I'm spoiled by damn good cooking. I call it The Top Chef Effect™. Our communal addiction to Bravo's hit reality cooking show has turned us into connoisseurs who demand that each plate of food look like a "surrealist painting." We demand "diamonds from the kitchen," and have subsequently developed 4C's to rate them, too - colour, character, creativity, cohesion. Of course, we get what we ask for.
It's funny.
Three years ago, I didn't discriminate against any sort of food, as long as it was edible and able to satisfy my hunger. Bad protein? Drown it in sauce. Bad sauce? Soak it up with carbs. Bad carbs? Wash it down with water. And when all else fails, just add chillies. Chillies make everything taste better.
I grew up in a typical Filipino family - large, rabid, rowdy. Food was never discussed in terms of good or bad. Instead, it was always a matter of whether there'd even be enough, to begin with. "Pilipino," my mum would crisply snap. It's a reminder to take only little bits at a time, to leave enough for others. And with eight hungry mouths to feed, it was very likely that there'd be nothing left should you be slow in grabbing the serving dish.
I'm always stumped when I'm asked to describe Filipino cuisine. Sure, there are iconic dishes in each region, but the identity of Filipino cuisine itself is nebulous. Filipino dishes look vaguely similar. All manners of mysterious protein swim happily in all manners of equally mysterious sauce. Maybe coconut; perhaps peanut. If you're lucky, might be pig's blood. Best keep the mystery; just eat and shut up.
Filipino food, in general, is unattractive, smells suspicious, and will clog your arteries. You don't even have to eat it; just looking at it will make you fat. On the plus side, you get such a terrific hit of cholesterol with every bite, you instantly feel high. That's probably why, when friends ask me if I miss the Philippines, I instantly reply: "I miss the food." Grease is the umbilical cord that forever connects me to the motherland.
I saw a beautifully butchered piece of premium Guangdong pig's trotter in the supermarket last night. I immediately rang up my friend, Rye, because I swore I just had a pata tim mirage.
For the rest of my grocery errands, I proceeded to lumber along the supermarket aisles like a zombie, having feverish visions of adobo ...
afritada...
liempo...
pansit batil patung...
If ugly children have looks that only a mother could love, then Filipino dishes have looks that only Filipino children could love. No gem-like sushis or dainty spring rolls here, thankyouverymuch. It's futile to try and apply The Top Chef Effect™ on Filipino cuisine. Filipino food is just unrepentantly unhealthy, unrelentingly aromatic, and unapologetically bold.
It's funny that I'm spoiled by damn good cooking. I know better know. Where food is concerned, looks don't matter.
And looks can kill.
With Affection,
James
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