I picked up Claude Tayag’s book
Food Tour last May, and found myself feeling hungry every time I read it. The man’s delight in and passion for food resonate in the anecdotes and descriptions he delivers with self-deprecating humor. For instance:
The next day, still heady from the previous day’s feast, we once again went foraging for our daily sustenance. Tough, but it’s a man’s job, I had to convince myself.
This time we headed to Otokor, the wet market just across Chatuchak. Here there was a lot of cooked dishes for takeout (everything from appetizers to desserts), mainly for locals with no time to cook dinner after work, and plenty of fruits sold at their local market prices. . .
Even though durians were not in season, they weren’t in short supply – there was plenty of the sweet, creamy variety available. There was also a lot of sweet, fleshy tamarinds being sold at P170 a kilo. . .
Most memorable were the barbecued chicken, sausages filled with sticky rice, fish cakes, steamed alimasag and grilled ulang, both oozing with fat, grilled scallops and fried catfish in a sweet syrupy sauce. For dessert, we had a pumpkin custard, some assorted mock miniature fruits and bean-filled crescents. . .
If most travellers come home with excess baggage, we came back with a slight limp due to the excess pounds and a couple of extra inches on our girths. I now have great difficulty stretching my hands open because of all the good (or bad) food we had. But I have no regrets.
(from "Street Sin in Bangkok," p.149)
No regrets. Attaboy! Flout the gout and seize the day, right along with the durian, the barbecued chicken, the sausages filled with sticky rice. Mmmm . . . getting hungry now. . .
Somewhere in the book he mentions meeting with his Thursday Eating Club. A bell rang in my brain: ting!ting!ting!ting! An eating club! Why not? It would be a great excuse to, well, eat. Also, my taste buds have been wanting an education. Most of us say we love to eat, and very often this means we like to gorge ourselves to groaning point. I told Mr. Scott this over text; he had revealed that he knew how to cook, was, in fact, preparing a Thai dinner for some friends the following evening; I had broached the idea of his giving me a cooking lesson, and that evolved into asking for a lesson in eating as well:
ME: I want to learn to savor and really taste the food.
MR. SCOTT: Oh – wow – very good! You mean you have gone so far without this talent and appreciation? :):)
ME: (determined to be genuine) Well, mostly I have a talent for greed at the dinner table. Or lunch table. Breakfast table. . .
Because Mr. Scott and I were, at that point, getting to know each other before our first eyeball, I started to worry about being too genuine too soon, particularly when his response to that confession took rather longer than to previous texts.
ME: (attempting damage control) You know, Filipinos are kind of a gluttonous people . . . you know . . .
In fact, it was taking a good amount of willpower on my part not to invite myself to that dinner he was preparing the following evening.
Mr. Scott was a perfect gentleman, and our eyeball pushed through. But I felt certain he had at least an MA in Taste Buds Living Their Purpose for Being; I did not ask him to the Eating Club.
Who would I invite to learn to eat with me?
I saw Sairo at the Ateneo one day. In my brain, I was thinking Don’t ask Sairo, don’t ask Sairo, she’s vegetarian. What would she eat at an Eating Club? The next second, I said, “Hey, I’m forming an Eating Club. Like to join?” And because Sairo loves life – see, she wants the animals to stay alive – she said yes. Three seconds –
Don’t ask-Like to join?-Yes! So here we are.
Like Claude, I have no regrets.
I imagine I’ll need to log in more time on the Stairmaster.
Which is why I came half an hour after the appointed time on Korean night. It’s December, Christmas is coming, this goose might just get fat(ter). Please put in an hour on the stationary bike. Then proceed to Woorijib on Kalayaan Avenue, where they serve a heap of side dishes with every order – mildly spicy soybean sprouts, fermented wet kimchi (yum!), cubes of tofu in sweetish sauce, cucumber in chili sauce (hot cucumbers!).
Sairo is our authority on Korean food, and she and Paul pick the dishes for the evening. Sometime towards the end of the meal, I thought of asking for the menu again so I could look at the names of the food we ate, but I forgot. What I do remember: texture took centerstage this evening.
The One That Sairo Calls The Monk’s Soup
was salty -- Exie observed, salty in a bagoong-salty sort of way -- with an underlying mild bitterness. Wow, layers. If this soup were a television character, it would be . . . Can’t think of anyone off the top of my head, but Betty White comes to mind. Probably because she has played sweet, clueless ladies who turn out to be dangerous. Also, a salty person who is also bitter might not be an appealing character (but has got me thinking! This would be one complicated dude/dudette!) – in the Monk’s Soup, though, it made for pleasant discovery. As she ordered it, Sairo had explained it to us as being sort of a miso soup, although what it mainly had in common with miso was the tofu. This soup contained zucchini, beans (sitaw-like but thin, purplish), small green pepper, little fish (silver, eye open – I got a whole one), chili (I’m guessing here, but good chance of it since ‘most everything we ate featured the little red dots). [Can you tell I’m winging my education here.]
The One with the Fried Egg On Top
was the dish that Sairo and Paul most wanted to order, having tasted it before and loved it. The soybean sprouts and the rice tutong gave it a pleasing crunchiness mixed in with the sticky rice, the smooth purplish beans, the soft tofu cubes and fried egg, and the other veggies. We agreed that we enjoyed this dish the best.
The One with the Fresh Squid on Top
came with a bowl of two kinds of rice mixed together, white rice and purple rice, sticky and reminiscent of biko. The fresh squid sat on a mound of strips and shreds of carrot, lettuce, pears, singkamas, other vegetables, and can be described as a salad mixed with rice (well, we mixed the rice in). The veggies gave it crunch, the raw squid made it chewy, the sticky rice served as the bonding agent (tastier than Epoxy). (No, I have not tasted Epoxy.) Texture and freshness. We ate this last; I feel we could have eaten it first, though Sairo says the freshness of the dish would help to wash down all the chili, sesame and salt we had in the first twelve dishes (I counted 10 side dishes).
The One with All the Pictures
is Woorijib’s menu, and I am thankful for that. Next time I go there for more authentic Korean, I will look and squint, attempt recall and point to The One With A Fried Egg On Top.
It is four hours later. I feel the gases bloating my stomach. I think I know where they came from: Korean night of texture, strong flavors and spices, and the easy, lively company of friends.
No regrets, Claude.
