Iloilo, isa pa gani!

( First Of 3 Parts )

My introduction to Ilonggo cuisine took place in 1978, when, after graduating from the University of the Philippines, I set out for Iloilo on an extended vacation, hoping to capture its landscapes in my paintings for the first ever exhibition I had in mind. I stayed with my aunt Dr. Alicia Tayag Saldaña and her family. Tita Alice was a transplanted Ilongga herself, having married Ponciano "Pons" Saldaña, an ex-basketball Olympian star (together with Carlos "Caloy" Loyzaga) in the early 1950s.

Having lived in Angeles City all my life, while considering studying in Diliman, Quezon City as merely a transient period, I was steeped in Pampanga’s culinary traditions. Lacking a seacoast, Pampangos looked to their fertile land and freshwater from the Rio Grande for sustenance. Generations have subsisted on plentiful homegrown and often wild-gathered food, like tugak (frogs), kamarù (mole crickets), bulig (mudfish), itu (catfish), ulàng (crayfish), and dumarà (mallards) as staples. Pampanga, to me, still means all these foods, and a lot more – its egg and carabao’s milk-based sweets (tocino del cielo sans rival, tibuk-tibok), its fermented sauces (balo-balo, burong isda, taba ng talangkâ), and its preserved meats (tapa and tocino).

Thus, I found Iloilo to be a whole new world – a place where the cuisine reflected not only the province’s coastal terrain but also the famously hospitable and sweet nature of the Ilonggos. I remember quite vividly the time my aunt drove me all the way to Tiolas, the last town on the border to Antique, where we visited the historic churches of Tigbauan, Miag-ao and San Joaquin. We would stop intermittently as we came across roadside vendors and food hawkers along the way. I had my first taste of bingkâ (that’s bibingkâ to us Luzonians) in Oton; inasal na manok (barbecued native chicken flavored with lemongrass and achuete) in Villa Beach; and a deliciously grilled fish steak oozing with fat called sibingan, peddled by an elderly lady as we were nearing Tiolas. It was clipped between two flat bamboo sticks, much like an elongated clothespin. As I bit a morsel off the somewhat charred fish steak, oil dripped down my lips. It was a belly portion of what I was to learn much later, a blue marlin. It was still unheard of in Manila then, but the experience was indelibly etched on my taste buds.

Upon reaching Tiolas atop a hill, we stopped by this karinderia nestling on a precipice with a spectacular view of Guimaras Strait. Perched on the rocks below was a flame tree in full bloom, solitary and brave, constantly being battered by the breaking waves. Here, I had my first fill of what was typically daily Ilonggo fare: kadios kag pata (black-eyed beans with pork trotters),ubad (pith of the saba banana trunk) cooked with native chicken and green langkâ; takway adobado (gabi root) simmered in vinegar, guinamos (Panay island’s distinct dark shrimp paste), and guisadong pancit Efuven (sautéed egg noodles). Simple and genuine food made memorable by the constant sea breeze and the sound of breaking waves.

On subsequent repeated forays, my aunt took me and her brood on boat rides to this uninhabited islet of Naburot, just off the southwestern tip of Guimaras. On our way to Fort San Pedro, where we would take the boat, we would pass for the lumpiang ubod she had pre-ordered; buy several kilos of lechon (fragrant with its lemongrass stuffing) in Oton; drop by the central market to pick up a sack full of talaba (oysters), diwal (razor clams), pitik-pitik (rock lobster tails) or kasag (crabs), and a tiklis full of the famous sweet Guimaras mangoes. In her inimitable way, my Tita Alice had retained the Pampango flair of preparing lavishly, most especially for family. Our makeshift picnic table on the island was always groaning with food. Isla Naburot, the world-renowned island resort as it is known today, was yet in the offing then, and came about as a natural consequence of these outings.

Two soup dishes that are equally famous and have become popular even beyond Iloilo’s border are pancit Molo and batchoy. Both of Chinese influence, pancit Molo is actually a light chicken-based soup with pork-filled wonton thrown in. It was named after the district of Molo, that used to be the parian or Chinese enclave during the colonial times, where this snack food was sold by Chinese hawkers.

The batchoy, on the other hand, is a bit more complicated. It first appeared in the wet market of La Paz district in the 1930s. It may look like mami to the rest of us, but that’s where the similarity ends. Its rich broth is steep boiled for hours with soup bones, meat of pork and beef, innards and guinamos for flavoring. A serving consists of a large bowl of thin noodles, topped with slivers of the meats and innards cut with a pair of barber’s scissors (one would hear its constant clacking), then ladled with the piping hot caldo (broth), and finally smothered generously with crushed chicharon and fried ahos (garlic). I’ve tried one version with a spoonful of beef bone morrow and native powdered MSG added to it. Though it tasted heavenly, it’s a hellish nightmare for the cholesterol- and uric acid-conscious.

On a sweet note, the Panaderia de Molo, the oldest bakery in the south, continues to bake its traditional delicacies that date back to over a hundred years. Its biscocho, hojaldres, galletas, broas, and rosquetas have become favorite pasalubong fare, packed in their signature round cans. Another Ilonggo product of note is the pinasugbo (thin slices of green saba banana fried and made chewy with caramelized sugar) that will surely satisfy any sweet-toothed person.

Needless to say, I got hooked on Iloilo, its cuisine and its hospitality that I keep coming back for more all through these years. And oh, by the way, regarding what I originally set out to do, after my four months’ stay with my aunt, I succeeded in painting enough works for an exhibit, and a lot more.

(Next issue: Isla Naburot)