Pork sinigang

It’s a challenge to replicate a good pork sinigang in the United Kingdom because there are no packets of instant flavouring to be found anywhere. Nor can you find, even if you wanted to go old school, fresh tamarind, kamias, guavas, or any of the usual souring agents. I decided to return to the essence of what makes a sinigang a sinigang: that meat and vegetables are cooked in soup that is soured by a melange of ingredients that should be as uncommon as possible. This is the reason for the taboo against using vinegar to sour a sinigang: it is too easy, too common, too ready to hand. The best sinigangs, when you talk to people, are made with fruit that can only be found in one particular grandmother’s back garden in Bacolod, on an incredibly obscure plant that has been alive for seven generations but only produces a few fruit a year, but is absolutely incomparable, and I’ll tell you all about it but you can never have it because you aren’t related to her, tough luck on you. Thus I began the task of recreating sinigang, not in terms of flavour or technique, but in terms of its definition. For this I have to thank food scholars such as Doreen Fernandez, who have performed the task of defining sinigang and codifying the definition, so that there is a measure of authenticity that is not derived from taste or replication of technique. The experimental sinigang from this evening, perhaps an ur-sinigang of sorts, was soured with rhubarb and tamarind.

Take a strip of pork belly, and chop it into chunks. Saute curls of onion and chopped garlic over a medium-to-high heat; do not melt them down over a low heat in the French manner of making a braise. While they are still crisp but beginning to give off their aroma, toss in the chunks of pork belly, and toss together to allow the flavours to mix. In another pot, make the souring broth by boiling up segments of rhubarb, and wet tamarind (available in blocks) in water. Add stock to the pork and bring both pots to the boil. After a few minutes the rhubarb will become soft and pulpy and the tamarind will have dissolved. Strain this liquid into the other pot and adjust the water to make a soup. Add tomatoes and aubergines and simmer; after about half an hour, add string beans or haricots verts and boil for five minutes more. Adjust the seasoning with either more water, some patis, a squeeze of lime juice, etc., to get the right balance of salt and sour. It should be sour enough to elicit a wince of pain when imbibed. Serve with hot rice and a dip of patis.