The Cheat: The Adobo Experiment

The Cheat: The Adobo Experiment
By: Sam Sifton, New York Times
Published: January 5, 2011

There are more than 7,100 islands in the Philippines, a nation slightly larger than the state of Arizona, and if you could devote your life to traveling through them asking questions about food, you would discover a different recipe for adobo on each one.

It is the national dish, many Filipinos say: protein braised in vinegar until pungent and rich, sweet and sour and salty at once, sometimes crisped at the edges in high heat, always served with the remaining sauce. Its excellence derives from the balance of its flavors, in the alchemy of the process. Cooking softens the acidity of the vinegar, which then combines with the flavor of the meat to enhance it. Whether consumed in Manila’s heat or on the edge of a New York winter, adobo holds the power to change moods and alter dining habits.

It is a difficult dish to cook just once. For the adobo neophyte, there are always adjustments to be made to increase a diner’s pleasure in one direction or another — a touch more salt or sour, sweet or fire.

Until there is not. Then the recipe — your recipe — becomes set in stone.

As a result, there is great fun to be had in asking Filipinos how to make adobo, particularly when they are in groups. Filipino cooking is an evolutionary masterpiece, a cuisine that includes Chinese, Spanish, American and indigenous island influences, all rolled into one. But where for one Filipino the most important aspect of the dish is Spanish, for another it is Chinese, or both, or neither. (The journalist and food historian Raymond Sokolov has made the point that the ingredients for adobo were present in the Philippines before Magellan — only the name, which comes from a Spanish word for sauce, came later. “Lexical imperialism,” he called this process.)

Husbands argue with wives about adobo. Friends shoot each other dirty looks about the necessity of including coconut milk or soy sauce in the recipe. There are disputations over the kind of vinegar to use, over the use of sugar, over the inclusion of garlic and how much of it. Some use chicken exclusively in the dish, others pork, some a combination of the two.

Some serve the dish as a stew. There are those who call for broiling the meat at the end, to caramelize it and provide a crisp texture alongside the sauce. Others advocate pan-frying. Some demand deep-frying. Or grilling.

“No two people in the same house will cook adobo the same way,” said Amy Besa, who runs, with her husband, Romy Dorotan, the excellent ­Purple Yam restaurant in Ditmas Park, Brooklyn. At Purple Yam, she said, Dorotan makes chicken adobo with a sauce that combines vinegar and coconut milk with soy sauce, garlic and fiery little Thai chilies.

Left to her own devices, Besa added, she and other purists would not use the soy sauce. In Manila, she said, you would find people turning up their noses at the coconut milk. “You can make adobos in many, many ways,” she said. “But the dish must be based in vinegar. You cannot make adobo without it.”

Jose Antonio Vargas, a Filipino journalist who writes about technology and digital culture for The Huffington Post, said his adobo recipe combines chicken and pork, which he marinates overnight in a mixture of vinegar, soy sauce and garlic. “Sometimes I even add brown sugar,” he said, “depending on who I’m cooking it for.”

(Not Besa: “I rail against sugar,” she said. “If it becomes too dominant, then the dish becomes a Chinese sweet and sour.”)

This week’s recipe is derived from the adobo served at Purple Yam. It is a dish Dorotan developed at Cendrillon, a restaurant he and Besa owned and ran together in SoHo until 2009. (A version of it appeared in their 2006 cookbook, “Memories of Philippine Kitchens.”) There is soy sauce in it, and the coconut milk that is common to the southern part of Luzon, the island from which Dorotan hails.

As the mixture cooks, the rice vinegar turns mellow, and the sauce thickens in the heat. There are notes of garlic and bay, of chicken fat and chili fire, coconut sweetness and the nutty saltiness of soy. The combination is ridiculous: a dark and creamy flavor that covers the chicken in silk.

Care should be taken in the assembly of the ingredients. If you can manage to secure Filipino coconut sap vinegar, that would be best, though good-quality rice vinegar from the supermarket will yield excellent results as well, and white wine or even cider vinegar will do in a pinch. (Coconut sap vinegar is available in specialty markets and, as always, online.) A fresh bottle of soy sauce on the lighter end of the taste spectrum would also not be in error, rather than something from that dusty bottle in the back of the larder.

Combine these with your chicken thighs (best-quality again, please), a ton of garlic and chilies, bay leaves and pepper. Allow the marinade to do its work. Then place the mixture in a heavy pot, bring to a simmer, and cook for around a half-hour, until the chicken is tender. Remove the chicken and allow the sauce to reduce. (Really, that’s it.)

At Purple Yam, Dorotan finishes the process by tossing the chicken into a deep-fryer, to crisp and to caramelize it at once. Then he returns the pieces to a reduced version of the sauce and serves the dish in a small clay pot, where it bubbles and steams enticingly. For the home cook, however, some time under the broiler will achieve much the same effect.

Serve with white rice and some steamed or sautéed greens.

Now taste what you have. Next time you may wish to increase the amount of vinegar or soy sauce in the marinade, or reduce it a little or a lot. You may wish to add more chilies or even Vargas’s crazy brown sugar. You may wish to have less coconut milk, or none at all. You may wish to have more.

This is adobo. Every man an island.