Lahore: A Week of Good Food

text and photos by Ino Manalo

Many of my fellow diners have had to patiently listen – often in mid-morsel – while I belabor the fact that I love the taste of a spicy dish but cannot handle how it sets my mouth on fire. During a week

that I spent in the ancient city of Lahore in Pakistan, I had many occasions to explain this point - in between hasty gulps of water.

Painting of a street-side restaurant in Lahore

Lahore, presently the capital of the province of Punjab, was once among the great cities of the Mughal Empire. Together with Kabul, Delhi, and Agra, it was the site of many of the grand edifices erected by the Mughal emperors. As the venue of an imperial court, it is to be expected that Lahore would develop a cuisine which featured elaborate concoctions as demanded by a regal palette. This may well be the case, but during my stay in this fabled metropolis, I only had the chance to savor more modest fare. As my friend, Dr Richard Engelhardt explained, most meals in Pakistan today center on roasted meats and simple but tasty stews.

My first memorable culinary encounter would cap a fascinating tour of the splendid former palace of Lahore. We had been invited to lunch by Dr Saleem ul Haq, a senior official of the archaeology department of Punjab who held office at the palace. Having fully satiated my eyes with the marvels that I had just seen, it was finally the turn of my stomach!

I was not disappointed: lunch turned out to be uncomplicated but delicious. The chicken and mutton stews were rich and fulfilling. As to be expected, every mouthful burned my tongue but there were cucumbers and there was yoghurt to cool things down.

First lunch at the Fort

In countries like India and even Malaysia, meals include both bread and rice.  Dr Saleem’s lunch was no exception. We had round bread still steaming, fresh from the oven. We also had a delightful plate of rice interwoven with vegetables. The woman sitting next to me kindly explained that there were two main types of rice dishes: the biryani and the pulao. What we were having was a pulao which was cooked by layering the grains with the accompanying greens in a pot for steaming. Biryani, on the other hand, involved sautéing diced meat with various spices to form a kind of paste. Then the rice was folded in and blended.

At the end of the meal came a scrumptious dessert: gajar ka halwa. It was warm and gooey, sticky and soft. It was like a golden porridge except that one could not have the entire bowl. When it was revealed that gajar meant carrot and  that this was the principle ingredient which was mixed with milk and nuts, Richard noted that his sons would not have been pleased. They would have been mortified to learn that our dessert was made from one of the nutritious food items which is on all children’s lists of things to avoid!

Cookies during the workshop

Richard also pointed out that while Pakistani fare consisted mostly of basic stews, it was in the dessert department that one could get a hint of the opulence of the Mughal era. In the days that followed, I would grow to be grateful for this fact. Since most dishes were a little too fiery for me, I often had to content myself with wolfing down considerable quantities of bread as well as sweet confections.

I began to look forward to our tea breaks when we could gorge on a galaxy of biscuits. Laid out on oval platters set on a tablecloth the color of turmeric were pyramids of chocolate wafers and cookies topped with almonds. My favorite was a crumbly delight that hinted of pistachios but also of shady courtyards and marble pavilions. I insisted on buying a couple of trays of these biscuits to take back home.

A workshop meal

On one occasion, our hosts, Rustam Khan and Pamela Rogers, graciously prepared for us a welcome treat: pakora! This consisted of vegetables plunged in batter and then fried. For dipping, there were bowls of yoghurt and chutney. I was reminded of tempura which, I had read somewhere, was introduced to the Japanese by the Portugese. Yet, so similar is tempura to pakora that one wonders if it was the Portugese that had done the copying. After all, they had maintained a number of colonies on the Indian Sub-continent.

Our host, Rustam Khan cooking pakora

Gulab jamun

I would later discover that pakora was also on sale at stalls in the streets. When we explored the oldest district of Lahore – the Walled City – we would find that a dizzying panoply of snacks was available everywhere . Along with the pakora were the meat-filled dumplings known as samosas. There was corn on the cob, as well as a kaleidoscope of patties and fried tidbits for nibbling. Most of all there were sweets. One shop had vats of my all-time favorite: gulab jamun. These are like our own pastillas de leche except that a syrup suffused with rose water and cardamom is added. Such luxury! And if the gulab were not enough, another store tantalized with more plates of candies displayed on tier after tier, a stairway of sweetness rising to confectionary heaven.

The stairway to sweet heaven

Our goal in the ancient district was a restaurant that was famed for serving just one dish – the nihari. This is a stew made of mutton and other odds and ends. It is prepared in the wee hours of the morning and left to simmer for hours so that the meat becomes almost jelly-like. The stew is served with piles of bread which, once again, I gratefully devoured since nihari was much too piquant for me.

One night, we trekked out to another famous establishment which was housed in a large mansion that faced the old city. Eccentrically furnished, it was filled with bric-a-brac and paintings as well as winding staircases and mysterious doorways. Reaching the rooftop dining area, I was in for a great surprise. Stretching before us, even as we sat at our tables, was the most amazing view: the Badshahi Masjid, one of the largest historical mosques in the world. I was speechless. How often does one have an illuminated minaret towering over you while you are having dinner? Yes, I am afraid that I have absolutely no recollection what we ate that evening.

Dinner by minaret light

Much more memorable was our final meal in Lahore. We were taken to this restaurant which served what was onomatopoeically referred to simply as “takatak”. This is a reference to the sound that the cooks make as they chop up the meat on a metal container with special knives. What was especially interesting to me though was not the signature “takatak” but a secondary dish that we were also served. It was something called “chicken atchara”. As is the case in the Philippines, “atchara” means pickle. I found that this splendid stew had just the right balance of sweet and sour, spice and tang – truly a combination after my own heart! It seemed that Pakistan cuisine could make concessions to those of us whose tongues are less fortified.

Returning to Manila, I happily sat down to a meal that had been prepared to welcome me. I laughed as I added several dashes of soy sauce: perhaps things were beginning to taste too bland for me after a week dominated by the flame-like flavors of the Sub-Continent. I quickly opened the biscuits that I had brought back. Sadly, they did not taste the way they had in Lahore. Perhaps I missed the yellow table cloth, the color of turmeric. Then again, it could well have been the fact that there was not a single minaret in view.

 

Halong Bay: Cruising in a Painting

text and some photos by Ino Manalo

view of Halong bay from the movie, Indochine

Shots from Indochine

                                                                                          

                                                                                

There is a scene from a famous film where a couple evades the turmoil of their country by taking a boat trip through a fascinating archipelago. For countless hours, the lovers lie ensconced in their vessel as it glides past a fairyland of forest-covered peaks rising from the sea.

The fantastic setting for this unforgettable episode is actually Halong Bay in the northern Vietnamese province of Quang Ninh, an easy two to three hour ride from Hanoi. We arranged our cruise through our hotel in the capital. Since we had the good fortune of staying in an Inter-Continental, I expected that every detail of this marine experience would be carefully organized. It turns out that no one had looked into the matter of rest stops. The establishment where our driver chose to break our journey was not the most pleasant. It had a wooden shed in the backyard which served as the toilet! One would think that surely the folks at the Inter-Continental in Hanoi would be more meticulous about the itineraries of the tour packages which they offered their guests.

The pier where we boarded our boat was not much better. It was crowded, hot, and chaotic. I had no choice but to shrug this off – what else would a busy tropical port be like? Entering our boat, I caught a glimpse of a faint line of irregular forms, hovering on the faraway horizon. They would turn out to be the fabled isles that I had seen in the film.

As we drew closer, I began to see what had attracted so many others before me. I don’t know exactly what it is about this view of countless islands in all shapes and sizes which is so captivating.  In fact, the scenery was truly bewitching. Perhaps it is because the islands stand at different distances so that some are rendered darker or clearer while others are only blurred silhouettes. Chinese artworks come to mind with their varying areas of bold brush strokes and soft washes. Is part of the appeal the sense that one is lost in painting?

In the case of Halong, the experience is heightened by the fact that we were surrounded by a wide, dark sea. Every curve of peak is doubled, mirrored in a magical realm which appears or disappears according to the whims of the light.

The whole area – about 400 square kilometers – has been inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage List. The inscription made special mention of the rich biodiversity with about a 1000 species of fish as well as a range of mammals, reptiles, and birds. The islands make up what is referred to as a karst landscape. Into this category falls the terrain of places like Guilin in Southern China or even our very own Chocolate Hills in Bohol. To be precise, Halong is more correctly described as a drowned karst landscape because of its marine setting. In this way it may be compared with Phang Nga in Thailand or El Nido in Palawan.

There are about 1,600 islands in the Bay most of which are uninhabitable because of the steepness of their slopes. We sailed past these emerald mounds anchored in celadon waters for what seemed like hours. Some of the mounds looked like immense stallions grazing in a field of grass. Others looked like castles with half-ruined turrets overgrown by vines. Still others reminded me of the vista from Camp Lookout in the hills behind Dumaguete. There a friend had observed that the clouds were pretending to be islands.

In Halong, time takes a nap on a chair on the deck. No one really talks. The mind is stilled.

Then the captain stopped the engines, suggesting a swim. Only my niece, Mia, took up his invitation. She dove into the sea  -  a plain of viridian glass. I had not quite noticed  -  so enveloped was I by the quiet -  that the sea had become completely flat. There were no waves. The islands had formed a wall that kept the winds and the rest of the world away. We were in a pond. Now that I look back, I wish that I had just jumped in myself. It would have been bliss. Where else can we come upon a pool in the middle of the ocean?

Our boat was a modest affair. There were no cabins – just a large hall that functioned as a dining room. The meal that was served was not fancy. There was fried fish, green sprouts quickly sautéed in garlic, something that was certainly a lumpia, boiled shrimps. We wiped our plates clean.  The freshness and the proximity of the sea made everything so sweet.

A friend who is a travel expert tells me that one can book more elaborate vessels. I have seen pictures of boats which boast of bedrooms that have canopies, carpets, and mood lighting. Some voyages offer well-trained chefs as well as butlers at one’s beck and call. I suppose this can be charming too. Yet how much more pampering does one need when there is this view? I imagine that the scenery will reveal itself just as languorously if one is sitting in plush quarters as when one is in a more spartan chamber.  

At one point, we stopped to visit a floating fish stall. We alighted onto a large wooden platform adrift on the Bay. There were several pens which were really just square openings that revealed nets set in the warm waters. The pens were brimming with sea-life, squirming and splashing about.  It seemed a pity to think that someone could actually point to any of these denizens of the deep and the poor creature would be caught, thrown into a pot and then readied for a fine meal. For a few moments I toyed with the idea of paying the fishermen to let their wards all go. Surely such an act would earn me a place in heaven.

Later on we docked to see a cave. We had to climb a steep path that led up the slopes to enter into the darkness which was actually not so dark. Colored lights had been installed. The caverns looked like a Las Vegas set. Stalagmites became Christmas trees and stalactites became chandeliers. Perhaps entertainers dressed as mermaids and mermen would appear at any minute. We fled back to our boat only to be greeted by a dolphin in the middle of the mountain path, its steel mouth ready to receive our offerings of trash before we were allowed to pass.

As we pulled out of the harbor I spied a huge sign – it was the emblem of the UNESCO World Heritage List. It saddened me when I thought about how it would have been better if Halong Bay’s inscription on this prestigious list were celebrated not with such a prominent marker but with the pristine quality of the environment. When one is presented with so much natural beauty, why is there a compulsion to add another metal dolphin, another cement bench in the shape of a log?

I suppose one should still be thankful. After all, the islands were not covered with billboards. The dolphin cans kept the trails free from trash and the caverns had their own bizarre charm. What’s a little neon light when one can take refuge in such sublime scenery?

During our return trip, our crew brought out some souvenirs to sell. I was actually interested in the way that our whole journey had been choreographed. Clearly, someone had studied the schedule carefully and worked out what should make up the standard trip. There was the moist towel offered when you entered the boat, then the initial cruise, stops at the fish stall and the cave, and the pause for a dip followed by a simple but delicious lunch. At the end came the time for souvenirs.

 I saw fans and pearls, lace doilies and t-shirts. The products were well-fashioned. I noted a wide selection of art works. A number portrayed the Bay. I had thought to myself: should I complete the circle and return from my cruise in the heart of a painting with an actual painting in hand?

I looked at the seascapes which were swirling by. I smiled at the seller and then put away my wallet.  I decided that I would just have to make do with the Halong Bay shimmering in my memory.