Confessions of an Ugly Sole

He is, in our home, the master chef. He is the voice inside my head whenever I am in the kitchen.  A perfectionist, he is particular about how vegetables are cleaned, chopped, sliced or diced. Come to think of it, he's particular about everything- from the cut of the meat or poultry, to the ripeness of vegetables and the freshness of the seafood which he buys in the wet market. He is a fan of slow-cooked food but likes fastfood burger (yes, McDonald got it right in their commercial, I guess, except Papa is old school and likes Tropical Hut better). Watching him cook is like watching celebrity chefs live in the studio. In a way, he's my first kitchen superstar.

Papa

A few nights ago,  I tried my hand at making steamed sole based on the memory of the dinner Papa made once. I remeber him steaming the fish to perfection, the skin all buttery and the fish flesh  succulent. He made a soy-based dipping sauce that was distinctly asian with ginger and coriander.

And so based on a memory, I made my own version. Sole or dapa is a tricky fish to cook as the it is flat and hard to clean without breaking any major bones. I was cooking it Asian style with the head on and nearly broke the jaw of the poor dead fish.

I had forgotten to ask the fish monger to scale the fish so I had to scale the fish by scraping the knife on its skin.

What I missed was cutting the spiky fins. And after steaming the fish... it had turned into one scared mother F.

The dipping sauce was great but no matter how I tried to plate it... A still refused to eat it because it looked like some Jurassic sea creature.

And so, I ate the fish on my own. And having overcooked it, the skin was rubbery and the flesh, though firm, was a bit dry.  Eating my mistake is always a humbling lesson in kitchen.

I guess, I have to try again and probably ask papa how I can make this dish right.

Ma Mon Luk Memories

Weekend food trips with papa were highlights of my first years in Manila. Weekends were spent sampling frogs legs at the Estero or sharing burgers at Dayrit's. On days when money was tighter than usual, he would still take me out to eat at Ma Mon Luk's Aurora Boulevard branch.

We would share a bowl  of hot mami and split an asado siopao. I remember the ceiling fans whirring above us, working hard to evaporate the sweat on our brows as we partook of the hot soup and noodles that made me forget all my worries. 

Papa would take the paper covering of the siopao and split the steaming bun to reveal delicate ly shredded meat with fatty bits and dark amber sauce. It would be my job to pour on each of our portions the sweet, salty and sticky brown siopao sauce. Papa would always wait for me to take my first bite before he would ask, "Masarap ba?" To which I would always reply in the affirmative. 

Last weekend, I had the chance to share a Ma Mon Luk experience with A. 

The place more or less looked the same as it did several decades back. I didn't mind it much as it gave the eatery a nostalgic feel. And Mr. Luk staring down at you from the wall his portrait was perched provided that museum-like vibe.  And true to its form, the place reeked of something old. A. colorfully describes the pungent smell that permeated the place, "Amoy-asong di naligo ng isang buwan pero gumulong-gulong sa patis."

 As we sat ourselves down, I was so looking forward to experience a glimpse of my childhood., I dind't mind the smell. We ordered my standard fare- The Original Mami and Asado siopao.

But no happy childhood memories in a a bowl was served. What came instead were two lukewarm noodle bowls and  dry siopao buns. And it was all downhill from there. After his first spoonfuls of the soup, Augie, went all Kung Fu Panda with his review of what he was eating, "Bland ang siopao at lasang paa ang mami." Even the siopao sauce was not sticky, nor sweet. Just plain salty.

Out of respect for my good childhood memories, I tried my best to finish my meal. A. however, couldn't be appeased and declared that even Chowking was better than what he was served.

We drove away from the place, sad and disappointed, with parts of my happy childhood memories drowned in bland, watery soup.