I come to cook

Halfway to our destination, a teary-eyed Eva declared that she was turning back. “Go ahead,” she said. “My feet can’t take it anymore. I’ll wait for you by the river.”

I couldn’t blame her. We had traversed the rock-strewn floodplain of the Subangdaku River, only to be told at the crossing that the makeshift bridge had been swept away, so we gingerly waded across to the other side — and by that I don’t mean the opposite bank, because it was still another fluvial crossing away. Once there, we took a steeper route up the hillside as the old trail was now under a rubble of rock and sand from a recent landslide. If it were not for a local guide, we wouldn’t have known which way to go: the path was anywhere he said it was, which is to say there was none. That was when Eva had called it quits. Honestly, I wanted to join her, but then who’d have been left to cook lunch?

My mother accuses me of leaving too much to chance. Yes, it was the full moon and the only fish we found at the Sogod market was swordfish. Speaking of the market, it’s a mess, with neither rhyme nor reason to its layout. We asked several stallholders where to find lemongrass and all they could muster in response was “Over there — maybe.” Hello? Their town lies at the very armpit of Sogod Bay, I figured the easiest thing to find would be the basics for tinowa. My guess is that their lady mayor does not do her own marketing.

Anyway and so, there we finally were, out in the forest, and I won’t lie: the waterfall was not the grandest I had seen — just cool, clear, clean water spilling 20 feet from a gorge into a shallow basin in an area remote enough for the formation to be untouched by either cement or graffiti. In short, a worthwhile trade-off for the effort to get there. I snapped some obligatory shots before setting up a work area among the rocks (it was almost two in the afternoon and we were famished). Out came pot, pan, portable cooker, stirrer, knives, chopping board, and various ingredients — or what my best friend calls a major production. I should loan him my copy of Fitzcarraldo.

I love to cook outdoors. As kids, we caught buród (throat-spine gudgeon) from the river out back and boiled them, often with gumamela (hibiscus) to mimic the texture of oil. It was wrong, of course, not least for playing with fire. These days I grab most every opportunity to cook on the spot during trips. The tacit agreement is that I’m in charge of meals while my friends do whatever else needs doing (drive, lug, and fetch, mostly). It no longer fazes them when I announce I’m making pizza (in a remote island with no electricity or running water), or churros (in a subterranean cave). My only beef is that wood-fire is hard to control (never mind start) and leaves soot on my pots and pans that’s a bitch to clean. I could use cast-iron cookware, but then I’d have to contend with their weight, not to mention taxing my friends’ goodwill. A gas burner is lighter and kinder (long as you remember to refill, that is).

We began our meal with fish soup. Was about to, anyway; then I spied the ganás (sweet potato tops), the vegetable component of the dish, forgotten in a corner, so I had to fire up the Gasulito anew. That did not sit well with the swordfish. The soup itself was fine, but the fish had turned tough and rubbery; I forgot that swordfish doesn’t take kindly to extended cooking. Same in the caldeirada (also, I forgot to bring clarified butter and potato). If only looks could feed.

The kinilaw  fared better. Incidentally, it was the only dish I didn’t prepare. Food-wise, the trip was a dud. Weather-wise, too: we had just begun to eat when rain began to fall, gradually at first, then it really poured. We had not considered bringing anything by way of cover so we deposited phones and other valuables into one of the styrofoam boxes (into the other went oils, spices, and condiments).

Needless to say, we were all drenched (none of us had even gone near the falls yet!) and had to cut lunch short. Worse, our guide warned that if the downpour didn’t stop soon we should think of heading back because, well, the river. The rain did stop, although not until we were literally out of the woods. Loading our sodden load into the car, someone found some bread that had somehow escaped the water. Much as I hate to say this, it was the best thing I ate on that trip.