Next to me, Stanford stood stumped. Puzzled at what I meant. He tilted his head charmingly and gave me the look — the “I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about-but-that-carrot-you’re-holding-looks-pretty-darn-tasty” look. The chap loves his carrots. Stanford’s a smart snacker that way. I wish I could say the same about myself. I [...]]]> “It’s just the two of us,” I told him.

Next to me, Stanford stood stumped. Puzzled at what I meant. He tilted his head charmingly and gave me the look — the “I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about-but-that-carrot-you’re-holding-looks-pretty-darn-tasty” look. The chap loves his carrots. Stanford’s a smart snacker that way. I wish I could say the same about myself. I hurled the carrot toward him, which he caught deftly with his mouth. It was gone in a snap.

The house always feels empty when Dennis is away. The kitchen at dinnertime feels particularly hollow. No one noses around. No one gives me a hand. No one pays me a compliment. No one does my dishes, my pots and pans. Dennis and I have an unwritten rule: when one cooks the other one cleans. I agreed to the arrangement even though it’s skewed to my disadvantage. My partner uses every mixing bowl, every measuring cup, every measuring spoon when he prepares dinner. He literally turns the entire kitchen upside down when he cooks and I am left with tidying everything up. It’s far from an equitable distribution of labor, isn’t it? He compensates for his cooking, anyway, so all is good and fair.

I picked out another carrot from the crisper, peeled it, and cut it into strips as thin as matchsticks. I piled them in a stack on a plate along with sweet jicama and sour green mango cut in the same way. Garlic crushed in my mortar and pestle and a small yellow onion chopped into tiny pieces made my mise en place complete.

I don’t mind cooking in solitude at home. I cannot say I enjoy eating alone. I cannot say the opposite either. Good food and good wine are best enjoyed in the company of family and friends but solitary dinners can be pleasurable. “It is the privilege of loneliness,” Virginia Woolf writes in Mrs. Dalloway. “In privacy one may do as one chooses.” Fried rice with fried eggs is my meal of choice. My one-skillet meal for one. It can be as simple as eggs and day-old rice fried with garlic in a hot skillet or as elaborate as — oh well, eggs and day-old rice fried with garlic in a hot skillet — but dressed with pungent bagoong [bah-goh-ohng]! The kind that’s salty but a little sweet. The kind that makes the entire house reek!

A glass of cheap but tasty red accompanied my bowl of bagoong fried rice on that warm spring night. Sutherland and Pavarotti serenaded me and my dinner companion.

“It’s just you and me,” I told him. Stanford tapped my leg with his cold nose then gave me the look. “Aren’t you going to share?” I thought I heard him say.

Bagoong Fried Rice Recipe, makes four servings

2 tablespoons vegetable oil
4 cloves garlic, crushed
1 small onion, chopped
3 cups leftover cooked rice at room temperature (1 cup uncooked gives roughly 3 cups cooked rice)
1/4 cup bagoong, Kamayan or Barrio Fiesta brand
sea salt to taste
1 small green mango, julienned, about 1/4 cup
1 small jicama, julienned, about 1/4 cup
1 medium carrot, julienned, about 1/4 cup
2 medium tomatoes, coarsely chopped
4 eggs, fried

Heat oil in a wok or large heavy skillet over high heat. Add garlic and stir fry until it starts to brown. Add onions and stir fry until soft and fragrant. Add bagoong — shrimp preserved in brine typically used as sawsawan — and stir fry for a minute. Mash the rice gently with clean hands, breaking apart clumps of rice. Pour rice into the hot wok and stir well, again breaking apart clumps of rice with a spatula. Stir until well combined. Stir fry until grains are separated and dressed in bagoong. Season with salt to taste.

Divide into four bowls. Garnish with mango, jicama, and carrots, and tomatoes. Serve with fried eggs.

For a more substantial fried rice, add strips of sweet pork tocino or longganisa.

The smell of vinegar, crushed garlic, and cracked black peppercorns thrilled me. I know, it sounds like a tired cliché but it brings back so many [...]]]> My deft fingers combed through its spiny flesh, picking its bones with a skill I learned when I was little, with a precision I painstakingly mastered through the years.

The smell of vinegar, crushed garlic, and cracked black peppercorns thrilled me. I know, it sounds like a tired cliché but it brings back so many memories. So many meals, so many mornings. The clatter of spoons and forks against amber plates. The crackle of fish in hot oil in a deep kawali. My dad riffling through the morning paper with his first cup of black coffee. My mom juggling the morning chores while watching over my niece, feeding her arroz caldo and a pinch of fish for breakfast. And my sleepy self watching the morning slowly unfold, combing through the same spiny fish — bangus [bah-ngoos]; cut the same way — daing [dah-ing], which means split open; marinated the same way, cooked the same way — always tustado [too-stah-doh], fried until it is toasted golden brown.

I let go of my spoon and fork and ate with my hands like my dad always did. I saved the best for last, of course, like I always do. Its belly melted in my mouth. I licked my fingers clean and savored the taste of vinegar and spices. For me, it is one of life’s simplest pleasures.

Daing na Bangus Recipe, makes four servings

4 medium bangus (milkfish), butterflied with skin and scales on, about 2 pounds
sea salt
1 cup white vinegar
12 whole black peppercorns, cracked
8 cloves garlic, crushed
1/2 cup canola oil

Generously season both sides of the fish with sea salt. Marinade milkfish in vinegar, garlic, and black peppercorns in a sealed container or ziploc bag in the refrigerator overnight.

Before cooking fish let it rest at room temperature for over an hour. Heat oil in a wok or deep pan over medium to high heat. Slide fish down the side of the wok, skin side down, and fry until golden brown, about 10 to 12 minutes. Carefully flip fish using a flat spatula and fry the other side until golden brown, about 10 to 12 minutes. Drain fish in a plate lined with paper towels and season lightly with salt and pepper.

Serve with fried rice and a sawsawan of tomatoes and salted eggs.

More Fish Recipes

Pesa Recipe

I’ll be a granduncle soon. Yes, you heard right. I’ll be a very young granduncle soon. The news actually didn’t make me feel old. Okay, maybe it did. Just a little. But it certainly felt strange to acknowledge the fact that time has slipped by so quickly. It seemed like only yesterday when everyone in the family was doting …

Sinigang na Salmon sa Miso Recipe

She looked the way I remembered her. A petite lady with big, tall hair. Her face beamed with a smile so familiar. Her son, Alvin, towered behind her. Alvin is a dear friend from way back, one of the very few people who knows me through and through. Everything in their home in Pickering felt strangely familiar. …

Pinangat Recipe

I latched both my arms around her. I watched my every step as I carried her up the onerous Bernal Heights hill. Parking spots were far and few that balmy morning in the market and the only spot I could find was at the very top of a steep hill. She was a little over four feet tall but she was, thankfully, not too heavy. I, nevertheless …

Garlic crushed and browned. Eggs hard boiled and halved.

I arranged the garnishes neatly on the kitchen counter, next to the bowls of egg noodles. The garnishes replaced the mise en place I prepared the day before: a large yellow onion quartered, carrots, celery, and a [...]]]> Sprigs of wansoy [wahn-soi]. Slivers of green onions.

Garlic crushed and browned. Eggs hard boiled and halved.

I arranged the garnishes neatly on the kitchen counter, next to the bowls of egg noodles. The garnishes replaced the mise en place I prepared the day before: a large yellow onion quartered, carrots, celery, and a leek cut in pieces, a pair of bay leaves, and cracked black peppercorns, which all went into a pot along with chicken bones I roasted in the oven. I simmered the bones and aromatics slowly for hours, letting the flavors meld into a delicate stock for homemade chicken mami.

Mami [mah-mee] is a dish of noodles, chicken, pork or beef, and broth. The origins of the Filipino noodle soup can be traced back to the pioneering Chinese peddlers and restaurateurs who immigrated to the Philippines. Mami is eaten any time of the day, typically paired with steamed pork buns — siopao — or steamed pork dumplings — siomai.

Because it is so simple to make, my mom always insists on making stock from scratch and using it as the base for her noodle soup. I must admit, however, that I’ve succumbed to the convenience of cubed broth far too many times but stock simmered slowly from bones and aromatics is unmatched. And it’s all about the garnish, my mom has taught me. Always with hard boiled eggs. With garlic and green onions, of course. And with fragrant leaves of cilantro, which Filipinos call wansoy.

I ladled the steaming stock into the bowls. I had a whiff of wansoy before I laid the leaves on the bed of noodles. Its strong, heady scent wetted my appetite. I could have a bowl of hot noodle soup everyday, I thought. What could be more simple and more satisfying? Nothing, in my book. Nothing, indeed.

Chicken Stock Recipe, makes 3 quarts

4 pounds chicken bones, necks, backs, wings, and legs
1 large onion, quartered
2 large carrots, peeled and quartered
4 celery ribs, quartered
1 large leek, white part only and halved lengthwise
2 bay leaves
12 black peppercorns, cracked

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Cut big bones like backs into smaller pieces and place them on a baking pan. Roast chicken bones in the oven until browned, about 30 minutes.

Put roasted bones and fat in a stockpot. Add onion, carrots, celery, leek, bay leaves, and black peppercorns. Add water, enough to just cover the bones and aromatics, about 3 quarts. Bring to boil, reduce heat and let it simmer gently. Skim the scum from the stock with a spoon occasionally. Simmer for 3 to 4 hours. The longer you simmer, the richer the stock becomes.

Strain stock through a fine mesh strainer into another large stockpot or large bowl. Discard bones and aromatics. Let the stock cool. Cover and refrigerate overnight. Remove solidified fat from surface of stock. Store in containers with lids or ziploc bags in refrigerator for a few days or in freezer for a few months.

Before using as a base for soups and sauces, bring to boil for a few minutes.

Chicken Mami Recipe, makes six servings

1 15-ounce package fresh egg noodles
6 to 8 cups homemade chicken stock
1/2 pound boneless chicken breast
2 tablespoons soy sauce
salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
3 large eggs, hard boiled and halved
6 cloves garlic, crushed and fried
2 stalks spring onions, green and white parts chopped
1 small bunch of wansoy

Cook egg noodles according to package instructions. Dried noodles can be used in place of fresh noodles. Drain and divide equally into six bowls.

Bring homemade chicken stock to boil in a stockpot. Add chicken breast and boil until cooked through. Drain chicken breast, shred with a fork, and divide equally into the bowls of noodles.

Add soy sauce to stock. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste. Bring to boil for a few minutes. Ladle stock into the bowls of noodles. Garnish with hard boiled eggs, fried garlic, green onions, and wansoy.

Learn the alphabet of Filipino food through our glossary. So much is lost in translation, I know, but I hope this glossary will help those unfamiliar with Filipino food become more informed.

A is for Achuete
B is for Barako Coffee
C is for Camarón
D is for Dinuguan
E is for Ensaimada
F is for Fish Balls
G is for Gata
H is for Himagas
I is for Itlog na Maalat
J is for Jackfruit
K is for Kamayan
L is for Longganisa
M is for Mani
N is for Noche Buena
O is for Omelet
P is for Pancit Palabok
Q is for Queso
R is for Relleno
S is for Sawsawan
T is for Tutong
U is for Ube
V is for Visayas
W is for Wansoy

I cook shrimp almost always with shells on — deveined and cleaned, of course. With a pair of kitchen shears, I cut through the [...]]]> This may sound foolish but it is true. I am very fond of shrimp tails. I eat shrimp from its head down to its tail. I leave nothing untouched, nothing unappreciated.

I cook shrimp almost always with shells on — deveined and cleaned, of course. With a pair of kitchen shears, I cut through the shell along the shrimp’s back starting from its head and ending right before its tail. I remove the black veins with a tip of a paring knife and rinse the shrimp in cold water. The heads and shells are packed with flavor but when I do remove them I always leave the frilly tails intact. The trimmings go straight to a pot of boiling water where I make shrimp stock for pancit or for a simple vegetable gisado.

When shrimp is grilled or fried, I like to nibble on the crunchy tails. They give the shrimp’s plump meat a delightful crunch. And besides, tails make shrimp perfect for pulutan. Pulot [poo-loht] is to pick up in Filipino. Pulutan [poo-loo-tahn] is an appetizer or a small plate eaten with one’s fingers, typically paired with beer or wine. The shrimp tail serves an essential function. It is the convenient handle that one grasps with one’s fingers to pick the shrimp up. The crunchy way — and the only way — to enjoy gambas al ajillo and camaron rebozado with a swig of San Miguel beer.

So, am I the only fool who fancies shrimp tails? Tell me it isn’t so.

Gambas Al Ajillo Recipe

3/4 pound medium-sized shells-on shrimp, about 16 pieces
1/4 cup olive oil
4 cloves garlic
1 to 2 Thai chilies (optional)
1/2 teaspoon pimentón
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
1 tablespoon minced parsley

Remove the shrimp heads and shells but keep tails intact. Do not toss shrimp trimmings but keep them to make shrimp stock. Devein and clean shrimps in cold water and set aside.

Place garlic, chilies (if you prefer it hot), and olive oil in a skillet. Fry garlic over high heat until it begins to sizzle and turn brown. Add shrimp and pimentón. Stir fry over high heat until shrimp is done, about two to three minutes. Do not overcook the shrimp. Season with sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. Sprinkle with parsley and serve immediately from the skillet.

I was cold. I was miserably cold. I was bundled up in layers but I was still cold.

There was frost on our rooftop. There was frost on the ground, on the grass where the girls graze. There was even ice in our pond in our [...]]]> Oh, whisk me away from this winter, please!

I was cold. I was miserably cold. I was bundled up in layers but I was still cold.

There was frost on our rooftop. There was frost on the ground, on the grass where the girls graze. There was even ice in our pond in our front yard. Ice, believe it or not. A fragile sheet of ice but a sheet of ice, nonetheless. Stanford — unfazed by the cold, unfazed by practically anything — tugged firmly at his leash while I lugged myself begrudgingly behind him for our morning walk.

I planned the weekend in my head as we shuffled around the block. I planned it around one thing — around food, of course. I ticked off my to-do’s one after another while I ticked off ingredients, checking if I already had them at home or if I had to venture out to the store. Sticky rice and chocolate for champorado. Coconut milk, saba bananas, and sweet potatoes for ginataan. My kind of comfort food for this kind of weather.

Then I remembered my ritual on cold mornings when I was little. My morning ritual of waiting for the cry of the hawker peddling taho [tah-hô] on the streets, of waiting for him and his pair of metal tubs he balanced deftly on a bamboo pole fixed on his shoulders. My ritual of warming up to a glass of chewy sago [sah-goh] and creamy silken tofu sweetened with arnibal [ahr-nee-bahl], a simple syrup made of brown sugar. The mere thought of the childhood treat made the cold that morning a little less miserable.

Sago pearls, silken tofu, and more brown sugar. I added them to my grocery list and hurried back home.

Taho Recipe, makes four servings

For sago pearls

1/4 cup dark brown sugar
6 cups water
1/4 cup sago pearls

For arnibal, brown sugar syrup

1/2 cup dark brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup water

1 one-pound package organic silken tofu

Put sugar and water in a large saucepan and bring to a boil over high heat. Add sago pearls and stir until water returns to a boil. Reduce heat to a simmer, and continue cooking sago with the lid on, stirring occasionally, until they are almost translucent with a pinpoint of white in the center. Sago is cooked when it is tender but still chewy. Drain, rinse under cold water, and drain again.

Small sago pearls take about 20 to 30 minutes to cook while the bigger ones take much longer. In low heat, simmer big pearls with the lid on for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, then turn off the heat and let them continue to cook in the saucepan for about an hour. If they are still not done, bring water to another boil, reduce heat, and simmer with the lid on for another 30 minutes. Repeat the process until they are almost translucent with a pinpoint of white in the center. Cooking sago in a rapid boil for a long time breaks them apart and makes them too soft and too mushy. Sago can be prepared ahead of time. Transfer drained cooked sago pearls to a container, add enough water to cover pearls, cover and refrigerate for up to a few days. Stir well and then drain before using.

To make arnibal, put sugar, vanilla, and water in a saucepan and bring to a boil. One part sugar to one part water. Reduce heat to a simmer and stir a minute or two, until the sugar dissolves. Take off heat and set aside.

Steam silken tofu in a steamer until heated through, about 15 minutes.

Divide tofu equally into four glasses or bowls. Add sago pearls and sweeten with arnibal. Mix together and serve warm.