Batchoy: The Soup that Lives up to its Name

This article that I wrote last year placed third in the 2008 DOREEN FERNANDEZ Food Writing Awards. An extra bonus that came after my experience in Bacolod last year. It was definitely one of the highlights of my life. Hopefully, more blessings to come in 2009!

What kind of people would name a dish after “FAT?” Yes, only the Filipino can! We have named a best-loved comfort food after the very thing that would clog the arteries of U.S. FDA authorities in a heartbeat. Its very name is enough to send your cholesterol level soaring to new heights.

“Batchoy” is the vernacular for fat and to some, slang for “fatso.” No one would want to be called “batchoy” or “tabachoy.” It  has same ring as “baboy” or swine. The Wikipedia says that the dish traces its name to the Hokkien term “ba-chui” or “pieces of meat. But to us, “batchoy” stands for food indulgence of the highest order. And no Branding Guru will ever get us to change its name to sound less threatening.

The popularity of the “batchoy” dates back to the 1940s in Iloilo’s La Paz Public Market where an enterprising butcher decided to create a dish out of the nasty bits left over from main cuts of meat. The dish has since evolved and with the array of added ingredients, it has reached a level of perfection that sends you straight to heaven once you finish an order of the “Special” – a really big bowl with the works: a fresh egg, three heaping spoonfuls of chicharon bits plus snippets of chicken liver and pig’s brains, and a killer dose of MSG.

However, to our family, the “batchoy” has a different meaning. We owe our life of comfort to this humble noodle dish. In the 1970s, my father-in-law set up a “batchoy house” in Bacolod after several failed businesses. He opened a hole-in-the-wall eatery in Burgos Market. Soon, his “batchoy” enabled him to set up a small dine-in in a more populated area along Smith St. and the rest, as they say, is history.

The brisk sales of “batchoy” in that small diner sent my husband to the Ateneo. I was waxing sentimental about this when I made a trip this year to Bacolod to witness how “batchoy” was made in my father-in-law’s eatery, Super Batchoy, one of the last few bastions of batchoydom in Bacolod. It stands quietly on a busy street where at 3:00 p.m., students and workers fill up the place for a jolt of steaming hot “batchoy.” It is their daily ritual. It not only quiets the rumblings of one’s stomach on a rainy afternoon. Interestingly, its rich mix of ingredients leaves one with a sense of yes, wellness.

Making “batchoy” is never easy nor cheap as I discovered. The cooking starts in the wee hours of the morning. You need to clean the pork innards very well under running water for an hour or so while you boil chunks of beef bone marrow and pork bones in a vatful of water and let it simmer for several hours to extract their fullest flavor for the broth or the caldo.

Generations of Ilonggo cooks have many well-kept secrets to make the broth burst with flavor. Super Batchoy’s very own Roger, who has been with us for over three decades, has his own take on the dish, ranging from what type of oil to use to sauté the garlic and onions (not to mention what kind of onions to use), how much ginger and sugar to put, plus the blending of a special type of shrimp paste known as “guinamos” to the mix of meat strands and innards.

To the uninitiated, “batchoy” is just a bunch of thin yellowish noodles served with hot broth. But to true-blue Ilonggos, there is no substitute for a very special type of pancit miki bought only in Bacolod. The variety sold in Manila is way too salty. Roger swears that the miki can keep for days in the chiller after it is blanched.

For a perfect order of “batchoy,” ladle some steaming caldo on strands of miki at the bottom of a large bowl topped with slices of pork and liver. Garnish with chopped spring onions and then the kicker: a generous sprinkling of crunchy chicharon. But to make the dish really “special,” a whole egg is cracked at the side of the bowl. The egg is cooked by the boiling broth and mixed with the rest of the ingredients for a truly sumptuous meal.

In Super Batchoy, the “batchoy” comes with pan de siosa, a soft, sweet bun that blends well with the saltiness of the broth. A bite of the pan de siosa followed by the warmth of the caldo in your mouth will make you want to go down on your knees to thank the kitchen God up above who led us lowly mortals to the discovery of such a spectacular pairing of food.

My father-in-law beams with pride whenever a customer finishes the soup first, leaves noodles at the bottom of the bowl, and then asks for more soup for the noodles. To him, that is the ultimate testament to the goodness of his caldo. He then gladly obliges the satisfied customer with more hot caldo PLUS a sprinkling of more chicharon! On a rainy day, Super Batchoy can serve up to three hundred bowls of the super hot soup!

BATCHOY – even in a plain styro cup, its aroma arouses the hungry beast in you. In an office, it makes you drop whatever you are doing and drift to where the seductive smell of goodness is coming from. Yet to those who find comfort in a steaming bowl of soup, there’s no better way to treat life like there’s no tomorrow than with a bowl of “batchoy.” For despite its last name, LA PAZ BATCHOY, with all its killer richness, does live up to its first name – LA PAZ. It is wellness in an instant, aptly bringing to our restless stomachs a sense of calm and peace or “paz,” the town after which it is named. A way to celebrate life through simple indulgence.