Repost from Bucaio
Uong na pungol is the Pangasinan term that is the equivalent of the Tagalog kabute sa punso, or kabuteng punso. Literally, these are mushrooms that sprout from anthills, which are regarded in the highly superstitious Philippine countryside not for what they really are, but pungol or punso are quite fearfully considered as the dwelling places of dwarves.So I'm a bit surprised at the intrepidness of the people who gather mushrooms at dawn to sell in the markets. But as they explain, uong na pungol is the best kind of fungi to eat.
The others, like uong na ponti (mushrooms sprouting at the base of banana stalks), or uong na kawayan(those found clustered around bamboo groves), are tough and chewy, and not exactly flavorful.
For almost a month the sun did not shine in my part of the country, which was expected, as it was the rainy season, after all. What with one super typhoon after another, dragging along the habagat so that not a patch -of earth or pavement – was left dry for weeks.
So it was hightime for mushrooms to flourish. People attribute it to thunder and lightning, which are plentiful in this season as well. And so at the markets in Pangasinan uong by the bigao (bilao) were everythwere.
They were being sold for Php15 per bunch of about four pieces tied together at the stalks. That would seem cheap, though compared to the paler and unsubstantial oyster mushrooms that are cultured year-round, they're a bit expensive.
But uong na pungol are only ever here while the rains drop. And so I'll enjoy their brief stint in this world as much as I can.
Uong na pungol look a lot like the cultured variety, but their outer skin is brown, and their caps have pointed peaks. They're meatier, too, and tastier, because they come from the earth. And they don't keep. They sprout overnight, and have to be harvested in the morning and cooked within the day, for they wilt and decay by nightfall.
I love uong mixed with sliced green papayas, boiled briefly in a little bagoong-seasoned broth. But it had been raining hard, and it was cold, and I was in the mood for lauya.
So we mixed the uong with beef and green papayas and potatoes and slurped bowls of the scalding soup. And no matter that life and all things are transitory, because a moment well-lived is more precious than an infinite lifetime.
Filed under Food by The Pangasinan Blog.
Kilawing Talaba
What better way to end the Lenten season than to hold a poncia?
Poncia is the general term for a party in Pangasinan, but one that is centered around food. It is a party on a grand scale, and as I mention in this blog time and again, it is an undertaking by an entire barrio or barangay – people come to help in the preparation and cooking of the handa, or the dishes to be served, down to the plating and serving, and of course everybody comes during the poncia to partake of the food.
The Tagalog equivalent of the term poncia is handaan, which generally means a preparation, but has evolved to mean a preparation of food to be served, and eventually has come to mean the serving of food during a party, much the same way as what poncia denotes.
A poncia and a handaan both refer to big celebrations usually associated with the sacraments and the practice of one’s faith – wedding, baptism, fiesta, birthday, anniversary of all sorts, commemorations after a death (pasiyam, 40 days, babang-luksa).
There may be a short ritual during the party, maybe some speeches, but the main event is the food and the eating. Because the poncia is traditionally held at the house of the host, tables are usually short so that one has to leave immediately after eating to give way to those still waiting to be seated.
The preparation for the poncia usually starts more than 24 hours before the event.
In Situ
At sundown the pig – the normal beast of choice for the handa, utilized from snout to tail – is slaughtered, dressed and cut up. Big wooden fires are built, first to boil water for cleaning the animal, then to cook the dinner of the volunteers, and eventually, of course, to cook the handa for the poncia.
Here after the pig had been cut, a smaller but more preferred animal, a goat, is being prepared for cooking. In smaller parties a goat may be served, but for parties of a grand scale it would be too costly because it is not as meaty as a pig. The dishes that were cooked from the goat meat were served as pulutan (food that accompanies hard drinks) for the inevitable drinking session that follows each poncia.
I love goat meat, while I abhor pork, so I had the goat dishes after the party, which I ate with rice.
Around midnight the cutting of the meat begins. The constant hammering of heavy knives on large planks of wood is heard for miles around the entire dawn, and this sound is like the tolling of bells that counts down the hours until the feast is served. It is part and parcel of every poncia that I attended in my childhood, so that any hammering I hear makes my stomach anticipate an epicurean adventure.
 The cooking continues throughout the entire morning, the different parts of the pig going into appropriate dishes.
Here the pata – hocks – were being boiled prior to being deep fried to a crisp. However, the host deemed the four pieces of front and hind hocks too few to be served, so it became the “prize” of the volunteer male cooks to take home.
 A stew being ladled into a container to be taken to the party venue. The shovel-like size of the ladle and the long wooden handle enabled the cook to skillfully stir the large quantity of meat without being warmed too much by the wood fire.
Female volunteers are relegated to the prep work only, and do not participate in the actual cooking.
Rice is normally cooked in a kaldero – a thick, steel, cylindrical casserole – but the quantity needed for a huge number of people means employing a kawa – made of the same material but pan-shaped. And huge.
Rice cooked in a kaldero is left to cook by itself. Here the rice is stirred to ensure even cooking.
As the rice absorbs the water, it is covered with banana leaves to make it fragrant, then weighted down so the wind doesn’t lift the cover. The fire is dispersed around and banked to embers to prevent water from evaporating, which circumstance would undercook the rice.
The handa. A dish of igado, a stew of the offals and some meat in vinegar. In this case some tomato sauce was added.
The bony parts, also stewed in tomato sauce, with chickpeas added. There are other dishes like this, which look and taste the same, to me at least.
Embutido, a roll of ground pork, onions, carrots, minced pickles and chorizo steamed in aluminum foil.
Lechon kawali, pan-fried pork belly strips. In other poncia this is further chopped into cubes for economic reasons.
Kilawing bangus (raw milkfish fillets in vinegar, onions and ginger) with mashed boiled eggs. This has been steeping in the vinegar mixture for almost a day, so that the fish has been “cooked.” Nevertheless it (plus the oysters lightly cooked in vinegar, jalapeno peppers, onions and ginger, topmost photo) is a refreshing respite from all the fatty meat dishes. The boiled eggs is not a usual addition to kilawin, but it made the dish “friendly” to those who are not used to eating raw seafood, especially the female part of the population.
Stuffed eggs. This is not traditional poncia fare, but speaks of the experience of the punong abala or the one in charge of the over-all preparation and cooking, who has spent time in the kitchens of a hotel in Dubai. With all the meat and pork fat, I think it is a brilliant addition to the party spread, particularly since a lot of the guests were senior citizens (the poncia was for a golden wedding anniversary). I’ve read somewhere that an egg contains an element that helps in preventing the absorption of fat that you eat it with in the bloodstream.
The indispensable side in all poncia – atsara, pickled grated papaya, to cut through all the sawa (taste fatigue) from all the pork dishes.
Filed under Culture, Food by The Pangasinan Blog.
Reblogged from: Bucaio
It used to be, before pastries and cakes and ice cream concoctions and cold salads of canned fruit, that candied gundol* was one of two (the other is, by default, leche flan) featured desserts in any festive occasion. And I mean really festive – grand celebrations like Catholic baptisms and fiestas. And probably even weddings.
These occasions, in those more serene times not so long ago, were a field demonstration of home-cooking andbayanihan. And bayanihan – the time-honored practice of helping out your neighbor in preparing for a big event – is needed during feasts, because everything laid on the table, from the appetizers and soups to the salads and mains (actually, it's more of a smorgasboard of main dishes, mostly meat) up to the desserts and drinks, everything is cooked/made right there at home, where the feast was usually held, anyway.
And not just cooked, but the animals to be served were also slaughtered, cleaned and dressed and chopped to the appropriate cuts right there in the premises. Big wood fires were built, around which big, somewhat flat rocks were arranged, so kawas and kalderos (huge cooking pots and pans) could be put atop the fires for the occasion.
Homecooking was practical because occasions such as those mentioned above were usually a barangay (roughly the equivalent of a village) event. Just as everybody volunteers for the preparation, everybody likewise comes for the occasion, no invitation needed. As such, the slaughter of an animal to use all its parts, and the use of home-grown ingredients, including the fruits and vegetables, were economical.
So with the use of gundol, which grows abundantly. I associate gundol with fiestas because that is when it was usually served. But this is actually because our town fiesta is in January, when gundol – known outside the country as winter melon or wax gourd (Benincasa hispida) – is in profusion. The last and first quarters of the year are also choice times for binyag and kasal, and I have attended my fair share of those (what Filipino hasn't?) that's why gundol is festive food, for me.
Gundol is a pulpy, oblong gourd with waxy skin. It is similar to upo (bottle gourd), with as many seeds in the center, but the flesh is drier. It is eaten as a vegetable, again same as the upo, usually added in soups. But when I was growing up we never had it as a vegetable.
Gundol is always a candy for me. The thin waxy coating on the gourd acts to protect the fresh fruit, so it can be stored for a length of time. Candying it goes further in preserving it. Because it does not need chilling, it is ideal for serving in big occasions, when the ref is normally bursting at the seams and about 30% of the food usually spoils before the event. Its long shelf life is a guarantee that it can be made ahead.
Having said that, I'll add that it can be had anytime of the year, and there's no need for an invitation to a grand feast or wedding, or even a contemplation of gate-crashing a binyag, because it is sold year-round in the public markets around the province, at the puto kiosks in Calasiao, and in Romana's.
But in case you come across a fresh gourd, it's easy to candy a gundol. A vine sprouts at the backyard of my in-laws, and I happened upon a couple of fruits at the Malasiqui market one time, so I've had practice. Just slice open the fruit, scoop out the seeds, then cut the flesh into long, fat wedges. Drain these, then sun-dry.
not dry enough, and the slices were too French-fry-thin
- they should be in thick wedges
Three days of sun-drying in the cold, Habagat-fanned holiday season yielded a still moist gundol for me, but I guess about three days in the summer sun is enough. Spread the wedges on a single layer so they dry properly.
When dry enough, mix in white sugar and put on a thick-bottomed pan to cook, stirring constantly. The gundolwill moisten, but will harden again when thoroughly cooked. Store in an air-tight container at room temperature, but I like eating candied gundol cold, so I usually store them in the freezer.
Commecially produced gundol candy are usually harder and whiter than home-cooked ones because of the addition of lime (dena in Pangasinan – the mineral calcium oxide, not the acidic fruit). Gundol is made to steep in a lime mixture overnight, which dehydrates and bleaches the fruit. Which is a good enough reason to make the candies at home.
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*The terms gundol and kundol are used interchangeably, and understandably because of the guttural similarities of the two initial letters, but kundol is more a Tagalog term and gundol is used more in Pangasinan.
Bahay Kubo
Bahay kubo, kahit munti
Ang halaman doon ay sari-sari
Singkamas at talong, sigarillas at mani
Sitaw, bataw, patani
Kundol, patola, upo’t kalabasa
At saka meron pa, labanos, mustasa
Sibuyas, kamatis, bawang at luya
Sa paligid-ligid ay puno ng linga
Roughly translated as:
Bahay Kubo
(Filipino folk song)
Nipa hut, even though small
the plants surrounding it are varied and many
turnips and eggplants, winged beans and peanuts
yard-long beans, hyacinth beans, lima beans
wax gourd, sponge gourd, bottle gourd, squash
and there’s more, radish, mustard
onions, tomatoes, garlic and ginger
the surrounding spaces filled with sesame
Filed under Food by The Pangasinan Blog.
June 3 to 7 – Visual Arts – Paintings and Sculpture of Traditional Pangasinan
June 8 to 14 – Literary Exposition by Anacbanua and Exhibits of Pangasianan
Poetry and Essays
June 10 – Poetry Reading by Anacbanua / Film Showing – Sine Caboloan/
Christopher Gozum
June 11 – Stage Play by CCP: "Pragress" by F. Sionil Jose
June 12 – Musical Festivities: Pangasian National High School Rondalla /
Mangatarem National High School Rondalla
June 14 – Cultural Fashion Show – Filipiniana Twist of Traditional Pangasinan
June 16 to 19 – June Bride featuring the Pangasinan stylist and bridal suppliers
June 20 to 21 – Father's Day Celebration – Featuring Toy Collectors of
Pangasinan
June 22 to 28 – Photo Exhibit – The Traditional Pangasinan – like Puto and
Bagoong making
Filed under Arts, Culture, Food, Language, Literature, Music by The Pangasinan Blog.
Written by: Bucaio
Sometimes happiness is as simple as being able to buy a handful of baég (about 50 grams at Php10) to put in a pot of pakbet (pinakbet), or mix in a stew of balatóng (munggo, mung beans) sauteed with chopped, ripe tomatoes. It becomes a joy, really, because the tree, or more appropriately the woody, high-growing shrub, bears only seasonally these light-green, textured, long spindly flowers that turn into a vegetable for us Northerners (Ilocanos and Pangasinenses).
The shrub does not benefit from any blossom-inducing chemical spray since it is not much known outside of the Ilocos region, although I've heard it proliferates even in the Batangas area, where they eat it as a vegetable, too. But it is well that it is kept organic, since I'm well aware how access to fresh, unadulterated produce can be a pricey privilege in this time and place.
Baég is endemic to the Philippines, also known as alokon or himbabao in Ilocano. It is rich in vitamins A, B and C, and contains calcium, phosphorus, potassium and iron. It is mixed in the Ilocano dish inabrao, or a vegetable stew of tomatoes, sitaw (string beans) and patani (fresh lima beans), flavored by pieces of grilled pork. In Pangasinan it is called baég, with the requisite Pangasinan guttural ę that all Filipinos outside of the province find so hard to pronounce (it is like the e in brother, or the second e in eagle – easy, right?).
Baég makes any dish more aromatic, but only subtly so. It adds texture, and additional roughage, to any vegetable dish that is sinágsagán (having as base stock seasoned with the salted, fermented fish paste bagóong). When cooked it turns vibrant green, soft and a bit slick. It can be had by itself, sauteed with shrimps, or in some places with bisukol or kuhol, snails, cooked in gata or coconut cream (definitely not in the Ilocos region).
In Pangasinan it is most commonly cooked with pakbet, a mix of okra, eggplants, tomatoes, palya (ampalaya, bitter gourd/melon), all put together in a boiling pot of sinágsagán and agát (luya, ginger). The pakbet shown here (photo above) also contains cubes of kamote (sweet potato), also a common practice and to which I have some objections, but I allow it because of the kamote's beneficial contents (vitamin A, calcium, soluble fiber and resistant starch), especially for kids.
It is now the season for baég. My cup runneth over.
Filed under Food by The Pangasinan Blog.
Written by: Bucaio
In Pangasinan we have no name for this vegetable dish, as with other vegetable pairings, like salúyot tan labóng, or kalobása tan marúnggay.
What I call it here, as with the other examples, is by the names of the two vegetable ingredients, apáyas being the Pangasinan term for papaya, while agáyep is sitaw, which is called string beans in English, but the name string beans in the US actually pertains to another pod much shorter than our sitaw.
As a digression, let me add that sitaw is called batong in the Visayan language (Cebuano). Batong sounds related to balatóng, which is the Pangasinan term for the lowly but noble munggô or mung beans.
While they're two different bean varieties, balatóng is actually harvested from pods which look like batong or sitaw. And then, sometimes we open up mature agáyep (batong) pods to get the beans when the pods are already inedible, cooking them like a balatóng. Of course the agáyep beans are softer.
I prefer the shorter sitaw, which is less than a foot long, greener, and has thinner skin than the more common and longer sitaw. There is less insulating white pulp covering the beans, so the pods are firmer and look "skin-tight." This sitaw variety has more flavor, and there are times in the year when they are sold in the morning market mostly shelled – like soft mung beans with a few unshelled pods here and there.
Anyway, in Pangasinan when we ask the cook to prepare vegetable dishes, we just say what vegetables to include. It is actually automatic because it has been established how one complements and enhances the other.
And all native vegetables are cooked the same – in the method called sinágsagán. So if I am asked what I have cooked, I will simply say the names of the vegetables I put in the pot.
Of course not all vegetable dishes don't have names in Pangasinan. Like we have pakbet, or pakbet tan kalobása (with squash, which is the Ilocano bulanglang)…..and….., I can't think of anything else. So mostly they are identified by what they contain, the vegetables just enumerated.
Probably this is the case because the dishes are so simple and so homey, that they did not merit being named. Almost all vegetable dishes in the province I have never encountered elsewhere, but it existent in the Ilocos and Batangas provinces, with whom we share the sinágsagán method of cooking vegetables.
I actually stop in surprise sometimes – because whenever I am away from the province, I so miss and crave for these specific vegetable dishes. The salty smell of bagóong boiling away merrily, and then that of the green notes of the fresh vegetables – they evoke the comfort of home and homecooking.
Looking back at the child who cried in anguish because she actually had to eat the vegetables served frequently (daily, without fail), I never foresaw I would come to this day. That I would actually crave what I used to hate. And even to the extent that it could take on the identity of comfort food.
Agáyep tan apáyas, or vice versa – let's call them AA for short, smells of sinágsagán coupled with the unrealized sweetness of the thinly sliced unripe papaya, punctuated by the deep greenness of the sitaw, which is broken (by hand) into several (about three to four) pieces, removing the string on each side.
This is the basic pairing, and can be served on its own. A piece – preferably the head – of grilled bangus, the favored flavor enhancer of provincial vegetable dishes, ups the allure of the dish, elevating it to almost gourmet status (of course I'm exaggerating, but it's not really far from the truth).
For variety, other vegetables can be added. Here we have bungá'y cabuéy, the fruit of that climbing vine which is considered a weed – called sigarillas in Tagalog (sigadillas, seguidillas, winged bean, Goa bean, asparagus bean).
In the first photo, the dish contained kamansī (kamongsi, breadfruit, Antocarpus camansi blanco), which is prized for its breast milk inducing capability.
Kamansī is another vegetable I crave for when I'm out of Pangasinan, but this post is already too long, so I will leave that for another time.
Note: From the comments made on this post, may I add that this dish actually has a name in other places – dinengdeng or inabraw in the Ilocos and kibal in Batangas. Which got me into thinking that I should try finding out if there is a forgotten name in Pangasinan.
Filed under Food by The Pangasinan Blog.
Written by: Bucaio
I have seen and eaten labong cooked in various ways across the country, in Chinese restaurants and in a fresh salad recipe using canned bamboo shoots. But this is the most common, and probably the most popular – and easiest – way to eat labong in Pangasinan. Boiled with saluyot tops (young jute leaves) and sinagsagan with inasin (bagoong isda). It is probably the healthiest among all options, because it doesn't contain any saturated/trans-fat, whether of the proven or debated kind, and the dish' nutritive value is magnified by the addition of the miracle, organic vegetable saluyot.
To cook, just bring to a boil a pan of water with several slices of peeled ginger. Never, ever julienne the ginger root, as my yaya is wont to do, because it would easily be mistaken for labong, especially when using the pre-boiled one. A thumb-sized ginger, peeled and crushed with the back of an aklo (sandok, wooden rice ladle) will do. Once the water is merrily boiling, put in a small bowl a couple spoonfuls of inasin. Get a long-handled ladle and pour a ladle-full of boiling water into the inasin bowl. Using the ladle edge, crush the fish in the inasin with downward strokes. Pour into the pan, straining the inasin. Repeat until the fishbones have been finely crushed. Add the labong and let boil for a few minutes, then add the saluyot and cook for about 10 minutes, covered, on medium heat.
The inasin reacts somehow with the labong, and the resulting dish acquires a very distinctive flavor, an acquired taste for some, especially for those who did not grow up eating this combination. A Pangasinense cook who maintains an eatery in Pampanga has successfully gone around this probable hindrance to the enjoyment of the dish by doing away with the inasin. He just sautees the saluyot at labong with a little pork and some tiny shrimps, recreating it into something more tolerable for non-kabaleyans. It tasted ok to my Pangasinense tastebuds, too, and it has become an alternative option whenever we run out of Pangasinan bagoong in Cavite.
When I got married, I started eating labong tan saluyot soured with pias (kamias/kalamias, Averrhoa bilimbi), which is how the vegetable dish is cooked in my husband's house. It's cooked the same as the foregoing, but pias is added the same time as the ginger. It tastes not much different from the regular saluyot tan labong, but the sourness of the pias somehow foils the saltiness of the inasin, which is heightened because not much green vegetable absorbs it. It actually completes the dish, the flavors all rounded up, although of course I never noticed anything lacking before.
I have come to love the taste of pias in my saluyot tan labong that I want a bowlfull of them added to the dish. Good thing there are two pias trees at my in-laws' backyard, and it is commonly available in the public markets, too. As long as labong is available (peak season is during the rainy months, but it can be procured the rest of the year, albeit rarely) saluyot tan labong, with pias, is cooked and eaten weekly at home. It serves to ground my children to their Pangasinan roots, as well as providing us complete nutrition for the day, with added anti-oxidants, to boot.
Saluyot tan labong is best eaten with inkalot a bangos, and acquires a heavenly turn when the fatty head of that grilled milkfish is added towards the end of the cooking process as sahog.
In fact, saluyot tan labong flavored with grilled bangus head is simply divine that I think it is worth serving in a royal court. And since it is a purely Pangasinan dish, if ever, in my other life, I had been the aliping namamahay in the court of the famed Pangasinense, Princess Urduja, I would have wanted to cook this for her. To fortify her during the battles defending the kingdom, and to keep her skin smooth and preserve her beauty to ensure that it attains legendary status. It would also serve as a reminder as to how hardy yet adaptable we are as a people, like the labong, when it grows into bamboo, which sways with the wind that's why it doesn't break, even with the strongest Filipino bagyo (typhoon/tropical storm).
Of course I won't dare admit I would have wanted to be Princess Urduja herself in my other life, but I can imagine. And I imagine I would want to eat saluyot tan labong, everyday. With pias.
Filed under Food by The Pangasinan Blog.
[Ginataang halo-halo/rice balls, bananas and various rootcrops in coconut cream]
Happy Easter!
With the end of Lent we're on to a summer that's going full blast. It's along the lines of everything's two-sided - the sultry heat that can sweat you out dry, but with it comes the vibrant colors that only a red-hot sun can bring. An abundance of all things edible, in all colors that Crayola can think of, prettying up lush fields and gardens.
[from top, clockwise: bananas, ube, langka, kamote, anise]
Rootcrops are available year-round, but they're in profusion, and at rock-bottom prices, at this time. Langka has just gone into season, and it is the ultimate ingredient to a comfort food from my childhood, the memory made and nurtured in my paternal grandparents' house.
My lolo and lola, although not born to rich families, were able to acquire tracts of land by sheer prudence and good management of their finances. From these properties we enjoyed the fruits of their labors – rice and crops planted by tenants, the produce of fruit trees plantedby my dad, and his papa, when he was but a child.
During summer, stocks of produce arrive at the house, and it was there where I came to know about what the land can give, and how it is made into food, the knowhow from an oral tradition passed down from generation to generation.
Easter was celebrated with these crops, and I remember seeking solace from the afternoon heat in the dark dining room, where I would come upon my dad's cousins rolling rice flour dough on the table for that day's treat. I would join in on the fun (fun at the start, becoming tedious later on), pinching inch-long pieces from the dough rolls and rolling them between my palms to form balls, smearing my hands with sticky dough.
That experience, and the memory of it, has become priceless, now that my grandparents have passed away, the house is being let, the cousins have their own families to tend to, and there's nobody to watch over the properties that the tenants have stopped giving our share of the crops.
But I recreate home, now that I have my own, in a place where my children are sometimes laughed at because they mix their languages – because I insist that we use my and my husband's mother language even when we're in Tagalog country. I once had my then two-year old son point to a favorite ingredient of kiniler, saying "I want banana-saging-ponti," all in one breath.
They find forming balls out of sticky dough quite fun, too.
Kiniler, the Pangasinan term for what is commonly known as ginataang bilo-bilo or ginataang halo-halo, can be as simple as rice balls and diced seba (saba) cooked in coconut cream thickened by ground glutinous rice. But it can be as lavish – a cornucopia of all things the land can yield – as a stew of all these things: kamote in three colors – white, yellow and purple - saba, langka, even buko and mais, anise.
I like my kiniler multi-textural – soft and sticky (bilo-bilo), crunchy (langka and ube), chewy (sago and saba), mushy (kamote). And full of varied flavors – the rootcrops and fruits transcending from one level of sweetness to another, the buko providing a refreshing respite, thebilo-bilo and sago a foil for all the variety of tastes, the anise punctuating with bursts of spice and aroma. All rounded up by the creamy goodness of gata.
A fitting celebration of life, the after-life, and hopes for a better one in the next.
Filed under Food by The Pangasinan Blog.
[Kuhol sa Sampalok/Snails in Tamarind Broth with Kangkong]
Snails cooked in broth soured with raw tamarind fruit is a rainy day dish in Pangasinan. The rainy season, from July to September, floods the ricefields and inundates the waterways, prompting the snails to emerge from the ground and congregate by the numbers.
Snails are one of the few food resources which thrive uncultured. They have survived, so far, the poisons that we feed our environment, because of their prolific nature. During the rainy season, cylinders of gray eggs can be found attached to the insides of palay leaves and other plants growing along streams and creeks. This is different from the pink cylinders, which look like flowers, attached to plants growing in the canals. These are the eggs of the big, "golden kuhol" variety, not endemic to the country, which laboriously crawl on the pavements and up walls, leaving long wet trails.
Before cooking, the snails should be left first in a pan full of water for a few days so they could spit out whatever they had previously eaten. I always forget to leave the pan covered, so after a few hours the snails are all over the kitchen and I have to scoop them back to the pail.
When they are ready to cook, the snails' bottoms are patted down with a heavy flat sandok (wooden spatula for serving rice) until they break (as a kid I emphatized with them, having received my fair share of slipper sole "pats" on my butt). This so the flesh comes out easily when cooked.
The proper, and fun, way of eating a bisukol is to pick one up with your right hand, the snail's operculum (opening) facing down your plate, then banging your right wrist onto your left wrist until the snail meat comes out and drops on your plate. Then you fork it to your mouth, and take some spoonfuls of the broth. I like the way the snails are chewy with a soft, rubbery consistency, notwithstanding my sore wrists. They taste of the earth from whence they came and which sustains all the life around us.
I have seen some snails served in restaurants, cooked in gata (coconut cream). I've never tried snails cooked this way, because Pangasinan cooking makes use of gata only with sweet dishes, which automatically means desserts, since there is never a Pangasinan fish, meat or vegetable dish that is sweet, only salty or sour or both.
I've been wondering, though, since I've cooked ginataang tulingan (skipjack) and I liked it. Maybe if I found more bisukol.
Filed under Food by The Pangasinan Blog.
 In Pangasinan, and I think in most parts of country, weddings, baptisms, fiestas and other big gatherings usually call for the slaughter of a pig, or several pigs actually, to feed the guests at the reception. If the reception is held in a hotel or restaurant, tradition merits a separate party, called a pagatin (literally to step on), on the eve of the occasion or usually after the official reception, at the home of the bride or celebrator.
A pig is favored because all the animal's parts, including the blood, can be cooked into different dishes. Pangasinan being surrounded by the South China Sea and criscrossed by rivers, streams and creeks, not to include the flooded ricefields during the rainy season, fresh fish and seafood are regular features in daily meals. So parties call for a taba ed bibil, literally "lard on one's lips," since fatty hogs are very much favored. Months before the scheduled party, a belek or fattening hog is procured for careful tending in anticipation of the richness it will eke out.
In small gatherings, or during the aforementioned pagatin, which is usually limited to family members and extended relatives, a smaller, "wilder" animal is preferred. Goats are mainstays of farmhouses in the barrios, led out to pasture and exercise every morning, and "come home" on their own every afternoon. The goats are either owned by those tending them, or tended for other families in kasamak* fashion. These goats are bred mainly for family reunions, particularly in remembrance of the death anniversary of a loved one, during All Souls Day, Christmas holidays, adult birthdays, and other excuses for a gathering around the table, including an excuse to drink up, with friends, with kindergarten classmates, and a thousand and one other reasons.
A goat has a lower fat content than a pig, requires low maintenance (just grass, sunshine and a little patch to run around), and gives less relative to the meat-bone ratio of a pig. So there's no worry of a goat meat overload, unlike when a pig is slaughtered and you'd have to contend with eating pork every meal for an entire week then worry about an impending heart attack.
But like how a pig slaughter and its cooking for a feast generates a spirit of community, killing a goat also brings to the fore the Filipinobayanihan spirit, whereby neighbors come along and help gratis. For of course, several people are needed to tie-up the goat, hold it for the fatal slash to the neck (may he rest in peace), for the ritual pulpog to burn the hair and skin, to carve the body, then to cook the various parts in spices.
Men commonly cook the goat meat and parts. I think this is just to continue the task of preparation from the slaughter to the table. Goat meat, too, is prized as pulutan, because it is gamey, in both senses of the word, thus requiring long cooking and a lot of flavoring ingredients and spices. Perhaps the men want to tailor the taste of the dishes to complement the Philippine national drink San Miguel pale pilsen or to several rounds of the more preferred (in price, not in taste) bilog or lapad (terms for the containers of the local gin). 
Kanding Kaldereta
Like a hog, all goat parts are used in cooking various dishes. The bony meat is slow-cooked in a caldereta with tomato sauce, bell peppers, peas, garbanzos or chickpeas, carrots, potatoes and pickles. The innards are chopped fine then cooked in a soup flavored with calamansi(local small limes), ginger, black pepper and a little of the goat's bile. This is called papaitan or pinapaitan, meaning "made bitter" in the Pangasinan and Ilocano languages.
Nothing is wasted. The skin, torched to singe the hair, and the mouth and ears are chopped finely, boiled in ginger, and tossed with minced onion, finely grated ginger and vinegar, for a warm and chewy kanding kinilaw, or kilawing kambing.
 Of course, the goat dishes are not solely for pulutan, but mainly to eat with the family and relatives, sharing good times and catching up with one another's lives. They are meant to tighten the bond between blood relations by partaking of food at a table laden with family roots and tradition.
*Kasamak (land tenant) is the Pangasinan term for a farmer who tends the landowner's real estate properties, with sharing of the proceeds of the land's output based on what was previously agreed upon and what is common practice, although nowadays it is determined by regulations set by the Department of Agriculture, especially if the property is under the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program or CARP.
The kasamak can also tend for the landowner animals intended for selling for profit, or for future use, called iwi. If the animal is sold, sharing is about 50-50 after capital and tasa (advances made by the owner to the kasamak). If the animal is killed for meat, the owner gives the kasamak a patronage fee.
All these because the Philippines is still largely an agricultural country, with a feudal type set-up.
Filed under Food by The Pangasinan Blog.
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