I know you’ll agree that the sight, smell or taste of food evoke memories of 20, 30, 40 years ago clearer than a thousand old photographs. It could be that food memories bring back details of our mundane lives more powerfully than any artist's magnificent brush strokes!
And so, when I learned at Facebok that my cousin Alfonso Quilala, an engineer who now resides in the U.S. with his handsome family, gets to cook in foreign land my long-lost shellfish, my favorite "kallu-it" of old, memories came marching back. I salute my cousin for his patience in locating these shells; I haven’t eaten them myself for all of thirty years!
Elusive shells of my childhood, no. I was probaly not resourceful enough to try to hunt them down in wet markets in Manila, if ever they’re available here.True to nature, what my cousin wants, my cousin gets, in the U.S. or anywhere in the world. So reflective of how enterprising our overseas Ilocano ‘kababayans’ are and how fiercely loyal they are to their roots especially on matters of their native food favorites. ‘Kallu-it’ in America, wow!
This shell delicacy is actually common in Ilocos. The picture above is not the local variety but the ‘stateside’ version which is moss green and gray with pinkish shades found in the wet markets of San Gabriel, California where my cousin resides . I wish I knew its English name! Well, what does it matter? This shellfish by any other name – and color - tastes as sweet!
And what taste does it offer, really, that keeps me longing for it all those years?
I requested my good friend, Mang Corazon Tabag to provide me the method of preparing the shellish delicacy and she gladly obliged (thanks!) with a rambling, nostalgic description that parallels the simple straightforward way we Ilocanos prepare our food in the old days: remember the saying “no pain, no gain?” Exactly, to eat kallu-it you go through a tedious process. Here’s Mang Corazon’s version:
“You clean the kallu-it shells thoroughly, then you boil them briefly (blanch), then you crush the shells , then you pick out the bits and pieces of the crushed shells from the flesh then you put back the de-shelled shellfish to the pot, then you put in a little water, then you put in onions and tomatoes, then season it with patis, then you let it boil awhile, then, if you desire a slightly sour taste, put in tamarind –--”
And then… haha, you eat it, that’s it. No fuzz, no frills. Every ingredient thrown into the recipe in quickfire, sureshot estimates.
Actually, the kallu-it shell is hard as rock you have to smash the shell covering to get to the flesh (You can choose your style of weaponry -- a stone, a hammer, a bolo handle, the butt of a .38 caliber…just imagine yourself punching the skull of your gossipy neighbor, or the butt of your husband’s mistress---ooppps, sorry, these are my words, not Mang Corazon’s); cleaning the shellfish from the crushed shells is the hard part ( it could take years! But you have to be patient if you don't wish to get yourself choked with all the shrapnels, tsk tsk).
All done, the result is a taste of heaven, soft and fleshy and a bit sweet. Or, shall we say…an unpolluted, pure natural taste , refreshing as the sea breeze.
I think this is the Ilocano kitchen secret: it’s the simplicity, the backyard plainness of the ingredients that preserve natural flavors of food, without the artificial embellishments, that gives our cooking a charm all its own.
I remember my mother’s way: she prepared it salad style, so plain and yet so adorable:
She roasts the cleaned shells until they come out smelling of roast beef…I mean, smelling ‘nabang-i’ (the characteristic shellfish aroma that wafts into your neighbor’s nose to declare you’re roasting or broiling something grand in your kitchen…), then she adds tomatoes and onions, with patis to taste . Did she tease the kallu-it’s flavor somehow by seasoning it with a few drops of bagoong monamon (anchovies), as we are always tempted to do? Most likely she used the patis that naturally rises to the top of the perfectly fermented bagoong .We rarely bought patis in bottles then (if ever, it’s Tentay patis , remember the sing-song ?)
And, a tip from my undisputed authority, my cousin: it’s the slimy “saliva” of the shellfish that gives it its exceptional flavor. Also, add lemon grass for added aroma.
I agree. It’s what I remember most about ‘kallu-it:’ all the crushing and the bashing that bring out your repressed sadistic instincts. It’s the only shellfish I know that you pound into smitterens before you eat it. Yes, the secret of its tangy delectable taste is in the fresh slimy juices after the cruel shell bashing.
Of course, we have other edible snails that invade our kitchens: the "soso" and the "bisukol" that we cook into "inabraw"--boiled in water with tomatoes, a strip of ginger and "lasona' (native onions) and of course, with bagoong to taste. In my childhood kitchen, fats and oils are kept to minimum: I don't remember my mother ever sauteing (quick frying), reason perhaps why my grandmother lived past 100 years old!
Back to snails,eating these shellfish is not for the finicky; you can't use fork on them, maybe toothpicks to coax the flesh out, otherwise, you have to suck what's inside till your lungs collapse, I mean, if you are an expert in mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, then you'll survive. Not exactly a glamorous way to enjoy your shellfish, but what the heck? It's delicious! And we Ilocanos are cowboys; we suck our shellfish without artifice.
Seriously my friends, it is all worth it, I assure you. Although basically it depends on the exotic predisposition of our Ilocano tongue, a Lapogeno and I suspect other genuine Ilocanos, too, would have beads of sweat rolling down their forehead as they savor the shellfish. Otherwise, why should we, cousin Junior in the US and I in the Philippines, be doing a duet bragging about it here?
Local ‘bombshells’ of distinctive flavor, the familiar shellfish of my childhood. Enjoy it!
(picture courtesy of Cousin Alfonso Q.)
