MORE PIG THAN POSSIBLE WITH MY FILIPINO RELATIVES

Can I just say, for the record that I love being married? Not just because the blessed and very patient Sybil puts up with my many Bengali quirks, but also because it means I have inherited a huge number of Filipino in laws.

When I say huge number I really mean it. I have discovered that Sybil has a seemingly endless stream of cousins, aunties, uncles and assorted relatives and also seems to be discovering new ones all the time. They are all, to put it quite frankly, mad as a box of ferrets but, at the same time they are also funny, hospitable and so obsessed with food that I can forgive them their eccentricities as easily as Sybil forgives mine.

This last weekend was a long weekend here in the Good Ol’ US of Stateside. Something called Labor Day, which quite apart from proving that Americans cannot spell is also ironic given just how under fire the working man is in this country built on hard labour (that’s better) and enterprise.

It was also a weekend that marked the end of an era, as Sybil’s mum had chosen the date to move permanently back to the Philippines from the US.It’s a long old journey from NYC to Manila and she wisely chose to break her journey in the City of Angels, giving her the chance to visit with her daughter and favourite (and for favourite read only) son in law.

We met her in the morning at LAX and immediately headed towards West Covina, an area of LA county some 15 miles East of Downtown. It has a large Filipino community and Sybil’s Auntie Minda has lived there for many years. It was the perfect opportunity for Syb’s Mum and sister to catch up after a few years and what better way for Filipinos to do that than over lunch?

As we pulled into the parking lot of local Filipino restaurant, Salo Salo, Sybil’s relatives were already jabbering away to each other in Ilocano, the language of their original region of the Philippines. Sybil warned them and me that we should not over do things as this was only one of two lunches we had planned that day.

That useful fact did not seem to matter to anyone, least of all Sybil herself. As soon as we got sight of the menu, she was ordering enough dishes to make even sitting at a table meant for six a tight squeeze. The food began to arrive soon afterwards and it was as good as I had been anticipating. Man it was good.

I have become quite a fan of Filipino cooking in the last few years and the EAT MY GLOBE visit to Manila only served to confirm that it is about so much more than pork, deep frying and deep frying pork. That being said, when it comes to God’s good swine, there are few people on this planet who know how to prepare it better than your Filipino. First up was the “Crispy Meat Platter”. I normally wince when I hear the word “crispy” but I can forgive it if it refers to dishes like the ones placed on our table.

The platter was the size of a small dinghy and contained huge chunks of crispy pata (pork shank that has been braised and then, yep, deep fried) Lechon Kawali, pork ribs and, just in case we thought they had only pigs on their mind, some sensational fried chicken. In fact I thought it was all sensational and my elderly in laws seemed to be in definite agreement.

Sybil’s mum is in her mid 70’s and her aunt in her early 80’s. Their advanced age does not seem to have impeded their appetite any and, more than once, I was beaten to the prime piece of crackled skin by one of them suddenly rediscovering lightning speed in Battle Pig.

Despite her warnings, Sybil was not disgracing herself either. As well as attacking the meat platter with the sort of gusto I had not seen from her since we were last in a jewelry store, she had also ordered more dishes in the form of Fresh Lumpia Ubod (stuffed with hearts of palm) Seafood Pancit and my own favourite Filipino dish of all, Sizzling Sisig.

For those of you who are not in the know, Sisig originates from the city of Angeles in the Pampanga region of the Philippines. On my visit there, I was taken to the small roadside restaurant where the dish was created as the perfect “Pulutan” or food to be eaten when drinking. It was originally made with the discarded bits of the pig, which were fried up with chili and lots of kalamansi lime juice before being served on a sizzling cast iron platter.
The version at Salo Salo was not, I am sure made out of the hooves, lips and assholes of Brer Pig, but still reminded me of why it is was one of the favourite tastes of my whole trip.

We waddled back to our car after lunch, all having ignored the advice not to fill our boots. It made the drive south to Chula Vista a little uncomfortable, all the more so because the volume of cars had slowed the freeway traffic to a crawl. A journey that should take little over an hour took well over three. It did however give everybody the chance to catch up and discuss a topic of great import. For the record, this was about the best way to slaughter a goat or pig. Apparently, in the Philippines, this is done by getting the poor animal pissed and then slitting its throat. Lovely.

Sybil has even more relatives in Chula Vista and they had taken the opportunity to invite all of her mother’s cousins, nieces and nephews over for a party. By the time we arrived, Sybil’s uncle had a house filled with people and a table filled with food. This being a celebration, there was, of course a whole Lechon Baboy (or roasted pig to you and me), which had already been pillaged of most of its crisp skin by the awaiting crowd.

There were more dishes to sample than just the lechon, however. There were stuffed Bangus fish, Caldereta, Garlic Rice and Kilawin, (a dish of raw goat marinated in vinegar, ginger and garlic) as well as big bowls of vegetables, tripe soup and trays of bibingka. It was all a bit much for me and while the others tore into the feast ( managing to do this and to talk at the tops of their voices at the same time) I pulled my fetching new hat down over my head and began to snore contentedly on a nearby sofa.

Sybil woke me up a short while later as I was having a lovely dream about Zantac. It was time for us to move on to our third meal of the day with friends in Chula Vista. We left her mum and aunty where they were to catch up with the hordes of relatives, while we headed off to freshen up at our hotel and run out to supper.

When I knew we would be staying overnight in Chula Vista, I asked my new chum, Chef Marcella Vallodolid (host of The Food Network’s popular Mexican Made Easy show) for some recommendations. She sent me a mail with a handful of choices and when I saw that one of them “Aqui Es Texcoco” specialized in Barbacoa de Barrego (mutton BBQ) I thought it might make a change from all the pork we had consumed.

It certainly did and, despite thinking half an hour before that I would never need to eat food ever again, the smells of grilling meat in the restaurant had me devouring more than my fair share as our order arrived at the table. Of particular note were the quesadilla filled with huitlacoche (corn smut) and the lamb brain tacos, which came to life when doused with lime juice. It was good enough for us all to think that we might need to return soon to explore more of the Mexican cuisine on offer.

This visit however had been all about the Filipinos rather than the Mexicans. It had been all about my newly acquired, barking mad but really rather wonderful family, and of course, it had been all about the pig an animal that deserves our unwavering respect and that can never find itself in better hands after death than those of a Pinoy.

Did I mention that I love being married?

BACK IN LA: KOGI KOREAN TACO TRUCK. NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL STREET FOOD

I can often be found on twitter, Facebook, Dos Hermanos and well, just about anywhere where people will listen, railing against Britain’s lousy attempts at Street Food. Particular ire is retained for the “F**king burrito stalls” that have appeared all over London like pimples on a teenaged boy dipped daily in butter.

“What” people respond “do you have against Burritos?” as if my Ahab like dislike of our attempts at this Mexican and Tex-Mex classic has anything to do with the dish itself. It doesn’t and, for the record, I actually rather like burritos. It is just, like so many things in London, our attempts are often so half-hearted and polite that you have to shake your heads and wonder why they bothered. Burritos in London are the outward and visible sign of inward and festering ineptitude. Proof if it were needed that we still have a long way to go if we are to claim any sort of decent street food culture.

Move on to LA, where I arrived last night to spend a month in the company of my long-suffering fiancé Sybil. After a morning of writing, which is what I came here to do, we decided to pop out for lunch. As luck would have it, her research showed that a favourite taco truck would be just around the corner from her apartment, parked outside the Sony Studios.

Kogi, however, is no ordinary taco truck, it is a remarkable hybrid of L.A’s ethnic diversity and superb tradition of street food, combining as it does Mexican favourites with Korean delicacies. So popular has it become that thousands of people follow its progress on Twitter and many more similar trucks have sprung up in imitation.

None, according to Sybil are as good as Kogi and, she is not the only one who thinks so. We arrived soon after the truck did and already a long line was forming in anticipation. A happy gaggle of film studio workers talking about their choices of “Kimchi Quesadilla” and “Spicy Korean Pork Sliders” while those in the truck were already busy cooking and wrapping in rapid style.

Such a collaboration shouldn’t work. In fact it should be horrible. Given my dislike of the sort of “fusion confusion” we often see in London, I should have run and hidden under the bed when Sybil suggested I go for a couple of “Korean Short Rib Tacos”

But, like the good little husband to be that I am, I kept my mouth shut and we soon came away with a ludicrously large amount of food for a ludicrously small amount of money.

Back at the apartment, Sybil dished up, snarling at me like a rabid dog when I approached for a taste of her “smashed pork” sandwich giving a primal scream and a wave of her hands that said “this is all me, Baby” while protecting her food. It didn’t matter there was plenty for two. In fact there was plenty for two families and that we soon demolished the lot was down to our greed not their small portions.

It was wonderfully messy stuff and the sliders, small hamburger buns filled with spicy beef, were a particular hot hit as we both ate with little thought to the grease and sauce dribbling down our chins. This is real street food from a real street food culture, sizeable portions of unapologetic food with great flavours at astonishing value for money.

There are those who are genuinely trying to create a similar culture for us in the UK. I applaud that and note that we will soon have a UK Street Food awards to help promote them. All well and good, but first of all, may I suggest everyone involved heads over to LA, arguably (let’s hear the NY’ers squeal in protest) the street food capital of the US and see how it is really done.

“F**king Burritos” indeed

HERMANO SEGUNDO BACK IN LA: DOWN MEXICO WAY

One of the favourite stops on my round the world trip was Mexico. The sheer variety of Mexican food caught by surprise a person who had previously considered it a way to use up left over bits of cheese and meat at the back of the fridge. The quality of the food and the generosity of spirit with which it was served stays with me as a very happy memory over a year later.

I have been craving those spicy, savoury and fresh tastes ever since, but London’s offerings never seem to come close no matter how many bloody burrito shops people decide to open.

I hoped that L.A would offer up more opportunity to come closer to the real thing, but Sybil, whose opinion is not to be taken lightly, dismissed the city’s Mexican food as “crap” and would not be budged no matter how many times I whined “por favor”

Fortunately, she is stubborn but not cruel, so on New Year’s Day she organised a trip down South to Chula Vista, past San Diego and a handful of miles from the Mexican border to a place that she and a couple of friends thought might fit the bill.

Mariscos Godoy is the real deal, with branches across in Tijuana and Mexacali, it was filled with Mexican ex-pat families and tinny mariachi music was blaring from the old music system. The menu too looked the part with a slightly confusing array of dishes announced on the day-glo menu.

With the help of the waitress, we navigated our way through the bewildering variety of options and while we waited, Sybil sipped on Mexican Horcharta, spiced rice milk, and fought with me for the best bits of a free plate of ceviche, which we spooned into our mouths with warm chips.

The portions were vast and starters of a powerfully spicy shrimp ceviche and crunchy bites of battered pogy (Shad) would have been plenty, particularly when wrapped in an almost endless supply of warm tortilla. But, we staggered on to two more huge servings of tacos stuffed with fiery chilli marlin and simple grilled shrimp, before finally pushing ourselves away from the table in defeat.

As I recall from my short time in Mexico, the food is rarely very pretty, but taste, as it should takes precedence over appearance and every bite we had here was a fresh, zingy reminder of why the cuisine of this currently troubled country remains so happily implanted in my memory. Add to that a price tag of $25 a head including tip and our four hour round trip seemed even more worthwhile

Next stop, Thai Town

MEXICO "MI CORAZON": ACTING THE GOAT IN GUADALAJARA

So, I am, those of you who read both blogs will be glad to know, finally catching up with my journey over on EAT MY GLOBE.

But, I still thought it would be interesting for some of you to see what I have been up to here in Mexico.

It is my first visit to this extraordinary country and, with the help of my friends, Cristina and Judy, I have been exploring a lot of the local markets and food stands.

Particular favourites have been my morning excursions for Tacos De Tripa which are as the name suggests, tacos with tripe. The tripe is deep fried and served on fresh small, double layered tortilla which you then top with onions, coriander leaf and fresh salsa before squeezing lime juice all over them. Incredibly addictive and I have eaten about ten in two days (which cost about £2 in total)

Equally good were the fish and shrimp tacos I tried for lunch on Monday on to which I poured rather too much japaleno relish and am still being reminded of the fact by my disappointed stomach. It was worth every arse blistering second for the taste, however as the soft tortilla gives way to the crunch of the battered fish and the fresh fire of the salsa.

Oh, and there are large plates of chicherones everywhere. That is seldom a bad thing.

Best meal of the trip so far was lunch yesterday at El Chololo. Around for nearly eighty five years, it is known for serving the best Birria in the state of Jalisco. At weekends, the lines of cars head miles down the street which is quite something considering they can sit a thousand people at any one time. The place is filled with mariachi bands serenading locals with songs that inevitably involve “Mi Corazon”

Birria involves goat (lots of them in this case as they get through seven hundred a week) which is braised in a broth with chilli, lime and some other spices. It is then pulled apart and glazed with a reduced version of the broth before being shoved under a grill to get crispy on top.

It comes served with a bowl of the original cooking liquor which is spiked with lime, chilli and salt, fresh tortilla, refrioles (refried beans) and some more punchy salsa.

I have had versions of this before in London, but nothing close to this in texture or taste. It is surprisingly subtle and the combination of flavours and textures is as addictive as the tacos with the crunch of the outside of the goat giving way to the soft flesh.

We just had to have a song to see us on our way and Cristina treated me to a rendition of a song which as well as “Mi Corazon” of course, demanded that I “come back, come back, come back” I can only hope I will

It is pretty early here now, I am heading out to eat some more of those tripe tacos. I am pretty sure they will be coming back at some point too.