Caldereta: Tales of a first-time Filipino cook

by Jan Raeimon Nato 

Some time ago, I began to cook. I don’t think I could say that I was inspired to cook. It was more like I was forced. As a university student, I could no longer afford to spend what I was on eating out. Moreover, I had a particular affinity for French and Japanese food (and Starbucks!), the prices of which aren’t very friendly on a university student’s bank account.

So it was that I looked up a recipe and began to cook. I got rather good at it, actually. I whipped up some French and Italian favourites and even made my own recipe that was a hit with my family. With a few successes under my belt, I thought to myself, “Jan, you really should learn to cook some Filipino dishes, after all you’re Filipino-Canadian!”

I looked up a recipe online and got to work. It seemed simple enough to me: marinated beef and vegetables stewed in tomato sauce and broth, finished off with liver pâté for richness. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, I chose a Thursday as the day I would begin my quest to become a master of caldereta.

Some people spend their money on new clothes. Nowadays, I spend mine on ingredients. I walk into a store determined to find the best ingredients possible. It’s almost like a hunt. I carefully examine lettuce. I smell herbs. I squeeze fruits. It’s an experience for all the senses! For the caldereta, I went to a grocery store for my vegetables and to a butcher to pick up some meat. I was nearly giddy when the butcher handed me the stewing beef wrapped in brown butcher’s paper; the romance of yesteryear filled my heart.

The evening I bought the beef, I ran my knife through an entire head of garlic to prepare the marinade, which serves the double purpose of tenderizing and flavouring the beef. As I massaged the pieces of meat together with the garlic, vinegar and soy sauce, I couldn’t help but salivate at the thought of the amazing meal I would have the next evening.

At work the next day, while the marinating meat sat in its container in my refrigerator, I could barely focus on my to-do list. The comforting flavours of my favourite Filipino dish floated through my mind all day: the wonderful, inexplicable, salty-sour-sweet-spicy taste that is born of the garlic, vinegar, tomatoes, soy sauce and liver. I thought about the wonderfully soft potatoes and carrots that would sit side-by-side with the meat, coated with sauce, on top of piping hot rice.

Needless to say, I hurried home and got to work. The recipe I was working from suggested that the meat be browned in the stewing pot to provide flavour and to lock moisture into the meat. I knew though that the garlic in the marinade might burn and become bitter during the browning process, so I enlisted the help of my younger sister to wipe off the bits of garlic from the meat and then to pat them dry. This does not remove the flavour, since the marinade has already penetrated the meat, but makes browning the meat possible.

After the meat was browned, the magic of caldereta began! I removed the meat and tossed in the onions, garlic and bell pepper and let them soak up the flavour left in the pot by meat. The tomato sauce was next, and after a while was followed the broth and the browned meat. After forty minutes, the house was full of aroma and it was time for the potatoes, carrots and peas to join the party. I was doing it! I was making caldereta!

I sat next to the pot in vigil, reading a book I’ve been meaning to finish for almost three years now. Every ten minutes I would rise from my stool and prudently stir the mixture, all the while growing hungrier and hungrier. I began to worry though when I noticed how much the meat was shrinking. It almost looked like the size of meat used for menudo. I also worried about how much sabaw or broth was still in the pot, even at the end of the cooking time. I decided to trust the recipe and moved ahead to the next and last step of this culinary adventure.

Liver pâté, which is just a fancy way of saying liver paste, sat on my counter, waiting to transform the tomato stew into caldereta. In a fit of excitement, I poured the whole can into the pot. My parents, who were sitting a few metres away at the kitchen table, looked a bit worried. I stirred it, making sure that it was melting into the sauce. It looked marvellous. However, the smell of liver soon became very prominent. I thought to myself, “This isn’t the smell of caldereta.” I looked to the recipe and noticed that it recommended a quarter-cup of the liver paste, and not the more than one cup that I had just thrown in!

I was very nearly devastated. Not only had my meat shrunk too much, but also there was too much of the thick, livery sabaw that made my stew look more like a soup! Like the chefs on TV insist, I tasted it. It tasted okay, actually. Somewhat reassured, I got my plate ready with piping hot rice and poured the trio of meat, vegetables and sauce over top.

I ate thoughtfully, almost like a food critic. I was disappointed in the meat. Instead of being moist, it was dry. I must not have browned them properly and juices were allowed to escape. Also, the pieces were too small! I loved the potatoes and carrots, but noticed that the orange bell peppers had actually disintegrated. All that was left of them were the skins! The last nail in the coffin of my attempted caldereta was the overpowering liver flavour. It didn’t help that I also put too much of the sabaw over my rice. It wasn’t bad, but it just wasn’t the caldereta I dreamed I would make.

For a while, I thought about giving up on Filipino food, but then I thought about the movie Julie & Julia. Neither Julia Child nor Julie Powell gave up on their culinary dreams, and neither should I. “Don’t be afraid!” I told myself, mimicking Julia Child’s distinctive voice. I know what adjustments I need to make, and I am confident that the next batch will be better.

Before I came to that conclusion, though, and as I sat in mourning over my dish, I noticed my mom was making some adjustments to hopefully save the caldereta. From what I saw, she removed some of the sabaw and added what seemed to me was tamarind seasoning. Sure enough, I packed some up for lunch the next day and it was delicious. I guess nothing’s ever a complete failure, after all!

At the end of the day, win or lose, I was happy to have the chance to get closer to my Filipino roots through food. Cooking, which is so central to culture, is often overlooked or taken for granted by us young people who are trying to reconnect to our heritage. It’s a wonderful way to share and to learn with little to no political controversy.

Signing off, I say to you all, “Bon appétit!” Or perhaps “Kain na!” and “Kain pa!” might be more appropriate in this case.

Jan Nato is a student at the University of Manitoba Faculty of Music studying classical voice. When he is not singing opera at the top of his lungs, he can be found in front of his TV watching movies or in front of the stove trying not to burn something.

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