iamasiam

American Adobo. Which One?

“Really, that’s it”, Sam Sifton exclaims how simple it is to make chicken adobo.  One caveat:  it’s just one version of the national dish of the Philippines.  “This is adobo,” he writes, “Every man an island.” ^[1]

I myself have never tried the variation offered in Mr. Sifton’s article, which is courtesy of Purple Yam ^[2], so off to the kitchen I went to give it a shot.  At my first attempt, I wasn’t really sure that the ingredient measurements were correct.  Tasting the brew while it simmered, I thought it was too vinegary.  Still, I decided to stick strictly to the recipe, to such surprising results.  Ang sarap!

Every man an island?  True.  A friend’s mom added Chivas Regal—no other whisky brand will do.  I for one once served a version that called for shrimp fry, to the dismay of my non-Filipino guests at the table. “Aw, the poor little baby shrimps.”  When my mom cooked adobo, it seemed like she was winging it each time.  None of those cook book standard measurements, oh no!  Still, each dish came out of her kitchen as a precise success.

Now, why did this magazine article prompt me to watch a film entitled “American Adobo”? ^[3] The story was about five Filipino-American friends searching for new meaning in life.  Silly at times, the movie evoked unintended laugh-out-loud moments, especially courtesy of one overacting actor.  The intended adobo metaphor seemed lost to me at first.  In the end, I admit, the movie still resonated with me, the same way Mr. Sifton’s featured recipe resonated with my palate and stomach.  Ah, the meaning of life!

^[1] Sam Sifton, “The Cheat: The Adobo Experiment”, The New York Times, Jan. 5, 2011
^[2] Purple Yam
^[3] RottenTomatoes.com 

The Year of the Bunny

Do you celebrate Chinese New Year?  Actually, it’s not really just the Chinese who celebrate it.  To many other Asian groups, the turn of the lunar calendar is a very important time for family gatherings, much like Thanksgiving is to the rest of us.

When do you celebrate it?  Typically, the revelries last for ten days.  And, much like how the Gothic Church has its own timetable for Christmas, Thailand has its own.

How do you celebrate it and with whom?  I’m not talking about going to Chinatown to see the lion dancers shake their booties to bring good fortune from door to door.  Do you know that while firecrackers are banned in NYC, just across the border in Connecticut, retailers sell them?

Feeling sorry for all the Chinese restaurant workers who couldn’t take the time off?   Yes, they must feel like Bob Cratchit on Christmas Eve.  Though you don’t particularly observe this holiday yourself, you still feel drawn to order dumplings, lo mien, and chicken and broccoli at this time.  Tsing Tsao beer sounds especially appealing.  Why, it’s just like Cinco de Mayo, St. Patrick’s Day, or Halloween’s Day—even if your not Mexican, Irish, or dead!  Any excuse for debauchery, you’re down with it!

I admit that this year, I’m feeling very fortunate.  I’ve received more invitations for a Chinese New Year party—or, for some, a Chinese New Year theme party—than in previous years.  Looking at the roster of guests invited, I’m not surprised that many are not even Chinese—or Asian, for that matter.  In fact, it could have been a Cinco de Mayo, St. Patrick’s Day, or Halloween’s Day party, I would think.  Salud!  Slainte!  Long live!

So how do I partake of this ten-day window of opportunity for uncommon revelry?  I’m playing pinochle, one day with family and the next with friends.  I hope to shoot the moon at both occasions.  They say round objects are particularly auspicious at this time, so I’ll try doing a Mexican spin on meatballs, in tomatillo sauce with rice and beans on the side.  Or maybe, I'll order Chinese take-out (again).  But this time, I promise to be more gracious tipping my delivery boy.  To him and to my family and friends, I’ll then raise my Smithwick’s and cry:  Gong Xi Fa Cai!

Fat and Asian

Asian Americans have the lowest obesity rate (39%) across racial/ethnic groups.  A hefty 63% of the total US population is obese or overweight. ^[1] Still, additional statistics among specific Asian Americans do not auger well for me.  Filipino Americans are 70% more likely to be obese than the overall Asian American population. ^[2]

***

I recall how my mother’s face flushed with disappointment the day I began refusing extra helpings from her dinner table.  I imagine that putting together a meal worthy of praise and appreciation had become the culmination of each day.  It is lonely enough for anyone separated from one’s extended family and circle of friends.  It must have been tougher for my mom who had immigrated to this country in her senior years.  But, coming home from work that fateful evening, I held my ground; I refused a second helping.

I repeated this pattern of rejection in the days to come.  It wasn’t that I disliked the dishes that she put together.  In fact, five years after my mom passed away, I still very much miss her cooking.  I know everyone would say the same of his or her mother’s cooking—that it’s the best in the world—and really mean it.  But, I miss my mom and her daily expressions of love, including her devotion in preparing a sumptuous meal for us each night.

It was particularly difficult for me that first night because my favorite dish was on her menu.  The scent of pork adobo greeted me from the very doorstep.  Adobo?  Chunks of pork are browned in oil and garlic, then braised patiently in coconut vinegar, soy sauce, crushed pepper, and bay leaves until tender.  Sometimes, it is finished off in thickened with coconut milk and/or shrimp fry.  Fragrant jasmine rice is served directly from the steamer.  As a side dish, munggo beans are boiled ‘til soft then sautéed with shrimp, garlic, onion, tomatoes and fish sauce.  Mmm!

But sorry, mom, no second serving for me!  My work-stressed, travel-weary and over-compensating poundage needed a makeover.  I have to lose weight, the doctor said, to control my high-blood pressure like you and dad, like brother and sis, already suffer with. That doesn’t mean that I can’t get enough of your gracious servings of love, just not at the dinner table.  Looking back, I really wish I could have said it better.

But, mothers know everything anyway, don’t they?

[1] statehealthfacts.org
[2] U.S. Department of Health & Human Services

East River Alert: Code Ordinary

The Metropolitan section of the New York Times offers a glimpse of its city dwellers’ day-to-day lives via the anecdotage, “Dear Dairy”.  This contribution from John Hacket leads the list of diary contributions today.

“As I cycle on the promenade skirting the East River near the Brooklyn Bridge one recent evening, I notice a police boat heading at a 90-degree angle toward shore. There is no place for it to moor, but it steadily approaches.

“A police officer is standing on deck, which is level with the promenade. At this stage, I’m guessing he is readying himself to tie up and climb ashore as part of some emergency police action.

“Then I notice an Asian man holding a shopping bag at the railing on the promenade, right at the point where the boat is headed. In another moment the boat pulls up and the Asian man hands over the shopping bag in exchange for money from the officer.

“Of course: Chinese delivery, the East River version.”

It shows how the Rumsfeld-Ashcroft terror alert level system is still strongly ingrained within us initialing such a reaction in thought, at least, of whatever that could be ghastly.  And, heaven forbid, we take it for granted that in New York City, Chinese take-out is not something out of the ordinary—not even for cops just taking a break from a beat that’s, well, out of the ordinary.

Nepalese, Tibetan, Himalayan, and...foreigners

“We wanted to serve all Himalayans”, Jamyan Gurung explains why they added “Himalayan” to the name of their restaurant, formerly known simply as Yak, in Jackson Heights, Queens.  In her New York Times column focusing on the plight of new immigrants, Jennifer Lee writes today about her interview with this restaurant manager.

The name change obviously seeks to attract a wider crowd.  That is consistent with Jamyan’s own background growing up in Mustang, located between Tibet and Nepal, where he has learned to speak both languages.  He also speaks English, and this he explains, “Because it’s a tourist area, it’s very important to speak English.  You have to deal with customers.”

When asked what his restaurant’s customer profile is, referring those who make up a quarter of his patrons, Jamyan catches Miss Lee’s attention with his choice of words for Whites: “foreigners”.  Dutifully probed why he would call them foreigners when the restaurant is in the United States, Jamyan explains: “We call them tourists in Nepal. Whenever you see white people, you call them tourists. So many people come from Europe and America, so you don’t know if they are Americans. That’s why we call them tourists. When you are over here, we have the same concept.”

Jackson Heights is one of the most diverse communities in New York, and only ten percent of the population is White.  Just a few subway stops away, he will more often be mistaken as the tourist.  As Jamyan further treads the road towards citizenship, I trust his concept will soon wear away.  I also hope the stereotype of Asians as a perpetual foreigner withers quickly as well.

Debbie Lee: Bless your (two) souls

Korean American Debbie Lee has been voted of contention for the title of The Next Food Network Star.  Two are left competing for the finals next Sunday.  Debbie has effectively portrayed herself as a food lover caught between two cultures.  She asserts proudly that she “broke the mold and stereotypes of a typical Asian girl”.  However, the judges seem to have found that unique ingredient missing in the food she created last night.  Says one, “We want to see you bleed your culture if that’s what you want to use to express yourself.”  Adieu and good luck, Debbie!  God bless!  (See related post “Two Souls Feed As One”)

Two Souls Feed As One

Debbie Lee is one of three remaining finalists in the Next Food Network Star Season 5.  Will she remain in contention after this Sunday when they whittle it down to two finalists?  How will Bob Tuschman, one of the judges in the show, vote?  Mr. Tuschman has exhibited mixed feelings about Debbie, viewing her behavior with disfavor (“infuriating”, “appalling”) even as he applauds the quality of her food itself (“first rate”, “excellent”).  Whatever her fate is in the next couple of weeks, Debbie has already made her mark with her “impressive combo of quick thinking, humor, and charm” and her “TV-ready skills”.

Of the things I find remarkably charming with Debbie is her ability to inject her Asian American background in every segment, though sometimes they are not called for.  In one past episode there was really nothing substantially Korean in the food she assembled.  Debbie’s background inevitably folds into her culinary point of view, which she views as simple.  “It’s soul to soul, it’s the journey of my life as a girl”, she says.

I can’t imagine it being too simple though.  Growing up in the South (one part of her soul) as the only Asian girl in school, living with a grandmother (“the other part of her soul”) who only speaks Korean, a language she couldn’t understand, it must have been tough.  Sure enough, Debbie recognizes the need for an outlet; she confesses food made her like herself, giving her “inner peace and therapy”.

More than becoming the Next Food Network Star, I wish Debbie continued inner peace and comfort via this universal common ground.  “It doesn’t matter who you are, where you come from, who you’re dealing with, when it comes down to the table, you guys can all sit down and finally find something in common, and to me that is a really powerful thing.”  Good luck!

Augusto's Reservations

“What is a Filipino?” Anthony Bourdain asks his Philippine host in a recent Travel Channel episode set in that country.  Anthony may have very well posed the question to the wrong person.  After all, though from Philippine lineage, Augusto Elefanio was born and raised in Long Island, New York.  He concedes lacking in expertise on the subject matter, having visited the country only once—two years ago, and only for a week.  Furthermore, Augusto confesses he’s still trying to figure out who he is.

“I’m not entirely American.  I’m not entirely Filipino.  I’m kind of stuck in the middle and that’s a hard thing…for a lot of Filipino-Americans.”

In Augusto’s audition tape, he comes off as a strong contender—lively, enthusiastic, and confident.  While Augusto’s performance in the tape may have been strongly influential, the decision to enlist Augusto may have come from gut—and Mr. Bourdain’s desire to savor the best-tasting slow-roasted whole pig rotisserie-style (a bait craftily incorporated in Augusto’s audition presentation).

The choice has raised some chatter in Philippine blogs; many concur Augusto is not qualified.  However, as Anthony points out, the show is all about the food.  Right or wrong, Augusto has tickled his palate in search of that elusive definition of Filipino cuisine.  (After all, he features other local food experts in the show.)  In fact, Augusto’s selection is appropriate; his story serves as an elemental counterpoint—a complimentary side dish—with the lad’s own quest for identity.  Anthony laments that, “however badly Augusto wants to be a Filipino and reconnect with his roots…he’s still American.”

Anthony eventually tastes his “best pig ever”, thanks to Augusto.  And thanks to Anthony, Augusto gets a timely nudge to answer the question of his Filipino identity.

I Looked Chinese

In Jen Lin-Lui’s book entitled “Serve the People:  A Stir-Fried Journey Through China”, the author immersed herself in a honest-to-goodness travel narrative searching for the authentic flavor of Chinese cooking.  Her culinary adventures were effectively translated from the perspective of someone not familiar with the land and culture of her Chinese ancestors.  Born and raised in the USA, Miss Lin-Lui sought to get hands-on kitchen experience as material for her book interlaced with interesting settings and characters that brought life to a collection of recipes.  In the end, such quest also transformed her into a deeper understanding of herself and the mores of societal acceptance.

Jen Lin-Lui described a critical obstacle in seeking to gain trust from those she sought to obtain her material and from those with whom she wanted to be more closely tied.  Miss Lin-Lui’s own description of her identity was not calculated or insincere, nor was it borne of a desire to set herself apart.  It was an urge that brought her to call herself a Chinese-American, ironically for the first time while she was in China.

Calling herself Chinese-American befuddled the locals who find it inconceivable that she could be more American than she was Chinese.  She offered them an explanation but it was taken that she was pretending to be something she was not.  Unfazed, she “straddled the expatriate bubble and the world outside it, not quite belonging to either.”  “It was the first time I had to seriously grapple with issues of race, identity, and where I fit in”, Miss Lin-Lui ventilated.

Her romantic relationship with a Caucasian in China, which she only touched on in latter chapters, hopefully offered Miss Lin-Lui more than fodder to help her deal with her issues—perhaps adding to a more complete meal in her next book.