Dampa

I just read a comment in a friend's blog, about her experience enjoying dim sum on the weekend, that stated the person enjoys blogs about food. For some reason I liked that comment - and I thought who doesn't? - because I do too. Reading about people's experiences with food brings so much to the reader. It can transfer the reader to another culture. It can remind the reader of things they didn't know they missed. It can bring the reader to fond memories of things did when eating. It can spring board the reader into trying something new.

To that end, I've decided to repost a blog I recently wrote and posted on another site about my experience at a dampa. A dampa is a seafood restaurant in which you choose what you're going to eat from a wet market and you tell the waiter how you want it cooked.

I hope you enjoy the experience. Here's my post:

I haven't looked up the meaning of the word or its translation (laziness rearing its ugly head again) but from what I gather a dampa is a place where you pick your own food and a vendor will cook it for you the way you want it. I've been to such a place before, in Hong Kong, but I went to my first in Manila on Boxing Day.  And, I got the desire and inclination to go to one from oddest places, considering I'm Fil-Am and you'd think that my wife or someone who grew up in The Philippines would've suggested it. It was from watching Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations that going to a dampa entered my mind. So, on this trip, my wife and I decided that it was going to be a priority - along with her getting her fill of puto bongbong and eating our friend Jenny's tapa.

There are several dampa now in The Philippines but because the food is largely fish and other seafood many of them are by bodies of water. When we asked my father where we could go, he mentioned the one on Roxas Boulevard in Baclaran.

It was hard to get there, thanks to traffic on this holiday Sunday, and thanks to street vendors and shoppers walking along the road that, before reclamation, had been part of The Pacific Ocean. Now, from the front of the dampa to the water is about a mile or so of reclaimed land that has been turned into road and highways.  I could imagine a jetty or some other protrusion coming from the restaurant to the water, as the expression goes, back in the day.

As we pulled into a very narrow parking spot, which we were guided into by a thin woman in dirty capris and a long sleeve t-shirt with a towel around her neck, I commented to myself how skilled Filipino drives are to be able to get into, out of and around tight spaces with double parked cars, azcals (street dogs), people walking four or five wide shoulder-to-shoulder and tricycles trying to squeeze around you going the other way on a one way street. (Reality TV show idea! We could call it "Survivor Driver" and it would have drivers from all over the world competing in different mundane and outrageous driving feats.)

After getting out of the car and paying the woman a few pesos for her help, we proceeded to the restaurant. Above its entrance is a sign that says it's the original fish market and restaurant. Seeing that, my anticipation for the experience and the tastiness of the food was naturally heightened. There was, already, a sense of authenticity to what we were about to experience. In addition to the sign, I noticed my son. Clinging to me tightly, his head didn't stop turning from side-to-side and his mouth hung open as he watched street kids, shoeless and dirty, walking by themselves in and among the other people and between cars. One child was sleeping on a cardboard box that had been flattened out. When my son turned to me, I could feel tears wanting to well up when I saw, how at his young life of two years and eight months, he could see and tell there was something different and unfortunate about what he was seeing compared to his own life. When he held me tighter, I leaned down to him and whispered, "Be grateful, Jude. We're very lucky."

When we got inside, an intrepid waiter from one of the restaurants - there are several and you choose the one you go to with your food - greeted us, gave us a menu with the options we had of how the seafood would be cooked and guided us around the various fish stalls. The squid, laid out on ice, some about the size of a small squash and some as small as an individual pack of Rolo chocolates, glistened and changed the appearance of its coat when we'd brush our fingers against them. The crabs were some of the largest I'd ever seen. The seaweed didn’t look like the sliced stuff we'd get at the sushi counter in the supermarket in New Jersey. Instead, it looked like green mini sago (clear tapioca balls) stuck together on a stem two or three inches long.

After making all of our selections, we went upstairs and had our feast. Without doubt, this Boxing Day lunch with my wife, son and parents has been the tastiest and most satisfying meal of this trip. We had Chili Crabs, done with typical Filipino sweetness and different from the Singaporean spicier version. We also had fried pampano, Mussels Soup, my wife's seaweed salad, garlic rice, kang kong sautéed in bagoong (shrimp paste) and garlic, and adobong pusit.  Without doubt, this adobong pusit was the best I'd ever had; its sauce thick and salty-sweet.  For Jude, we got some plain rice and lechon kawali. We tried to give him some of the seafood but he wouldn't take it so we ordered the pork but still he wouldn't eat, which is very strange because back in New Jersey he eats everything - American food, Filipino, Indian, Chinese, you name it.

So Jude could eat something, we went to Pancake House©, one of the restaurant chains my brother-in-law owns, and got him his favourite waffles. That's where we had our sweets too. My wife had an old fashioned Banana Split, my parents shared plain pancakes and I enjoyed a Halo Halo.

On the way back to the house, battling for road space among the other cars, Jude discovered and became enthralled by Jeepneys. Now, a week on, he says the word correctly but then it was "Jeepey." Not bad for a less than three year old who'd never seen them or said the word before.

It was a fantastic day. For all of us, we got to savour a delicious meal and spend time together. It was more time for Jude to bond with his paternal grandparents, who he is starting to know and call Grandma and Granddad, the way they want him to (his maternal grandparents are lola and lolo). For Jude and I, Fil-Ams who didn't grow up and aren't growing up in Manila (I grew up in Hong Kong and Jude is growing up in America) it was a chance to experience more than the 'metropolitanised' Makati and Greenhills. It was a chance for me to get in touch with my roots and for Jude to see the country of his parents' birth.

Oh, and by the way, Happy New Year everyone. May you all have a safe, happy, healthy and content 2011.
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