Bolinaw. Bow.

The early cook does not always get the freshest tugnos. You have a better chance of snagging them late at night as the mamulinaway come in with their catch, so fresh that the teeny fish (the smallest in the bolináw or dilis family) are jumping free of the net or pail. Some people simply give them a quick rinse in the sea before eating them. I have been told they are quite sweet that way.

I gather there is still no definitive scientific literature on tugnos. While scientists agree that they are anchovy fry, they are so small that it’s hard (impossible?) to determine the exact species they belong to. Some believe tugnos don’t grow any bigger, which is fine by me, since I don’t eat bolináw bigger than the ones pictured here — especially the kind called dumagahay (literally, a female on the cusp of puberty), which puts me in mind of lizards (the household kind).

Typically no longer than half a toothpick, tugnos is very small, although it is far from being the smallest fish. It is the most sought-after type of bolináw, so much so that it’s not sold by weight but by the glass or bamboo cup (size of a short tumbler). Except when there’s too much of them going around, in which case vendors practically have to beg customers to get the fish off their hands. That’s when we give those bastards the bulikat. Here’s how it’s done: Put index finger in the middle of lower eyelid and pull downward while widening both eyes and pursing lips (or sticking tongue out). It’s not much by way of revenge but it’s very satisfying (and admittedly childish).

I once saw dulong on display at S&R. While technically not anchovies (or necessarily fry), dulong look a lot like tugnos, if much smaller. It was a pity they weren’t fresh, their delicate bodies “cooked” opaque by the ice. Unless you intend to sun-dry or ferment them, fish this size demand to be consumed at the peak of freshness (or as soon as possible), before they lose their distinctive sweetness and turn to mush. For kinilaw, serve the fish separately with vinegar and spices. When making tinowa, boil some water with tomatoes, spring onion, and lemongrass before adding the fish. Salt to taste, add your greens (malunggay, pepper leaves, or cabbage), a squeeze of kalamansi, then wait two or three minutes before turning off heat. Serve immediately.

When in season, bolináw is plentiful (and cheap) enough for us to have a themed meal. We start off with the soup, then move on to the kinilaw. I do not eat kinilaw unless it’s vegetable, so I go straight for the torta (fritters). They are made by combining the fish with spices, cornstarch (or flour, or both), and salt, often with egg. The mixture is then fried into small patties.

I will mention inún-unán/paksiw here because we make that with bolináw as well, although we prefer to let it sit (the dish, not the fish) until the next meal to let the flavors come together. Yes, there really is a difference. But more on that some other time. Right now let’s concentrate on the torta. I’ve always been somewhat dissatisfied with the ways we do ours. As with shrimps, Pa prefers his torta done to a hard crisp. No egg, just cornstarch. Then there’s my mother’s version, which has a more delicate crisp and a moist interior — and eggy all around, like the omelette that it technically is. On days that we have it Pa’s way, I wish it were a little less dry. With Ma’s, I long for a more pronounced crisp and less of the eggy texture.

My preferred version straddles the middle ground. Both my parents were out of town the other day when I heard the signature sound of the roving fish vendor’s budyong (conch shell). I bought four glasses’ worth of tugnos, quite pricey at ₱25 per glass (total volume was about two standard cups). Applying the science I learned from doing pork chops (re surface moisture) and pancakes (baking soda’s browning property), I drained the fish as best I could (after a quick rinse), then prepared my batter ingredients (note: not the batter itself), combining 5 tablespoons cornstarch, 3 tablespoons flour, ¼ teaspoon baking soda, ½ teaspoon baking powder, and ½ teaspoon salt in a bowl, and whisked a medium egg in a smaller bowl. For spice, I minced 2 cloves of garlic, chopped a few stalks of spring onion, and finely diced a deseeded small red tomato.

When it was time to cook, I heated up an inch of vegetable oil in a frying pan. Meanwhile, I mixed the spices with 1 cup of bolináw in another bowl, then added the flour mixture, folding gently with a spatula. Lastly, I poured in the beaten egg and mixed that in. Then I fried a teaspoonful to see if it needed any more salt. It did (I added a dash of soy sauce, too).

So. I ladled some of the mixture onto the pan, frying two fritters at a time. When their bottoms set, I lowered the heat and moved them off to one side, tilting the pan at an angle while scooping hot oil and pouring it over the torta until their tops browned and crisped up. Now why did I do that, eh? Because if I had flipped them, they would have been flattened on both sides and not have looked as good as they do in these here photos! The things I do for you people! Go ahead and flip yours, BTW; they’ll taste just as good.

Was my tortang bolináw really any better? Looks-wise, definitely. In terms of texture, it was the way I wanted it, crispy outside but moist inside, cakey but not in an eggy kind of way. Yum. On the other hand, I really shouldn’t be making anchovies any more appealing than they already are, what with my gout and elevated cholesterol levels, not to mention developing carpal tunnel syndrome trying to make them look menu-board good. But if I’ve managed to make you hungry, then I say my work here is done.