Tinowa: A primer

One advantage of country living is that when city slickers come to visit, you don’t need to serve them fancy food. You are not expected to. They want rustic, man. They have come to commune with nature, to get away from “it all.” As long as there’s mobile coverage or an Internet connection, they’re happy campers.

So why torture yourself, right? For a trip to the beach, it’s pork belly and jumbo shrimps served hot off the grill with spicy native vinegar and generous helpings of puso (hanging rice). For dessert, the sweet sticky rice delicacy, budbud. For fortification, tuba (coconut toddy). And for much, much later in the day, when our dog-tired frolickers sit down for dinner, steaming bowls of tinowa, redolent of lemongrass and made from the freshest yellowfin tuna. The out-of-towners venture a tentative sip, then set upon the soup with gusto. They sing its praises and compliment the cook. The host(ess) is relieved. Everybody’s happy — except for the fish, poor thing, dead as it is. But such is life.

For a simple soup, tinowa is quite demanding. It is all about freshness. That is why it is de rigeur to serve this soup to visiting urbanites. Fresh fish — especially large, firm-fleshed ones like tuna — impart a delicate sweetness to the clear, herbed-up broth. It never fails to amaze people how something so simple can taste so heavenly.

Tinowa is so easy to make that, given the requisite ingredients, coming up with something less than a perfect soup is nothing short of a crime. Take a waterlogged tinowa. Or one that’s cloudy, as if the fish were still alive and roiling around in the sediment at the bottom of the pot. Or the vilest of all, which reeks and tastes of langsa — that is, fishy. Even a minor quibble like overcooked greens is still enough to ruin the soup.

Go ahead and call me a tinowa Nazi. Fact is, it’s not like there’s nothing you can do to prevent such disasters. While there’s no cure for crappy tinowa, there are a few easy steps you can take to make sure your soup avoids that fate.

1. Use fresh, properly cleaned fish. This you already know, as well as the best kind of fish to use (or simply ask your suki fishmonger). Rinse sliced fish under running water to remove as much blood and gunk as possible. Do not salt. This is the initial step in ensuring a clear broth.
2. Go easy on the water. The more water you put in, the more it will dilute the delicate flavor of the fish. Use half a cup for every slice of fish. Less water = more flavor.
3. Skim the scum! Wait until the water comes to a vigorous boil before adding the fish slices. Scum will soon rise to the stop; skim as much of it as you can while the water gently simmers. This is your only chance to make sure that the broth stays clear, so do not take your time. Once the water boils anew, add quartered and deseeded tomatoes and bell pepper, spring onion cut in two-inch lengths, and pounded lemongrass bulb, then salt (adjust to taste). Let simmer for another minute before adding the greens.
4. Greens go last. Malunggay (moringa), bago (Spanish joint fir), or sili (pepper) leaves: take your pick. I’m partial to the last two; malunggay is great but its leaves are a bitch to pick off the stem. You can also use cabbage in a pinch. Whatever greens you decide on (but you only get to choose one — this is not a stew, after all), they must go into the pot last. Let simmer for a minute, remove the lemongrass, and turn off the heat. Now all you need is…
5. A sour note. Add the juice of one or two kalamansi (Philippine lime) to give the broth a refreshing citrusy hint. Just don’t overdo it or your soup will become sinigang instead. Serve hot in individual bowls.
6. To MSG or not to MSG… This is completely up to you. Some people are opposed to monosodium glutamate on principle. I know one or two who are allergic to it. The more pertinent question, however, is: Does it make a difference? I have tried cooking tinowa without MSG and my folks always noticed the absence. I have to admit MSG does ratchet the flavor up a notch (though I’m not asking you to take my word for it). So I use it, but in moderation (and with prior disclosure, just in case): an eighth of a teaspoon regardless of the quantity of water involved.

So there you have it: the perfect tinowa. Oh, I’m not going to lie, tell you that I figured that out all by myself. The truth is, I was once guilty of botching this soup in the ways mentioned above until my friend Eva set me right. Take her tips to heart; if your soup turns out perfect (as I am sure it will), thank her, not me. I’m just the messenger.