Suman sa Lihiya Cart

Suman sa lihiya come in twins, tied together before cooking.

I normally only have the chance to purchase suman sa lihiya from non-roving vendors, so though I was stuffed to my esophagus, I decided to stop these kids along their way home and get a couple of servings. For 14 pesos each pair, I must say, this suman-on-the-go was superb. The sauce was freshly made, not too sweet. The street was friendly and alive.


Protective plastic over the cart, which tells us who is lord.


Kids pick a banana-leaf-wrapped pair out for me.


Preparing the ridged serving paper thing.


Cutting the string. Sometimes they use banana leaf strips for tying.


Unwinding.


Laying them out.


Cutting into bite-sized pieces.


Pouring the sauce, coconut milk cooked with raw sugar.


A barbecue stick for easy eating.

Regional Tactics

New Boholano, a club of sorts along the pier.

Nearing the port of Manila, as well as in the nearby districts that hawk its goods and house the many urban migrants, are establishments proudly displaying the regional provenance of their owners.


Above this Quiapo restaurant, capiz windows and a girl chilling out.

What are the advantages of naming your establishment after your home region? Aside from just wearing your provenance on your sleeve (like some jeepneys do), giving an indication of the cuisine (which is not very probable, actually, given produce homogeneity in the metropolis), these may mark them as places for newcomers (or homesick old-timers) to come in for a Manila briefing, a chat in native dialect, updates, the possibility of finding someone to carry packages home, etc.

Trowels and Sandwich Spread

Trowels are used to scoop out unsweetened peanut butter and ground cacao paste, both from Batangas, being sold by weight.

Public Videoke

Young guy, covering his boobs with a towel, consults his girlfriend on song selection matters.

A pay videoke machine, stationed at the corner of a Manila street, becomes a place where members of a neighborhood converge. When someone puts a 5 peso coin in, and the strains of a synthesizer fill the air, and people begin to gather. There are also passers-by who become momentary audiences-- a "satellite group" of people forms outside the shed, watching on and singing along for a minute or two before picking up their sack of bulk goods or roving food carts and carrying on with work.


A passer-by (man standing on right, had a killer voice) is invited to sing a stanza or two.

Filipinos love to have an audience, even sleepless ones beyond a 50 foot radius. Most videoke, by the very nature of its aural intrusion, is public. I have grown used to the loud singing, and pick up the "musical pulse of the public" through my regular encounters with it, often hearing neighborhood renditions before the actual recordings.


A budding street videokeist has his turn.

I once overheard a conversation by some settled expatriates while chilling in some hot springs once. They were quite fearful in discussing the possibility of a videoke operation ruining the silence of their bucolic hillside homes. One of the foreigners said he proposed to fund a sound-proof videoke joint in his community before they could set up the characteristically loud, synth-y version. They refused and ridiculed him.

I later asked our companion, who was a local, if he would patronize a videoke place which did not leach its noise pollution onto the neighborhood. The answer was a quite vehement "no", and a smiling explanation along the lines of "Why should I pay if no one will hear me sing anyway?". How interesting.


The baby did sing. Really! Syllables.

A natural knack for singing, the feeling and glamor of clutching a microphone and being a star. Even the malls have more sophisticated "diva" versions of the machines, with video screens showing bystanders your performance, and open at the side, of course, if people want to take a peek at who is behind all the blaring. If that's not enough, you get a video copy and show everyone back home, or send it to a noontime show or recording company.


A student shows us her stuff.


An audience gathers around the "New Star".

Underutilized Plants

Cross-posted from my garden blog, a bit of explanation why I've been quite a sporadic blogger, and what I've been working on (aside from a growing business).


I dream of a food revolution in this country. Of new tastes, old wisdom, practicality, and appropriateness to place.

I was previously growing less than half of the vegetables I eat (and I am vegetarian, so that means, all my food aside from rice), but since the discovery of edible weeds (kulitis, above, is one), it has gone up so drastically that I am smiling like a fool all the time. We don't really know what we've got, and we're so used to eating what the groceries (even wet markets) shove us, that we ignore what sprouts effortlessly from the ground.

I'm in a bit of constant study now (explaining less posts) of these wild plants, and learning something new everyday. Old books, interviews, historical text, listening for "Kinakain ito sa amin." ("Where I am from, we eat this.").

I am convinced this will help us, a country of colonization, Americanization, appropriation of dictated-by-other romanticized cultural associations, sweeping and empty "Pinoy ako" declarations, have an identity borne of our own land. How many of us actually know our own land? How can we know about the culture it informed-- and create a unique culture informed by it-- if we don't have the faintest clue what springs from it?

What "invasives" are naturalized and why? What do they like about our country and what can we learn from their adaptation? I have interest in this because ethnically, I carry the bloodlines of naturalized "invasives"-- a constant occurrence in nature.

I don't always get to type it out, but that is what interests me these days. Garden on.

Chair Repair

A crude kind of weaving with plastic rope.

The Rising Price of Local Flavor

Large Taiwanese garlic, 50 pesos a kilo. Small Ilokos, 160 per kilo. Large Ilokos, 240 per kilo.

All who cook can attest to the superiority of our local flavoring agents, but insanely low prices of smuggled or dumped onions and garlic make consumers choose the Taiwanese (or Chinese, or Indian) alternatives. How much longer will it be worth it for farmers to produce these gisa necessities locally? Free trade, indeed.


Lady empties an imported sack of large Taiwanese red onions, 60 pesos a kilo. Sibuyas Tagalog, 120 pesos a kilo.

Ihaw

Grilling what are probably small bangus or milkfish in a Divisoria sidestreet.

Grilling, or to subject food to the great Filipino pastime of ihaw. Various skewered meats, marine animals large and small, sometimes small reptiles, and eggplants as side dishes (or ulam for vegetarians, e.g. myself). Grilling alone just isn't that much of a practical choice, so the smell of ihaw smoke makes me warm and fuzzy with thoughts about street life, eating with your hands, parties, community, those times when someone walks in then it's no problem and you just throw another one on.


And closeup.

I do appreciate that most people have their own personal recipe for marinade or sawsawan (dipping sauce). As in many cultures, men who are often, thanks to their own effort, far far away from the kitchen, may launch into a mini-sermon or two about the "right way" to grill things.


A more reinforced grilling thing in temperate Guetaria, Pais Vasco.

I like that the flavor from the wood, a direct source of cooking energy, is part of the meal. Upon the insistence of a Western, sustainable-minded host, I did try an electric grill once (not pictured anywhere on this post), and it was a strange experience. Atmospheric considerations, blah blah. If large corporations and industrial farms didn't emit so much junk into the air, no one would go pedantic on our wood-fried emissions and question our right to grill.

Old Can Buko Stringer

Beside some potato/carrot slicer, used for fancy-shaped bits in chopsuey.

This thing is what we all know and love as that which transforms buko (coconut) or melon meat into worm-like strings for juice and desserts. It is fashioned out of old large cans, probably once containing cooking oil.


Spring Vegetable Oil, I'm guessing?

Someday I would like to do a Here is Your Life on such things. Guy Smiley was such a hero to me as a child. The segment was a superb way to make people more curious about everyday objects.


Other "Can Reincarnated" sightings:
Houses
Watering Cans (from my garden blog, grater-making description)
Percussive Instruments

Modified Pedicab

Used tarp covers passenger area.

The modified Divisoria pedicab has a raised seat and a lower "compartment" that extends out back. The large quantities of goods that people tend to purchase in the area can be slipped under with ease.

Modifications like these help keep pedicabs a viable transport choice in Divisoria. They would be perfect for a dense city, where people who go to groceries nearby do not have to call a cab or bring a car.