I just had dinner. Fried dilis. It was lovely. It was more than lovely, it was, otherworldly. Dilis is usually breakfast food. But, ah, we ran out of regular rations today, my helper thought that I was out of the dorm, but I was actually in. Since she thought I was out though, we (what is that **we**??? **she**!, **she**!!! i don’t have anything to do with it, lazy bum) didn’t do the regular marketing.
Fortunately, there is always some little treat left. And tonight it was dilis. I love dilis. I cannot say that enough. Heh, I almost ate it all. Dilis in vinegar. Poetry has nothing on this.
I suppose it’s an acquired taste. It’s **definitely** an acquired smell. In the U.S.A., filipinos are notorious for cooking things which, when the smoke wafts over to the neighbors house, induces blind panic and rage. Dilis is like this. When cooked it smells like burning fish (well, it smells better than that, but that’s just me) and toward the end, you can smell the carbon. I wouldn’t be surprised if, to the uninitiated, it tastes like charcoal .
They are, however, the uninitiated for a reason. These are the very same people who will never grok durian, bagoong, ginamos and balut (well, OK, i agree with them on the balut… it’s edible, but not deep enough to induce a religious experience).