In honor of the Philippines' 112th Independence Day today, I shall write about another Filipino staple, the pan de sal.
There was a time when amidst the tik-ti-la-oks (that is how we think a rooster's crow sounds like, as opposed to the more English cock-a-doodle-doo), another dominant sound fills the early morning air - that of little pot-pots (the sound a small horn makes) and young boys shouting in their best "manly" voice "paaaannn de saaaallll!!!". I do not know which one was more effective in waking up the the community - the annoying sound of roosters atop each house patiently waiting for their turn to crow (that's the barrio's version of the alarm clock for you) or the promise of that hot piece of bread to dip in your equally hot cup of coffee.
The pan de sal (which I'm sure our Spanish-speaking comrades would be happy to translate as bread of salt) is a Filipino bread which is a regular a presence in every Pinoy breakfast table. The soft bread with a somewhat crunchy exterior has fed and sustained many generations of Juans (the Filipino's answer to Tom, Dick and Harry). The pan de sal can be eaten on its own, dipped in coffee or hot chocolate or paired with butter, cheese, peanut butter, corned beef, egg, hotdog , noodles - practically everything.
The journey of the pan de sal to the breakfast table is a long but interesting one. They would come out of big, hot ovens at dawn and are then displayed in big metal trays. Some would go straight to recycled big lard tin cans to be perched on bikes or in boxes to be hauled on the shoulders of pre-pubescent boys. The ones who buy them straight from the local panadero (baker) get to take them home in little brown bags that grow moist from the heat of the freshly-baked little pieces of bread. By the time the sun is officially up, everyone, the bakers and bread boys included, would have been enjoying their morning pan de sal.
Fast forward to Dubai, home to many Filipinos working in the Middle East. I have constantly been surprised by the variety and accessibility of Filipino foodstuff here. But none has prepared me for discovering a pan de sal that tasted just like the ones back home. I have tried many but they almost always came short of the real thing. That is, until my friend Ella pointed me to Thousand Island Bakery in Karama. When we first got there, I asked her if she was sure they sold pan de sal because there were no signs saying they sold them. It must have been 8pm already but there was a small queue and they were all ordering the same pan de sal. How strange, I thought. I was a bit skeptical to try as it may turn out to be another dud but since I've dragged myself this far, in typical Roma fashion, I said, why not.
I ordered six pieces (just in case they were really good) for two dirhams. It may sound like they were quite a steal - by Dubai standards, yes, but by Philippine standards, no. I think one piece in the Philippines must cost about 10-20 fils, almost twice the cost here. How to know if it's a good pan de sal? First you feel it. Is it hot? Then you smell it. Is it baked just right or has it stayed in the oven for far too long? Then you break it in two. You'll know it's fresh when the right amount of crumbs fall and the bread is easy to break despite the outer crunchy crust. Then you eat it. An authentic yummy pan de sal does not have any starchy aftertaste.
At last, the quest for the perfect pan de sal has ended. I found mine in Karama and biting into one brought back memories of early mornings back home. For that brief moment, I heard the cocks crowing and the boys shouting "pan de saaallll!!!". I smelled coffee and scrambled eggs. It was nice feeling the crumbs against my fingers. Best of all, I tasted home. I wished that the rest of the nine million Filipinos working all over the world (an astounding one-tenth of the Philippines' population) would be as lucky as me to find a little piece of paradise in the lowly pan de sal, the way I did on that one fateful evening.
There was a time when amidst the tik-ti-la-oks (that is how we think a rooster's crow sounds like, as opposed to the more English cock-a-doodle-doo), another dominant sound fills the early morning air - that of little pot-pots (the sound a small horn makes) and young boys shouting in their best "manly" voice "paaaannn de saaaallll!!!". I do not know which one was more effective in waking up the the community - the annoying sound of roosters atop each house patiently waiting for their turn to crow (that's the barrio's version of the alarm clock for you) or the promise of that hot piece of bread to dip in your equally hot cup of coffee.
The pan de sal (which I'm sure our Spanish-speaking comrades would be happy to translate as bread of salt) is a Filipino bread which is a regular a presence in every Pinoy breakfast table. The soft bread with a somewhat crunchy exterior has fed and sustained many generations of Juans (the Filipino's answer to Tom, Dick and Harry). The pan de sal can be eaten on its own, dipped in coffee or hot chocolate or paired with butter, cheese, peanut butter, corned beef, egg, hotdog , noodles - practically everything.
The journey of the pan de sal to the breakfast table is a long but interesting one. They would come out of big, hot ovens at dawn and are then displayed in big metal trays. Some would go straight to recycled big lard tin cans to be perched on bikes or in boxes to be hauled on the shoulders of pre-pubescent boys. The ones who buy them straight from the local panadero (baker) get to take them home in little brown bags that grow moist from the heat of the freshly-baked little pieces of bread. By the time the sun is officially up, everyone, the bakers and bread boys included, would have been enjoying their morning pan de sal.
Fast forward to Dubai, home to many Filipinos working in the Middle East. I have constantly been surprised by the variety and accessibility of Filipino foodstuff here. But none has prepared me for discovering a pan de sal that tasted just like the ones back home. I have tried many but they almost always came short of the real thing. That is, until my friend Ella pointed me to Thousand Island Bakery in Karama. When we first got there, I asked her if she was sure they sold pan de sal because there were no signs saying they sold them. It must have been 8pm already but there was a small queue and they were all ordering the same pan de sal. How strange, I thought. I was a bit skeptical to try as it may turn out to be another dud but since I've dragged myself this far, in typical Roma fashion, I said, why not.
I ordered six pieces (just in case they were really good) for two dirhams. It may sound like they were quite a steal - by Dubai standards, yes, but by Philippine standards, no. I think one piece in the Philippines must cost about 10-20 fils, almost twice the cost here. How to know if it's a good pan de sal? First you feel it. Is it hot? Then you smell it. Is it baked just right or has it stayed in the oven for far too long? Then you break it in two. You'll know it's fresh when the right amount of crumbs fall and the bread is easy to break despite the outer crunchy crust. Then you eat it. An authentic yummy pan de sal does not have any starchy aftertaste.
At last, the quest for the perfect pan de sal has ended. I found mine in Karama and biting into one brought back memories of early mornings back home. For that brief moment, I heard the cocks crowing and the boys shouting "pan de saaallll!!!". I smelled coffee and scrambled eggs. It was nice feeling the crumbs against my fingers. Best of all, I tasted home. I wished that the rest of the nine million Filipinos working all over the world (an astounding one-tenth of the Philippines' population) would be as lucky as me to find a little piece of paradise in the lowly pan de sal, the way I did on that one fateful evening.
