The Divisive Opinions on Guava Smell
Guava <Bayabas>
The text message screamed of a foul odor that had kept my Airbnb guest awake all night. It implored me to check whether a dead animal was in the house. Concerned about my Superhost status and fearing a bad review, I rushed to investigate.
The house was spotless and I found no signs of mold, rotting garbage, or dead animals. The only noticeable odor came from a bowl of fresh guavas ripening on the dining table. For me, the smell was pleasant, evoking memories of a dish called sinigang na bangus sa bayabas (guava-flavored milkfish sour soup) that I planned to cook once the guavas became fully ripe.
I had to admit the odor was overpowering. I remembered that back in the Philippines, my youngest sister would feel sick every time Nanay cooked sinigang flavored with guava. She likened the smell to anghit, the offensive underarm odor that makes her temples throb in pain. I looked online to see if other people react similarly and found that Malaysians compare the smell to cat pee and in Cantonese, guava is called chicken-poop fruit. I had found the culprit.
To appease my guest, I took the guavas to the backyard, peeled them, sealed the peels in a tightly knotted plastic bag, and threw it in a lidded trash bin. Back in the house, I boiled and stored them in the freezer for when I was ready to cook. No trace of the odor remained and the complaints stopped.
Why would a dish that ranks high on my list of favorites be so off-putting to other people? Is it an allergic reaction like hives, itch, nausea, or tightness of the throat, an aversion to the unfamiliar, or a visceral response triggered by a past negative experience with the smell?
Cooking sinigang na bangus sa bayabas is straightforward. It involves boiling slices of milkfish in rice water, adding the flavoring extracted from mashed guava, and incorporating vegetables like patola, a silk squash or ribbed loofah fruit belonging to the gourd family, Cucurbitaceae. Some cooks add kangkong (water spinach), sitaw (string beans), or sigarilyas (winged beans). None of these emit any significant odor. Even the fishy smell of milkfish is neutralized when cooked. On the other hand, a whiff of the fragrant guava aroma could incite mouth watering and stomach rumbling, triggering a craving for the sinigang with steamed rice.
The flavor profile of guava leans towards sweetness in contrast to the tartness from souring agents like sampalok (tamarind), kamias (bilimbi), calamansi (Philippine lemon), and green mango. If the variety used is the Mexican guava with pink or reddish pulp and seeds, the sinigang would taste sweet. If white, the dish would be sour. To mitigate any pronounced tartness, cooks often incorporate sugar to make it sweeter.
To complete the sour or sweet sinigang experience, a side dish or dip is often served. It can be as simple as patis (fish sauce) or elevated by adding chopped hot chili peppers or calamansi juice to balaw-balaw, a relish made from fermented shrimp. Another popular accompaniment is bagoong alamang, a shrimp paste, mixed with chopped tomato, onion, and cilantro, or small cubes of green mango. These side dishes add depth of flavor complementing the soup’s sour, sweet, and savory notes.
In the Philippines, guava is no longer as widely available as it once was. Commercial production has declined due to decreasing demand. Fresh, ripe guava fruits normally peddled like delightful little mountains on round bamboo trays in public markets are rarely seen nowadays. Guava juice, jams, and jellies have remained small cottage industries. Pre-packed powdered guava soup base sold alongside the more popular tamarind soup base has disappeared from the shelves. Home cooks like my elder brother, who cooks the dish for me whenever I am in town, are left to stock up on fresh guava during the season and freeze it for later use. The lack only intensified my craving for it.
I discovered, to my relief, that Mexico exports fresh guava to the U.S. Ethnic Mexican stores, mainstream supermarkets, and even warehouse clubs now carry them. What was once a coveted sinigang ingredient is now within easy reach for devotees like me. The convenience of deboned milkfish, the availability of fresh guava and other fresh ingredients, and the simplicity and ease of preparation could turn this dish into a common table fare—-if only some sensitive noses could get past the strong guava aroma.
The divisive reactions to guava highlight how a single scent can evoke nostalgia in some while repelling others. What may be putrid to one person could be fragrant and deeply comforting to another. For me, the smell of guava is a reminder of home and the warm and nourishing comfort of a bowl of sinigang.
