My Kinilaw
Raw, refreshing, and unapologetically Filipino.
As early as 1613, in one of the earliest dictionaries compiled by Franciscan Missionary Pedro de San Buenaventura, reference is made to “cquilao” which he describes as vinegar, salt, chili peppers and fresh fish eaten by the natives in the Philippines.
Being an archipelago with 7,641 islands, it is no small wonder how a dish like kinilaw can originate. For the uninitiated, this Filipino delicacy basically refers to raw seafood tossed in vinegar with local spices.
But as ubiquitous as it is in our country, you will find many iterations of this dish as you go from north to south. The difference can be in the choice of protein but also in the kind of vinegar with slight variations on the spices.
In Northern Luzon, it is synonymous with Kilawin, where aside from seafood, you can find grilled or lightly cooked meats being the protein.
When you go to the Visayas where seafood is abundant, the protein can be practically any kind of seafood - from fish to shrimp, clams or shells and even blue crabs. Visayans also tend to use gata or coconut milk mixed with the vinegar to make it more creamy which also thickens the sauce for added texture.
The same holds true for Mindanao but you can find grilled liempo (pork) mixed in, and local spices such as tabon tabon (a fruit native to the area) and biasong (another local citrus) mixed with the vinegar instead of coconut milk. Finally, the level of spiciness can also vary from region to region, depending on one's bravado.
As a dish it is quite dynamic and adaptable. It can serve as an appetizer or be the main entree. It is also a perfect complement as a finger food paired with alcoholic drinks.
The sea is known to guard its secrets like a beautiful mysterious woman, but I have been quite fortunate to have been privy to many of her whispers, a soft lullaby of salt and tide.
In my hands, the morning catch gleams. I prepare the spices - ginger which I grate so that it easily dissolves into the fresh local palm vinegar, onions which I dice, and plenty of tomatoes which add another subtle layer of sourness as well as crunch to my dish.
I cut the fresh fillet into cubes with reverence, each cut a prayer to the ocean’s bounty.
In a bowl I pour in the vinegar and the spices, mixing them with just the right amount of salt in the same sacred ritual my ancestors did a thousand years past.
At the last minute, I add the fish to the bowl and instantly it is cleansed of its wildness. I add a few final touches, some calamansi and chilis. As the calamansi surrender their juice - tart and bright, the chili provides bursts of heat .
I give it a taste and yes, it is time.
I gather together my old friends, college buddies who have become family. I set the bowl before them but this is not just food, this is time and the sea tide folded into itself. As we eat, we are transported back many decades ago, to a time of innocence and youth as to us, the dish is a living thread between the past and our present.
Our laughter mimics the dish we are all partaking - raw and alive. The sea is in every bite but yet it is a dance of acid and spice, bold, yet a tender harmony of flavors.
The kinilaw is beautiful in its simplicity and practicality. No need for fire or elaborate tools. It is a dish as bare as our souls, its essence as pure as our friendship, unfinished in its perfection.