General Luna’s Kinilaw

There is ceviche and there is kinilaw (sounds like kee-nee-lao). There is Boracay and there is Siargao. Chances are you’ve definitely heard of ceviche and if you are interested in the Philippines, you’ve probably heard of the beaches of Boracay too, but perhaps you have never heard of kinilaw yet or indeed, the island of Siargao. While ceviche and Boracay are both well-known in their own right, kinilaw and Siargao deserve to be known, even if for my own selfish reasons I am slightly hesitant to share the latter with anyone else.

The island of Siargao is beautiful from the air and even more stunning when you get there. The dense stickiness of sweet air engulfs you the moment you exit the plane, a stickiness that jolts me back to happy memories, happy memories of days spent in the tropics. Days spent in flip-flops, swimsuits, shorts and not much else. Evenings where your toes are still covered in sand, where remnants of salt are still clinging to your hair, because really what is the point of washing it properly when you’ll be in the water again in a few hours? And your skin smells permanently like a mix of coconut suntan lotion and mosquito repellent.

And Siargao smells like the sea. It smells like the sea when the strong winds blow in iodine from the waves and makes you forget the scorching heat of the sun. That tropical sun that turns beaches blindingly white at midday and dyes the water pink, purple and grey at sundown, like the smooth outstretched back of a dolphin. And when the clouds roll in heavy and the rains begin to quench the thirst of the blazing trees, it smells like grass, damp with raw earth.

While it has managed to remain well off the mainstream tourist circuit in the Philippines, Siargao is famous among a specific traveller group – Surfers. The infamous Cloud Nine wave has attracted surfers from all corners of the globe and annual surfing tournaments are held here where locals and outsiders alike compete for the title of the Siargao Cup. But if you are not a surfer like us, (I really wish I could call myself one, but with only a couple of weeks surfing under my belt I don’t think I could un-embarrassingly call myself that yet) there are so many other things to discover and even better, any beach without waves is completely deserted. 4 km of white sand and turquoise waters all to yourself.

After your day of attempting to surf, kite surf, scuba dive or do absolutely nothing, the sleepy town of General Luna where we were staying comes to life. The sun finally decides to turn in for the night and as temperatures drop, the sea-side market heats up. Fresh fish is laid out on large wooden tables, milky white fish, little anchovies, swordfish, yellow-fin tuna, mahi-mahi, calamari and many I could not tell you the name of. Families arrive on motorbikes, the children run to the ice-cream man who scoops out yellow mango or purple ube from a traditional churner and teenage boys head to the lady selling balut – the much loved delicacy of fertilized duck egg doused in a hefty dose of sharp vinegar. As entire sold fish are being scaled and vegetables are being weighed, children jump into the water fully clothed, liberated from their school uniforms and free till the day starts again.

During our two week stay, we head back to the market again and again, soaking in the action and all-round friendliness. One day we go there to hunt for lunch. Behind the dive shop and the dry goods section at the end of the market, there is a corner stand with no name. Metal pots are laid out on the counter, filled with various stews, vegetables and noodles – chicken adobo, pancit bihon, pork sinigang and white rice. Customers can take their pick and the price is decided by what you put on your dish. These dishes are all delicious, but we see a couple of men arrive with a whole fish and hand it over the counter to be prepared. Now we want some of that too.

Turns out they were making kinilaw to order.

We poke in our curious heads as usual and Renard in his Billabong shorts explains to us how people often bring fresh fish to him so that he can prepare it for them on the spot. We ask him if he could teach us, to which he laughs and says of course and off we go in search of our own Tayang Tayang from the market or as most of us know it, Mahi-Mahi.

Filipino Kinilaw is very similar to ceviche in that it is one of the best ways to handle super fresh fish, by not doing much to it at all. Both involve preparing cubes of fish then marinating them in some form of acid to “cook”. In Peru it is usually lemon juice, in the Philippines it is usually suka, i.e. vinegar. There are many variations of kinilaw, some involve the addition of coconut milk, other vegetables or even other types of seafood. This version Renard learned from his father, who as a fisherman would often eat fish straight from the sea on the boat with a good kick of vinegar.

We set about preparing the chillies, onions, cucumbers and fish as Renard’s friend takes over fly-swatting duty and soon all of us are involved in some kind of kinilaw-building task.

There are different theories as to the origins of kinilaw. Being a multi-island country, Filipino cooking has always been rich in seafood as well as different vinegars, in this case vinegar from the fermented sap of coconut (sukand tuba). Vinegar helped to preserve a lot of dishes in the hot climate and is also a way of “cleaning” fish. One similarity between Peru and the Philippines is that both were at some point invaded by the Spanish. Some theories argue that ceviche was born of a Moorish dish brought by the conquerors to Latin America who also brought lemons with them. Kinilaw on the other hand is made with vinegar, and evidence shows that it most likely existed in Filipino cuisine before Hispanic times, but the term kilaw or quilao , meaning something uncooked or unripe, was used by Spanish Catholic friars on the islands at the time, so maybe there is some connection between the two after all?

---

GENERAL LUNA’S KINILAW  \ˌdʒɛnərəl luna|s kinilaw\

With summer fast approaching, nothing beats a fresh fish dish and Filipino Kinilaw fits the bill perfectly. The coolness of the fish and the heat of vinegar and chilli are exactly what you need when the weather is warm. When eating raw fish make sure it is as fresh as possible and consume immediately once assembled. There are many versions possible for Kinilaw, every village and island has their own special way of making it, this one is from the Come family on the island of Siargao. 

Serves 2 for lunch or 4 as a side dish

For the Fish

1/2 kg Mahi Mahi filet (also known as Dorado/ Dolphin Fish and referred to in Siargao as Tayang Tayang) 
1/3 coconut vinegar or white distilled vinegar for sterilizing fish

For the Marinade

1/2 cup coconut vinegar or white distilled vinegar
2 tbsp green or red bird’s eye chilli
3 inches ginger root, peeled
1 small red onion
1 small cucumber
1 tsp rock salt
a pinch of ground white pepper
1 calamansi or small lime (optional)

Prepare the Fish

If you have the whole fish, clean it, skin it and remove the filets on both sides from the spine. Cut the filets into 3cm chunks and place into a bowl. Douse the mahi mahi cubes with 1/3 cup of coconut vinegar and stir to thinly coat each piece. This will help begin the process of sterilizing the fish and cooking it slightly. Set aside. 

Make the marinade

Cut the onion in half and slice finely. Slice the peeled ginger roots into thin matchsticks and crush them with your palm pressed against the flat side of the knife. This will help release the ginger juice, then finely mince the matchsticks. Finely chop the chillies. Mix the onions, chillies and ginger into the 1/2 cup vinegar in the serving bowl, add salt and white pepper and let sit. 

Assemble

Drain the fish cubes from the “cleaning” vinegar and add to the prepared marinade. Peel and slice the cucumber into 1 cm rounds and add to the final mixture. Mix gently, taste for salt and add some extra lime juice if you prefer!  

Easy, quick, delicious and just in time for summer! 

We’ll be back Siargao.