Lingering on the fringes of the Asian continent, equivalently influenced by its local neighbors, international shipping routes and years spent under Spanish and American hegemony, the Philippines long ago blossomed into something of a culinary funhouse, accommodating an outsized hodgepodge of ingredients, flavors and hues. The dazzling results can be seen in exciting dishes like afritada, embutido, bibingka and halo halo (the pictures say it all, sort of), their sing-song names and vibrant colors seemingly sprung from some magical fantasyland.
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By Kim Macron
Pandolce (sweet bread), called Panduçe in Genovese, is known in other parts of the world as “torta genovese” or “Genoa cake.” There are three different theories about the origin of pandolce, a dessert traditionally served as a Christmas specialty. A potentially exciting product, purchased over a year ago from the cavernous J Mart inside Flushing’s New Word Mall, then cruelly consigned to the forgotten snacks limbo of my kitchen cabinet. By the time I’d opened the box the spun sugar bundles inside had desiccated into a foul-tasting saccharine powder. This leaves me capable of only waxing theoretically on this Chinese treat, threaded into shaggy frosted wheat style bundles that resemble psychedelic haystacks. I imagine it’s a portable rendition of Dragon’s Beard candy, a sweet which predates cotton candy (and whose Wikipedia entry notes its short shelf life) but can’t say whether the ‘must’ refers to the flavor (grape?) or some aspect of its preparation. The packaging strikes an odd balance between food-focused directness on the right half, old-fashioned street-market populism on the left, with a circular expansion on the royal purple theme. As the old saying goes: ashes to ashes, Dragon Must to dust.
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The coded language of snacks, sandwiches and seasonings, in NYC and beyond.
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