Pakbet: The Kumintang of the Women in Santa Maria
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Pinakbet Ilocano (Source: Lutong Bahay Recipes | Facebook)
There were hot and humid mid-days in 2017 when my husband and I would arrive in a sitio we’d frequent twice or thrice a month. Those three-hour drives in our first car, a 1986 Superbeetle we called Uncle Bugoy, were some of the most memorable jaunts we had as a young married couple doing some missionary work in Santa Maria.
As Mike paid attention to the road, I would be planning out the Sunday afternoon’s crafting class in my mind for the children in the neighborhood. We’d bring snacks, candies for prizes, art materials, and a curated playlist of songs they’d learn to sing and dance to. Another constant thing on my mind would be the mothers in the sitio who, too, were waiting. We would tell them what time we’d leave Baguio so they could make their preparations. They made sure to remind families nearby to join the Sunday gathering. Then they’d harvest crops from their own farms and put together the needed ingredients to cook a meal for the community.
The day’s ulam (viand) depended on what vegetables were available. The classic dish of those Sunday afternoon late lunches was pakbet. More than once, thoughts of that bowl of steaming fresh-off-the-pot pakbet ladled on to the mound of piping hot rice would be more than enough to appease the scorching heat and winds of Pangasinan.
Whenever we arrived, our first stop was the kitchen of Nanay Nida, whose home was where families gathered. One time, I got to watch how she and other mothers cooked pakbet. Pakbet or pinakbet originated in the Ilocandia but has regional varieties. “Pinakbet” is from the Iloco word, “pinakebbet,” which means “shrunken” or “shriveled.” Anyone will understand why and how the shriveling and shrinking happen when they see how the dish is made.
Mise en place
On the table there were different kinds of washed and nicely cut lowland vegetables: okra, small and oval-shaped ampalaya (bitter gourd), round and short eggplants, sitaw (string beans), pallang (winged bean), malunggay fruit, cardis (pigeon peas), patani (lima beans), yellow camote (sweet potato), and of course siling mahaba (green chili). What’s most interesting is the pakbet they cooked there rarely had squash. It was the camote that became that source of mellow sweetness.
The cooking began with the red ember of charcoal in the clay stove heating up the bit of oil in the pot. “Pwede mo naman din lagyan muna ng konting karne kung gusto mo, saka mo ilagay ang kamatis at sibuyas. Ang sikreto nito ay nasa kamatis, dapat damihan. At syempre, ang sikreto din ay nasa nagluluto (You can place a bit of meat if you like, after which put the tomatoes and onions. The secret here is the tomatoes, there should be a lot. And, of course, the secret is also the one who cooks), ”Nanay Nida said, smiling as she explained her first step. When the oil was hot enough, the meat was mixed in and allowed to render.
I recalled how my grandmother would say, “I-sisim pay, ah, dayta karne tapnu rumwar ti manteka na (You have to render the meat first so its oils come out).” This word “sisi” meant “to render” so the best flavor is developed.
With the meat rendered, some roughly chopped onions and almost two cups of native red orange tomatoes were handed to Nanay Nida. As she tossed these into her pot I noticed that some tomatoes were whole. One of the women explained that as the tomatoes cooked in the covered pot, its juices came out and would then serve as the subtly sour base flavor. This acidity was balanced by bagoong (fish paste). Fish, often galunggong (mackerel scad) or dilis (anchovy), sun salt, and water were the components of this key ingredient. Every ounce of these natural ingredients creates the distinct comforting flavor profile of pakbet.
“Kukulugin na natin ito,” Nanay Nida continued. Kukulugin is a process that takes time: a kitchen towel is placed over the cover of the pot, then with both hands firmly holding each side handle the pot is tossed, the cover secured by the towel to make sure the heat is insulated and spills are prevented. To finish the pinakbet dance, all other vegetables were added. The pot-flipping process got two or three rounds more until the vegetables were tender and its juices, known to Filipinos as “katas,” came out.
That flipping technique was both vigorous and graceful at the same time. Over time, how the women here toss their pots of pakbet have become like the dignified kumintang hand movements created by our ancestors as they celebrated the simplicities of everyday life, whether that was a good harvest, the sunshine, the rain, or a family milestone. It’s here that I see how the flavors of pakbet are built naturally and beautifully with patience and gracefulness, much like how life ought to be celebrated -- not by struggling, but simply going with the flow. Graceful.
Kaye Leah Cacho-Sitchon won first-prize in the 2020 edition of the DGF Food Writing Contest. She is a Communications Instructor at St. Louis University in Baguio City where she is a resident.
