Sawsawan!

If everyone had the same taste...

...there would only be one flavor.

Sometimes, I get homesick for loud brownfolk. Homesick for a world where aunties arrive, competing for loudest entrance to a room. A world where the dining room seems to tilt as one more pot of pancit noodles or another platter of plantain fritters is added to the table.

(we get excited about karaoke; we are, afterall, ASIAN)

When I can't fly back home to my NY, I head straight down to SoCal where my "California" cousins have been calling San Diego home for over 30 years. Of course, when we get together, there is plenty of eating going on. Witness the edible carnage at a lazy Sunday afternoon bbq in Temecula...

(we get excited about meat marbling, too)

But, for the brown and down, meat—beef, fish or pig!—is not officially eaten in Filipino homes until a bowl of sawsawan is prepared. Loaded with salt, tang and kick, the sawsawan is essentially a condiment. Yet, so much more. Think of it as a dipping sauce that makes use of all those tiny bowls that come with a full dinnerware set. And, you thought those were for ice cream! Well, think again.

(this was an enormous bowl of sawsawan made by my cousin's husband who does the equivalent of "keeping kosher" by "preserving pinoy." Romel's sawsawan is composed of chopped fresh tomato, white onion, jalapeños—seeds included, pickled peppers, probably a couple whole garlic cloves, lemon juice, vinegar and soy sauce.)

Sawsawan, usually a "sour accompaniment," is delicious with any grilled, broiled, baked or fried meat. It can be as simple as a bowl of patis. Or, a side of soy sauce, calamansi juice and a few dry red chilies. How 'bout a small dish of bagoong with chopped green mangoes?

With warm, steamed white rice and a meat of choice, sawsawan makes a meal more personal. Perhaps, you're partaking in a host family's favorite sawsawan. Maybe, your little dipping bowl transports a solitary meal to a place called Home. If you want to get REAL, eat with your hands*: Squish together mounds of meat and rice, dip and enjoy. A friend once wrote that her perfect lover would relish the scent of patis on her fingers and seek out her vinegar kiss.

Sawsawan. Flavor. Try it.

(it's guaranteed to empty your rice pot!)

*Kamayan: "Eat with your hands"

What's in the cabinet-cookery returns.

Today, we play with canned tuna found lingering in the cabinet.

WHY? you ask.

(For a wee frugal feast.)

Were you menaced with canned tuna as a child? Whether its unique aroma plagued your superheroes lunchbox, or you were greeted with the deadly tuna noodle casserole at dinnertime, it's safe to say, canned tuna gets as bad a wrap in the U.S. as instant mac-n-cheese. And, now that we're all a little older and much, much more sophisticated, we banish canned tuna from our chic existence. Oui, oui.

Well, as far as this tuna genre is concerned, I consider myself lucky. I was raised in the U.S. by immigrants, so I didn't discover tuna-as-cheap-food-staple until college. You know, there was actually a time when my mom bought canned tuna, but I think it was just for show-- some kind of mercy on us for when our 'white' friends came over. My brother slid the jars of bagoong and jackfruit to the back of the 'fridge, and we feigned tuna in the cabinet like everyone else. My dad, who did most of the cooking in the house, never touched them.

During college, I worked at nouveau diner that served a very serious tuna cheddar melt on cornbread. While its mayo goodness and ooey cheese complimented the salty, chunky salad well, an odyssey was born out of the fact that I wasn't exactly impressed... I didn't understand tuna salad until I came to San Francisco and had BiRite's housemade. It was a food moment.

Capers. Red onion. A curious lack of celery. Good mayonnaise. It was tuna salad reborn on my palette so much so that I never bothered to steal their recipe. I took a tub of it on the road when I moved from California to Colorado.

(I feel BiRite's house items kindof have goût de terroir. It's the micro-climate!--in the way NY bread has NY water.)

Smuggling tuna salad through the Sierras. I know it sounds crazy, but as a child I was terrorized by pots of oxtails (and tripe) in peanut butter sauce that simmered away on the stove for half a day. (My dad was always 'perfecting' it.) I had zero tuna trauma. It was a new taste.

Soon enough, I discovered tuna in olive oil. In Italy, where I tend to think there's also a lack of tuna disdain, it's called tonno in olio d'oliva. If you're trying to kick your mayo habit as I am these days, the olive oil offers a different take on richness. And, it's just the right ingredient to make a tuna salad for your chic, grown-up tastes. I borrowed the capers from BiRite's recipe, and add in pepperocini, crushed red pepper and extra drizzles of extra virgin olive oil from me.

A little decadence. A little bite.

Molto Chic Italian Tuna Salad

- 1 - 6 oz. can tuna packed in olive oil, drained
- 1 T. non-pareil capers, some juice
- 1 small shallot clove, thinly sliced
- 1 or 2 golden pepperocini, sliced into rings, to taste
- 1-2 t. extra virgin olive oil, the best you have, to taste
- 1 to 1 ½ t. lemon juice, meyer's are great
- kosher salt and ground peppercorn blend, to taste
- crushed red pepper flakes,optional
- white italian flatbread (like focaccia) or pita bread
- aioli, optional

Drain and place tuna in prep bowl. (You may want to add back some of the drained liquid depending on texture of the tuna.) Add capers, shallot (better than red onion!) and pepperocini. Mix gently with a spoon while breaking up the tuna. Add salt and pepper, olive oil and lemon. Mix gently again, then taste. Fix seasonings. Chill in refrigerator covered in plastic wrap.

Cut flatbread or pita into triangles or small squares just larger than bite-size. Toast until medium golden. Let cool slightly. Cover will small amount of aioli or olive oil mayo. Top with chilled tuna salad. Scatter thinly sliced shallot and-or pepperocini rings. Drizzle with your best extra virgin olive oil. Sprinkle with a pinch of crushed red pepper flakes.

Close your eyes. Imagine yourself reclining while tasting the azure Mediterranean air!

(Spicy bits.)