Of gourmets, gourmands and gourmooinks
September 18, 2003 | 12:00am
The dictionary defines a gourmet as a connoisseur of food and drink; a gourmand as one who is excessively fond of eating and drinking; while a gourmooink, well, that’s just a term coined by fellow foodie author Fr. Rene Javellana, S.J., coined after the sound emitted by a person when ecstatic over the food he’s eating (in varying degrees from ahhhs, ooohs, mmm, mooos, and the ultimate moooink).
What qualifies as gourmet in the first place? Do the price tag and the packaging make it a gourmet item? Is buying the same fish from the wet market or from a delicatessen make it any less or better? Does its being imported make it superior over the local one? Is it in the way an ordinary dish – but then what is ordinary? – is presented or is it in the manner of cooking, and ultimately, in the "ambulance" it is consumed?
But then again what may be considered gourmet is relative. In an interview by food writer Nancy Reyes Lumen with then political prisoner (now Representative) Satur Ocampo about prison food, he related with such longing the kind of food he grew up with in their barrio in Sta. Rita, Pampanga. Coming home from school, he recalled, the smell of some fish being grilled wafting in the air, he’d kid his mother "Nang, nang nanangnang mo Nang?" (Mother, what are you grilling, Mother?) The son of a farmer, daily sustenance was whatever the man of the hut was able to gather from the rice field that morning, and there was aplenty: Kamaru or rice crickets (cooked adobo style), bulig or mudfish, itu or catfish, tugak or frogs (made into soup with patola or stuffed with aragao leaves and then deep-fried), and of course burung asan or fermented rice with fish that is ever-present in every meal as sawsawan for grilled fish and vegetables. The family must have been cash-strapped but they were never hungry. How the lowly kamaru crept its way up the social ladder (or larder) is the stuff legends are made of. What used to be considered peasant fare is today’s gourmet delectable.
Not too long ago, on an island off Zambales, our group of vacationers came across a fisherman’s family having a picnic by the beach. The wife was stoking a fire cooking a cauldron of rice. The rest of the members were scrubbing and cracking a basketful of sea urchins, just recently gathered by the fisherman, and what amazed us was he dove for the precious shellfish without the aid of goggles. Inviting us to their picnic, they shared with us a most wonderful and satisfying meal. To think there was no starched mantle to start with, much less Kikkoman and wasabi to go with the sea urchins. And we had to dig in the rice and pick the fat urchins with our bare hands. Was it simply the serendipity and generosity of our hosts that made the meal so memorable? What we pay highly in a Japanese restaurant is daily fare for this fisherman’s family. And by the way, to reciprocate the kindness of the family, I gave my swimming goggles to the fisherman which I noticed he was ogling the whole time.
One time, our friends Mike Aguas and Susan Rodriguez trekked to Pinatubo. With them was a Spanish guy who brought with him chorizo and manchego cheese and a big round wheat bread which he used as pillow that evening. Another companion, a vegetarian Swedish guy brought with him romaine lettuce, artichoke, and plump juicy tomatoes and bread. It may sound simple but each mealtime, he bothered to lay a crisp white linen and white napkin and delicately sliced the tomato with a silver knife. While their Pinoy counterparts, on the other hand, have the simple but what I believe the best picnic food, adobo and rice wrapped in banana leaves, eating it with their bare hands. Again, what may be comfort food to one is gourmet food to another.
Just look at the lowly tuyô. Nowadays it is being sold in bottles marketed as Gourmet Tuyô, ready to serve, already filleted and soaked in olive oil. Does serving it on fine china and silver makes it a gourmet dish, just as serving foie gras on melamine plates make it any less?
Foie gras and caviar are the kind of food fit for a king (well, it literally takes a king’s ransom to buy them), but if one eats them everyday, their being special is lost and become just ordinary fare. Speaking of which, an indelible image stuck in my mind of the 1986 EDSA revolution was a footage captured on TV of Malacañang palace besieged by the mob, with an interior shot of the long dining table with a large tin of caviar (Beluga perhaps) left open lying on the table. But what I found appalling was not so much the ostentatious consumption of the palace’s occupants (that’s to be expected), even at the last hour’s of the strongman’s rule. It was the presence of a loaf of bread beside it – the white kind that most everyone calls variably Tasty, pan americano or simply pan (am mentioning all this with my eyes rolling up). Considering the circumstances of the situation then, it is excusable that the last supper (huling hirit) was prepared and consumed hurriedly, or perhaps the boulangerie just failed to deliver that afternoon the whole wheat bread due to the barricade.
A TV ad of a popular coffee brand shows a couple enjoying their morning coffee with the Eiffel tower seen through the window in the background, suggesting the subliminal message how good the coffee is that even people in Paris drink it. Nobody, but nobody drinks instant coffee in Europe, more so in France. Even the vending machines at train stations there serving coffee is freshly ground as one presses the button, with a choice given the costumer for an espresso, cappuccino, au lait (with milk), etc. The sight of Eiffel tower while sipping instant coffee doesn’t a gourmet make, even if it is served on stoneware cups.
Another time, one mid-morning at McDonald’s, I observed a man about to have his coffee, scooping in gingerly a serving of ice cream sundae, then stirring it ever so slowly. Then sipping it with eyes closed as if it were the most precious drink in the world. In my books, the man was a gourmet, he took pains in preparing his drink and savored every drop of it. It’s probably the case of a champagne taste with a beer budget, And this was much before all the so-called gourmet chain of coffee outlets mushrooming all over the metropolis.
Well, what’s the point am driving at? I honestly don’t know. All I can say is one man’s food is another man’s poison. What is considered gourmet is all but relative. You tell me.
For comments or suggestions, e-mail the author at claude-9@mozcom.com.
What qualifies as gourmet in the first place? Do the price tag and the packaging make it a gourmet item? Is buying the same fish from the wet market or from a delicatessen make it any less or better? Does its being imported make it superior over the local one? Is it in the way an ordinary dish – but then what is ordinary? – is presented or is it in the manner of cooking, and ultimately, in the "ambulance" it is consumed?
But then again what may be considered gourmet is relative. In an interview by food writer Nancy Reyes Lumen with then political prisoner (now Representative) Satur Ocampo about prison food, he related with such longing the kind of food he grew up with in their barrio in Sta. Rita, Pampanga. Coming home from school, he recalled, the smell of some fish being grilled wafting in the air, he’d kid his mother "Nang, nang nanangnang mo Nang?" (Mother, what are you grilling, Mother?) The son of a farmer, daily sustenance was whatever the man of the hut was able to gather from the rice field that morning, and there was aplenty: Kamaru or rice crickets (cooked adobo style), bulig or mudfish, itu or catfish, tugak or frogs (made into soup with patola or stuffed with aragao leaves and then deep-fried), and of course burung asan or fermented rice with fish that is ever-present in every meal as sawsawan for grilled fish and vegetables. The family must have been cash-strapped but they were never hungry. How the lowly kamaru crept its way up the social ladder (or larder) is the stuff legends are made of. What used to be considered peasant fare is today’s gourmet delectable.
Not too long ago, on an island off Zambales, our group of vacationers came across a fisherman’s family having a picnic by the beach. The wife was stoking a fire cooking a cauldron of rice. The rest of the members were scrubbing and cracking a basketful of sea urchins, just recently gathered by the fisherman, and what amazed us was he dove for the precious shellfish without the aid of goggles. Inviting us to their picnic, they shared with us a most wonderful and satisfying meal. To think there was no starched mantle to start with, much less Kikkoman and wasabi to go with the sea urchins. And we had to dig in the rice and pick the fat urchins with our bare hands. Was it simply the serendipity and generosity of our hosts that made the meal so memorable? What we pay highly in a Japanese restaurant is daily fare for this fisherman’s family. And by the way, to reciprocate the kindness of the family, I gave my swimming goggles to the fisherman which I noticed he was ogling the whole time.
One time, our friends Mike Aguas and Susan Rodriguez trekked to Pinatubo. With them was a Spanish guy who brought with him chorizo and manchego cheese and a big round wheat bread which he used as pillow that evening. Another companion, a vegetarian Swedish guy brought with him romaine lettuce, artichoke, and plump juicy tomatoes and bread. It may sound simple but each mealtime, he bothered to lay a crisp white linen and white napkin and delicately sliced the tomato with a silver knife. While their Pinoy counterparts, on the other hand, have the simple but what I believe the best picnic food, adobo and rice wrapped in banana leaves, eating it with their bare hands. Again, what may be comfort food to one is gourmet food to another.
Just look at the lowly tuyô. Nowadays it is being sold in bottles marketed as Gourmet Tuyô, ready to serve, already filleted and soaked in olive oil. Does serving it on fine china and silver makes it a gourmet dish, just as serving foie gras on melamine plates make it any less?
Foie gras and caviar are the kind of food fit for a king (well, it literally takes a king’s ransom to buy them), but if one eats them everyday, their being special is lost and become just ordinary fare. Speaking of which, an indelible image stuck in my mind of the 1986 EDSA revolution was a footage captured on TV of Malacañang palace besieged by the mob, with an interior shot of the long dining table with a large tin of caviar (Beluga perhaps) left open lying on the table. But what I found appalling was not so much the ostentatious consumption of the palace’s occupants (that’s to be expected), even at the last hour’s of the strongman’s rule. It was the presence of a loaf of bread beside it – the white kind that most everyone calls variably Tasty, pan americano or simply pan (am mentioning all this with my eyes rolling up). Considering the circumstances of the situation then, it is excusable that the last supper (huling hirit) was prepared and consumed hurriedly, or perhaps the boulangerie just failed to deliver that afternoon the whole wheat bread due to the barricade.
A TV ad of a popular coffee brand shows a couple enjoying their morning coffee with the Eiffel tower seen through the window in the background, suggesting the subliminal message how good the coffee is that even people in Paris drink it. Nobody, but nobody drinks instant coffee in Europe, more so in France. Even the vending machines at train stations there serving coffee is freshly ground as one presses the button, with a choice given the costumer for an espresso, cappuccino, au lait (with milk), etc. The sight of Eiffel tower while sipping instant coffee doesn’t a gourmet make, even if it is served on stoneware cups.
Another time, one mid-morning at McDonald’s, I observed a man about to have his coffee, scooping in gingerly a serving of ice cream sundae, then stirring it ever so slowly. Then sipping it with eyes closed as if it were the most precious drink in the world. In my books, the man was a gourmet, he took pains in preparing his drink and savored every drop of it. It’s probably the case of a champagne taste with a beer budget, And this was much before all the so-called gourmet chain of coffee outlets mushrooming all over the metropolis.
Well, what’s the point am driving at? I honestly don’t know. All I can say is one man’s food is another man’s poison. What is considered gourmet is all but relative. You tell me.
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