26/01/2026
A good read.
We once had a driver who refused to eat fish that came from the freezer, because "it was not fresh." Although we could have argued back scientifically and rationally, we didn't. How can one be convincing about quick-freezing and Saran-wrap to a Filipino who has grown up used to shrimp brought home still jumping in the market basket; and fish bought at the seaside from fishermen's bancas just touching the shore?
This passion for seafood fresh from the seas, that comes to the table without being helado or frozen-- this is what has been drawing Manila gourmands to Kawit, Cavite, to such eating places as Seven Sisters and Josephine's. The latter is the more popular, being neater and more picturesque. Nipa-thatched, open-side pavilions and huts, and some fishponds with live fish in them, have been drawing so many Manilans that on a Sunday morning, one is almost sure not to find a free table, unless one leaves Manila by ten or ten-thirty. Both places are about half an hour away from Makati by car, and one knows they are near by the baskets of talaba for sale along the roadside.
And what does one find upon arrival? fresh seafood cooked in the simplest of ways. For although the French believe that "C'est la sauce qui fait manger le poisson"-- that the sauce makes the fish-- the Filipino believes that the gifts of the sea are best at their purest and most natural, cooked quickly and without fuss. And therefore the shrimp here is served halabos, and it is excellent: sweet, springy, and deliciously pink. The sugpo might come with a broth, perhaps sinigang, just barely soured, light and refreshing. The heads of shrimps and prawns (which some throw away, but which we consider the best part) are juicy and have that dab of precious yellow fat that disappears or dries up in frozen or less fresh shrimps.
The bangus can be had relleno, but most ask for it inihaw-- stuffed with tomatoes and onions and broiled on charcoal. The large native oysters come in mountainous piles on large platters, hardly scrubbed, just blanched so that the shells gape slightly. One pulls a shell open and finds, in triumph, a fat, juicy talaba that somehow speaks of childhood, summer excursions to seashores, sunburns and banca-rides.
There are other dishes too, not necessarily from the sea, but everything is just as simply cooked-- no sauces, no trimmings, no garnishing. There is usually some sautéed vegetable, perhaps ampalaya or togue. One can have inihaw na baboy, or mangga at bagoong. And at Josephine's one can also have sinangag made of a reddish rice called kiri-kiri, slightly nutty in flavor and very good fried with garlic.
One uses one's hands, of course, and this earthy touch, added to the seaside breezes makes everyone feel happy, simple and very "native." Haven't you noticed that Filipinos always feel this way when they have to eat with their hands, and peel, pry and pick in order to get their food? It is a joy, a simplicity, born of nostalgia. Who of us does not think with reminiscent pleasure of summer picnics at fishponds, where fat bangus are scooped up from the water, stuffed with tomatoes and onions, and thrown on live coals? Or of walking barefoot in the wet sand at low tide and poking around for clams? Or of being sent as a child to the seashore when one was coughing or looking peaked, and watching fish-laden bancas come in? Or of silver fish jumping in nets, and being sorted on the sands?
The food is simple and good, at these Cavite seafood restaurants, but it is the nostalgia, we think, that makes it all such a happy experience on a sunny Sunday morning.
Seafood in Cavite
Pot-au-feu
By Doreen and Wili Fernandez
The Manila Chronicle
October 10, 1968
