They looked a lot like tamaróng. Was she sure? “Yes; they’re mawnô.” Our hostess pointed out the prominently golden tail. “A cousin, definitely, with more scales. Tastes better.”
And they did, fried and in a soup — the latter with the barest ingredients, only lemongrass and malunggay. But then the fish was very fresh, caught just off the resort that morning, likely by the same fishermen whose boats we saw bobbing on the choppy waters across the tidal flats earlier, Panaon Island in the near distance obscured by fog and rain. Oh, we were lucky to have had fresh seafood at all; the moon was out in all its majesty last night, and the rain — more like a tempest with all that wind — kept foragers from the nearby village from wading into the hunasan to gather what I’d hoped would be a bounty in abalone and sea cucumber.
Did I mention this was in Liloan? The town straddles mainland Leyte and the northern part of Panaon Island, bisected by a narrow strait whose tidal whirlpools gave the town its name. Its port is a gateway to Mindanao (via Surigao) — actually one of two in Panaon (the other in Benit, San Ricardo). One can not help but feel that were it not for this, the island would be a lot sleepier. But beautiful. The beaches and reefs are unspoiled. Life is simple. Hard, but simple. As we looked at the view from our cottage through the driving rain, we decided we could live here, oh, maybe a few days (mobile reception was poor). “With Piolo Pascual, a year,” I said. “He can fish while I cook.”
As for the fish, I believe they’re yellowtail scad, bought some for Pa to try. Which he didn’t touch. Fried, they looked even more like tamaróng (oxeye scad, hence matangbaka to Tagalogs, though I fail to see the resemblance). The list of fish that he refuses to eat grows yet longer. I have long stopped bothering to ask why. I was just glad I had bought mussels from my suki — you know, just in case. More on that, next.
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