Sisig vs. American sisig

A few weeks ago I was reminiscing about sisig until I decided to actually go out and search for some in the neighborhood. I found this place called “House of Sisig.” And you’d think that with a name like “House of Sisig” you’d find either a house made out of beautifully fried chopped pig faces and brain or a restaurant that cooked it. I didn’t find either of those. Instead I found a place that looked like a donut shop but smelled like meat, and generated styrofoam to-go boxes with two scoops of rice, a Dixie container full of Kikoman soy sauce, chopped pork, and chopped jalapeños and onions.

It was as if I was trapped in a candy shop with no candy, or a beautiful girl shop with no beautiful girls. Or like trapped in a toy store with not one toy save for a jack-in-the-box in a dark corner, which when opened would come out and scare you saying, “No sisig here! Go back home get some real shit!”

For some reason I hated the people at this “House of Sisig,” but isn’t their fault. For all I know its probably illegal in the United States to make sisig the real way. It also doesn’t help that calamansi and pig heads aren’t that abundant in this part of the globe. Either way, I have no beef with these folks, its just that I have no pork face with them either.