Mornings in the southwestern town of Barili brings the crisp salt air blowing off the Tañon Strait, carrying with it a coastal rhythm that has shifted little over generations. While passing travelers pull over along the highway for fresh milk and sweet roadside treats, the deep, unapologetic pulse of southern Cebuano home cooking quietly announces itself indoors.
The salted and sometimes fermented fish preparation is part of a wider coastal food tradition in Cebu, with versions and practices found in fishing communities across the province, from Bantayan in the north to towns such as Argao, Dalaguete, Alcoy, Boljoon and Oslob in the south. What makes it special, however, is how each community and household carries its own way of preparing, curing and eating it.
Few flavors in Visayan cuisine command a kitchen quite like tinabal. Before it even begins to sputter in a pan, its pungent aroma has already filled the room — sharp, salty and unmistakable.
The sound and scent of memory
The first sizzling whisper of tinabal in the pan announces itself like a memory: a sharp, saline tang that threads through the sweetness of softened tomatoes and the warm bite of sautéed garlic and onions. Steam curls up, carrying a briny perfume that prickles the back of the throat and lingers on the tongue, while the fish’s skin crisps to a caramel-dark edge and the flesh gives way in oily flakes. Each mouthful is a push-pull — an initial salt shock that softens into rich, fermented umami, the acid of tomatoes cutting through the weight and a faint mineral grit that recalls the sea.
For Timothy Cabasag, who grew up in Barili and has eaten tinabal since childhood, that briny scent carries decades of family memory. Even after moving to Cebu City and settling down with his family, the craving remains.
“My experience with tinabal has always been that while it has a very strong smell, it is truly delicious,” Timothy said, tracing his palate back to the family table in Barili. “We grew up eating it when we were small because my mother loved it so much.”
Salt, not sun-drying
Unlike common sun-dried buwad, tinabal is a salt-preserved fish product that may also undergo fermentation, depending on the local method. Cebu food references describe it as fish preserved in a covered container with plenty of salt.
It is a preservation practice that many households prefer to leave to experienced makers rather than attempt at home.
“We usually buy tinabal because making it is quite tedious,” Timothy said. Asked about the curing technique, he credits the practiced hands who understand the balance of fish and salt.
“All I know is that they use a lot of salt. My mother’s generation knows the craft well — their method relies on preserving the fish with plenty of coarse salt.”
How to cook it right
That intense cure means cooking tinabal requires deliberate restraint. It should not go straight into hot oil.
“First, soak it in water so it won’t be overly salty,” Timothy said. “Next, slice plenty of tomatoes, along with garlic and onions. Sauté the aromatics first and let the tomatoes soften down — you need about half a kilo of tomatoes for just two pieces of tinabal.”
Once the ripe tomatoes collapse into a jammy, acidic foundation to counter the heavy cure, the fish is laid gently into the pan. Patience is essential.
“Don’t flip it right away, or it will crumble; turn it only once it’s thoroughly cooked,” Timothy said.
Additional seasoning is kept to a minimum. “Avoid adding extra salt — just a small pinch of MSG is enough to balance the flavors.”
Fish that stand up to the cure
For Timothy, certain fish are better suited to the process than others.
“Mulmol or parrotfish and black rabbitfish are the tastiest fish to ferment,” he said. “They have thick, large scales and firm meat. Mulmol is truly the best choice because its tough skin keeps the fish from falling apart in the pan.”
The once-humble coastal staple has also become a more expensive specialty in urban wet markets.
“It has become quite expensive — it used to be P500 a kilo and now it runs up to P600,” Timothy said, attributing the increase to the time involved in curing the fish.
Despite the price and an aroma that clings stubbornly to the kitchen walls long after the stove is turned off, the reward over a mound of steaming rice remains irresistible.
“Because it’s salty, it demands plenty of rice — you always end up eating extra servings,” Timothy said. “Just talking about it makes me hungry.”
