with whole wheat pita bread. Think of a Greek-style ensaladang talong, with olive oil and lemon juice instead of vinegar. Good, actually, although not as "Greek" as I expected.

Dolmadakia (P195)-- grape leaves stuffed with baked rice and pine nuts, served with yogurt. Very tart. And I mean tart. I had something like this when I was in Baku (also called dolma), stuffed with rice and mutton, but it was not so tart as Cyma's version. And for extra tartness, they serve this dish with a wedge of lemon. I don't know if it was supposed to be that tart, but if it was, I strongly prefer the Azeri version. Oh, did I say this dish was tart?



Roka Salata, solo (P295)-- arugula (roka), sun-dried tomatoes, and walnuts with shaved parmesan cheese and a sweet dressing. This was the gem of the meal, and I'm pretty sure we'll order this every time we eat at Cyma. Although parmesan cheese isn't really Greek, it was a very good addition to the salad. Don't let the "solo" fool you-- this salad is good for at least two.

Mixed Meat Gyros (P180)-- a gyros of pork, beef, tomatoes, onions, and some reddish sauce, rolled in whole wheat pita bread. It is very big and filling-- think of an oversized shawarma. It's so big that it's unwieldy-- I suggest against it if you're on a first date. But if you want a hearty meal and don't mind making a mess, I strongly suggest it. I ordered my gyros with a side of roasted potatoes sprinkled with parsley and parmesan cheese (P80), which I barely touched on account of being too full.

Chicken Gyros (P140) with a lettuce wrap (P25)-- my Dear's order. Same as a regular gyro, but replace the pita bread with lettuce. Not bad, but I still prefer bread on my gyros. My Dear also ordered her lettuce gyros with a side of roasted potatoes (P80), which she barely touched.

Refillable iced tea (P80) and lemonade (P80)-- thankfully, not that saccharine mixture that usually passes for iced tea and lemonade.

As it was our first time at Cyma, we got carried away with our orders and ended up spending almost P1,400. A sane meal for two can include a salad, a gyros, and maybe some entree or pasta, costing around P300 to P400 per person, even less if you'll share the hugely-portioned dishes. All in all, a pretty good deal.

Colourful Meat

My friend dr.sbdink recently asked me why there can sometimes be a rainbow-like sheen on raw meat or fish, whether "colourful" meat is safe to eat. I told him told him not to worry as it has something to do with the proteins oxidising-- I was right on the prescription, but wrong on the reason. Consulting Dr. Wolke's handy book, I found the right explanation.

Those colourful waves you see on raw meat are actually an optical illusion caused by the slicing process. When you cut across the muscle fibres-- myofilaments-- with a sharp knife, the tips of those fibres can play with light. The transluscent tips of the myofilaments-- through birefringence or diffraction (or both)-- cause light waves to interfere with each other, breaking up light into its component parts (i.e., the colours of the rainbow). Basically, it's the same reason you see "rainbows" through some crystals or on CD's. Note that this can only happen if the knife is sharp-- for the colours to appear, you need the surface and the myofilament tips to be fairly flat, not torn or squished by a dull knife.

So next time you see meat with a colourful sheen on the deli shelf, worry not-- it just means they sharpen their blades. But it's a totally different story if the colour on the meat is not a sheen but a solid greenish mass.

One man's cooking...

... is another man's biological weapon: Burning chilli sparks terror fear (from BBC)

My friend dr.sbdink, who is currently living in Singapore, says that tenants over there are not allowed to cook. I think this is a rational policy, and very vital for a smooth lesee-lessor relationship. Even if Singaporean cuisine has its share of stinky pastes and sauces, they're their stinky pastes and sauces.

Speaking of stinky food, dr.sbdink tells me of this food in Singapore called otak-otak. According to the interweb, the dish is from Indonesia but Malaysia and Singapore have their versions. It's basically fish paste placed in banana leaves and grilled over charcoal or baked in an oven. I found a recipe here. It can be eaten on its own or as a side dish or as a viand with rice. Dr.sbdink has tried it and, well, didn't really like it. I'm going to Kuala Lumpur next week-- hopefully I'll find this dish so I can give my own review.

As for the name, otak-otak perplexes me. I know that otak means brain in Bahasa, so what does otak-otak mean? Well, based on the pics I've seen, the greyish brown fish paste does look a little like brains. It wouldn't surprise me if that's the etymology of the dish's name-- in the Philippines we have even weirder names for food. E.g., kulangot (literally booger), which is a sweet concoction of coconut and sugar placed in small coconut shells-- the shells are the nostrils and, well, you get the picture. And then there's pan de regla (literally menstruation bread), which is bread with red jam and some butter. Go figure.

UK shops to lose famous soup can

(From BBC)



The Campbell's Condensed Soup tin, made famous by pop artist Andy Warhol, has been canned by new owner Premier Foods. Read more.

Luxurious Liempo

Here’s my take on the classic lechon kawali. It stores well in the fridge and, as you'll see, it attains perfection after reheating. Perfect for those who only have time to cook during weekends and can only reheat stuff for weekday dinners.

Ingredients:
pork liempo (at least 1 kilo)
salt
pepper
garlic
laurel leaves
spices

1. The most important element here is the pork. You need to use pork liempo (belly) and they have to be in big chunks. And I mean big: I usually cut one kilo of liempo into three or four pieces. You need the size to ensure the right texture; don't use those bacon-thin strips of liempo. You also need to use liempo for the flavour-- yes, the fat really helps. Obviously, health food this isn't.

2. Season the pork with salt, pepper, and spices. You can use any spice mix you want: recently I used Cajun seasoning, but you can also use Old Bay, curry, or anything that's available. You can also skip the spices and just stick with salt and pepper. Remember to be generous with the flavourings-- very few of the essential oils will actually penetrate the meat so make up for it with flavour strength.

3. Braise the pork (i.e., boil in slow to medium heat) along with the bay leaves and garlic; I also add some dried chile arbol just because I have some. Boil the pork for a long time, like two hours or more, until the pork is completely cooked and soft. Take your time; watch some TV or do some homework. Turn the pork occasionally, and make sure it doesn't run out of water before you're done.

4. Drain the remaining stock and allow the pork to cool down. If you did this at night, put the pork in the chiller and go to sleep. If you still have a meal ahead of you, keep the piece you're going to eat and chuck the rest into the chiller.

5. Prior to serving, brown the pork using your preferred browning method-- frying or broiling. I personally prefer broiling because it allows the fat to drain. Since the meat is already cooked all you have to worry about is its final state-- how crisp and brown you want it or how much of the fat you want to drain away. With some patience you can get the skin to a very crisp state-- not like lechon or chicharon, but still good. Note that this is the second time you're cooking the meat so by the time you're finished it will be falling off your fork.

Serve with steamed rice and vegetables on the side-- grilled eggplant is a perfect partner.

* When you braise meat it goes through three phases: (1) raw, (2) cooked but rubbery, and (3) cooked and soft. From (1) to (2), the heat denatures the meat (i.e., cooks the proteins) but also makes it tougher. As you continue to braise the meat, the heat and moisture transforms the tough proteins (specifically collagen) into gelatin, softening the meat to perfection. The meat will toughen up when you put it in the fridge because of the gelatin cooling down, but it will easily soften again with just a little reheating.

The Roast Beef of Old England

No, this isn't a recipe for roast beef. The Roast Beef of Old England is an English patriotic song composed by Henry Fielding in 1731.

The word beef comes from the French boeuf. Credit the Norman Conquest of England for introducing this word to the English language. Otherwise, we'll have such delectable dishes as Roast Cow, Corned Cow, and Cow Stroganoff.

The Roast Beef of Old England

When mighty Roast Beef was the Englishman's food,
It ennobled our brains and enriched our blood.
Our soldiers were brave and our courtiers were good
Oh! the Roast Beef of old England,
And old English Roast Beef!

But since we have learnt from all-vapouring France
To eat their ragouts as well as to dance,
We're fed up with nothing but vain complaisance
Oh! the Roast Beef of Old England,
And old English Roast Beef!

Our fathers of old were robust, stout, and strong,
And kept open house, with good cheer all day long,
Which made their plump tenants rejoice in this song--
Oh! The Roast Beef of old England,
And old English Roast Beef!

But now we are dwindled to,what shall I name?
A poor sneaking race, half-begotten and tame,
Who sully the honours that once shone in fame.
Oh! the Roast Beef of Old England,
And old English Roast Beef!

When good Queen Elizabeth sat on the throne,
Ere coffee, or tea, or such slip-slops were known,
The world was in terror if e'er she did frown.
Oh! The Roast Beef of old England,
And old English Roast Beef!

In those days, if Fleets did presume on the Main,
They seldom, or never, return'd back again,
As witness, the Vaunting Armada of Spain.
Oh! The Roast Beef of Old England,
And old English Roast Beef!

Oh then we had stomachs to eat and to fight
And when wrongs were cooking to do ourselves right.
But now we're a . . . I could, but goodnight!
Oh! the Roast Beef of Old England,
And old English Roast Beef!