Jackfruit, vegetable

I like jackfruit better as vegetable than as fruit. When fully ripe, the fruit exudes an intoxicating aroma (bordering on pungent, really) that is unmistakable from a mile away, inviting you to dig into its succulent flesh. The flavor is no less singular, and by that I mean that jackfruit tastes like… jackfruit. What — you have never paused to consider what jackfruit tastes like? Same here. Some describe it as a mix of pineapple and banana (sometimes “with a hint of mango”), or as “fruit cocktail-like.” The latter feels apt — fruit cocktail gives me a bum stomach as well.

Unripe jackfruit, on the other hand, has no odor or flavor. That’s the kind we treat as a vegetable, and what it has instead is the amazing ability to take on any flavor you impart to it. With some imagination, you can even convince yourself that you are eating chicken (if more from the texture; vegetarians use it as a meat substitute). Obviously I have no problem with unripe jackfruit, save for that one time when I purchased guwang (mature) instead of dabong (young). It was a bitch fishing the inedible shells (from the seeds) out of my mouth. So forget mature unripe jackfruit — it is not worth the hassle.

Jackfruit is the largest tree-borne fruit. Unless you’re feeding an army, it does not make sense to buy the whole fruit. Pre-cut unripe jackfruit sells for about ten pesos a bag that is good for one meal (it is usually served as a side dish). Cut jackfruit discolors and dries out quickly so you should not buy more than what you need for that day. (I’ve heard of frozen/canned jackfruit but have never seen it thus. Here, vendors usually run out of supply by mid-morning.) Boil until half-cooked soon as you get home.

A week ago the help returned from the market with exciting news. The coconut vendor now has a presser! “Great,” I said. “Then I don’t need you anymore. Go pack.” Actually, I would rather the price of coconut went down, then there would be no excuse for anyone to serve watery tinunuan/ginataan. As it happens, jackfruit is the vegetable I associate chiefly with coconut milk; I can’t even remember the last time I had it plain, although that would be preferable (not to mention more honest) than scrimping on coconut cream. Isn’t jackfruit cheap enough? Get that extra coconut, for crying out loud.

A fascinating aspect of coconut cream is that it reduces the spiciness  of sili (chili). My mother makes this dry version of tinunuang nangka that sounds spicier than it really is. Pressed for the recipe, all she says is, “Use lots of chili.” She’s not referring to espada or finger chilies, but to the incendiary kulikot (bird’s-eye). It’s rare that she endorses hot pepper, even if her father’s family traces its roots back to Bicol. Just for this one particular dish, as far as I can tell. Indeed it reminds me of laing, with the jackfruit subbing in for gabi (taro).

Heat two tablespoons of oil in a pan. Throw in some roughly chopped shrimps (optional, but more is better if using). As soon as they turn opaque, remove shrimps from pan and replace with sliced red onions (two large). Sauté until translucent, then add three cloves’ worth of sliced garlic and lots of crushed/chopped bird’s-eye chilies (and take care to avoid the fumes from the frying chilies!). When garlic pieces start to brown, pour in a cup of second-pressed coconut milk and let boil until reduced by half, then season with salt and pepper.

Take your pre-boiled jackfruit and mix it in (but not so roughly as to “break” the fleshy pods). Wait until most of the liquid has dried out before adding the first pressing (half a cup) of coconut cream. Turn heat down to low to avoid curdling, return shrimps to the pan, and simmer for about three minutes (check for taste at this point, as it will likely need more salt). This dish can be served hot or at room temperature, or you can store it, refrigerated, for up to three days.

A caveat: “Lots” is relative. I put in four bird’s-eye chilies figuring that would be hot enough. And in any other dish it would have been plenty hot. Not here. My mother was right. So use as much chili as you dare — and then add more. If you can’t take my mother’s word for it, at least try to appeal to your sense of adventure.