OK, OK, Let's Talk About Crispy Pata

People seem to think I write exclusively about crispy pata. It’s invariably what long-lost relatives and rediscovered acquaintances ask me about when we bump into each other. Just the other week, some of my closest friends—guys who know my deepest, darkest secrets and whose most embarrassing moments I will happily share with you—asked me where they could get the best crispy pata, as if I hadn’t actually discovered the place with them. And now, even YOU are thinking you’ll mention crispy pata if and when we ever see each other, right?

            I’ve been writing for the sake of writing for ten years now. Before my early retirement in 2015, I was writing in aid of employment. Before that it was in pursuit of education. Through all these years, I have written on many, many topics, and yet . . . I take some comfort that my katukayo Albert, you know, Albert Einstein, is constantly associated with e=mc2 in spite of his having written probably millions of other equations, but I guess I wish was linked with something a little more earth-shaking. Crispy pata? I mean, it’s not the atom bomb.

            The truth is I don’t even eat crispy pata that often. Well, two weeks ago, but that was a big birthday lunch at a Filipino restaurant. Oh, and a week after that. But, uhh, that was a, um, a reunion! Yup, a reunion, that just happened to be at Barrio Fiesta, and what else do you order at Barrio Fiesta? They invented the damn thing. Anyway, no, I don’t have crispy pata very often. Because, what is it, really? Deep, deep FRIED pork leg, pig trotters, “knockout knuckles”. That’s it. No garnish. No colorful veggies or flavor-enhancing side stuff. Since we’re being honest here, you’re actually better off mixing your own dipping sauce. The chef doesn’t have to do much, I think. In fact, you should make sure they simply serve the dish as one whole piece. If the kitchen offers to chop it up for you, say NO. Chopping up the pata isn’t doing you any favors; it dries out the meat. Good crispy pata should be crunchy on the outside, tender and moist on the inside, consumed slowly, lovingly. But, no, no, I don’t like crispy pata that much.

            Worst of all, it isn’t photogenic. I spent hours scouring the internet for a picture that made crispy pata the star it thinks it is. If there are food stylists out there who have worked on the dish, they’ve failed. Utterly. This, I firmly believe, is why our cuisine has precious few Michelin stars, if any. Our food doesn’t look good. It’s not just crispy pata. Laing, my go-to veggie dish, is monochromatic. Think of dinuguan. Little black bits and pieces of who-knows-what slathered in gray slime. Kilawin, which made a cameo appearance on “Culinary Class Wars” needed the cosmetic surgery of a Korean chef. Hey, I love how they taste, but you have to admit they don’t present well. How is it that Filipinos who are obsessed with beauty pageants can allow our food to be so unbeautiful?

            But let’s get back to my writing and crispy pata. A long time ago, I tripped and was about to land flat on my face in a very public place. In the fractions of a second that I was falling, I decided that, since I couldn’t avoid the embarrassment, I might as well own it. I completed the fall, rolled and splayed out my body as spectacularly as possible. And that has been my personal policy ever since: go all in, turn little failings into triumphs, convert losses into wins. Change the title to something with Crispy Pata in it. So there.

            Time to move on.

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