Kaon ta anay! Hamburger, McDu, picha, pryd tsekin, Ki Ip Si?

A friend of mine living in a family compound somewhere in the province (actual name and location withheld for fear of reprisal) overhears their cook shouting to the neighbor’s counterpart what to do with porkchops, having run out of ideas on how to prepare them. "Pryd chicken mo na lang," was the reply she got. "Ah, sige," she answers back, saving the day for her.

On another occasion, in the same neighborhood (oh boy, am I asking for it!), a visiting relative asks her grandaunt to treat her to Jolibee. "O, ano bang pagkain doon, anak?" asks the elderly lady. "Eh, di McDonald!" intercedes another equally elderly lady who seems to be a connoisseur of the finer things in life. "Ah, sige," says the grandaunt agreeing to the blow out.

And not too far away, a housewife complains to her kumadre how she’s having a hard time cooking for a large household with such small cooking pans. "Ay, bumili ka ng kawa (vat) na malaki. Ang brand Erflane," the kumadre recommends with deep concern. (Uh oh, this time I’m really gonna get skinned alive. The cat is out of the bag!) "Erplane as in eroplano?" asks the housewife perplexedly. "Hindi, kawa nga!" retorts the kumadre. "Oo nga, as in eroplano?" asks the poor housewife again. "Hmmmph, kawa nga sabi, eh!" says the kumadre in exasperation.

Filipinos are a funny lot. We speak a brand of shorthand English only we seem to understand. The Americans may have given us our freedom in 1945, but to this day we remain in shackles under their neo-colonialism, quite evident yet seemingly innocuous, but having crept deeply into our everyday lives: in the language we speak, however corrupted; the political system; the clothes we wear; the movies in our minds; the songs we sing; and the food we eat.

Speaking of which, look at the hodgepodge of national cuisine we have. There were just too many cooks brewing our collective pot for the past 500 years: the Malays, Muslims, Chinese, Spaniards, Americans, and Japanese. In an article Robina Gokongwei wrote for the Philippine STAR (Oct. 8, 2000) on why our cuisine hasn’t made it internationally unlike other Asian cuisines, she put it succinctly: "Indeed, as in other countries, food presentation is an art; over here, there is no such thing as presentation. We all try to put everything in one plate so that one dish ends up on top of the other. Never mind if the lechon sauce ends up in the inihaw na pusit or there’s garlic rice all over the adobo, and don’t forget to squeeze in the leche flan as there’s still some space beside the pancit canton – the food will taste just as great."

But wait, the hodgepodge doesn’t end there. With so many languages and dialects this country speaks, and even if we have Filipino and English as our official languages, it is very likely to have some variants and mutations, however quaint they may be.

In Iloilo, for example, when one is invited to eat, you hear "Kaon ta anay." For a non-Ilonggo, that would translate to "Let’s eat termites." And if you happen to be in Is Eem (SM Mall), you’d have a choice of having hamburjer at McDu (McDonalds), Picha at Sabaru (Sbarro), or Pryd Tsekin at Ki Ip Si (KFC). If you want soy sauce, don’t ever make a mistake of asking for toyo, you’ll be given patis (fish sauce). If you want soy sauce, say Silver Swan; fish sauce, Rufina. Gets mo? If you think that’s easy enough, try asking for a bottle of Coke. You’d have to say it in the plural, even if you only want one: Isa ka Koks, palihog (One Cokes, please). And if you’ve got a craving for some chocolate, try buying M&Ms; you’d get a stare if you say it the way it should be. Eeem Eeem is more like it. Of course, one would have to say grease (grace) before a meal: "En da nim op da Pader, da San, and (last but not least) da Huli Ispiret, eemen." Amen to that. Ay, ambot sa ila! (I don’t know to them! sic)

In Cebu, an unknowing visitor would think the city is under military siege when he sees the "Shoot-to-kill" signages posted in most roadside seafood joints. If you’re unfamiliar with the place, you’d think twice before entering an establishment with such a warning. Well, panic not. It’s just a harmless sign to mean they’re serving SUgba (grilled), TOla (short for tinola or boiled), and KILawin (ceviche), the three most popular ways to prepare seafood.

A Bicolano will ask for a suha (Filipino for pomelo) to dribble its juice over a papaya for breakfast. Confused? Well, he’d actually mean kalamansi. In Leyte, a houseguest would thank her host profusely for the Photostat she was given. That’s the encrypted term for putos or giveaway leftover food from a party just finished.

And where I come from (Refublic of Famfanga), if one needs a nicotine fix, one asks for a fak (pack) of Pilif (Philip Morris). And if that’s unavailable, Oaf (Hope) will do. (We’re really an oafless lot!) Having lived close by the Americans for almost 90 years, a Pampango is wont to order (H)am and Heggs for breakfast, with fork and beans on the side; or maybe some (h)otcakes will do. But wait, just hold your horses! If you think us Kafamfangans have a monopoly of misplaced f’s and h’s, think again. When I was a guest chef at the Manila Inter-Continental’s Prince Albert Rotisserie a couple of years ago, I was asked in an interview how French chef Cyrille Soenen and I got along initially. "Quite well, there was an instant rapport," was my reply. "And to what do you attribute that?" came the next question. "Well, as we were introduced, the first thing he tells me was ‘I’m (h)appee to meet you.’" And without missing a heartbeat, he continues, "(H)ave you heaten?" Spoken like a true Frenchman. I felt right at home meeting a fellow cabalen! Di pala kami nag-iisa.

Of course, the Pinoy’s humor and ingenuity is best exemplified in a baptism of fire (take that literally). There are the early evening great proletarian delights like grilled Adidas (chicken feet), IUD (chicken intestines), Dildo (chicken head and neck), PAL (chicken wings), Betamax (blood cubes), Walkman (pig’s ears) that can be found on sidewalks all over the country. But the real baptism of fire happens in Bukidnon. An unforgettable experience awaits even the most discerning gourmand; it’s called "Remember Me?" a.k.a. roasted bull’s testicles So unforgettable, one leaves the place humming Manuel Francisco’s Hindi Kita Malilimutan!

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Years ago, in a beach resort (first class, mind you) somewhere in Bohol, I was with my rambunctious little nephews and nieces ordering lunch by the seaside. Everybody wanted spaghetti and fried chicken. "Thank God, that was an easy one!" the waiter must have congratulated himself, marching off merrily to the kitchen with a great sigh of relief. Minutes later, he comes back scratching his head, apologizing, "Sir, out of order na po ang pryd chicken." Oh well, nothing could faze our party, especially with the sound of rolling waves and sea breeze cooling our dispositions. We just had to contend ourselves with pryd chicken steak. Of course, we didn’t leave the place till all the kodakan was over.

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With regional reports from my good friends: Lory Tan, Micky Fenix, Tita Alice T. Saldaña, Teresa Araneta and Vicvic Tiongson.

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The author would like to hear about your regional "house specialties," particularly from the Ilocano and Chinese communities this time. E-mail: claude-9@mozcom.com