Burnt Lumpia

A Shot of Gulaman

Gulaman, to those not in the know, is a Filipino gelatin-like substance made from dried and processed red seaweed. Gulaman may be better known in other parts of the world as Agar-Agar, agar, or carrageenan. Put even more simply, Gulaman can best be described as "Filipino Jello."

Wobbly cubes of Gulaman can usually be found in Filipino sweets, sitting atop tall glasses of Halo-halo, or mixed into cool drinks like Sago at Gulaman (a Filipino dessert kinda-sorta-but-not-really similar to bubble tea and jelly).

Although Gulaman, at first glance, does look a lot like American jello, there are some very key differences. Firstly, Gulaman is 100% vegetarian since it's made from seaweed, whereas gelatin is made from the crushed bones of puppies, kittens, and koala bears (a sad but true fact). Gulaman also sets at room temperature (and can be kept out at room temperature), while gelatin needs to be refrigerated. Lastly, gulaman does not melt in your mouth (or in your hand for that matter) like gelatin does. In fact, once set, gulaman will not melt again until it reaches 185 degrees F. So unless you're a dragon, you'll have to chew on gulaman a bit before swallowing. And if you are a dragon, hey man, that's cool.

In spite of the differences between gulaman and gelatin, gulaman can (and should) be used in many of the same ways as gelatin. For example, gulaman lends itself particularly well to the following gelatin-friendly applications:

• Good ol'-fashioned wrastlin'!
• Office pranks
• Edible alcoholic shots

While I would have loved to experiment with the first two items on that list (especially the wrastlin'!), I only had enough gulaman to try my hand at edible cocktails.

Out on Parol

Every year around Christmas time, the wife and I like to drive around various neighborhoods looking at all the different Christmas lights people have hung on their homes. Although the wife likes to ooh and ahh at all that is bright and blinky, I just like seeing how many Filipino households I can spot during these night-time drive-bys.

How is it that I can pick out a single Filipino household from the hundreds of other twinkling homes? My Filipino readers may already know the answer to this, but I'll clue everyone else in too. In addition to the normal strings of Christmas lights stapled/nailed/duct taped to the eaves of houses, Filipinos may sometimes display a large star-shaped lantern, called a Parol, in their windows or on the outside of the home.

For instance, here's a look at my parents' home with a Christmas Parol in their window:

And here's a look at me and the wife's place with our Parol in one of our upper windows:

I know, the single string of lights at our place is totally weaksauce, but me and ladders are mortal enemies.

Thin-Skinned

I received another windfall of kalamansi limes from my mother recently, whose tree was bursting with bright orange orbs of the Filipino citrus. The longer a kalamansi sits on the tree, or the older it gets, it will change colors from green to orange. I'm guessing that because kalamansi are grown so abundantly and used so frequently in the Philippines, you will rarely find an older, orange-hued one there. Such is not the case for my mother, who is lucky enough to have a tree that produces more fruit than she can use. Hmph.

The bag of fruit that my mom unloaded on me contained about a jillion orange kalamansi, and only a few green ones. So I decided to conduct a very unscientific and inconclusive experiment in which I compared the traits of green and orange kalamansi limes. Prepare to be awed.

Kalamansi are smaller than lemons. Mind blowing.

Firstly, I noticed that both the green and orange kalamansi were smaller than a lemon! Mother-effing crazy, right? Wait, hold your applause, there's more!

After cutting open the green ones and a couple of orange kalamansi, I found that both are thin-skinned and orange-fleshed. The juice yielded from both was also orange. I then squeezed some of the juice into separate teaspoons and gave the samples a taste. The juice from both samples tasted sour with a hint of orange fruit--I couldn't find any discernible differences between the green and orange kalamansi. All of this info is earth-shattering, I know. I'm already crafting my speech for the Nobel Prize in Awesome.

So, in conclusion, the skin color of kalamansi doesn't matter. Green or orange, it's still Filipino on the inside (and that, boys and girls, concludes today's After School Special).

Although I was riding a natural high from my ground-breaking findings, I still had a bagful of kalamansi with which I had no idea what to do. Since they were already so "ripe", on the verge of decomposing, I figured I'd at least squeeze 'em and freeze the juice for a later use.

Bistek: Two Ways

The Rachael Ray 30-minute approach to cooking meals is completely lost on me. It's not that I don't think cooking a weeknight's dinner in a quick and efficient manner is a bad idea--it's brilliant actually--it's just that I am molasses-slow in the kitchen. Constructing an entire meal in 30 minutes or less would be somewhat of a miracle for me (heck, it sometimes takes me longer than that to drop a deuce).

I like to move at my own pace and take my sweet lollygaggin' time when I'm in the kitchen. I may look up at the green digits on my microwave clock one moment, look back down at whatever I'm chopping, stirring, or cursing at, and then look back up at that clock an hour later not realizing how much time has lapsed (or that my wife is hunched over on the couch with a painfully grumbly tummy).

And this is why the wife cooks a bulk of the meals during the busy work week, and on the lazy weekends I'm on kitchen duty. When we do plan meals during the week that I will be cooking, I usually have to do the prep work the day before so that we can eat at a decent hour the following evening.

But I've recently discovered a Filipino dish that seemingly allows me to bend the space-time continuum so that I can feed the wife and myself on a weeknight. I don't even have to fake "the gout" and take a half-day at work so I can have more prep time in the kitchen (not that I've ever faked "the gout" before, ahem).

This dish I speak of is Bistek--which is just beef marinated in soy and kalamansi and then cooked with onions. That's it. No, seriously. That's all Bistek is. Just take some meat, soak it in some soy and kalamansi juice for half an hour, then throw everything into a pan (marinade and all) with onions, serve with rice, and enjoy.

Saucy

I realize I'm probably the last Pinoy on the planet to discover the quickness (the quickness!) with which Bistek can be made, but better late than never I say. I've also read that the word "Bistek" is a Filipino corruption of the English word "Beef Steak". But I don't believe this explanation of nomenclature considering there are numerous Latin dishes that go by the name "Bistec Encebollado" (also steak and onions). So, like many other Filipino dishes, I'm pretty sure our Bistek, at least in name, is of Spanish origin as well.

Considering this connection to Spain, I found another use for Bistek via Mexico (Spain once governed its Philippine colony from Mexico [confusing, but true]). Instead of cooking the beef and onions in the marinade on the stove, I grilled the steak and onions on my barbecue:

Grilled Bistek

I then sliced the meat and threw it into a tortilla topped with the onions, some queso de bola (edam) cheese and some cilantro:

Bistek Tacos

The Bistek Tacos would probably also fare well with a little topping of Atchara as well. Although the Bistek Tacos lack the sauce that the traditional preparation includes, the longer marination of the meat ensures the maximum toyomansi taste (flava in ya mouf!).

I used sirloin for the traditional Bistek, and flank steak for the tacos, but I think either meat would work for either situation. I found both applications to be amazingly easy to prepare and were perfect for a quick midweek dinner.

Filipino Bistek (Citrus Steak and Onions)

Serves 2 to 4

1 lb. sirloin beef, sliced thinly
1/4 cup kalamansi juice (or lemon juice)
1/2 cup soy sauce
3 cloves garlic, smashed
1 Tablespoon oil
1 large onion, sliced into thin rings
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Place the beef, kalamansi juice, soy sauce, and garlic in a large zip-top bag, or in a shallow dish, and marinate in the refrigerator for 30 mins.

Heat the oil in a large saute pan or skillet over medium-high heat. Remove the meat from the marinade (reserve marinade, do not discard marinade) and sear the meat on all sides, 4-5 minutes total. Remove meat from pan, place the meat in a bowl, and set aside. If the pan is dry, add a bit more oil. Add the onion rings to the pan and saute for 3 minutes.

Pour the reserved marinade into the pan with the onions, being sure to deglaze and scrape the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon or spatula. Bring the liquid to a boil, reduce heat to low and simmer for 10 minutes. Add the black pepper to the sauce and taste for seasoning. If the sauce is too salty, or too sour, add 1/2 cup of water if necessary. You can also add water if you just want to have more sauce.

Add the meat back to the pan and cook for another 2 minutes. You can also thicken the sauce with cornstarch if desired. Serve with rice.

Bistek Tacos

Serves 2 to 4

1 lb. flank steak (leave whole, do not slice)
1/4 cup kalamansi juice (or lemon juice)
1/2 cup soy sauce
3 cloves garlic, smashed
1 large onion
Salt and pepper, to taste
Olive oil
Tortillas (flour or corn)
1/4 cup edam cheese, grated
Cilantro, for garnish

Place the beef, kalamansi juice, soy sauce, and garlic in a large zip-top bag, or in a shallow dish, and marinate in the refrigerator overnight.

Cut the onion into 1/4-inch slices, then place the onion slices on skewers so that they are easier to grill. Brush the onion slices with olive oil, then sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Remove the meat from the marinade; reserve the marinade. Place the meat and onion skewers on a hot grill over high heat. Grill the meat and onions for 10-12 minutes total for medium-rare meat, brushing occasionally with the reserved marinade. Remove the steak and onions from the grill and allow the steak to rest for 10 minutes. Discard the leftover marinade.

Thinly slice the steak against the grain. Place the steak and onions in warmed tortillas, then top with cheese and cilantro.

Gin and Juice

I know I've lamented in the past about the poor fruit production of my Kalamansi tree, Kal. But for all intents and purposes, Kal has had a pretty decent and citrusy summer so far by yielding a fairly sizeable crop for me. Albeit that the kalmansi I pick every now and then are still quite small and haven't grown to the size I would like (ideally, they should be about an inch around), they are still bursting with juice. And these small tart-tinged orbs are indeed a step up from my slim pickins of yesteryear that all but died as soon as they reached the size of a grain of rice.

But Kal's meager offerings aren't entirely his fault. He's relegated to a corner of our balcony (our condo has no yard, just a small porch and the aforementioned balcony) where he is kept under close watch by our garden gnome, Reggie.

Kal and Reggie, BFFs

As it is, Kal soaks up about 4 hours of sun a day. I've read that citrus needs at least 8 hours of sun, so I'm sure Kal's smallish limes are directly correlated to his lack of solar energy.

And it has also occurred to me that perhaps I lack the green thumb gene that seems to be so very prevalent in my family. Both of my grandfathers are wonderful gardeners who have grown all sorts of goodies in their respective backyards, I have an uncle who owns and tends a large sprawling farm in the Philippines, and my parents spend weekends in their garden tending to their supply of various halucinogenic fungi  magic poppy fields  cannabis  coca plants  uh, fruits and veggies.

Although I presently lack any gardening prowess in my DNA (I'm hoping it's still too early to tell), I've at least seemed to inherit my father's appreciation for a good buzz via a stiff drink (well, that and an undying, forever-burning internal rage). And while Kal's bounty is always good for a squeeze into a small dish of soy for a toyomansi dipping sauce, I've found that the majority of the Kalamansi I pick usually ends up in a cocktail glass to sate my inherited thirst for blurred vision and hiccups.

The Oyster. Considered.

My dad has this saying that if you don’t get mad, it won’t get fixed.

This maxim usually applies to certain circumstances in which my old man is trying to repair something around the house or in his garage.  The scenarios usually start off very innocently, like screwing a shelf into a wall, unclogging some backed-up pipes, or genetically engineering his clone.  But as soon as something goes wrong—like a missing shelf bracket, a futile and useless plunger, or a volatile and unstable strain of DNA—my dad goes berserk and starts cursing up a storm.

He usually starts off with a few innocuous “Goddammits!”  Then he moves on to  spewing out some “Sons of bitches!” that serve as a warning to those within earshot that he’s about to blow his top.  But once he starts dropping F-bombs and MotherF-bombs, it’s time for my brothers and I to scurry away and hide, lest we be commanded to find my dad his “Pillips head screwdriber”.  On such occasions of unbridled fury, I always want to tell my dad that Jesus was a carpenter. But I don’t think he’d get it, and then he would surely stab me with said screwdriver.

My dad’s rage doesn’t last forever.  Once he’s done fixin' whatever he was fixin', he calms down, shrugs his shoulders, then walks over to my mom and mutters his mantra: “If you don’t get mad, it won’t get fixed.”

Now, I’m not much of a handy guy.  I own zero powertools and most of my handiwork consists of erecting crappy Ikea furniture.  So in terms of being a man about the house, I haven’t witnessed any of my father’s fury passed on down to me.  However, it’s a completely different story when I’m in the kitchen.  My inherited wrath was no more evident than when I tried shucking oysters for the first time.

Kalamansi Granita

Conventional wisdom usually dictates:

“Don’t eat the yellow snow.”

It’s sage advice, really.  And it usually makes sense considering the circumstances that cause the yellowing of snow:

• Huskies
• Rabid Raccoons
• The Abominable Snowman, Yeti, and/or Sasquatch
• Tauntauns
• Drunken Eskimos Canadians Russians Cold Climate Drunks in general

However, this advice does not take into consideration my sublimely yellowy and snowy dessert: Kalamansi Granita.

Kalamansi Infused Vodka

Don't get all excited folks. Yes, those are kalamansi limes you see in the picture above. But no, they are not from my kalamansi tree Kaladocious Kalamansi IV. Kal didn't exactly come through for me this year. He's a failure. Kal's fruit only got as big as the "O" on your keyboard. Go ahead and look down at your keys, I'll still be here when you look back up at your screen.

Tiny right? As soon as Kal's kalamansi got that big, they just up and died. I don't know what went wrong, but maybe Kal needs another year of maturity before he starts producing actual fruit, or maybe the neighbor's cat peed on him one too many times. Poor bastard (Kal, not the cat).

Anyways, ever since I got Kal, I've had all these Kalamansi ideas floating around in my head and I didn't want them all to go by the wayside just because Kal sucks at his job. So last time I was at my parents' house, I went into their backyard and filled a couple of plastic bags full of kalamansi from my mom's tree (I'm hoping jealousy is a motivator for Kal).

Seeing that I love Filipino ingredients and booze, I decided to combine both of these things for my first Kalamansi recipe: Kalamansi Infused Vodka.

On Vacation: Keep an Eye On Kal

The Wife and I will be on vacation for the next couple of weeks.  We are traveling to Paris, Rome, and environs in between.

In the meantime, please keep an eye on my Kalamansi Tree, Kaladocious Kalamansi IV.  I've watered him just this morning, so hopefully he's still green upon our return.

He probably doesn't look much different from the last time you saw him.  But if you look a little closer...

The beginnings of Kalamansi limes.

He's alive!  He's aliiiiiive!!!

Uh, talk to you in a couple of weeks.

I Think I Shall Name Him... Kal!

I've been on a mission as of late.  I've been scouring Asian markets, inquiring over the phone to my grandmother, and tip-toeing through my mom's garden. I've been looking for a tree, a tree that is abundant in the Philippines yet elusive, at least to me, here in SoCal.  I've been searching high and low for a Kalamansi tree.

The fruit of the Kalamansi tree resembles a tiny, miniature orange, yet produces a sour juice similar to that of a lime.  A squeeze, a squirt, or a spritz of its nectar brightens up any dish - from pancit, to miki, to fish.  I needed these mini spheres of sourness in my kitchen.

After my initial searches turned up fruitless (Ha!), I did the next logical thing, I Googled it.  Google, I love you so!  I found out that I could either order a Kalamansi tree online and have it delivered to me, or I could check out the nursery of my local hardware store.  Now while the logistics of having a tree shipped to my doorstep intrigued me, I figured I would visit my hardware store first just to be sure.

I had very low expectations when I ventured out to the hardware store; I was fairly certain a Kalamansi tree had no business being there.  A citrus tree indigenous to the Philippines sharing a nursery with ficus, ferns, and garden gnomes in a common hardware store?!! Pinoy, please!