How food tells the story of who we are

From sinigang in Laguna to tilapia in Lake Sebu, a journalist’s journey through the Philippines, recalled in celebration of Manila Bulletin’s 125th anniversary, reveals how flavors shape identity, preserve history, and define a nation

Food is a repository of memory, a thread binding past to present. For Filipinos, food is more than sustenance—it is an heirloom, a time capsule preserving history, family, and identity. Who among us does not have a dish that transports us back to childhood, much like Marcel Proust’s madeleine? For me, that dish is sinigang.

Summers in my youth were spent in Sta. Rosa, Laguna, on Zavalla Street, a narrow road lined with the grand bahay-na-bato of our neighbors, the Tiongcos of musical fame, the Relovas, and the Silvas. Like many Philippine towns, it bore the imprint of Spanish colonial planning—a straight road leading from our ancestral house to the plaza, where the municipio and church stood in solemn watch. It was there, in my late mother’s hometown, that I first tasted my grand-aunt Eufrosina Custodio’s sinigang, called locally tinadtad. She made it unlike any I have encountered—soured with kamias, its broth rich with ground local beef. My mother called it our family’s specialty. Though I have never found its equal, its memory lingers, entwined with the cool, moonlit streets of Zavalla.

As a journalist, I have been fortunate to travel across the islands, an experience surprisingly rare even among my peers. Many Filipinos board a plane for the first time to leave the country rather than explore its hidden corners. In my journeys, I have seen firsthand how food defines who we are. It was in food that I learned my first painful lesson as a young journalist, when I mislabeled Puto Pila as Puto Biñan. To my shame as a Tagalog with deep roots in the proud Southern Tagalog province of Laguna, I made a mistake. Cora Relova, a stalwart of Tagalog history—and, as it happens, one of my grand-aunt Eufrosina’s students at Canossa Academy Sta. Rosa—set me straight. I corrected the mistake, but the lesson remained—food is sacred, and so are the stories behind it.

I have seen the Philippines through its flavors. In Tuguegarao City, Cagayan, pancit batil patong, overflowing with lechon, pork liver, fresh miki noodles, and mung bean sprouts, spoke of the Cagayanos’ love for bold, rich flavors. In Pampanga, Atching Lillian Borromeo pressed panecillos de San Nicolas (San Nicolas cookies) into antique wooden molds, preserving a centuries-old culinary tradition.

In Iloilo, I gorged on La Paz batchoy, pancit molo, and confections that sweetened the city’s afternoons. Crossing to Guimaras, I tasted some of the sweetest mangoes in the world and, to me, the most delicious, some hanging so low we could pluck them from the car window. In General Santos, I ate tuna in all its forms—grilled, made into sinigang, even its eyes, innards, and brains, each preparation showcasing the mastery of the region’s fisherfolk. In the quiet magic of Lake Sebu, tilapia reigned. There, I met a real-life princess, Lang Dulay, a National Living Treasure, the last of the great T’boli dreamweavers. With a hundred patterns locked in her mind, she wove the past into the future, preserving her people’s story in each strand of t’nalak.

The food scene in the Philippines is changing. Fine dining restaurants, imported steakhouses, and global chains reshape our culinary landscape. These changes are welcome, but they should never come at the expense of our food heritage. We must hold onto our identity, as Korea, Thailand, and Japan have, ensuring that Filipino cuisine is recognized and revered on the world stage. With the Michelin Guide’s arrival, the world is watching.

Is life better now? As a journalist, I believe it is—not just because of the progress we see, but because we have the tools to document and celebrate our journey. What will the next few years bring? I do not know. But I am ready, with my pen, my notebook, my recorder, and my iPhone, to capture it, to write it down, to add my voice to the ever-growing story of who we are.