You say adobo, I say pile it on

The day(s) during/around the full moon are a lousy time to visit the fish market (lousiest: the monsoon season). Unless you’re in the mood for bangus (milkfish), shrimp, or crab, or willing to pay through the nose for that rare fresh fish, you might as well head straight for the meat section.

But wait — let’s take another gander at that milkfish, shall we? It is by far the most affordable of the lot. For a first-class fish, it is practically cheap. And versatile. You can have it fried, grilled, smoked, soaked in vinegar (kinilaw), stuffed (relleno), pressure-cooked or poached in oil or tomato sauce (like sardines), in a sour broth (sinigang), or cooked adobo-style — and those are just the ones I’ve tried.

Not that we care that much for variety. In our household, milkfish is invariably deep-fried. I once made sinigang with it and that was okay, just not memorable enough for anyone to request it again. Relleno? I have yet to come across decent rellenong bangus to justify the trouble of making it myself. And did I mention you can’t get deboned milkfish at the local market?

As for adobo, there’s this version that Ma’s friend makes. Or rather, she insists on calling it adobo when what it is, plain as day, is what we call Spanish-style — with olive oil, dried bay leaves, black peppercorns, and perhaps some tomato sauce. I have half a mind to point this out to her, except 1) she’s very nice, and gives us enough of the stuff to last several lunar cycles; and, 2) it’s really good.

So good, in fact, at times I don’t bother with pedantry. “Pass me the adobo, will you?” This brings to mind a good-natured argument I have going with my friend A. It has to do with escabeche, to which he adds… egg. “But there is no egg in escabeche!” I remonstrate. “Well,” he’d counter, “there is in mine.” What’s the big deal? To start with, I have yet to taste his version — if it exists at all. I’m beginning to suspect he just wants to raise my hackles by playing the contrarian; it’s what he does best.

Ma’s friend’s so-called adobo is on the dry side, with a lot less oil than I am accustomed to. A hint of sourness had me thinking vinegar — it is supposed to be adobo, right? — but Ma insisted it had none. I was not so far off, as it turned out: it was pickle relish. The bangus was sliced into two-inch thick sections, the better to keep them intact after three hours of slow cooking.

Now I’m not calling anyone a liar here, but I don’t buy that part of the story. I have poached milkfish for three hours and it was nowhere near that tender (I am specifically referring to the bones). Using a pressure cooker simply makes more sense. And that’s what I did.

I won’t bother you with the recipe. Suffice it to say I will not be giving Century or Montaño a run for their money anytime soon. Apart from the usual issues of taste (timpla) and the bones not being soft/brittle enough to eat (easily addressed by doubling the cooking time), I found myself fussing over a detail that would not have merited the attention of the more sensible home cook.

The main thing I noticed was that my fish were pale, whereas those in the “control group” were dark. Were they fried before they went into the pressure cooker? Or were they, indeed, slow-cooked as claimed? I was not ready to concede the point so the second time around, I flash-fried the slices (I brined them first, by the way).

A tip: Before you poach or pressure-cook in oil (without added water), give fish enough time to absorb the salt. Salt does not dissolve in oil and will otherwise cling to the fish like mildew. It’s not an appetizing sight (though it does not affect safety or flavor). That’s why I prefer a wet brine, followed by a quick rinse to wash away most surface salt.

Anyway, the flash-fried fish looked much better, if not exactly in the sought-after shade of brown. I kept telling myself they would probably turn darker the more they steeped in the oil. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I should just ask Ma’s friend how she got her milkfish to look that way. Like I said, she’s a very nice lady.

But here’s the rub: I’m too macho for that. Laugh all you want, but it’s true. I don’t haggle, or ask for directions, or watch sentimental movies unless alone in my room (I cry easily, see), or ask how to properly cook bangus fucking sardines. Even if it takes me until the next blue moon, I will find a way to give my fish that elusive color. In the meantime, our household is all bangus’d out from my experiments and I figure I better not squander their goodwill. It’s only a week until the next full moon — then the madness can begin again.

On the morning of October 8, 2014, a total lunar eclipse will be visible across most of North America.