What Trump's money cannot buy
True or false? Donald Trump can have anything he wants with a snap of his fingers. False.
Even one of the richest men in the world cannot get a bowl of “jumping salad” whenever and wherever he wants, unless he is aboard his yacht in tropical waters near a river with flowing brackish water, the favorite habitat of swahe, the shrimp variety specifically preferred by “jumping salad” aficionados.
It’s been forty-and-some years since my introduction to jumping salad aboard a trawler along the coast of Guinayangan, an end-of-the-road town in the hinterlands of Quezon Province. Fishermen drank and ate while cruising, waiting for the net to fill up. Jumping salad was often the main pulutan.
A plastic basin of shrimp was flavored with palm vinegar (sukang sasa) and crushed chili peppers, covered, allowed to rest for a couple of minutes until the rattling sounds subsided a bit. Sometimes half a cup of cheap gin was added for extra zing.
To eat the still-squirming shrimp, one held it by the head, bit off the pointed tail, and sucked at the flesh while slowly chewing and spitting off the shells. The bitter-sweet roe inside the head is the best part, especially with an extra dip into the spicy vinegar. An unforgettable experience that I had though was impossible to replicate.
Imagine my surprise when I was offered “jumping salad” at the Ocean’s Surf seafood buffet of the Marriot Café a few days ago. To make sure it was the real thing, I went to see for myself; there they were, a tray of large swahe faintly glistening and quivering, their antenna waving gently. The chef quickly dropped a handful into a bowl, poured organic vinegar, chopped onions and chili peppers plus lemon quarters for good measure. A small saucer over the bowl prevented the shrimps from jumping out.
The time it took to reach my table was all the shrimps needed to absorb enough acidity and spice. One bite and the tail was off; the second bite was all heaven. I closed my eyes and tasted the ocean. I was 20 again.
The Marriott’s Friday and Saturday seafood buffet also offers other denizens of the sea that one rarely meets. There’s the Pitik (Slipper Lobster) whose odd appearance hides a meaty tail.
The bright red Curacha (Spanner Crab or Red Frog Crab), normally only available in Zamboanga, is presented the best way it should be: simply steamed, its firm flesh sweet and unspoiled by cloying sauces.
Giant four-kilo black Lapu-Lapu (Grouper or Garoupa), steamed and seasoned with herbs and fried garlic; humongous cocktail glasses display fish kilawen, and pink salmon sashimi. White-shelled scallops could be eaten raw, steamed or grilled.
The cooked seafood array indicates mature restraint in the kitchen. Cream Dory fillets, rolled and baked, are topped with a fresh mango salsa and plated over warm pesto sauce. Any and all fish and shellfish can be prepared different ways at several cooking stations: Italian, Chinese, Filipino, Japanese, Indian, Continental.
As usual, my meal ended with soup, which that night happened to be a fave: Shrimp Bisque lightly redolent of Cognac and gently mellowed by a dollop of cream. – Article courtesy of Manila Bulletin
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