In Search for Pampaasim

Viv Yumul

I owe the vivid memory of discovering sinigang to the conjunction of a haunted house and a sampalok tree. The house, quieted by the stillness of noon, was the very image of a melancholic woman, seen by passersby, standing like a stranger to her own balcony. The sampalok tree by the gate, like her, was enclosed with the cold greyness of concrete. The image belongs to the early 2000s, about sixty years after the bombing of Manila--unplanned settlements took over the greenery in a sweep at the attempt to industrialize.

'It will be worth it to sneak around', said my neighbor kid. He brought a good number of children to accompany him in his quest to pick sampalok fruits, which I didn't know then. We stomped in our brightly colored shirts and Sunday dresses to the farthest corner of the street. The tree stood tall and wide. One of us threw slippers to shake the branches and we hurriedly stretched our skirts and shirts to catch the strange fruits. I thought it was not mine to take... that a tree is a place where children should not be. But everyone exclaimed and giggled.

'She might step out any time now', I thought. And the gloomy woman appeared. I recall the sound of the breeze, the vivid colors of noon, and the sight of quiet horror in her lifeless face, unexplainable to a child. My friends continued to giggle as we ran away.

Not knowing what to do with them, I brought the fruits home to my mother and she gave me a warm smile, giving meaning to our ordeal. After all, there were only a few edible fruiting trees left in the neighborhood. She peeled the brown fruits, and squeezed out their sour juice to serve the delightful local stew, sinigang, for dinner. Each person around the table scooped a fair share of meat, along with kangkong, bright red tomatoes and purple onions that clung to it, chunks of gabi, and a ladle of broth, one after another into a separate sipping bowl (on top of steamed rice, of course). I imagined how all of my friends must have been very pleased.

We discovered Sinigang through the paradisiac song of foraging sour fruits, whose high spirits flooded the stew. And for the people of the tropical islands, it was the most natural thing they could come up with. Before canned goods arrived in the country during war, and before dried sampalok soup packets were sold all over the sari-sari stores, the abundance of pampaasim (souring agents) in the landscape created a wide selection to the cook's pleasure, altering according to season or preference for what works well with the available proteins.

While much has been said about the popular fruits such as sampalok, kamias, calamansi, and guava, proliferated in most Tagalog regions, the diversity of pampaasim is scattered in rural areas. One has only to inquire about it through the old folks in the neighborhood.

When using freshly caught fish, some fishermen would say karmai, like Kamias, is just right for a lightly boiled, slightly soured classic. When Ilocanos find these tightly clustered, glowing, yellow-green fruits ready for harvest, they shake the branch, and they fall plenty on a stretched blanket.

In the absence of sampalok and kamias, a jolly nanay at a small market in Palawan, handed me a pack of dried kandis. "It's very sour!" she warned. "A piece or two for a pot might be good already! Go on and try." When I bit into it, I was welcomed by the dried, subtle sweetness like that of dried tomatoes, quickly followed by a very bright sourness. Kandis's potent sourness required a few pieces to melt for a good level of asim. It did not take over the flavors of the ingredients. In fact, it combined well by lending its brightness to the chicken, gabi, and talbos ng kamote, while the sun dried note lingered in the fragrant smell.

On a rainy day, I visited nanay again to search her memories for more unpopular pampaasim. "Green mangoes, have you tried those?" I savored a memory of having Talakitok (Carangoides malabaricus) in green mangoes, and coconut milk. "Grilled unripe santol!" she boasted. And for a moment, we lost ourselves in imagining the brilliant, mouth-watering recipe. She also suggested that I look for the aromatic and sour leaves of libas tree. "It's the one with white and yellow flowers. I can't explain much, but I know it when I see it!"

Nanay's excitement for pampaasim is almost second-nature to most islanders. Why do we crave it? Our sense of taste is first and foremost nature's guide to what we need to eat. The ecologist, Robert Dunn (2022), says that the most obvious reason for the sour craving, is likely because humans ceased to produce their own ascorbic acid (vitamin C) somewhere along the line of evolution. When we see our craving for the asim of sinigang, rooted in the body's search for medicine, it opens doors to understanding the deeper nourishment native pampaasim actually offers to the body.

The leaves of libas alone have anti-diabetic properties, and are used to treat heartburn, and kidney stones; the fruit that resembles mango, is good for the liver, invigorates the body, has significant antioxidant activity, and anti-bacterial properties, among others. If eaten fresh, kandis contains minerals that reduce cholesterol levels, and the dried fruit is used to relieve inflammation in traditional medicine. Santol too, combats inflammation and cancer.

The disappearance of vegetation in highly urbanized regions have rapidly replaced the pampaasim that were once growing everywhere in the community, with the popular sinigang mix. These are thoroughly processed with additives including caramel color, that is usually high-dextrose corn syrup. With diets high in processed foods visibly increasing vulnerability to various sicknesses and diseases, it is valid to ask how much medicinal value we might be losing in exchange for faster methods, and longer shelf life. Could drying fresh pampaasim be the better way?

Where the sea and vegetation scream of freshness, the variations of sinigang allude to the nourishing gifts of the landscape, and the playfulness that comes when one is surrounded by so much growth. In contrast to the hurried rhythms of modern life, it is the song of the freshly caught fish, the mother picking sitaw, talong, and green chilis in the backyard, while children scatter to find the tree of pampaasim... that is eternalized in the flavors of sinigang.

Reference:

Dunn, R. (2021). The evolution of sour taste in hominids. Retrieved from https://fermentology.pubpub.org/pub/seq07ojk/release/1