This is about as simple as it gets: chopped carrots, squash, chayote and cabbage sautéed to a soft crunch with garlic, onions, tomatoes, bell pepper, bits of pork (or some other meat), hibe (dried shrimp), and soy sauce. Not one vegetable gets to upstage the others, volume- or flavor-wise. If this were a movie, you would say that all the major stars got equal billing, and since the egalitarian approach worked in its favor, that it deserved an award for Best Ensemble.
The dish goes by the name sari-sari, which translates in English as “assorted (adjective) — consisting of various kinds mixed together,” but here the adjective functions as a noun. An adjectival noun, to be exact. Fancy that; I actually learned something new today. In the same way that buwad is dried [fish], sari-sari is [sautéed] assorted [vegetables]. It’s okay to refer to it as “sari-saring utan/gulay,” but why bother?
Let’s see: I have given myself 30 minutes to write this post, which is roughly the same time it takes to prepare and cook sari-sari, taking into account my poor knife skills. Twenty of those I’ve frittered away figuring out what sounded so hinky about sari-sari as a name — and having done so, ruminating on how common adjectival nouns are in Pilipino, e.g., “Gusto ko mokaon ug tam-is (I want to eat [something] sweet).” or “Tingnan mo yung matanda (Look at that old [person]).” Sneaky, those adjectives. Note to self: Never trust the bastards.
Which leaves me with just enough time to tell you that: 1) sari-sari tastes so good, I can eat a whole bowl of it (and did, for lunch); 2) it’s very easy to make but involves lots of chopping (which I leave to the cook, anyway); and 3) you should never, unless you trust the purveyor, buy pre-chopped sari-sari mix; I don’t know about you, but mine eyes have seen what they make that stuff with, and here I invoke the bona fide adjectives overripe, wilted, and near-rotten. Don’t believe me? Go ahead, make my day.
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