I’ve really never loved bangus, despite the fact that I learned how to cook it—sinigang, daing, sinigang, uhm, what else is there to do with bangus? Daing again? For some reason, I find it too rancid for my taste, and yes, of course, too bony too. I just don’t have the patience, I guess. I suspect that I got this while learning how to de-bone fresh bangus from my Lolo who owned a fish stall in Olongapo. De-boning was traumatic. The smell just stays in the hands for so long. That was before I met a Dagupeña.

I was mistaken, of course. Pangasinan’s pride, the bangus is no ordinary bangus. It is Bunoan bangus, the milky one when you eat it, as they say, with that belly short and arching, and with fine and shiny body scales. It may have a short tail and a small head, but every bite of the tender Bunoan is juicy since its fat is well spread in its body, and not just on its belly. Bred in Dagupan’s Bunoan district, this authentic bangus has gone far and wide, reaching our very own supermarket freezers in the familiar airtight packaging.

I realized too that nothing beats pigging out on Bunoan bangus in Dagupan. Its Bunoan-Tondaligan district alone prides itself of a growing enterprise of seafood restaurants, serving Dagupan bangus in all its forms—inihaw, sinigang, kilawin and the well-loved daing.

But this time we went somewhere legendary to sample the bangus. I was surprised that I had to make a lot of room for my own belly.

When we reached Calasiao, the culinary destination (it moved out of Dagupan apparently), after 15 minutes of driving around Dagupan, our table at the legendary restaurant, Dagupeña, was all set. The dishes were mostly bangus, yes, but with a lot of spunk and attitude.

The Dagupeña restaurant is the offshoot of the small eatery put up by Ignacia Bernal or "Bai Inacia" in 1928 to augment the growing needs of her family. Upon sitting on the classy chair of the restaurant, I read the menu to find out what they offered. Aside from bangus dishes, which were, needless to say, bountiful, the menu included an informative restaurant history that read like a trip to the yesteryears.

Bai Inacia’s restaurant, known by Dagupan old-timers as Carinderia de Dagupan, offers a variety of dishes that are the pride of the region. True enough, Dagupeña is a big part of the lives of so many generations of Dagupeños.

After going through their history, and with the many fragments of stories shared about life in Dagupan, this easily dawned on me. It was a gem they all shared, even after leaving town.

Coming from the North myself, I know for a fact that cooking here has a tradition of frugality. People here have a history of diaspora. Many of our people, especially in this side of Luzon, came down from the northern highlands, from Ilocos or Cordillera, fleeing from the greedy and unforgiving Spanish colonizers and searching for new lands. That’s why their cooking, somehow, followed their stress, just the bare essentials—they boiled or sautéed the saluyot in the backyard, they cooked their various bahay kubo vegetables with sumptuous alamang into pinakbet. Ilocanos and Pangasinenses are good cooks in the strictest sense—they are good at improvisations, but they also plan their meals well. That I can say, being around folks from the North who peopled the kitchen.