If one is to take a survey on what is our national dish, chances are it will definitely be a tossup between adobo and sinigang. But which adobo (see my column on March 8) and which sinigang, may I ask? Though both are found in every region of the archipelago coming in different names and variations, they nevertheless share the same popularity, crossing all economic boundaries. They are the great levelers on the Pinoy dining table.
Sinigang is basically a clear-broth soup dish flavored with a sour fruit or the young, acidic leaves of a fruit-bearing tree. Any seafood or meat may be included, with a requisite set of vegetables added to it (i.e. kangkong, okra, gabi, sitaw, eggplant, banana heart, mustard leaves, radish, and the must-have green finger chilies. It doesn’t vary much from these), making it a complete meal unto itself. It owes its popularity not only to its readily available ingredients, its versatility as to its contents, depending on what the purse can afford, but also mainly satisfying every Pinoy’s penchant for anything sour or maasim.
When one takes a sip of the hot, sour broth, it will make you break into a sweat, a most welcome cooling effect in this warm climate of ours. Many a time one makes the ritual of pouring a little broth over the rice to moisten it, mashing the gabi, cutting the protein and veggies, and mixing everything together, and before a spoonful is placed in the mouth, it is sprinkled with a little patis and mashed green finger chili for the coup de grace. It is our chicken soup, comforting every Juan’s tired soul, satisfying every Juan’s craving.
Of all the basic tastes, it is sourness that is most dominant in Philippine cuisine. With vinegar as one of the most indispensable ingredients in the Filipino kitchen, it has been in use for centuries not just for seasoning but also as a natural preservative. In the pre-refrigeration era, it was common practice to cook with vinegar, which would prolong the dish’s shelf life without refrigeration, most especially with our hot tropical climate. It is also widely used as a marinade or brine, pickling vegetables and fruits (i.e. achara and burong mangga), and is the much-favored dipping sauce throughout the length and breadth of the archipelago.
Thus, wrote the late Doreen Fernandez in Palayok, this formed our collective fondness for a touch of sourness in dishes like kinilaw, paksiw, adobo and sinigang. Just imagine having chicharon, tapa, longganisa, tuyô, danggít, without the miracle water. And, have you ever noticed why we automatically add vinegar or kalamansi to any kind of pancit? The uninitiated may find the sourness initially a bit jarring to their taste buds, but it is indeed an acquired taste. Adding to this mouth-puckering acidic preference is the abundance of sour fruits and leaves that are eaten as is, used in dipping sauces, or added to the cooking: kamias, kalamansi, dayap, green sampalok fruit and its young leaves, green mango, tomato, santol, batuan, alibangbang and labog leaves, etc.
Even our national hero, Dr. Jose Rizal, must have been salivating (gut-wrenching, hair-pulling withdrawal) for that mouth-puckering sourness when he wrote the four chapters in Noli Me Tangere where food was the central theme, considering he finished the book in 1892, after four years of living Europe. In the chapter “The Fishing Excursion”: “When the party reached the baklad or bamboo fish pen, Tía Isabel ordered the boatman’s son to have the panalok (bamboo rod with a net basket) ready “so the live fish can pass from the water to the sinigang broth,” she said. Meanwhile, “Andeng, Maria Clara’s childhood friend, who had a reputation of being an excellent cook, prepared the rice water (washing) for stewing the fish, adding to it some tomatoes and kamias.”
In this scene, Rizal not only revealed his knowledge of what went into the sinigang and how it is done, but also gave paramount importance to the freshness of the fish.
Though asim or sourness may be the predominant taste in the Pinoy palate, the degree of sour notes nevertheless varies from region to region. Most pronounced is the Tagalog (Metro Manila and its southern provinces collectively known as Calabarzon — Calamba, Laguna, Batangas,Rizal and Quezon), and Mimaropa — Mindoro, Marinduque, Romblon and Palawan, which all use copious amounts of vinegar and sour fruits in their cooking (i.e. kamias/kalamias, sampalok, kalamansi, suka).
In Pampanga, it is the nuanced sweet/sour notes of bulanglang bayabas made with ripe guava, while in Lucena City, it is the very mildly sour fish-head soup cocido (nothing to do with the Spanish cocido, a.k.a. puchero hereabouts) made only with a few drops of kalamansi and tomato.
In the Central Visayas (Bohol, Cebu, Negros Oriental, and Siquijor) and the Eastern Visayas (Samar, Leyte and Biliran), a not-so-sour fish soup, tola is also favored, basically the same as cocido using just kalamansi and tomato. But in the Western Visayas region (Aklan, Antique, Negros Occidental, Capiz, Guimaras and Iloilo), the batuan fruit is more commonly used. And mind you, nobody — but nobody — calls it sinigang anywhere in the Visayas.
So, going back to our million-peso question, which sinigang, may I ask? The word “authentic” always pops up in any food discussion, but what is “authentic” anyway? It is a very gray area, especially in this day and age of globalization. What used to be hard-to-get ingredients, as well as seasonal vegetables and fruits, are now available year-round. Did you know that French beans (haricot vert), cherry tomatoes, romaine lettuce, the Japanese yakon and daikon, and the Vietnamese dragon fruit are now commonplace in most supermarkets and even wet markets in Metro Manila, including Angeles City where I live? They’ve been growing them locally in the past decade or so. Salmon heads and bellies are readily available everywhere, a byproduct of the canning factories of Alaska. They are a favorite main ingredient in sinigang sa miso, and command a premium price compared with using maya-maya or other local fishes. One can find this once-rare Alaskan product being served in most food courts nowadays. But does using an imported fish in our sinigang makes it any less “authentic”? And where did the miso come from anyway? Of Chinese origin, it’s been part of the Pinoy’s pantry list for centuries.
What about sinigang na corned beef? SideBar of the Chateau 1771 Group first introduced it to the public only in 1995, and yet it has become a popular addition to our sinigang tradition. Again, is it any less authentic by introducing an imported component to it?
Why is Bulanglang Kapampangan (that’s sinigang sa bayabas to the Tagalogs) favored by the Pampangos? Going back some four centuries or more, our native guava, commonplace as it is nowadays, originally came from the Americas during the 250 years of the galleon trade when Spain ruled us through the viceroy of Mexico. And so did atsuete, tsokolate, mani, avocado, camachile, chico, atis, pinya, kasuy, kamote, sayote, champorado, tamales, etc.
And what if you happen to be in a foreign land? Does using trout, bokchoy and sinigang powder make it less authentic? Cooking anywhere else in the world is making the most of whatever is locally available, and then adapting it to the taste/palate (panlasa) one grew up with. A cuisine is a work in progress; it is a living thing that is constantly evolving. Whatever the case, sinigang will definitely keep its asim even a century hence. Isn’t more fun not knowing what it will be like generations from now?
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Join me in “LB sa FB” for a linamnam discussion on the Pinoy’s fave eats on Facebook.