Columnist argues with chef-host Steve Wallace over last-minute baste for Chicken Smoked Over Canned Beer.

Chaos preceded the return of Americans to Manila. In the process of liberating the metropolis, US planes from Lingayen and Leyte were bombing Nichols Air Base to destroy Japanese aircraft and supplies.

Parañaque and Las Piñas residents had no choice but to flee; their homes were considered too dangerously close to Nichols. Everyone was moving south, to the relative safety of Cavite province. With the thousands were my family, including my Nanay Salud who was nine months pregnant.

Running across the historic Zapote Bridge, the family stepped into Cavite’s northernmost town: Bacoor, where a friendly crowd rushed Nanay to the nearest air raid shelter, a deep but dry well under the house of the Ocampo family in barrio Aniban. A hilot (neighborhood traditional midwife) was lowered by ropes with Nanay to the bottom of the well. There was no medicine, no pain killer; Nanay was given a handful of guava leaves to bite into to ease her fears and help her bear the pain of her first childbirth.

At midnight, 20 feet below sea level, I greeted the world as a subject, albeit not a citizen, of The United States of America. From the bottom of the well, there was no way to go but up. From that day on, I was a Caviteña.

Caviteños of my generation loved all things American. Our textbooks were American; we memorized all the US states and their capitals, sang American folk songs and religious hymns, loved American food. The major source of US goods at the time was the huge Sangley Point US Naval Base which employed thousands of Filipinos. Filipino boys, right after finishing high school, lined up to enlist with the US Navy and thousands were accepted every year. Sangley Point was also the site of the biggest and merriest carnivals twice a year: during the Christmas season and every July 4th, Independence Day for Americans and Filipinos.

We loved Sangley Point’s carnival rides which were all stateside, unlike the street corner karnabal and perya during Philippine town fiestas. And the food! Really all-meat hotdogs, buckets of buttered popcorn, steaks, hamburgers, red and yellow Delicious apples, black seedless Concord grapes and Sunkist oranges. Candies and chocolate bars: Milky Way, Mars, Hershey, Butterfinger. Sangley Point on July 4th was a different world. To this day, July 4th for me means American food and fun.
Last Sunday, after 50-odd years, I was back in Cavite celebrating July 4th in a community of small weekend farms tended by artists and professionals. There were stars and stripes, American food, Filipino beer, French wine and cheese. The multi-national crowd included some of my favorite Americans. It was to be a day of warm friendship, some very good music and utterly memorable food.

For former war photographer Steve Wallace, work on hosting the July 4th picnic began last May, when he ordered two metal smokers from the US for delivery to the Sta. Rosa, Laguna home near the school where wife Jen teaches. He loved my Weber smoker at last year’s Thanksgiving picnic where he smoked two turkeys: one butterflied, another left whole.

Our Oarhouse gang loved the tender, juicy, smoky, flavorful-to-the-bone birds. So did Steve, who at that time was ready for his next kitchen adventure.

Steve had earlier mastered the art of bread-and-pies baking and was looking forward to some serious ham, bacon, sausage, and meat smoking. The 2010 4th of July picnic was going to be his first test.

July 2 - Steve soaked two fresh hams (pigue) overnight in a brine solution without preservatives or curing ingredients, which would have tinged the pork pink. He did not want to produce ham, preferring instead to serve Pulled Pork, a distinctly Southern USA specialty.

July 3 – Early in the morning, guided by a smoker thermometer and a meat thermometer, Steve started smoking the huge pork cuts. The process took all of 18 hours and he was not done pulling the pork until 5 a.m. on July 4th, picnic day.

July 4th – Prepared and cooked at the picnic were three whole Smoked Beer Chicken. Liza (GenSan’s pride) ground a dry rub of mixed herbs and spices (again, no chemical preservatives) and massaged the dark mass into whole chicken, including areas between flesh and skin. The fowl were then made to sit over cans of beer that had onions, garlic, and some spices dropped into their tiny openings. The beer kept the chicken upright while internally basting the birds, keeping them moist and bursting with flavors.

Hot-smoked over fresh guava leaves and a bed of hardwood coals, the chicken were done cooking (smoker temp kept at 200-250 degrees) in three hours. They were served garnished with purple-flowered sprigs of basil from Steve’s herb garden.

The picnic started with cheese and beer, followed by smoked sausages and beer, followed by Pulled Pork (with homemade BBQ sauce), coleslaw and beer, followed by very juicy  Beer Chicken and beer. Dessert was Steve’s creamy Cheesecake that had us licking our fingers for every crumb of crust.

Children ran through the garden, fed grains to free-range chicken, threw frisbees for large dogs to catch, ate chips and pies and hot pandesal. Aspiring chefs amongst us raided the herb garden. We mainly drank (except the designated drivers) and ate and sat and talked.

It was dark when we reluctantly walked to our respective vehicles for the ride back to the city. My adopted family (writer-producer Melissa Alipalo with kids Camille and Simon) took Kyle and I home.

Meanwhile, back at the farm, Steve was, I am sure, already planning next Thanksgiving’s menu.

Let me guess: Smoked Brisket (too traditionally Jewish)? A Clambake (very Northeasterly)? A luau perhaps to honor Pacific Islanders? Chinese Lauriat for San Francisco? Pinoy Fiesta for San Diego (a Navy town where half the Filipinos are originally from Cavite)?

Come on, Steve. Give me a hint.