dinengdeng ken panagdengdeng idiay awaymi/a way we do the dinengdeng in our community

It's rather unusual for some, even to the most self-professedly G.I. or "patneng nga Ilokano" (so-called true blue, "native" Ilokano), to find a dinengdeng like this, some of the Ilokanos in our rural home and place of the heart and hearth so to speak, in Casantolan. I mean this particular way that the fruit stalk or stem of the aubergine (well, that's tarong commonly called eggplant but here, these are not even egg-shaped so I call it aubergine; I refuse to call it brinjal--to be more Asian, but it may all the more confuse people) is not removed and isn't kind of awkward?

Well, with the pamurosan (fruit stalk or stem) not removed, these are small and yet tender and young tarong fruit and at this stage of the fruit, the stalk/stem is edible and tender and so you can eat it together with the fruit. It also serves as a ready handle if you prefer to eat with your hands or if you pick your food, your sida (ulam, viand) with your hands when you eat (just like me, at times).

Yes, it's there because it's edible and because this is yet again an Ilokano way (just a way, not a show of) of that branded and patented virtue of kirmet-ness a.k.a. thriftiness, the frugality (economic at that) of the Ilokano not to waste sources and resources, and all that blah blahs about Ilokano-ness and stuff.  But well, it's a personal preference. I love this and I'm used to it. And when I'm in Casantolan, I pick the more immature fruits of the tarong plant and leave the pamurosan intact when I make a dinengdeng. The stalk has a distinct sweetish flavor.

This is a simple dinengdeng of the "stalked" aubergine, and parda, and patani, with a lucky sagpaw (add-on) of grilled tilapia:

As you can see, the dinengdeng is kind of dry, you can't see lots of digo (broth, soup) in there. I cooked it pinakbet-like. But this is still a dinengdeng. An almost dry dinengdeng is very good, the bugguong all the more suffused with the veggie goodness and it has only a sauce-like thickened broth for digo which is just perfect for your innapuy (steamed rice).

And yes, we do the same with the pinakbet, here are "stalked" tarong in two of my recent pinakbets:

Now, I wonder if you do the same. Tell me.

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inalseman nga igat

Passing by the province of Nueva Vizcaya by lunch time, I decided to have myr hunger settled by a roadside eatery in Barangay Baretbet in Bagabag town where my hungry eyes caught a placard announcing the availability of igat (eel), udingan (or bunog), burasi (carp) and other freshwater delicacies fished right from the Magat River nearby.

I readily ordered the igat offer. And here’s it, sinigang (inalseman), soured with tomato, cooked just so tender to render its own fatty essence:

The inalseman nga igat is just cooked right and even if it’s sinigang and not cooked dry as paksiw or adobo but with some broth, it’s not “nalangsi” or “malansa” (gamy). The preparation and cooking is expertly done. The eatery is kind of popular as hungry travelers are incessantly stopping by to eat and partake of the igat specialty.

So wickedly delicious, it oozes with gustatory goodness to dare you to a rice intake overload!

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More igat dishes:

• Eel soured with palali (catmon) fruit

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"native" chicken adobo

One of my incessant food cravings, whenever I long for my being a "barriotic" or "promdi" is a lunch or supper where in the lowly dulang (literally a low wooden dining table) is set and served a bowl of piping hot soup called tinola or lauya a manok, or a manok adobo. And that the chicken must be, as it should be, a "native" one. Well, the so-called "kamanokan," the free-range almost-wild but domesticated one, of course, the usual poultry "dingo" in the barrios, in the away. As a child in Casantolan, we used to have scores of native chickens, and so, occasionally we have our meaty meals to augment our protein needs as we folks are usually more used to a vegetarian diet then, with the scarcity and expensiveness of meat or fish (or simply because we can't afford it).

Naadobo a netib a manok.

And so, on my recent visit to my place, it's SOP that I have to pamper myself a bit and afford a lauya or adobo, what with the fact that when I saw these creatures (photos below), pardon, I saw them dressed and boiling and steaming and wafting that familiar "native" aroma:

So, here's it, I caught my choice one from the brood and imprisoned the poor creature:

And he's here being slowly made into an adobo (sorry, sorry, poor creature, that I came and hungry I came; as a courtesy to its great sacrificial role, I won't show the butchering photos here anymore):

After about an hour or less of slow wood fire cooking, the meat is tender enough, the soup simmered and thickened into just a little broth that literally cooked the chicken in its own oily essence. This adobo version is simple, it's cooked with only the basic condiment and spices of garlic, onions, ginger, and salt. No vinegar and soy sauce. Some call it "white adobo." But I cooked it this way with a purpose: the rest of it (but of course, we Ilokano rural folks are that frugal, you know, we don't consume such a delicious treat at once but we set aside some pieces for the next meals) will be boiled again later as a lauya or tinola complete with green papayas and young sili leaves, and with more ginger for a zest:

And again with my dented tin plate, I made a labay of chicken and rice:

Care to see my labay, here are some of my choice chicken cuts (click photo to enlarge) -- the ulo (head), the karaykay (feet), bagis (intestines), the luppo (thights) and so on. Missing are the kimmol (tail), payak (wings), tengnged (neck), and the prized ones: the dalem (liver) and the batikuleng (gizzard). Those are rightfully set aside to grace the tinola later:

Ah, the nativity of it all, I shall return again to Casantolan, the real return of the native to his native soil and to his native gluttony of sort. :-)

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ubog ti way, rattan bud (heart)

Tinuno nga ubog ti way, narekaduan iti kamatis, bugguong ken lasona. (Click photo for a larger view) 

It's becoming rare that I see ubog ti way (rattan bud) in my market forays, especially so in Cagayan, so When I chanced upon some bundles of ubogs sold at the public market in Gonzaga, Cagayan, I bought outright a bundle of four large and smaller pieces for Php100:

Maybe even rattan vines in the remaining forested areas are rare these days what with the demand of rattan craft and furniture by some people fond of "native" decor. And of course, the denuding of forests due to illegal logging of the trees with which the rattans climbs and dwells, so what can we expect?

But anyway, the first thing in mind when I saw these childhood favorite (yes, I as a child has live in bitter life--that is, an Ilokano child of a poor family in a farming community, used to simple vegetable dishes like papait, paria and ubog [in our place, though rattan is also rare, there used to be a wild or smaller variety called barit on which the bid of it is equally bitter and sumptous]), is that I'll be grilling them over fire and make it into a delicious ubog salad--tinuno nga ubog ti way with KBL (kamatis, bugguong, lasona)--so, here I roasted them ubogs over gas fire, the only available fire I've got at the moment, it could have been better over wood or charcoal fire but it's not available, this will suffice, as long as it'd be roasted evenly and well:

And here's is, the cooked ubog inside the burnt bark:

I cut the cooked ubog thinly, with kamatis and lasona:

And here's the end-result of my labor of love--thinly sliced ubog ti way, garnished with tomatoes and onions and drenched with bugguong essence--I tell you, it's like heaven, an ambrosia of sort, the bittery goodness lingered in my palate as I savored memories and tastes and flavors and delights of childhood and the simplicity and modesty of rural life which I always miss, the bittery quality and pride of being an Ilokano:

The next day, I decided on a dinengdeng nga ubog with the remaining pieces--with patani and kalalaki nga alukon (see separate blog post on my dinengdeng a kalalaki nga aluko and ubog ti way):

I cleaned the raw ubog to get just the heart of it, the precious bud:

And again, I thinly sliced the ubog for my dinengdeng--see how promising it is, the sweetish bitterness it brings to satisfy any dinengdeng- and pait-freak Ilokano that there is:

And this is it, my dinengdeng--what a bliss, what a blessing to be able to partake such gastronomic opportunity like this, once more, again, in a lifetime:

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