Burnt Lumpia: Filipino Food | Filipino Recipes | Culinary Hijinks

Tsokolate Ice Cream + Ube Marshmallows + Peanuts = Rocky Road

Back when I discovered the joys of Filipino chocolate (AKA Tsokolate), I immediately made plans to churn some Tsokolate Ice Cream as soon as the weather warmed up a bit. But when I finally got around to making said ice cream, I decided to also throw some peanuts and marshmallows into the mix as well for my own version of Rocky Road Ice Cream. Of course, I couldn't settle for just any marshmallow, so I went ahead and whipped up some homemade Ube Marshmallows!

Yes. Ube Marshmallows.

As crazy as that sounds, it's actually fairly easy to create a purple fluffy confection vaguely reminiscent in flavor to the Filipino Purple Yam thanks to some Ube-in-a-bottle I happened across at my Asian market.

Hits From the Pasalubong Vol. 3: Tupig

As I've mentioned before (here and here), the Filipino term "Pasalubong" refers to the gifts and souvenirs that people receive from a traveler arriving from another destination. So when my cousin, Kathy, recently arrived in L.A. from the Philippines, she gifted my family with some wonderful Filipino goodies.

Now while my cuz's suitcases were full of presents like slippers and Manny Pacquiao t-shirts (sweet!), I of course was most interested in the edible gifts. Among the tasty Pinoy treats were the usual yummy suspects of chichacorn and various candies, but I was most taken by the appearance of Tupig.

Tupig is a Filipino snack that is a favorite around Christmastime--which was perfect for us as my cousin happened to arrive on Christmas Eve. More specifically though, Tupig is very similar to Suman: a Filipino delicacy of sweet glutinous rice that is wrapped and steamed in banana leaves. But what makes Tupig different from Suman is that instead of being steamed, the banana leaf parcels are grilled over an open fire, yielding a pleasantly smoky and charred flavor.

However, not all Tupig are alike. Aside from wrapping the sweet rice mixture in banana leaves, Ilocanos also like to place the rice in sections of fresh bamboo; the bamboo is then baked underground in a burried fire pit or baked over an open flame.

In whatever form it presents itself, wrapped in a leaf of stuffed in a shoot, Tupig is a wonderful example of Filipino culinary ingenuity--preparing an amazing dessert with whatever is at hand and with limited resources.

Let's take a closer look at these packages, shall we?

Champorado: Breakfast of Champions

Filipinos have been enjoying chocolate cereal long before the likes of Cocoa Puffs, Cocoa Pebbles, Cocoa Crisp, Count Chocula, or Chocolate Frosted Frosty Krusty Flakes (Only sugar has more sugar!) ever entered the sweet-toothed maws of hungry children. Although these factory-produced, mass-marketed, sugar-filled cereals are fine and dandy for breakfast (I've enjoyed many of them), they lack the rustic homemade charm, and overall stick-to-yo-ribs-ness, of Filipino Champorado.

Champorado may perhaps be the original chocolate cereal as it is quite literally a "chocolate cereal"--it's made from chocolate tablea and cereal grains in the form of sweet sticky rice. Put more simply though, Champorado can best be described as a sort of chocolate rice porridge. Or perhaps it can be likened to a warm bowl of oatmeal crossed with a chocolate bar--only better. Way better.

Tsokolate: Filipino Hot Chocolate

Although cacao trees flourish in the tropical climes of the Philippines, chocolate is not indigenous to the islands. In fact, like a few other Filipino foods, chocolate was introduced to the Philippines by Spain via Mexico (the cacao tree IS indigenous to parts of Central and South America).

In fact, according to many historical accounts, the ancient Mayans are credited with the invention of hot chocolate. Originally, the Mayans simply ground native cacao beans and spices into a paste, and then frothed the mixture into water and served this concoction hot. Soon, the Aztecs were introduced to cacao beans and made a similar chocolate brew of their own--though it was a cold drink that was served during religious ceremonies and human sacrifices (oh, those crazy Aztecs).

Then one day, some Spanish dude named Cortez arrived in Mexico and was peacefully received by Aztec emperor Montezuma. As the story goes, Montezuma presented Cortez with a frothy cup of chocolate out of simple good will. In return, Cortez wiped out the entire Aztec civilization (oh, those crazy Spaniards).

Finally, to make a long story a little bit less long, about a hundred (give or take) years later the Spanish took the cacao trees (as well as the Mexican custom of drinking chocolate) from their Mexican colony and introduced it to their Philippine colony. Thus, Filipinos started growing their own cacao trees, and then making and drinking their own form of hot chocolate known as Tsokolate.

The Asian Grandmothers Cookbook

I've been lucky enough to have a multitude of "grandmothers" in my life. Two of my paternal grandmother's sisters live with my grandmother and grandfather. And although my grandmother's sisters may technically be my "great aunties," I actually call all three sisters "Grandma." Confusing, but true.

My brothers, and pretty much the rest of my family, all refer to my great aunts as "Auntie" and my grandmother as "Grandma". So I'm not sure how or why I came to lump my grandmother and her sisters into the same "Grandma" category, but it's something I've done since childhood.

All in all though, I don't think any of the sisters mind. In fact, I think they all like being called "Grandma." Afterall, the coveted title of "Grandma" seems to magically transform a woman into a "Culinary Superhero." As such, each of my grandmothers has a specific Filipino specialty in their superhero arsenal. For instance, one of my grandmother's sisters makes a pinakbet I swoon for, the other sister makes some mean Miki (a type of Filipino noodle dish), and my grandmother herself specializes in any and everything sweet.

So whenever to grandmother's (grandmothers') house I go, I am guaranteed to be treated to a family feast on many fronts. I am truly one lucky son of a gun to have access to wonderful Filipino food from three great grandmothers.

But thanks to Pat Tanumihardja's new book, The Asian Grandmothers Cookbook, everyone can now have access to an extra set of grandmothers, and their recipes to boot.

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.

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...

On My Low Horse

With a shopping basket in one hand, and a short grocery list in the other, I was skipping (ok, I was walking, but there was a lilt in my step) up and down the aisles of my local Filipino grocery store. As I stopped to mentally check off each item on my list, something squatting on the store floor caught my attention.

"Psssst. Hoy!" the object of interest seemed to simultaneously shout and whisper to me.

Normally, whenever the words "Psssst. Hoy!" are shouted/whispered (shoutspered?) at me, I usually duck and cover and/or run as I've probably done something wrong. But that's another story for another time. I digress.

This time however, I couldn't help but to kneel down and take a closer look at what appeared to be a mini-skateboard with short wooden stumps in place of wheels. Strange, that. Stranger still was that the nose of the board was fitted with a rather nasty-looking serrated spur.

Whoa.

After picking up the menacing looking device, I immediately recalled some childhood memory of my Great Aunt (my grandmother's sister) using this contraption in the kitchen.

What exactly is this thing, you ask?

It's a Kabayo, AKA a Coconut Horse, AKA a Filipino Coconut Grater.

Still in the dark? I thought you might be. So I made a video of me riding the Coconut Horse (out of context, that sounds awesome terrible!).

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.