Anna Mazurek

THE WASHINGTON POST – My rental car shook violently as it slowly crept down the bumpy dirt road along the southwestern tip of Puerto Rico. When the road ended, I set out on foot up a dirt path that led to the gray-and-white Los Morrillos lighthouse, built on the edge of a cliff in 1882. The windows and doorways were the same shade of turquoise as the water crashing into the rust-red sandstone cliffs below.

The lighthouse was my first stop along Puerto Rico’s west coast in early November. After spending a few days of my first trip to the island exploring Old San Juan and nearby tourist sites, I fled the cruise-ship crowds and congested highways for the remote west coast’s narrow two-lane roads and secluded beaches.

My goal was to explore this less-crowded part of the island, known for surfing, hilly terrain and an endless surplus of sunny, 80-degree days. Learning to surf was another priority, but rough seas with waves too big for my novice skill level crushed those plans. Instead of a surfing trip, this would become a relaxing 10-day beach and hiking trip.

From the eastern side of the lighthouse, I could see stretched out below a pristine, crescent-shaped beach that belonged in a Jimmy Buffett song. I walked across the undeveloped, tree-lined beach and followed a trail up another set of cliffs to photograph the lighthouse from across the bay.

Then, I couldn’t resist a dip in the water to cool off. Even though a dozen people were on the beach, it still felt isolated. It was only Day 1, and I had already found my favourite beach in western Puerto Rico: La Playuela.

After another bone-rattling drive, I stopped at the Cabo Rojo Salt Flats and walked along the catwalks between reddish-pink salt ponds. The 1,249-acre area was added to the Cabo Rojo National Wildlife Refuge in 1999 and includes trails for biking and hiking around the two main lagoons, Fraternidad and Candelaria.

A private operator harvests the salt, which is left behind when the water evaporates from exposure to the sun, wind and heat. The lagoons are home to a variety of microorganisms, including Dunaliella salina, an alga responsible for the red hue.

This alga is a critical food source for brine shrimp and other salt-tolerant species, which attract migratory shorebirds. The salt flats, with their prevalence of food, are one of the most important stopover points for these birds in the entire Caribbean. Cabo Rojo’s lucrative salt-collection business has resulted in several historical conflicts, according to Roman.

There have been numerous ownership and exploitation issues involving not only the Spanish, who colonised the island after the arrival of Christopher Columbus in 1493, but also the British and Dutch, among others. In 1769, a bloody fight broke out between local communities over land ownership of the salt flats, leading the area to be named El Combate, which translates to “the battle”.

For another history lesson, I visited the sleepy town of San Germán, the second-oldest city on the island, after San Juan, known for its well-preserved colonial Creole architecture.

Founded on the coast in 1511, it was moved inland to avoid plundering pirates in 1573 and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

After a morning of exploring, I drove about 13 miles to Joyuda, a three-mile strip of seaside seafood restaurants known as the Gourmet Golden Mile, for lunch. I snagged a table on the shaded waterfront patio at Náutica by Poly’s and ordered a delicious conch mofongo relleno, fried mashed plantains stuffed with conch and served in a tomato-based sauce. By the time I finished my meal, there wasn’t an empty seat on the patio, and the hum of both English and Spanish conversations filled the air.

The ocean got rougher as I headed north to Rincón, where the Caribbean Sea meets the Atlantic. The surfing haven covers about eight miles of coastline and skyrocketed to fame after hosting the 1968 World Surfing Championships, which earned it a mention in a Beach Boys song.

Because winter is peak surfing season, I watched experienced surfers ride large waves at Domes Beach, named after a defunct, dome-shaped nuclear facility that dominates the skyline. Like many of Rincón’s beaches, Domes is a small, secluded, palm-tree-lined strip of golden sand stretched between cliffs and rocky outcroppings. One of the few exceptions is the seemingly endless Sandy Beach, which is bordered by rows of hotels and restaurants.

Another highlight was the Tres Palmas Marine Reserve, home to the endangered reef-building elkhorn coral, as well as colourful marine life including parrotfish and blue tangs. The reserve encompasses three beaches and is an excellent snorkeling spot during the summer, when the water is calmer. The most photogenic of the three beaches is Steps, known for a mysterious set of concrete stairs sitting at the edge of the beach.

The beaches weren’t the only thing worth visiting in Rincón; fish tacos at Jack’s Shack and Sunday brunch at the English Rose were also pluses.

Despite congested parking lots, the Rincón beaches never felt crowded. That changed when I drove about 14 miles north to Aguadilla’s Crash Boat Beach, famous for a uniquely shaped blue pier once used to dock rescue boats that were sent out to save downed pilots from the nearby US air base.

The farther north I went, the rougher the water got; a riptide warning kept me out of the ocean for the rest of my trip. I decided to hike from Surfer’s Beach to Survival Beach, a sliver of shoreline accessible only by foot. I started my hike at the Surfer’s Beach parking lot and meandered through the tropical forest along a makeshift trail that spider-webbed in all directions, staying on the path that hugged the coast. I shared the trail with a retired New England couple who moved to the island to perpetually escape winter.

Then I entered the forest again and climbed upward along a tree-root-lined path until I caught a bird’s-eye view of the windswept sands of Survival Beach. Despite trying numerous trails, the tide prevented me from reaching it.

Regardless, these beachside trails and secluded coves became one of my favourite aspects of Puerto Rico.

After the hike, I treated myself to the mango salad at Ola Lola’s Tiki Bar & Grille, a mint-green, open-air eatery on a narrow, tree-shaded road that became my regular lunch spot.

On my last morning in Puerto Rico, I went for an hour-long sunrise walk on the beach in Isabela. Aside from a lone jogger’s, my footprints were the only ones in the sand as I walked along the water’s edge, past towering hotels that soon faded into trees.

The gently sloping shore was one of the most expansive beaches I had visited, wider than many roads.

G Daniela Galarza

THE WASHINGTON POST – I had a lot of babysitters before I turned 12, women who would watch me and my brother after school, and sometimes make us dinner when my parents had to work late. Lina, who was born in Manila, was one of my favourites. Among other things, she instilled in me a love for the salty, lightly spiced tang of adobo.

Lina’s kitchen was tight, so when she started making dinner, I’d lean over the white Formica breakfast bar and watch her rummage through her crisper drawers and pantry, lining ingredients up between the sink and stove. Almost every meal would start with an onion, which she’d pass to me to peel as she started to prep. “Every person is an onion,” she’d sometimes say, “full of hidden layers”.

Like a ballerina, Lina transitioned swiftly from precise, quick movements to calm efficiency as she cooked. I’d watch her turn on the rice cooker, add rice, oil, salt and water, and set it with a few beeps. Then, she’d put a large pot on an electric burner to start heating up as she sliced the onion into half-moons and opened a package of chicken, usually drumsticks and thighs. They’d get seared in the pot alongside the garlic and onions. Even if I wasn’t watching her, I knew we were having adobo when the smell of vinegar and black peppercorns, heady and alive, hit the hot metal and started to tickle my nose.

Though adobo is a Spanish word, the technique for making Philippine adobo predates the centuries-long Spanish colonisation of and rule over the 7,000-island archipelago. In the Philippines, adobo is both a preparation – the process of marinating and infusing ingredients with vinegar and other flavourings – and the resulting dish. Some versions take more than a day to make; others, like the basic recipe I adapted below, can be on the table in an hour.

There are probably thousands of variations – adobo can be made around any protein or vegetable; it can be wet or dry, sweet or spicy, silky or thick as soft wool – but they are united by the sour, briny punch of vinegar.

Vinegar was long employed as a preservative in the days before reliable refrigeration, so many cultures developed an affinity for the flavour. But in adobo, vinegar doesn’t sit slyly in the background – it dominates. That said, as with every great dish, a good adobo is all about balance.

“If you taste the sauce right after you add the liquids, it’ll be too tart. Over time, the sauce mellows into something slightly sour yet balanced,” writes chef Nicole Ponseca, in I Am a Filipino: And This Is How We Cook, a cookbook she wrote with Miguel Trinidad and Rachel Wharton.

“Some people add coconut milk; some cooks add a bit of sweetness in the form of sugar, honey, ripe fruit or even preserves to round out the adobo’s sharp acidity and saltiness,” Ponseca writes. “Think of it like you do music: the notes are familiar, but the arrangement is what makes it unique.”

FILIPINO ADOBO

Active time: 20 minutes
Total time: 1 hour
Two to three servings

Filipino adobo, a stew known for its pungency – from vinegar, soy sauce, garlic and peppercorns or chiles – is an incredibly adaptable dish. The proportions of its key ingredients can be added in varying ratios to suit the tastes of the cook, meaning that no two adobos are exactly alike. It’s traditionally made with cane vinegar and light soy sauce; sometimes lime juice or sugar is added, as well.

This version, adapted from The Filipino Cookbook by Miki Garcia and I Am a Filipino by Nicole Ponseca and Miguel Trinidad, uses onions for a touch of sweetness and can be made with either chicken or tofu. If you have time, you can marinate the protein overnight, but it’s not necessary.

If adobo is unfamiliar to you, make this recipe as written before playing around with it. Here are a few suggested variations:

Instead of chicken or tofu, you can use an equal weight of meat, cut into one-inch cubes. You also can use a whole cauliflower, cut into eight roughly equal chunks – or combine two of these options in one pot.

The onion isn’t as crucial as the garlic; so skip it if you must. If you enjoy garlic, use more than the recipe suggests.

Cane vinegar or coconut vinegar are traditional here; but white or rice vinegar work, too. In addition to the onions and garlic, you could add: sliced mushrooms, chopped tomatoes or slices of fresh sweet or hot peppers.

To spice things up, consider adding: more peppercorns, a cinnamon stick, a star anise pod and/or a couple of cloves.

If using tofu, there’s no need to season it with salt before searing.

If you don’t have cane vinegar, use white or rice vinegar plus two teaspoons of brown sugar. Instead of soy sauce, you can use liquid aminos. If using coconut aminos, which are sweeter, add half teaspoon fine sea salt or table salt, or more to taste.

Storage Notes: Leftovers can be refrigerated in a covered container for up to four days.

INGREDIENTS

– 1.5 pounds bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs and/or legs patted dry, or 14 ounces extra-firm tofu, drained, pressed, cut into four or five thick slices and patted dry
– A quarter teaspoon fine sea salt or table salt (optional)
– Two tablespoons coconut oil or vegetable oil
– One small yellow onion (4 ounces) sliced
– Five cloves garlic, lightly smashed
– Half cup cane vinegar
– Half cup light or low-sodium soy sauce
– Water, as needed
– One teaspoon black peppercorn
– Three bay leaves
– Steamed white rice, for serving

DIRECTIONS

If using chicken, season it with the salt. In a large, lidded pot or Dutch oven over high heat, heat the oil until you see a few wisps of smoke. Using tongs, transfer the protein – if using chicken, skin side down – into the pot. Cook, undisturbed, until the protein has browned and the chicken skin has rendered some of its fat, three to four minutes. Turn the pieces over, and reduce the heat to low.

Add the onion and garlic, and allow the garlic to slightly brown, about two minutes (the onions may not be browned at this point, and that is fine). Add the vinegar, soy sauce, 1/2 cup water, peppercorns and bay leaves, taking care as the liquid may sputter. Increase the heat to high and bring to a boil before lowering the heat to maintain a steady but gentle simmer.

Cover and cook, stirring and turning proteins over once or twice, until the chicken is cooked through or the tofu has taken on the dark colour of the sauce, 30 to 40 minutes. If the liquid appears to be evaporating during cooking, add water, 1/2 cup at a time, to compensate. The finished sauce should be thin but pungent.

Taste, and adjust the seasonings, if desired; discard the bay leaves. Spoon some rice into plates or shallow bowls and divide the stew, sauce, any rendered chicken fat and peppercorns among each dish before serving.