Burnt Lumpia: Filipino Food | Filipino Recipes | Culinary Hijinks

Spicy Sizzling Sisig

As mentioned in my previous post, I will be introducing, one at a time, 5 utterly fatty Filipino pork dishes I have deemed as the Five Point Pork Exploding Heart Technique. The first fatty pork dish I'd like to present to you in this series is Spicy Sizzling Sisig.

Sisig is a spicy and sourish Filipino dish usually comprised of pig ears, snout, and cheeks (and sometimes brain!) that have been boiled, grilled, and fried (yes, it's cooked thrice) with spicy chilies and then served on a hot sizzling platter. In other words, it's a platter of sizzling pig's face (and sometimes brain!).

Before any of you turn your own noses up at this dish, let me say that after I've had it in the Philippines in Boracay, and after making it myself, I can certainly attest that Sisig is a damn fine and tasty dish. (Market Manila also has some great Sisig posts here, here, and here.)

Ok fine, you'll give Sisig a try, but how does one obtain a pig's face you ask? Well, if you happen to have access to a severed pig's head, you yourself can easily butcher the face off, as shown in the following Gourmet Magazine video that shows Chef Chris Cosentino butchering a pig's head to make the Italian dish, Porchetta di Testa. Warning: the following video can be disturbing if you don't like to see meat being butchered, but it's pretty awesome and informative nonetheless:

See, Filipinos aren't the only ones to eat pig's face!

Of course, many of us probably don't have access to the severed head of a little piggy, let alone are we willing enough to butcher it ourselves. So making Sisig sans snout with just pork ears and jowl is the next best thing.

If you happen to have some pork ears with hair on them, just shave them with a razor and/or burn them off with a blowtorch as was shown in the Gourmet Magazine video above. Luckily for me, the ears I purchased were already clean-shaven.

To make my Sisig, I first boiled some pork ears for a couple of hours in some water along with a couple of dried chipotle chilies and bay leaves (the chilies and bay were more for aromatic purposes as I didn't want my place smelling like boiling pig ears).

Are you listening to me?

Some Sisig recipes I've seen say to grill the ears first to get rid of any stray hairs, and then boil them. But that seemed counterintuitive to me in that the boiling would probably wash away any desired char and smokiness from the grill.

I also took one of my pork jowls and trimmed away much (a whole friggin lot) of the fat because I thought it would be a shame to waste all the delicious jowl fat to the flames of my grill. Don't fret though, there was still plenty of fat left on the jowl and I saved the trimmed fat for another use down the road (another post for another time).

Fatty Jowl

For those of you unfamiliar with pork jowl, it is used to make the Italian cured meat called Guanciale--which is basically face bacon (rather than bacon made from pork belly). Luckily I ordered two jowls, one for Sisig and one for Guanciale. As soon as the weather cools down around here, I will be curing my own homemade Guanciale with the other pork jowl I have (yet another post for another time).

I then marinated the boiled ears and the trimmed jowl (no need to boil the jowl) in some soy, vinegar, kalamansi juice, garlic, and red pepper flakes overnight. After marinating, I grilled the ears and jowl over high heat until they were nice and charred. I tasted the ears and jowl at this point, and they were so good already--especially the 'qued jowl:

Tasty Barbecued Pork Jowl. Tender meat, quivering fat.

The pork ears were no slouch either, as they seemed to take up a lot of the flavor from the marinade. Although the ears are, of course, all cartiledge, they weren't tough to chew on at all as they were rendered tender from the earlier boiling. Although I used four pork ears for my recipe, feel free to tone it down to two ears.

Soft ears

After I removed the pork from the grill, I chopped everything up into small pieces. Along with some chopped onions and some thai and serrano chilies, I sauteed the pork jowls in a hot skillet--some of the fat renders out from the jowls and ends up caramelizing the onions into sweet bits. I added the chopped ears to the pan at the last minute, then presented everything on a hot sizzling platter as Sisig should be served. Sisig, it's spicy, smoky, tangy, and utterly porky delicious.

Sizzle fer shizzle, home skillet!

And that friends, is the first dish for my Five Point Pork Exploding Heart Technique. Use it with caution. Although there are four more dishes to go, I won't reveal them all here at once because there is indeed a rather effective defense against the lethal Five Point Pork Exploding Heart Technique: Moderation.

Spicy Sizzling Sisig

Serves 4-6

2-4 pork ears, cleaned and rinsed
2 dried chipotle peppers
2 bay leaves
1/2 cup soy sauce
1/4 cup cane vinegar
1/4 cup kalamansi juice (or a mixture of lemon and lime juice)
3 garlic cloves, smashed
1 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1 pound pork jowl, trimmed of excess fat (save trimmed fat for another use)
1 onion, diced
1 thai bird chili, sliced
1 serrano chili, sliced
1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika (pimenton)

Place the pork ears, chipotle peppers, and bay leaves in a large pot and cover with water. Bring the water to a boil, then reduce heat to a simmer. Cover the pot and continue simmering for 2 hours until the ears become tender. Drain the ears and allow to cool to room temperature.

Combine the soy, vinegar, kalamansi juice, garlic, and pepper flakes to make a marinade. Place the pork ears and jowl in a large zip-top bag, or in a shallow dish, and pour the marinade over the pork. Marinate the pork overnight.

Remove the pork from the marinade then discard the marinade. Pat the ears dry with paper towels, then brush them with oil (no oil is needed for the already fatty jowl). Place the ears and the jowl on a very hot grill and cook for a total of 15-20 minutes, turning the ears and the jowl frequently. Remove pork from grill and allow to rest until they are cool enough to handle.

Chop the pork ears into small pieces and set aside. Chop the pork jowl into small pieces and set aside, making sure to keep the jowl separate from the ears.

Add the pork jowls to a large skillet over high heat and saute for 3-5 minutes. At this point, you can pour off some of the rendered fat that collects in the pan, but I left it in there. Add the onions, chilies, and paprika to the hot pan and cook until the onions soften. Add the chopped ears to the pan and mix everything to combine. Cook for 1 more minute, then place the Sisig on a pre-heated sizzling hot platter.

Provide some fresh kalamansi (or lime or lemon) on the side for spritzing onto the Sisig. Serve the Sisig with rice and an ice cold beer.

The Five Point Pork Exploding Heart Technique:

• Dish #1: Spicy Sizzling Sisig
• Dish #2: Pork Belly Adobo
• Dish #3: Paksiw na Lechon
• Dish #4: Lechon Kawali: Deep-Fried Pork Belly
• Dish #5: Longanisa

Five Point Pork Exploding Heart Technique

Some of you may have heard of the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique in which a skilled assassin can deliver five well-placed strikes to an enemy's chest. After receiving these five strikes to the chest, the enemy's heart explodes after walking five steps. As you can see, it's a pretty awesome move:

Ah, Kill Bill Vol. 2. It's a classic.

Although that crazy old Pai Mei also taught me the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique, I've since had to reconsider my use of this skill on account of the time I was forced to kill a rabid unicorn that mistakenly wandered into my living room. It was an historic occasion considering the fact that I proved both the effectiveness of the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique, and the existence of a "mythical" creature.

Sadly, no one else was around to witness this feat, and I disposed of the unicorn carcass before the wife came home (though I did save the horn as it fetched a nice price on the black market). But I digress.

Not pleased with the too-instant results of my lethal palm strikes, I sent away for a more gradual solution for coaxing hearts into explosion. So sometime last week, a much anticipated package arrived at the Burnt Lumpia Worldwide Headquarters:

What's in the box?!!

What's in the box, you ask? A sweet pair of solid gold nunchucks? A blowgun? A machete-wielding leprechaun? None of the above, actually. It's a box o' pork parts:

More specifically, it was a cooler filled with pork from all-natural, pure pastured, heritage breed Ossabaw pigs: a couple slabs of pork belly, a couple pork jowls, and some pork ears. Why did I bother sending away for such fancy-pants pork? Because commercially raised pork is gross, plain and simple. Generally speaking, commercial pigs are raised in confinement (that's putting it nicely), are shot up with hormones and antibiotics, are raised to be lean and have less fat (what good is a skinny pig?), and are pretty bland in flavor (less fat, remember?).

Whereas the pork I purchased online came from completely pasture-raised all natural pigs that roam outside like pigs should, rather than being confined to a feedlot. There are a number of fine online purveyors of pastured pork (Niman Ranch, Flying Pigs Farm, and Heritage Foods just to name a few), but after much research I ended up purchasing my pork from Caw Caw Creek in South Carolina because it was the only place I could find that sold pig ears (I'll get to the ears later, but trust me, they're good eats). I initially wanted to keep things local and purchase good pork from California, but I could only find places that sold whole pigs and half pigs--and I don't have that kind of freezer space.

And sure, you could probably find pork belly and pork ears at Asian and/or Latin markets, but good luck finding some nice pork jowl (pig cheek).

Pork Jowl: Skin Side Up

Pork Jowl: Meat and Fat Side Up

Also, because my wife and I would be the ones consuming all this pork, why not order the good stuff? After all, it's our hearts that will be exploding so I'd rather they explode via the fat of humanely raised hogs. Ah yes, it's a little old fashioned, but there's nothing like stopping a heartbeat after years of eating delicious and fatty pork.

Now armed with these weapons of porcine pieces, I could explode hearts with the best of 'em--although at a much slower pace. As such, I have developed my own deadly martial skill that I call the Five Point PORK Exploding Heart Technique. Instead of striking five vital points around the heart with my palm, I can stop the heart via five secret delicious and porky Pinoy dishes (pretty much any and all Filipino pork dishes can go on this list, but I'm going with five of my choosing).

Death by the Five Point Pork Exploding Heart Technique is much slower than death by the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique, but it's just as awesome, and a lot more tasty. And I would like to pass these secrets on to you, dear readers, as long as you promise to use these powers for good rather than evil.

These five "secret" dishes of death are as follows...

The Five Point Pork Exploding Heart Technique:

• Dish #1: Spicy Sizzling Sisig
• Dish #2: Pork Belly Adobo
  
• Dish #3: Paksiw na Lechon
• Dish #4: Lechon Kawali/Bagnet/Chicharon
• Dish #5: Longanisa

Enjoy them all, if you dare!

Baby-Back Ribs Adobo

According to my handy-dandy copy of Memories of Philippine Kitchens, the word "Adobo" refers to a condiment of oil, garlic, and marjoram in Spain.  For Mexicans (Oaxacans to be more specific), "Adobo" is a marinade of guajillo chiles, garlic, cider vinegar, thyme, bay leaves, avocado leaves, oregano, black peppercorns, and cinnamon.  For us Filipinos, "Adobo" is not a condiment or marinade, but instead the word refers to a method of cooking anything in a mixture of vinegar, salt (and/or soy), garlic, black peppercorns, and bay leaf.

Filipino Adobo, like many many other things in our culture, has a Spanish name. When the Spanish rolled into the Philippines a few hundred years ago, they saw our adobo, thought it looked a little bit like their adobo, and ultimately imposed their name onto our dish (among other things). That's hegemony for you. In addition, the use of soy sauce is of Chinese influence--the oldest forms of adobo were made with salt and no soy. And on top of that, the use of Heinz apple cider vinegar (a relatively new staple in many adobo recipes) can be attributed to the arrival of Americans to the Philippines at the start of the 20th century--although Filipinos have always had vinegars of their own.

In spite of its Spanish name, Chinese soy sauce, and American vinegar, a dish of adobo is inherently Filipino: we've been stewing meats in salt and vinegar throughout the ages.

Although Filipinos have probably been making adobo for millennium, there isn't really a standard recipe written in stone--every household has their own version.  For me, I'm most used to chicken, pork, and squid adobos, but there can also be adobos with vegetables and other types of meat.

I've attempted an adobo recipe from Memories of Philippine Kitchens before, and I wasn't too pleased with the results. That chicken adobo wasn't terrible, I just wasn't used to coconut milk in my adobo. With that said, I decided to give the "Memories" cookbook another try with another one of its adobo recipes: Baby-Back Ribs Adobo.

This recipe had no coconut milk but had plenty of vinegar, garlic, black pepper, and the unusual addition of jalepeno peppers. This version of adobo was tangy, piquant, and just a bit spicy. It was perfect.

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.

Stuffin' Ain't Easy

You might not believe this, but every year for the past few years I’ve brined and roasted a turkey right around the time Thanksgiving rolls around. Sometimes a week before. Sometimes a couple weeks after. But I’ve never made turkey on Thanksgiving Day.

Why not?

Well, two reasons really: my Mother-in-law and my Grandmother. Every other T-day, my wife and I are either at her parents’ house to celebrate, or at my grandparents’ house to celebrate (this year we will be at my grandparents—more on that in the next post to come). So because my wife and I alternate between our respective families every year, there really isn’t much reason for me to cook a turkey since my mother-in-law and grandmother do such a good job with it.

So why do I cook a turkey at all?

Well, another two reasons: It makes me feel alls growed up, and it’s good practice for the one day where my wife and I may have to host Thanksgiving. Now, I’ve made one of these pre/post-Thanksgiving turkeys once before for my family, and that didn’t turn out too well. So I’ve stuck to just making a small turkey for only me and my wife. Not because my turkey isn’t good enough for others to enjoy, but because my family is a heartless and impatient bunch. Hmmph!

Anyways, every year my wife and I get to feast on two different turkeys (the turkey I make and the turkey made by the designated maternal figure for that year) within the span of a few days. That’s a lot of turkey! And even though I get the smallest gobbler I can find (10-12 lbs.), there are still a lot of leftovers for just me and my wife.

With the annual surplus of turkey looming, I was almost gonna take this year off and rest from my self-imposed turkey trials because I’m just burned out. But then I started getting different ideas to make this year’s non-Thanksgiving meal a bit different. Ideas like mashed Ube and gravy (gross!), or Adobo Turkey (tempting, but that’s a lot of soy and vinegar!).

Then, while making my Mango and Pan de Sal Bread Pudding, the dried-out cubes of Pan de Sal caused the flickering lightbulb thingy above my head to go off again: Pan de Sal and Longanisa Stuffing!

A Trio of Sinigang

What little knowledge I have about Filipino American history dwarfs what I know about the history  of the Philippines.  Being born and raised in Southern California, and spending my entire scholastic career in the public schooling system doesn't exactly lend itself to learning about the historical accounts of a foreign nation--even if that foreign nation is where my ancestors are from.  I barely even know anything about American history.  I mean, the state of California is like, being ruled by the Terminator right now.  I'm serious, I just Googled it.

Anyhoo, because of this blatant and embarrassing lack of knowledge, I was especially pleased when I found out the theme for the latest go-around for Lasang Pinoy: Cooking for Heroes. For this latest installment of Lasang Pinoy, we were to choose a Philippine National Hero and then answer the age-old question that if this historical figure were invited over for dinner, what would you serve them?

For this Lasang Pinoy event, I decided I would choose a Filipino historical figure that I knew very little about.  Actually, I chose three historical figures: Fathers Mariano Gomez, Jose Apolonio Burgos, and Jacinto Zamora.  These three Filipino priests are better known under the acronym of GOMBURZA (Gomez, Burgos, Zamora) and fought for reform against the Spanish government.

GOMBURZA spearheaded a secularization movement to entrust Filipino parishes to the local Filipino clergy rather than being ruled by the corrupt Spanish friars.  Of course, the three priests were seen as hostile to the Spanish government and were eventually implicated in the Cavite Mutiny and were all executed on February 17, 1872.  The martyred priests became one of the calls to action among Filipinos to resist the Spanish and fight for Filipino independence.

For Fathers Gomez, Burgos, and Zamora, I decided to cook Sinigang--a Filipino sour soup somewhat similar to the Thai Tom Yum Soup or the Chinese Hot and Sour Soup. Except instead of using lemongrass and lime (tom yum) or vinegar (hot and sour soup) as the souring agent, Sinigang utilizes tamarind for its source of sour.  And since there were three priests, I decided to make three versions of Sinigang using three different sources of tamarind.

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.

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).

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.]