Hemingway In My Mind

My cousin and I were sitting on the porch of my grandmother’s back yard one August morning where Mang Imo, a carpenter/lechonero (pig roaster) from the neighborhood would start his ritual of preparing a live pig and roasting it for my grandmother’s yearly birthday bash. She would raise 2 baby piglets-- one, a year younger than the other and have the older one walk the plank in time for her birthday feast. As I remember, in the process of watching Mang Imo roast the pig, I proceeded to the second floor kitchen where my grandmother, Lola Elena, who was married to a Kapampangan, was doing preparations for her feast. On the kitchen table were the tools of her trade...a round stone grinder where she would pour some toasted rice for her kare-kare recipe and a metal meat grinder with a manual hand-crank attachment for her chicken gallantina and morcon fillings. Behind her work table was a glass cabinet where she stored her glass jars filled with pickled mangoes and santols which she had made months ago as supplements for her feast. On the first floor kitchen, my Aunt Nini would prepare her specialties... fresh lumpias and molo soup. As I remember, every year on her birthday was a sumptuous feast.

It was ten years later, in high school where I read about Hemingway as he described some mouth-watering meals in cafes, bistros and dark taverns while waiting for the bulls to run loose in Pamplona in his merrier days in Spain. I also read of his adventures in Cuba and the Key West where he would venture out to sea with friends on his boat, fishing for marlin. At the end of the day, they would line up the marlin tails on the beachfront posts in front of the yacht club as trophies, and to see who had the biggest catch. It was at that period in time where he had written that classic novel "The Old Man and the Sea". It was the Hemingway experience I dreamed of growing up.

A few years after taking a course in Fine Arts at the University of Santo Tomas, I was equipped with a plaque for having won the 1972 Annual Art Competition, and with some experience as production crackerjack/graphic artist for the family's printing business, I decided to live my dream and head out to distant lands. With tourist passports and some money in my pocket, my wife and I and our 4 year old son, boarded a flight to Hong Kong that would then take us to Bangkok, New Delhi, Bombay, Rome, Spain, England and on to our final destination, New York. Back in the martial law days of the Marcos regime, a family would find it hard to leave the country but with my father-in-law's connection, who was an ambassador, getting the necessary travel papers were easy.

At last, a dream realized when we reached Spain! We landed in Madrid where we decided to spend the night at Hotel Ingles in Old Madrid, where our beloved hero, Dr. Jose Rizal stayed when he wrote the novels El Filibusterismo and Noli Me Tangere. It was situated near the El Corte Ingles in one of the tight dim-lit streets of the old part of the city. The hotel was right next to a deli-tavern and just after arriving, I set forth to experience my first glass of Rioja wine and some tapas. The next day we met my sister-in-law along with her husband and took us to my first Castillian paella (as explained to me, there are varied versions according to the different provinces in Spain). The next day we travelled up north to a town called Segovia, a good hour drive past a castle patterned by the Disney Land logo. We arrived in Segovia and headed to the main square right next to the Roman aqueduct where there is this rustic place... an old restaurant named Meson de Candido. Upon entering, I see different coats of armor hanging on the walls which was later explained to me as culinary awards given by the royal family to the restaurant, whose chefs were master asadors of Candido before the nineteenth century. There I met the second generation master asador, whose father and fathers before him were chefs to the royal family of Spain. The specialty was cuchinilla, a tender suckling baby pig so tender that servers would slice the roasted piglet with a saucer instead of a knife. I then learned that roasting was the specialty of the Castillian province of Spain where Segovia, including the city of Madrid are situated. As we left Spain headed for Rome, I promised that I would come back to this place to find out and discover the roots of where I used to watch the feast prepared by my grandmother on her birthdays.

Circumstances have changed when we were starting out in Chicago. I was lucky enough to land in a publishing firm but had to lie low until we legalize our immigration papers. For about five years I found myself living and working in one place, surviving on deli food wondering how on earth will I ever get to experience the Hemingway I dreamed of... traveling and dining al fresco, fishing or even writing a book for that matter. Right next door to where I worked was this bistro type restaurant owned by a Vietnamese who used to work as a chef at the Hilton named Tutu. An eccentric guy with a temper but a master in French cooking who later found himself without a hired hand. Being an Asian, I easily bonded with him and as I became comfortable, I expressed my desire to learn his cooking techniques by working as his assistant with minimal pay, but on a temporary basis for four hours a day during dinner time which he agreed. This was the place where I fist learned of my culinary skills. Cooking the meat was a no-brainer... the sauces and a bit of presentation was what made the meal. He taught me every sauce you could imagine... beurre blanc, Marsala, roux, veloute, bechamel, hollandaise, bernaise, tomato base, creole, honey mustard and vinaigrette...etc. He started me in meat preparation and processing, butterflying chicken breasts to filleting fish... to meat choices and marinades for tenderizing meat. This lasted a year after which I felt I learned enough and had the need to resign and start a catering service to supplement my income. A month after I left, he closed shop and went back to work for another hotel.

Then in 1984, the U.S. Department of Justice announced that they were allowing overstaying aliens to apply for temporary residency which I quickly took advantage and got my temporary green card in a matter of a few months. In my ten years of service at the publishing company, I became good friends with publishers and editors of the food magazines we were publishing and became sort of a celebrity because of the catering service that I have done for them and their acquaintances. We would meet up at different friends’ homes and have our Saturday cooking club and on weekdays we would dine out to a featured restaurant and try out their prie-fix meals either in Chicago or out of town for a convention (we would invite clients for us to avail of our company American Express Card and binge on good food and wine). I’ve met some great chefs... Michael Foley of Printer’s Row, Jean Banchard of Le Bouchon, Wolf Gang Puck of Spago, Charlie Trotter’s, Rick Bayless of Frontera Grill, Emilio’s...and many others. This experience had taught me a lot in the food business industry.

My legal stay as a temporary resident status prevented me from traveling out of the country until I got my permanent resident status as required by the justice department. My taste buds were itching to go back to Spain and sample the gastronomic delights which I missed on my first visit to Spain. So I opted for the second best by traveling around the country like Florida and the Key West and other protectorate islands in the Carribean (St. John, St. Croix and Puerto Rico). Old San Juan, the capital of Puerto Rico reminded me of Intramuros or Vigan except that it was a lot more touristy. Restaurants and shops filled the ground floor of the old historical buildings that lined up the narrow brick roads of the old section of San Juan. Like Spain and Italy, all roads in the city lead to a square and every square had a church. My ex-wife back then was married to the manager of the Hyatt at the Grand Central Station in New York so I was able to get complementary rooms at every Hyatt Hotels of places I would visit. On my trips to Puerto Rico, I had the opportunity to stay at the Hyatt in Dorado and at Cerramar but even with the complementary stay, I still could not afford the meals in those restaurants. Like the Philippines, Puerto Rico is blessed with roadside eateries adorned with tents and the meals were affordable and just as homely as in Manila. They have adobo, afritada, menudo, callos, arroz Valenciana... and everything came with a side order of fried plantains. I toured the rum factory where I became addicted to pinacoladas. Miami was another place with a latin flair where the downtown area near South Beach is lined up with Cuban restaurants serving Hispanic dishes. What stuck most to my palate was their use of beans and tomatoes. Creole cooking is a mixture of Spanish and African influences that were brought in by the Spaniards and African slaves before the 19th century... thus the Cuban style of cooking.

1987 was my year-- I got my permanent residency status and with some money saved up I was able to go to Europe and experience France, Italy, Portugal and Spain! With a new passport and visas to travel out of the United States, I was ready to see the world. I decided to go back and rediscover the realm of Spanish gastronomy. With some friends and relatives, we headed north to Portugal, rented a 12 seater van and headed south to the coastal towns of the Algarve for an overnight stay and spent a day at the beach then proceeded to cross the bridge at the border reaching Ayamonte, Spain for a rest stop. We surrendered the van in Seville where we stayed for a few days at Casa de Juderias in the old Jewish area of town. It was at this place where I had my first gastronomic experience eating “cocillas” , clams as small as fingernails simmered in white wine and butter; “boquerones”, fillets of raw sardines wrapped around slices of roasted bell pepper; “bacalao”, creole stlye fillets of cod; “gambas ala plancha”, grilled prawns; “chipirones”, small round squids sauteed and placed on a bed of carmelized onions; “pinchos solomillo”, small steak fillets marinated with sherry and grilled; “patatas ala Russo”, garlic potato salad...all these with just slices of bread dipped in their natural sauces laced with garlic.

After a couple of days we headed for the train station to go to Barcelona for another food experience. At the pier are rows of fast-food grill stands with a common area for dining. You could smell the aroma of grilled shrimp, snails, calamares and other tapas and of course the famous Barcelona style paella which are a bit soggy like the Italian risotto. I would later come back to this place and would be mezmerized by the knowledge that Pablo Picasso, Miro and Gaudi were at the very same bars, cafes and bistros where they hung out in their gilded age. One particular place is Quattro Gats where Picasso frequented near the Ramblas, where outdoor cafes lined up on a wide street island and poets, artisans, pimps and politicians would drink pitchers of Sangria, a concoction of wine, brandy and soda water topped with slices of fruits. I would often stay in a hotel named Hotel Gaudi situated just off Las Ramblas across Placa de Guell, a building whose rooftop was designed by Gaudi himself and I would request for a room with a balcony that sits right across that rooftop and spend the rest of the day, appreciating his work. In the late afternoons and evenings I would walk a block down to the Ramblas and position myself in one of the outdoor cafes to chug on pitchers of Sangria and people-watch before ordering dinner. At times I would meet some friendlies and chat with them for hours before heading out to the nearest tapas bar to fill up my hungry stomach. There is this restaurant called Los Caracolles, where, after having a sumptuous paella and a platter of shrimps I headed to the bar for an after dinner sherry. There sat this person who introduced himself as Don Bofarull, the owner who asked my ethnicity which I answered Filipino. He said that he visits the country every so often. He married a Filipina, has 3 daughters working at the restaurant, good friend of Emilio whom I have an acquaintance with and Don Alba of Patio Alba (in Manila). After befriending him he later warned me to stay away from his daughters.

Going back to my Spanish trip, we then headed down to Valencia in a small town called Gandia where at the foot of a mountain we had experienced the ultimate paella, cooked over burning wood with chicken and rabbit and topped with langustinos with lobster-like claws. The Valenciana style comprises mostly of meat topped with shrimp and the rice underneath is toasted. You are given a wooden spatula for scraping up the toasted bottom rice which to me was a treat. Another jewel I found in Gandia is this seafood restaurant called Kayuko where they serve bountiful seafood... crabs, langustinos, shrimp, clams, snails, lobsters on a huge platter and black rice called “paella en su tinta” (squid ink) to go with the platter. Gandia is a small scale version of Roxas Boule-vard where you could walk the whole stretch in about an hours time. North was where we were staying, a terrace type condo unit owned by my sister-in-law and her hubby where half of the floor area is the terrace overlooking the beach. The view at the back are mountain ranges that extended all the way to Valencia. Going south on the boulevard are condos and hotel buildings with shops and restaurants lining up the entire stretch of the boulevard. To the right is the beach with 50 yards of sand before reaching water. At the end is the pier where fishermen would bring in their catch of the day to sell to the market. We would walk there and buy fish where I prepare dinner either to cook sardines, bacalao or plain fried hasa hasa cooked in olive oil accompanied by a bed of fresh Spanish salad laiden with asparagus and few bottles of Rioja wine.

On our final day in Gandia, we gased up the van to go back to Madrid but before reaching, my sister-in- law wanted us to experience a Parador-- a castle converted to an inn where we can make a stop-over and have merienda. We reached the province called La Mancha based on the Don Quixote play and upon reaching the area named Cuenca, we climbed up to a hill ovelooking the Parador de Alarcon. Before reaching the castle wall was the town proper and separating it is a moat which reminded me of Ivan Hoe when in my youth, I used to be an avid comic reader. Upon entering the castle you see a square where atop the walls are walkway planks to access around and protect the inner castle. As you enter the main building you get into the restaurant lobby area, where rows of shining armors built from head to toe stood guard. After taking a tour and some merienda of chorizzo omelet sandwich and cafe con leche, the traditional coffee of Spain composed of half African and half Colombian blend and a generous serving of milk, we headed back to Madrid. During my other trips to Spain I experienced the food from the northern part, Galicia and the Basque region—San Sebastian and Bilbao, which were also the highlights of my trips to Spain.

In my other overseas adventures, I read up on Arthur Frommer’s Almanac as I learned that you’ll save a lot of money by carefully preparing and scheduling your trip especially in highly concentrated tourist-trapped areas like Italy (Rome, Florence, Venice, & Milan), England and France. It helps you pick the right hotels and restaurants for your budget so you can extend your length of stay in those places. I also discovered, especially in Italy, that the best places to eat with a budget are at the train stations, a lot better than the $20-30 tourist meals you come across on the main streets.

I came back to the Philippines in 2001 to find respit after so many years in the publishing arena or as we say in the business, “the salt mine”. A few months later, after urging me to buy his boat, I caved in to my friend's urgent request. Soon I found myself drinking beer with friends and fishing on Lake Caliraya for bass and having banana-wrapped lunches called “binalot” in one of my friends' island paradise. We called it paradise although the island was just a clump of mud with a tree next to the nipa hut in the middle of Lake Lumot, a few kilometers past Lake Caliraya. I was finally realizing my dream of imitating Hemingway's lifestyle...and a cheap imitation it was! But still I felt that something was missing-- I have yet to write my experiences and express all my culinary adventures--by sharing it! Its about my food experiences not only from Spain but from the many gastronomic places at home and abroad. I've made experiments in my recipes most of which are infused with some ethnic inluences, a few add-ons here and there to satisfy my own palate and for readers to enjoy.

In summing up, more often my experiences were ephemeral and couldn’t find the real Hemingway that I have dreamt of all those years. I would save up for a whole year just to enjoy a week of pleasure. It was like trying to live in Manhattan on a five-figure salary. Working for a publishing firm and a condo to maintain, I had little chance of realizing that particular dream. But after reading a line from him that goes..."Life is all about contentment", I soon realized that I found my Hemingway in my own simple way!