Mom’s Tinola

Originally published in Heraldo Filipino Volume 38, Double Issue

 

Food is alive and ever changing. It will continue to be immortalized by the people that make it. In itself, it is already a language older than the ones we speak. It might just be the first translation of love we have ever encountered. It is even ingrained in culture.

Certainly, most conversations occur where food is, likewise, most are started by it. “Kumain ka na ba?” As my mother used to ask upon my arrival before anything else. It was rarely — and almost never — ”Kumusta ka?” or “Okay ka lang ba?” It was always just that. Maybe because they are one and the same, or we at least understood it as such.

 

Mom’s Tinola 

I fondly remember the moment I realized there was a small yet existing difference between the food I was accustomed to and that of other people. It was not until my early teenage years when a good friend of mine opened her lunch box and I saw “tanglad” or lemongrass in her adobo. I remember thinking: “Bakit ka maglalagay ng tanglad sa adobo?”

This thought persisted until I went home from school and asked my mother on the dinner table, “Mommy, may tanglad ba ‘yung adobo natin?” To which she paused to say, “Wala, pero ‘pag lutong Bisaya, siguro, oo. Bakit?” I responded by explaining the root of my confusion, where she wisely told me that there was no right or wrong way for cooking food anyway; rules didn’t exist in the Filipino kitchen. 

Food, according to distinguished culinary historian Massimo Montanari, when made, arranged and consumed, is culture. I came to realize the extent of this idea, and my mother’s explanation on the subjective nature of food, when I learned from my friend the following day that her mother originated from Misamis and her father from Ormoc. She affirmed that she grew up with tanglad and ginger incorporated in most of their food and have always thought it was odd that the meals my lunchbox contained didn’t.

The correlation between these differences made me question my own family’s upbringing. What makes their cooking different? My mother hails from Allen, a tight-knit municipality in the province of Northern Samar. The locals spoke Waray and cooked like it, too. She grew up with the San Bernardino Strait just beyond the seawall surrounding their home. She was accustomed to blue crabs and freshwater fishes. Fruits and vegetables could be freely picked from their garden as well. Her father used to go fishing every morning, and his catch would be their breakfast for the day, which he typically simmered or stewed in salt and vinegar — Paksiw, a cooking method commonly practiced in most Filipino households. 

My father, however, had a vastly different experience from my mother. Born in one of Manila’s most restless districts, Sampaloc, he grew up accustomed to a diet of chicken and eggs, with tilapia and galunggong as his only source of seafood. 

However stark their differences were, they shared one particular dish in common: tinola. It is a traditional Filipino soup that combines chicken or fish with a medley of vegetables, often including green papaya or chayote and malunggay (moringa) leaves. Tinola is commonly enjoyed as a main course, served with steamed rice, making it a beloved staple in Filipino households for its hearty and nourishing qualities. While beloved, it is one of the most controversial dishes being heatedly debated in most social media platforms. Some argue that this dish is a letdown to Filipino cuisine, that we had far better stews to show for than tinola, which they deem to be bland and unexciting. Some argue that those who think so just haven’t tried tinola the way it should be made. Others say that it should be made with papaya and not sayote, while others thought it was ridiculous to incorporate a fruit in a soup meant to be savory.

Of course, there is really no fixed way to make tinola, or any dish at all for that matter. Even adobo wasn’t made with soy sauce until the Chinese came to the Philippines to trade with us. So, who’s to say how it should be made? Culture defines a person’s panlasa, as both my parents used to say. 

In a similar piece written by Tricia Lo, Filipino immigrants residing in Canada, Salcedo and Juarez, chronicle their memories from back home, and their collective attitude on food they carried with them up until they left the country. They say it’s common in Filipino circles for there to be friendly teasing at get-togethers, about who makes what, and who makes it better.

 

Pamana 

Amy Besa and her chef-husband, Romy Dorotan, own Purple Yam in New York City, offering dishes like lechon pork belly and ube tart with blueberries. To help people understand the wide world of Filipino food, award-winning author, Amy Besa, has come up with a clear framework. She divides the food into two sections. One she calls “food that was always ours,” and the other she calls “food we borrowed and made our own” from her book, Memories of Philippine Kitchens.

In her interview with Francis Lam from Splendid Table, she was asked what are some of the original Filipino dishes, and how we can still see their mark on Filipino cuisine today. According to Besa, there are three dishes that are actually cooking methods. “Kinilaw is like our version of ceviche. The sinigang is a sour broth, soured by citrus and sour fruit. And adobo has a Spanish name, but as the American food scholar Ray Sokolov said, he looked up all the adobos in the Latin hemisphere, and we’re the only ones that braise our adobos with vinegar.” She added, “What is great is that they are eaten from the richest to the poorest people. That’s why I call them foods that were always ours.” 

Soy sauce, though common now, wasn’t originally part of adobo; it was a later Chinese influence. Traditionally, adobo balances salt, vinegar, and protein, with soy sauce primarily used for color and as a salt source. The introduction of soy sauce in the 10th century reflects early Chinese influence, initially as a vegetarian alternative to fish sauce. Spanish influence is evident in dishes like afritada, morcon, and embutidos, which often feature tomato sauce and olive oil. These ingredients are expensive, making such dishes fiesta fare, typically enjoyed by the wealthy. The word “fiesta”, Spanish in itself, reflects the cultural blend. Additionally, many fruits and vegetables came through the galleon trade.

In the early 20th century, the United States colonized the Philippines, significantly influencing Filipino food. Americans introduced canned goods, evaporated milk, and other products, promoting these over the traditional diet of rice and fish. The American influence also brought about indigenized products like buko pie, a young coconut pie inspired by American double-crusted pies, and the widespread availability of chiffon cakes.

In a study spearheaded by Louie Giray, he ventured into two provinces in the Philippines to know more about this idea. The first province was Malolos, Bulacan, the capital city of Bulacan province, renowned for its historical contributions. The people of Malolos, known as Maloleños, have mastered the slow cooking process, which has instilled in them patience and a strong work ethic. This dedication is also reflected in their craftsmanship, particularly in the creation of mainly wood-based kitchen utensils, since they believe that the taste of food can be influenced by the utensils used.

 

Kakayanan

Economic positions in a community are reflected in food, which acts as a cultural symbol of social and political status. The influence of social status on food is evident from the time of the Galleon Trade, where only those who could afford spices participated in the barter system. Today, the best cooks and finest meals are accessible to those with power and privilege, while average people eat whatever is available. Observations from visits to Malolos, Bulacan and Mexico, Pampanga show that food as a social symbol is prominent in these areas, as narrated by resource persons Ms. Rizza Enriquez and Ms. “Atching” Lilian Mercado-Borromeo.

From these narratives, several key points emerged: Religious leaders in the Philippines enjoy the best food and services due to their high social status; imitation of luxury foods by less fortunate people resulted in dishes like menudo, considered a “poor man’s food”; and wealthy individuals often lack cooking skills as they rely on servants to prepare their meals.

Traditional Filipino cuisine, influenced by various cultures, includes dishes that have evolved due to resource scarcity and improvisation. During a food tour in Malolos, Bulacan and Mexico, Pampanga, the group explored these cultural influences. Bistro Maloleño in Malolos served dishes favored by Philippine heroes, showcasing the region’s preference for sweet and spicy flavors. Traditional cooking methods and ingredients reflect the social classes of the past, and modernization has helped preserve these recipes.

In Pampanga, known as the “Culinary Capital of the Philippines”, traditional recipes are passed down through generations. Atching Lillian Borromeo highlighted how Pampanga’s cuisine evolved from necessity during times of famine, leading to the creation of exotic dishes using insects and other unconventional ingredients. The preservation techniques, such as “Singkutsa,” and the use of copper utensils, reflect the Kapampangan’s ingenuity and resourcefulness. Famous dishes like tocino and desserts like tibok-tibok and leche flan are integral to Pampanga’s food culture.

 

***

 

Utensils filling the kitchens of Malolos, Bulacan and Mexico, Pampanga reflect the deep-rooted culinary wisdom passed down through generations. Both are rich in food culture, shaped by their environmental assets, histories, and foreign influences. These provinces exemplify the saying that “we are the food that we eat,” as food not only sustains, but also defines social and economic identities. Then again, I could already see how tied we are to food, just from my home.