Burnt Lumpia: Filipino Food | Filipino Recipes | Culinary Hijinks

Flowers for Longanisa

Sometimes food can become a bit too complex. Now, there's nothing wrong with complex, some of the stuff I've made up on this blog has been a bit difficult, but sometimes it all gets a bit tiresome.  Standing in my kitchen over a long-simmering pot, or separating a handful of eggs, or prepping the last of a gajillion and one ingredients--that all starts to wear on me after a while.  So every now and then, it's good to revert back to simpler recipes and simpler techniques to keep me from going crazy.  And by simpler, I mean using leftovers.

I've got enough homemade Longanisa in my freezer to stretch from here to Manila and back, and I've been wanting to deplete that supply so that it only reaches Hawaii.  That's a lot of Longanisa to use up. Luckily, this fried squash blossoms post by Wandering Chopsticks set off one of those flickering lightbulb thingies above my head.  Except, instead of stuffing squash blossoms full of minced shrimp, like Wandering Chopsticks did, I figured I'd use some of the Longanisa in my freezer.

And, as we are in the last throes of summer here in SoCal, I wanted to make sure I took advantage of the squash blossoms at the local farmer's markets before they were all gone.

blUBErry Ice Cream (Ube Ice Cream Swirled with Blueberry Sauce)

In spite of what my spellchecker says, you can't spell blUBErry without Ube.

It's true.

And ever since my Purple Ube Pancakes post, I've been wanting to pair Ube and blueberries in an ice cream (blueberry pancakes + Ube pancakes = blUBErry ice cream, my mind works in strange ways).  I knew the tart sweetness of blueberries would pair well with sweet purple yam, I just didn't know how I was going to pull it off.  I had never made Ube ice cream, a favorite among Filipinos, so I knew I had to start there and worry about the blueberries later.

But, as I would discover, churning out a batch of Ube ice cream would be more difficult than just dumping a cup of frozen Ube into a vanilla base (under no circumstances should you try that, you will curse the heavens and everything around you. Damn you frozen purple yam! Damn you straight to hell!!!).

Ahem.  Uh, after two hacks at creating terribly icy and gritty ice creams, I think I hit one out of the park on my third try.  A couple pounds of Ube, a few quarts of cream, and a couple hundred curse words later, I was able to figure out three tricks for churning rich and smooth Ube Ice Cream.  And lucky you, dear reader, I'm going to share them with you here.

Brown Sugary Balls

My grandmother and her sisters sometimes make a quick dessert of caramel covered, deep-fried doughballs made from rice flour, macapuno, and water.  They call these sweet spheres "Cascarone".  Problem is, they also refer to another dessert that they make as "Cascarone" as well.  This second "Cascarone" is also a deep-fried dough; but it is shaped by rolling it off of the tines of a fork (kind of like gnocchi) and covered with a white sugar glaze.

I'm confused too.

I guess the term "Cascarone" refers, in general, to a deep-fried dessert covered in sugar?  I have no idea.  I didn't want to question my grandmother, lest I be finger-jabbed in my Adam's apple.  Further research into this matter was fruitless as well (and by research, I mean Google).  I did however, find a similar dessert in my Memories of Philippine Kitchens cookbook that was referred to as "Bunuelos"--the  dough was completely different, but these Bunuelos were shaped into spheres, deep-fried, and covered in syrup.

Anyhoo, I'm not sure why I'm so fascinated with the name of this dessert.  It's not that I don't believe my grandmother, it's just that I've never heard of "Cascarone" in this context before.  If any of my Filipino readers could provide some clarity, it would be much appreciated.  Until then though, I will just refer to this dessert as Brown Sugary Balls.

That's right.

Brown Sugary Balls.

On Making Pinakbet and Finding My Soul

Pinakbet is my favorite dish. Period.

I'm not speaking in general terms, like it's my favorite Filipino dish, no.  I really mean that Pinakbet--the illest of Ilocano dishes--is my most favorite food in the whole entire world times infinity!  Even by Filipino standards, this is a curious choice (I think) on my part as I know of many Pinoys who can't stand this vegetable medley.  I'm sure it has to do with the ever-present ampalaya, but as you may remember (or not), I loves me some bitter melon.

Despite my fondness for Pinakbet I had never attempted to make it.  I was happy enough getting my once-in-a-while-fix whenever I would visit my grandparents or my parents.  My grandmother and mother can both whip up a batch with a purse of the lips (psssst, hoy!).  Soon enough though, I started hankering for the stuff on a more regular basis.  I started making up excuses to visit my parents just so I could relieve my jonesing for Pinakbet:

Mother: What are you doing home?

Me: Uh, I was in the neighborhood.

Mother: You live an hour and a half away.

Me: Uh, what's for dinner? Pinakbet?

Dad: Goddamn it! Can't you make your own!

My dad's a really good guy (he's just really mean [I'm kidding {not really}]).

Anyhoo, I finally realized that I needed to figure out how to make Pinakbet for myself (otherwise my dad would start charging me for groceries).

Bananas Foster in a Banana Leaf

My use of the term “binalot” has been limited to the answering of queries pertaining to my whereabouts. For example:

Buddy: Hey Marv, you ever been to Disneyland?
Me: Yeah, I’ve binalot.

College Professor: Hey Marv, you ever been to any of my lectures?
Me: Yes, I’ve binalot of your lectures.

Potential Employer: Hey Marv, you ever been to jail?
Me: Uh, no. I, uh, never bin to jail.

Well, it turns out that the term “binalot” also refers to the Filipino method of preparing foods in various types of wrappers—usually banana leaves, although other wrapper types may also fit in this category.  And with “Binalot” being the theme for the current Lasang Pinoy event, I had a couple of ideas to play around with.

Purple Ube Pancakes

To most Filipinos, Ube is the Prince of Tubers—a mildly sweet yam that is used in a variety of Filipino desserts such as ice cream, cakes, hopia, and halo-halo.  Why is this yam just a prince and not a king?  Well, besides its mildly sweet and earthy flavor, Ube is known for its strange hue that is mostly associated with “The Artist Formerly (Currently) Known As”...

...PRINCE!

(Of course that's Prince.  Don't argue with me! I know "The Artist" when I sees him!)

Yes, folks. Whenever I think of Ube, I think of Prince.  Or whenever I think of Prince, I think of Ube.  Do with that information as you wish, but I think it’s a natural thought progression (as I’ve stated in this space before: I AM NOT CRAZY!).

The picture above is of grated Ube I bought from the Asian market (Ube comes frozen, so you have to thaw it out first).  And no, I didn’t Photoshop or mess with the color in any way.  Ube is naturally uber purple.  It’s not as sweet as a sweet potato or yam, but Ube are definitely sweeter than a regular boiling or baking potato.  As such, it is the yam of choice for both Pinoys (positively) and The Purple One (perhaps).

For those that do not know very much about Prince (heathens!), let me explain a few tidbits about The Artist:

A Long, Long, Longanisa Story

UPDATE 06/09/09:
See my new and improved recipe for Homemade Longanisa.
Below is my original post on longanisa.
*****

Sausage is as near a universal food as you can get.  Of course, France, Italy, and Germany all have their own unique sausage incarnates, but so does China, Mexico, Spain, the good ‘ol USA, and countless other cultures.  But, seeing as I’m Filipino, and this is a Filipino Food Blog, I must mention with pride that most distinct Filipino sausage redolent of black pepper, vinegar, and garlic: Longanisa.

Although I’ve only somewhat recently come to appreciate the vinegary virtues of Longanisa, there was a time in my life when I avoided this sausage at all costs.  One hot, San Fernando Valley summer when I was a wee little boy, my dad sweated away in our little kitchen making homemade Longanisa.  I remember him squishing fatty pork chunks through his old school hand-cranked meat grinder, and then stuffing this slippery mess into lengths and lengths of pig intestines.  While this scenario may be old-hat to grizzled sausage-making veterans, it was a bit disturbing to me as a little kid, what with all the grease and pig guts.  Quite simply, I was grossed out.

This isn’t to say I avoided all sausage consumption. Oh no. I ate my fair share of hot dogs as a kid.  But every time I saw Longanisa on our dinner table, I remembered pig guts and my dad’s greazy meat grinder—memories strong enough to prevent me from enjoying a truly delicious Filipino specialty.

Years later, after reading “The Jungle” in high school, I figured that there were worse things that could end up in sausage besides grease and pig guts.  And last I checked, my father had all 10 digits in tact.  As such, my aversion to Longanisa slowly gave way, link by garlicky link. 

I started eating the Longanisa my mother would sometimes bring home from the Asian market.  These store-bought links were fairly decent, if not overly sweet and filled with preservatives, food coloring, and who knows what else.  But nothing compared to the gold-standard of Longanisas in my family—those made by my grandmother’s sister.  Yup, my great aunt twists a mean Longanisa link—chopping her pork and stuffing her casings all by hand.  My great aunt’s homemade Longanisa, I slowly learned, was the best sausage I’ve tasted—grease, pig guts, and all.

Even more years later, after reading Michael Ruhlman and Brian Polcyn’s Charcuterie and after returning from a charcuterie and salumi-filled vacation in Europe, I learned that grease and pig parts are to be revered rather than feared. It also helped that the Filipino love of pork that was hardwired into my brain eventually made itself more dominant.

So, a few weeks ago, I decided I’d try my hand at homemade Longanisa, using Charcuterie as a guide.  Although Charcuterie was written by non-Filipinos, I wanted to use it as a guideline for making Filipino sausage because it’s a great cookbook with sound sausage-making advice regardless of who wrote it.  While there is no Longanisa recipe in Charcuterie, Ruhlman and Polcyn have a great “master ratio” for a standard sausage that consists of 5 pounds of pork and fat, 1.5 ounces of kosher salt, seasonings, and 1 cup of ice-cold liquid.  Armed with this master ratio, and my Pinoy tastebuds, I went about creating my own recipe for homemade Filipino Longanisa.

[Sausage-making is a long process that is well worth the effort.  And if you couldn’t already tell from the title of this entry, this will be a long post that is (hopefully) well worth reading.]

Grilled Bitter Melon, Mango, and Tomato Salad

Lasang Pinoy, for those of you not in the know, is a group of Filipino food bloggers who get together every now and again to blog about Filipino food.  Each Lasang Pinoy event revolves around a certain theme to promote different aspects of Filipino food.  Think of it as an underground fight club--except no one gets punched in the face, it's not so underground, and everyone shares recipes (Ok, so maybe an underground fight club wasn't the best analogy. My comparative analysis is unforgiveably nonsensical!).

Ahem, uh, moving on.

Like I was saying, each Lasang Pinoy event revolves around a certain theme.  The theme for the Lasang Pinoy event that I took part in was "vegetables", or more specifically "Oh My Gulay!"

"Gulay" literally translates to "vegetable".  The term, "Oh my gulay!" is (according to Toni at Wifely Steps) a Pinoy expression commonly used to present a feeling of shock, frustration, excitement, or surprise.  Funny, that.  I don't think there has ever been a Filipino who met a play on words that he didn't like (remember my Grandpa's legendary coconut joke?).

With my first foray into a Lasang Pinoy event coinciding with the Memorial Day weekend here in the U.S., I knew I had to get a little creative.  I was initially going to make my most favorite Pinoy dish, Pinakbet, but I thought that would be too pedestrian a dish for this event.  The guidelines for this Lasang Pinoy event state that entries need not be a typical Filipino recipe, but it had to have Pinoy flavor.  So I attempted to incorporate that Pinoy flavor (flava in ya mouf!) into one of the biggest grilling weekends of the year.

My grill was calling out to me. Oh my gulay!

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.

Leche Flan Lessons

Flan is the Sean “Puffy” Combs of the dessert world – it’s rich, decadent, and goes by a few different aliases: Crème Caramel, Caramel Custard, Flan de Leche, and Leche Flan. 

Despite its multiple monikers, Flan is more or less a caramel-topped, custard-based dessert that is prepared using the same simple ingredients of eggs, milk, and sugar.  Why all the different names for the same dessert?  Well, with Flan, it ain’t where you from, it’s where you at. (That last sentence did not sound as cool as I thought it would. Dork!)

For instance, Flan is the general term used for this sweet treat in the U.S. (Mmm-mmm tasty!) and Spain (Delicioso!).  In the U.K., Flan is called Caramel Custard (Right-o chap!), and in France they refer to it as Crème Caramel (Uhhh, um, ménage a trois?).  Our friends in Latin America may order Flan de Leche at the end of a meal (!Muy sabroso!).  And of course, in my household, and in households in the Philippines, we refer to this dessert as Leche Flan (Sarap!).  Whew (I am amazed by my awesome multilingualness!)!

Leche Flan is one of the many legacies of Spanish colonialism in the Philippines.  And in the Philippines, Leche Flan is usually prepared using either Carabao’s (water buffalo) milk, or a combination of canned condensed milk and canned evaporated milk.  Canned milk is used out of convenience, but because of the tropical climate in the Philippines, it is also used (I assume) because it doesn’t spoil as readily as fresh milk.

My grandmother’s recipe for Leche Flan calls for a can each of condensed milk and evaporated milk, a dozen egg yolks, some sugar, and some vanilla.  Conversely, my mother (AKA Lightning Lumpia) uses regular old cow’s milk.

Also, instead of baking individual servings in separate ramekins, than say, the French would do with Crème Caramel, Leche Flan is usually prepared in large pans called Llaneras.  My grandmother and mother just use round cake pans to make their Leche Flan.  After baking, they would then turn the Leche Flan out of its pan and slice it into individual servings.

Since I had plenty of milk and half-and-half, and neither canned nor Carabao’s milk, I decided to make my own version of Leche Flan.  I do plan on making my grandmother’s more traditional version sometime in the future, as it is one of my favorites that she makes.  My grandmother’s version is particularly sweet and rich, and I’d be interested to taste test real milk vs. canned milk Leche Flans some day.

[By the way, I just realized how strange it is that I decided to use milk and half-and-half because that is what is convenient for me, rather than canned milk being convenient.  Is that ironic?  I’m not sure.  My sense of irony is lackluster. Damn you Alanis! Damn you straight to hell!]