Mga ‘Kalan-on’ ni Dodoy Setubal sa UPV MACH

By John Anthony S. Estolloso

There is a feast laid out at UPV Museum’s Hanas Gallery.

Climb up the narrow staircase leading to the changing gallery’s upper chamber and you will encounter tables laden and arranged as if in a local fiesta: sundry dishes arranged tantalizingly and constructed to aspire to motions of food being served. Collectively, they somehow invite the viewer to partake, in a metaphorical sense, of the culinary offerings, and if not to devour them on the spot, at least to consume and peruse what goes into their making.

This is Cristhom ‘Dodoy’ Setubal’s Kalan-on, a celebration of Ilonggo gastronomy as depicted in lifelike replicas. Showcasing his personal penchant for putting together bits and pieces of discarded material, the exhibit is inspired by shokuhin sampuru, the early 20th-century Japanese design movement depicting hyper-realistic, life-sized artificial food models usually displayed in delis and restaurants. Underlining this gastronomic portrayal is the exhibit’s subtitle: The Art of Food, the Food of Art — as if to interrogate the viewer on what great and irreplaceable beauty can be found in the contents of the bowls and plates on our dining tables.

Veering away from his usual bricolages depicting local churches and select portraits, Dodoy Setubal extends the subjects of his artistic style and ventures into homegrown culinary staples of both city and region. Curated by museum director Dr. Martin Genodepa, the exhibit proposes an answer to the query in the previous paragraph. Albeit the homely familiarity of the subjects, the replicas explore cultural identities, traditions of labor and food preparation, as well as communal relationships and shared spaces. Not only is it about the food artfully presented, but also what goes into their creation, both in the realistic and aesthetic sense: the conversation milling about last October 19’s vernissage somehow seesawed from how the food is actually prepared in various localities to which ‘ingredients’ constituted the artwork.

Food as cultural identity is rather an overused topic in many a classroom or conference. Still, it takes the spotlight of the exhibit — spread on the tables are our easily identifiable staples of fish, meat, and vegetables, in all their colorful variety. There are scarlet-laced salmonite as pinamalhan, the dark visceral broth of dinugu-an contrasting vividly with red and green peppers on its surface, the different proteins cooked as inasal, adobo, binakol, or some other form of stew, the many versions of utan from young bamboo shoots simmered in coconut milk and cooked with okra and shrimps, to the drab green slivers of kangkong braised as apan-apan: one can almost smell the pungent flavor of the guinamos in its cooking.

Observable as well in the visual feast would be the Ilonggo penchant for pairing together starchy food. The batchoy as our own local noodle dish and the pancit molo as our personal meat dumpling soup take prominence in the spread, reminding the viewer that intercultural influences in local cuisine go beyond cutlery and ceramics. Desserts are carbs piled on more carbs: all kinds of puto, alupe, suman, baye-baye for the sweet of tooth, and of course, bandi, bukayo, biscocho, barkilyos, and pastillas offer a nostalgic glance at childhood snacks procured within the limits of our paltry allowances.

Portrayed as art, food in Setubal’s exhibit is likewise understood to be a product of labor. Looking into this simulacrum of a feast, one traces the common ingredients in our gastronomy; one is confronted with the industry put into its cultivation and harvest. Rice and corn serve as base for many of our flour-dependent dishes, especially our staples and kakanin. Fish, pork, and poultry reflect the livelihood and husbandry maintained by our farmers and fisher-folk. Vegetables and fruits as main dish and garnish recall our backyard gardening endeavors or our traipsing into wooded areas to procure these greens. To satisfy the urban eye and palate caught in the bustle of city life, the batchoy — its broth, noodle, and toppings usually mixed on the spot — takes on a sculptural pose by itself, its iconic noodles suspended on air as if drawn by some invisible devourer racing against the corporate lunch break period.

That the exhibit is curated as food served in communal tables, akin to a fiesta or social gathering, speaks of how our gastronomic traditions hold us together. Not only does one partake of sustenance in these occasions, but it becomes a shared space for culinary appreciation as well as an opportunity to exchange recipes and cooking secrets, for some, handed over through generations as a family heirloom. One glance at the suspended tsokolatera and the customary sock used in making tablea chocolate and brewed coffee respectively, and the recollection of collegial loud gossip inundating these drinking sessions come to mind. Inasal is grilled at the roadsides, in front of waiting customers — and who prepares and eats KBL and valenciana in isolation?

Visit the gallery if you have the chance and marvel at this clever display of our gastronomy — or rather, a likeness of our gastronomy. Dodoy Setubal’s material reinterpretation of daily sustenance is a feast for the eyes, and if they cannot feed our bellies, they will at least feed our minds and souls. Then again, we are — and we become — what we consume.

(The writer is a humanities teacher in one of the private schools of the city.)