Again with the mask

I discovered pork face and hoisin sauce together, in a stir-fry that Ma served all but once back in the day when she still cooked. I did not grow up on maskara, or any condiment fancier than soy sauce and vinegar — the world was a much simpler place then — so the dish was a real eye-opener.

At one point during my college years, I came to live in a boarding house run by a Kapampangan family. When these folks brag about their cuisine (and I am not saying the family did; they were very modest), you better believe it. Strangely, sisig (a dish of chopped pork face and chicken liver, often spicy and served on a hot plate) did not make much of an impression on me. For some, sisig will have been their first encounter with maskara, so it helps that it looks innocuous, like any other minced dish. I like my pork face still fairly recognizable, as when barbecued, done ceviche-style with vinegar, kalamansi juice, and lots of spices; or, better, with mashed pig brains added to the vinaigrette, as in dinakdakan. I relish the various textures that pork face provides: here crunchy, there chewy, and occasionally lean and meaty (I use the tongue as well).

Ma’s dish was more like the spicy pig’s ears I featured a while back, and just as easy/simple to make. That’s after you have prepared/cooked the pork face, of course — there’s no way around that. Use the freshest you can find; the ones at the local Metro look like they have been frozen and re-thawed one too many times, a science project could already be afoot in there without anyone’s permission. The best bet is the public wet market, where only enough swine are slaughtered that can be sold on a given day. That means you have to order ahead, as maskara is typically sold whole (albeit stripped from the cranium, hence “mask”).

Once you get your hands on the merchandise, inspect the skin. You will be looking for patches of hair that may have escaped the butcher’s attention (I keep a disposable razor in the kitchen for just this purpose). But well before that, get your nose to the meat to sniff out boar taint. You will know it by the stench of pee. In that case, move on to the next stall.

To clean, rinse meat well under running water and drain. Rub all over with coarse salt, about 1.5 tablespoons per kilo. Drop into a large pot with some crushed garlic, dried bay leaves, and black peppercorns. Cover the pot and turn heat on to low. Note I did not mention water. Is there really enough water in the meat to cook it to tenderness? Eva says yes, and she was right (as ever). Results may vary, though, so keep an eye on yours and do not hesitate to add water if the liquid dries up. Barring that, you just have to refrain from opening the lid until the 35- to 40-minute mark to check if the meat is properly tender. Poke at the thickest part with a fork; there should be a bit of resistance before those tines slide through, then you know it’s done. Let cool completely.

At this point the maskara is ready, but if you are intent on not taking any shortcuts, by all means fire up your grill. Slice meat into more manageable pieces, rub with kalamansi juice, salt, and black pepper, then grill until the meat is in turns blistered and golden-brown.

And now, our dish. For spices, julienned ginger, minced garlic, and sliced onion and bell pepper (here red, green, and yellow). For the sauce, combine 2 tablespoons hoisin sauce, 1 tablespoon soy sauce, 1 tablespoon warm water, 1 teaspoon sugar, ½ teaspoon sesame oil, ½ teaspoon hon-dashi (or your preferred instant seasoning), and as much Sriracha (or any hot sauce) as you can tolerate. Finally, slice pork face into strips.

In a wok, heat up 2 tablespoons of oil. Sauté ginger, followed by onion and garlic, until aromatic. Stir in pork face and cook for another 2 to 3 minutes. Add the sauce, stirring until everything is evenly coated, and cook for 2 to 3 minutes before adding bell pepper. Season with salt (only if needed) and ground black pepper, and finish with a drizzle of chili oil (optional). Plate and serve.

A word about hoisin: it’s Chinese for seafood, but the sauce itself does not contain seafood, nor is it typically used with it (oyster sauce, more like). It should be available in most supermarkets, although the last time I looked, the ones around here had none.