“I won’t be having dinner,” Ma announced.
“Are you sure?”
“All the Chinese could drop dead,” she said, “I’m that sure.”
“Whatever.” Pa is part Chinese.
She was downstairs as we made to leave later.
“Where to?”
“We’re thinking Lantaw.”
“In that case I'm coming.”
It was my first time at Lantaw. The food was good. Not blow-your-socks-off good. Just good good. Therese had been telling me about this dish they served solely at that branch (SRP) that sounded like a cross between inún-unán/paksiw na isda and pinakbet. It was unavailable. So we had sizzling tuna belly, crispy pata, chicken in coconut soup, baked scallops, and adobong kangkong. I liked the pork, the soup, the veggies. The tuna and scallops, not so much. The kalamansi juice wasn’t fresh as advertised; it was definitely made from concentrate.
I am not normally keen on trying any new thing that comes along. If not for my friends, I would be quite content with steamed rice, pho, the ox tongue at Vienna Kaffeehaus, or Sunburst’s crispy chicken butt. Lantaw isn’t exactly new, but good food is good food. A bit costly for their serving sizes, perhaps, but I’ve had slop for twice their prices. And did I mention I really liked the chicken in coconut soup?
I did not expect to. I had come across the dish (also called binakol) on many a menu before and never once considered it. I must have assumed I wouldn’t like it.
You know what? That’s exactly the kind of thinking that gets my dander up. I once offered someone lumpiang ubod and she demurred. “I don’t like it.”
“So you’ve tried lumpiang ubod before?”
“No. I just don’t like it.”
“But how the fuck can you not like it when you haven’t tried it?”
Just so you know, my parents weren’t too keen on the soup — or at least my version of it. Pa was put off by the sweetness of the coconut water. Ma acted like it was the first time she had come across the dish. “Come off it,“ I told her. “We had this at Lantaw, remember?”
“Really?”
But let’s not argue with her. And forget about a recipe for the moment. The soup did not come out as good as anticipated. I felt it was missing something. A few more attempts are called for, except I don’t see how I can do that when Pa won’t touch the stuff. Besides, chicken soup made with plain old water is admittedly good enough. Remember my moules marinière?
That’s Lantaw’s binakol in the photo up top. There’s not much to see, is there? That’s because there really isn’t. How much do you think fits in three quarters of a coco shell? A whole lot less than what you’re paying for, that’s what. Anyway, I had fresh buko juice left over, so I decided to take a cue from the Thais and infused it with chili and lemon. Pepper actually cools the body. If you don’t believe me, try sprinkling ground black pepper on your ice cream and see if that doesn’t make it cooler. Seriously. All the Chinese could drop dead.
Buko Juice with Lemon & Chili
This recipe calls for siling haba (finger chili). Depending on what you have (some are hotter than others), you may need to use less or more. For less spiciness, remove the white ribs inside the chili (I don’t). Also, be aware that the longer you boil, the spicier the drink will be. Lime or kalamansi can be substituted for lemon. Sugar is optional. Taste the mixture first to see if it needs any.
- coconut water, chilled
- 2 finger chilies, sliced lengthwise and de-seeded
- ¼ cup water
- 1 teaspoon lemon juice
- pinch of salt
- sugar (optional)
- Gently boil chilies in water for 3 minutes. Discard chilies after.
- In a tall glass, combine the spiced water with coconut water, lemon juice, and salt. Stir well. Add sugar (optional) to taste. Serve with ice.
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