Burnt Lumpia

A Bun in the Oven (& Some Ensaimada Too)

Some changes have been in the works here at the Burnt Lumpia Worldwide Headquarters over the past few weeks and months. Most recently, the wife and I have been shuffling things from room to room to make room for other things--if that makes sense.

We've pretty much been emptying and clearing out our home office (which was originally an extra bedroom). I've shifted my work desk out of the office and into the breakfast nook next to our kitchen (now making that space more conducive to food blogging). And since there was nowhere else to stow the rest of my office junk, our guestroom is now a guestroom/storage room (now making that space more conducive to shorter visits from my parents. I'm kidding. Kind of.).

And what about the now empty room formerly known as our "office"?

We're turning it into a nursery!

Yes, I'm happy to announce that the wife and I are expecting our first child! "Baby Lumpia" is due in early August, and yes, we do know the sex of the baby--though I think I'll keep that bit of information under wraps, for now at least. Obviously, I've been holding on to this good news for a while now and waiting for the right time to share it with everyone here. But with all the crazy goings-on needed to prepare for a baby (A BABY!), I've been a bit distracted to say the least.

To celebrate the wife's growing belly (and appetite), I decided to bake... a bun in the oven of course! The particular buns I attempted to bake are actually sweet Filipino brioche rolls called Ensaimada.

I know, baking isn't exactly my forte here. I've never baked any sort of bread before, let alone Ensaimada. But I've never had a kid before either. I figure that if I can make a decent Filipino Ensaimada, I've got a decent chance at learning how to change a diaper--both activities involve a great deal of softened butter (insert rimshot here).

With a new baby and all, at least there will be someone besides myself that finds great amusement in poop jokes. At least that's my hope...

Master of the Flying Mandoline

My skill with a kitchen knife is like that of a hobbled Bill Walton with a basketball...

Fundamentally sound, yet incredibly slow.

Yes, I can chop, dice, and slice with the best of them--I'm just chopping, dicing, and slicing at a much slower pace. I'd say it takes me the better part of an afternoon to julienne a couple of carrots.

And when it comes to dishes that require quite a bit of knifework, I'm often at a disadvantage because of the turtle-like pace of my knife-wielding hand and arm (depending on what is being wielded, my hand/arm speed varies. Kitchen knife=slow, typing unfunny jokes=fast).

So thanks to my dawdling and deliberate knife proficiency, I have more than enough reason to use a completely scary and potentially hazardous kitchen gadget: the Mandoline.

Arroz By Any Other Name

When spending Christmas at my parents' house, we adhere to quite a few traditions:

• My brothers and I challenge each other's manhood via video games.  This past year it was Guitar Hero.  I'll admit that my brothers are better than me at virtually rocking.  But I rock literally. So there.

• My dad challenges everyone's religioushood (I just made that word up) by not attending Midnight Mass. While my mother, my brothers, my wife and I attend church late Christmas Eve, my father stays home and practices his finger jabs and throat punches on a wooden dummy in the garage.  He then practices his striking with the business end of his belt, jangling the metal buckle like a jingle bell (he's festive like that).

• My mom challenges my wife's stomach-hood (again, another awesome made-up word) by telling her to eat more and more at the dinner table. Any Pinoy who has ever brought a non-Pinoy home knows what I mean:

Mom: "Why don't you eat?"
Wife: "I am eating."

5 minutes later...

Mom: "Are you OK? Why don't you eat some more?"
Wife with mouth full: "Um, yes. Ok, I'll have more pancit."

2 minutes, 39 seconds later...

Mom: "You're not eating! Have some more rice! Rice! Eat! Eat! Eaaaaaaat!"
Wife with gastrointestinal pain and no other choices: "Ummm. Uh. Yes. Please."

And so it goes at my parents' house on Christmas Eve.

As fun as all of that sounds, and it really is, there is one other tradition that I look the most forward to: Arroz Caldo.  And seeing as the theme for the latest Lasang Pinoy event is rice, I see no better entry than my mother's Arroz Caldo.

Lechon: It's What I'm Thankful For

Relax.

It's just a roasted pig's head on a platter. No need to cringe, or go ewww, or label me as a savage.  All it is is pork. It's Lechon and it's delicious.

As I'm sure all of my Pinoy readers already know, Lechon is a whole roasted pig that is usually served for big parties and special occasions.  For my family, we have Lechon on Thanksgiving (there's turkey too, but who cares really?).  And as I mentioned in my last post, I only get to experience the awesomeness that is Lechon every other year since my wife and I alternate between families.  And my wife's family does not eat Lechon (read: they be white).

Now, don't get me wrong, I get along famously (famously, I say!) with the in-laws.  But the years when I'm at their place for Thanksgiving, my mind is invariably elsewhere--all I can think about is how I'm missing out on Lechon. Glorious Lechon.

In fact, when spending Thanksgiving at the in-laws, I always sneak out to the front porch and give one of my brothers a call on my cell phone to see what's going on at grandma's house:

Bro: Hello?
Me: Hey man, how's it going?
Bro: Good, everyone's here and we're all...
Me: Yeah, that's cool. Is there Lechon?
Bro: Yup. Hey you wanna talk to...
Me: How's it look? You eat yet?  It's good right? Crispy? Tell me it's crispy, dammit!
Bro: Yup. It's the same as always. Hey you wanna say "Happy Thanksgiving" to anyone?
Me: Click.

I then crumple to the ground, curl into a ball and I quietly weep.  Then my father in-law steps outside and I mumble something about dropping my contact lens, watery eyes, and pork, and then I slink back inside to have some turkey.  Good times.

Hits From the Pasalubong

Pasalubong is a Tagalog word that generally refers to gifts and souvenirs one gives out upon arriving/returning to/from another place.  More specifically, and perhaps more appreciated, is Pasalubong of various food items from wherever you traveled.

Luckily for me, one of my many cousins from the Philippines is visiting the States for the very first time and she arrived at my parents' house bearing many food gifts.  Although it's been a few years since I saw my cousin when I last traveled to the 'Peens, our conversation upon her recent arrival went something like this:

Me: Hey cuz! Nice to see you again! How was your trip!

Cuz: Hi! The plane ride was very long and...

Me: Hey that's great, what's that you got there?  Looks like you brought some goodies!

Family relations are not my strong suit.

But I do like to eat! And I'm sure my cousin understood my curtness with her as she happily opened up her luggage and extracted what seemed to be a never-ending stream of Filipino eats.  Don't worry, we eventually had a civil conversation as soon as I stuffed my face with some of the sweets she brought.  And besides, she's going to be here for a month, there's plenty of time for us to catch up and for me to corrupt her sensible Pinoy tastebuds with the zany, bastardized concoctions I've created.

Until then, here's a rundown of the Pasalubong I was able to steal given from my parents:

Brothers, Sports Drinks, and Rats

I am the second born of three sons. Besides being the best looking, smartest, and most athletic of my brothers (there is no such thing as overcompensation by an ignored middle child!), I am also the biggest foodie. So every now and then my brothers will pass along some food items to me because they know I will appreciate them. This was no more evident than last week when my bros had some great finds for me.

Macapuno Ice Cream

Ladies and gentlemen, a joke from my Grandfather:

“What’s the biggest nut?”

[comedic pause]

“Coconut!”

Ah yes, not quite at the level of Dave Chappelle, but comedic gold nonetheless from my paternal Grandfather Juan (AKA Grandpa Johnny, AKA Johnny Boom-Boom, AKA The Chairman).  That comedic gem was on my mind this past weekend when I exhumed the canister for my ice cream maker from the back of my freezer in hopes of creating a recipe for Macapuno Ice Cream.  Macapuno is a type of coconut that is grown in the Philippines – the same place where my Grandfather was grown no less.

Macapuno is also known as “mutant coconut” because the meat inside of this naturally occurring oddity is more abundant and softer than the meat found in normal coconuts.  Despite its unfortunately icky-sounding English name, Macapuno is an incredibly delicious fruit (or is it a nut? Damn you Johnny Boom-Boom!).  And here in the states, you can find jarred Macapuno in most any Asian market.  The jarred variety is usually labeled something like “Sweet Macapuno Strings” as threads of grated coconut are preserved in some sort of gelatin – think of it as coconut jelly (or jam, depending on how it shakes for you;).

Filipinos use Macapuno in a variety of desserts: from cakes, to flan, to Halo-halo.  But for me, ice cream is one of the best mediums for this mutant.  So ice cream it was this time around at the Burnt Lumpia Worldwide Headquarters.

Lazy Chicken Sotanghon

I have quite a few hand-written recipes that were given to me by my grandmother. Of course, I've only attempted to make a few of them.  Why just a few?  Well, most of my grandmother's recipes are intended to feed a small army.  And my household consists of only me and my wife.  No matter how hungry she and I get, a small army we are not.

Recently though, I was feeling ambitious and rifled through my accordian folder full of recipes (Nerd!) to find the instructions for my Grandma's Chicken Sotanghon.  After going over my Grandma's list of ingredients for this noodle dish, I was ready to give up and file the recipe away like I had many times before.  The recipe called for boiling one whole chicken and then picking the cooked chicken meat from the bones.  That's a lot of work. And I'm lazy.

But I realized something as I was stuffing my Grandma's hand-written, college-lined notebook paper back into my nerd-folder of food: I can't go on living my life like this can I?  I can't deprive myself of good Filipino food just because I am lazy.  I had to do something.  So I created a couple of shortcuts and reduced my Grandma's ingredient list to produce just enough food for me and my wife.

Manila Envelopes

An actual email from my actual little brother:

"Way to go, although I want to write a reply to your blogs, I think I can't because... I like food, but I'm not passionate at all when it comes to filipino food.  Don't get me wrong, I read your blog all the time,  I just have nothing to say because I really have nothing to add."

I weep for the future.

I'm not upset that my brother doesn't comment here on this shiny and new blog, I'm upset that the kid has little interest in Filipino food. He barely touches the stuff -- only eating pancit out of politeness if he's at my grandmother's, fearful of getting a punch in the face (from my grandmother no less) should he ask if there's anything else to eat.  Ah, the ill-effects of Western assimilation.  Sad, that.

But maybe I can do something about that. I can't make people like Filipino food, especially my little brother, but maybe I can at least pique some interest.

So, little brother, I respond to your email with a concerned letter via a Manila Envelope.

Rollin' With Mom

Like most Asian mothers, my mother’s Powers of Nagging are magnified a hundred-fold when in the kitchen.  Likewise, my sensitivity to her nagging is proportionally heightened – which is why I haven’t attempted to cook anything in her kitchen since the great Turkey Debacle of 2002. It’s another story for another time, but I quickly want to give a sampling of my mother’s “constructive criticism” from that night:

"Why is your turkey in a bucket of water? Do you know what you’re doing?”
“We don't eat cranberry sauce, why are you making that?”
“You're gonna make rice aren't you?”
“Are you gonna be much longer, your Dad's already falling asleep.”
“This drumstick is still pink inside!"

And on and on she went.

Ugh.

Praise isn't a concept my family quite understands, but they are masters of criticism - especially my mother. After that night, I swore I would never, ever, cook anything again for my family - especially my mother.

(Wait, what’s that you say? A vendetta taken too far? Against my own mother? Listen, Ass, you try cooking up some white-people-food for an impossible-to-please-hungry-Filipino-family and get back to me about vendettas.) Ahem. Uh, anyhoo…

Five years later, that promise to myself is getting harder to keep, especially now that I’m wanting to learn more about Filipino food.  I can't exactly cull Filipino recipes from my mother without having to cook with her. So, I put my kitchen blood feud against my mother aside, at least for one day, and asked her to show me how to make lumpia – a fried (generally speaking that is, lumpia can also be prepared unfried and fresh) Filipino appetizer similar to a spring roll.

And you know what? It was a pretty good experience.