By all means, both of them are right. Gastronomic creativity and innovation are both moved by our basic aspiration to be happy or content during meager situations. The same thing goes for Philippine cuisine--dishes’ ingredients are simply reflective of what are available in the surroundings, and cookeries or techniques used by the cook.

Sometimes, I over-rationalize on a simple question of why do we really wrap our rice in fresh banana leaves, which is popularly known as "puso." Is it for the rice’s aromatic complexity or for the purpose of preservation? My culinary mentor told me that it’s for both. But which came to mind first? Was it the science (of preservation) or the art of culinary complexity? If there is a thin line between culinary invention based on science, and the creation based on survival instincts, where do we really draw the line? Or is there really a line to draw? How, in our modern times can we identify our culinary identity if our economic situation features a global trend? Is fusion cookery really the answer to what Philippine cuisine will be in the future?

But there is a bigger question: how do we know that a dish can be branded authentic or fusion, scientific or artistic? Perhaps this is what boggled me when I dropped by a "trucking eatery" on my way to Lucena City to have a 4-day workshop on artisanal cheese production last month. At 11 o’clock in the evening on my way from Manila, a simple eatery in the middle of the highway, Tiaong (Chaong,) Quezon, wafted the most familiar demi-glace (espagñole) aroma through our van’s open windows, even when we were still about a kilometer away. I requested our navigator to stop by the eatery, which, according to the sign, was Mayet’s Bulalo.

I hurriedly got off the van to check the menu and to my surprise I saw a large bulalo pot, sweltering with a huge amount of deep brown-red stock over a chunk of flaming woods. It was reddish, and it was aromatically flavorful, with leeks, and large well-cooked-through pieces of onions. There were even caramelized carrots swirling in the stock’s boiling. A bouquet of caramelized tomato was distinguishable in the pot, with some dark-brown pieces of beef meats (almost like rillettes, because of over-cooking). As far as I could tell, chopped spring onions and an abundant amount of freshly cracked black peppers were ascending and staying afloat with the oil and tomato on top of the scorching hot liquid. It smelled exactly like the demi-glace or españole sauce, taught to us at the culinary school.

"May achuete (annatto) po iyan," an attendant told me, perhaps, thinking that I was wondering why it was red. But I knew it had tomatoes too because I saw tomato seeds, and I couldn’t go wrong with the smell. Since there was only one way to find out, I hurriedly ordered the house’s Bulalo Special for P160 (if I remember it right) two cups of rice, two really big pork barbecues in standard sweet-soy-lime basting sauce and marinade, and a pork adobo in gata (coconut milk) with some chili peppers.

I knew the adobo in coconut milk and chili was a Bicolano dish, but the red bulalo was totally different. It was really good with rice, especially the marrows, cartilage and the tender meat with a dipping sauce of calamansi and light patis (fish sauce). It seemed that I was right; there was a light infusion of tomatoes with the stock. But, there was also achuete in it, too. After considering it a bulalo espagñole (like in the traditional espagñole cookery) I talked to the owner, Ms. Mayet Marasigan and learned that they haven’t stopped the boiling of the main bulalo pot. They simply replenish the stock with the ingredients, still with the base liquid and flavors of the first bulalo recipe they’ve put in years ago. Upon hearing that, I told myself whew, nothing could be more gastronomically romantic.

THE QUEST FOR CUISINE

Great chefs of Philippine cuisine, have often talked about the romantic aspect of how we, as Filipinos regard our culinary culture. Religious, economic, and political traditions have molded the palatal astuteness of what we prefer to eat in the last 400 years. But should we really rationalize what culinary "art" is?

A dear friend once told me about how art should be in all modes of creations and I think it still goes with Philippine cuisine, and for all who take part in it: know the rules, live the rules, break the rules, and no rules.