Extra extra

My mother isn’t much of a rice eater, but when meals include anything with tunô/gata (coconut cream) the help knows to cook more rice than the usual or there’ll be hell to pay. There’s little certainty in the world, but then there’s this: it’s impossible to eat tinunuan without rice. It is known.

I also know to call Eva. “I love your tinunuan,” she says. “You never skimp on tunô.” Indeed, there’s nothing more dismaying than watery tinunuan. A coconut can go from ₱10 to ₱15, depending on size, and you can’t hope to make decent tinunuan with just one. Canned cream is probably cheaper if you think about it, although I don’t know anyone who uses that stuff. Not personally, anyway; I once got a good look at the pantry of Blue Elephant’s IT Park branch and was disappointed to see boxfuls of it.

See, tunô can make or break a dish. Whatever (or however fine) the other ingredients, if a dish does not have enough coconut cream, that will be the first (likely the only) thing people will notice. Use just the right amount, on the other hand, and it becomes all about how rich it is. You could say it’s a scene-stealer. In any case, there is no such thing as too much tunô, as long as you don’t overcook it to the point of splitting, in which case you get lana (coconut oil) — a big no-no in tinunuan.

That leaves my parents to look for faults elsewhere. In this instance, it was with the anínikád (plicate conch). “They’re so tiny!” they chorused, echoing my complaint at the market earlier that morning. I’ve featured these snails before, back when a Caltex cost ₱20. Now it’s ₱25 — a 25% increase! Still, people were lining up for them, if only because they were the only seafood to be found in the market, hostage as we are to the cycles of the moon. My suki had a huge grin plastered on her face. She should have been ashamed of herself.

If you have no idea how to eat snail, it’s simple: take a safety pin and stick the needle into the fleshy part peeking out of the shell, drawing it out. If no snail is visible, don’t bother to check if there’s any inside the shell (y’know, just in case) — it’s been dead even before cooking and will likely make you very sick. That’s how come my friend Jenny has sworn off oysters. But only oysters. When she saw the leftover from lunch, she promptly declared she was taking it on our outing.

“Don’t bother,” Ma had said. “Those snails are a hassle.” Huh? I peeked into the rice cooker. There, at the bottom, clung the few remaining fluffy grains that had escaped our attention. I really should tell the help to make more.

Anínikád in Coconut Cream

As with any shellfish, clean (brush) snails thoroughly. The grated coconut goes through two pressings: first for the pure extract, the second with water. You will need at least two medium-size coconuts to get the amount called for here. For the vegetable component, you can use malunggay (horseradish tree), bago (Spanish joint fir), or ganás (sweet potato tops).

• 4 cups anínikád (plicate conch), cleaned
• 1½ cups pure coconut cream (first pressing)
• 2 cups thin coconut cream (second pressing)


• knob of ginger, sliced
• 1 medium red onion, coarsely chopped
• 1 clove garlic, sliced thinly
• 1 ripe tomato, quartered
• 2 finger chilies, whole
• spring onion, cut into 2″ pieces, stems and leaves separated
• bunch of malunggay, leaves separated from stems


• 1 tablespoon fish sauce
• salt and pepper, to taste

1. Sauté ginger in a bit of oil until slightly toasted. Add red onion together with spring onion stems and stir around until just wilted, then add garlic, tomato, finger chilies, and fish sauce. Sauté for a minute more.
2. Add thin coconut cream (from second pressing) together with sea snails. Cover pot, reduce heat to medium, and simmer for 15 minutes, then add spring onion greens and pure coconut cream (from first pressing). Simmer for another 5 minutes, season to taste, and serve.