Filipino Food History

Usually made by baking or deep-frying a mixture of prawns, tapioca flour, and water, kropek is a welcome addition to dining tables and pantries all over the country. But while this crusty cracker is usually associated with Chinese cuisine, its origins are actually as complex as its fulsome flavor profile.

The name itself points to its country of origin. Though it’s a popular snack throughout Southeast and East Asia, Indonesia and Malaysia are traditionally credited with inventing the kropek, with the former having the largest variety of the delicacy in the region. Called 

 in the Malay tongue, the pale pink, angular crackers were initially created as a way to draw the flavor from seafood parts that were usually discarded, and thus minimize waste.

Legend states that crushed prawn heads left over from a feast were used to make the first batch of 

 might mean “prawn chips” in various parts of the world (even all the way to Holland, whose occupation of the Southeast Asian country back in the 19th century led to their adopting the 

 as a Dutch snack), it can also be made by mixing the essence of fish or squid with rice, fruits, nuts or vegetables to come up with endless variations on the flavorful biscuit.

How kropek made its way to the Philippines

Although kropek is now a prized ingredient in the Asian fusion scene, it’s actually been around longer than even some of the most old-school Filipino dishes.

Before the Spaniards arrived in the 16th century, Malay settlers from the neighboring islands washed up on our shores, and assimilated themselves into the local population. One of their chief contributions to pre-colonial society was the recipe for a light, fluffy cracker made with crushed shrimp heads and flour that was left to dry under the hot, tropical sun for maximum crispness.

It didn’t take much for the locals to appreciate the inventive little snack, continuing to do so for centuries all the way through to modern times, buying them from vendors and peddlers on the road so they could have something to munch on while waiting out rush hour traffic in their cars.

The homegrown fastfood giant Chowking even took things a step further in the ‘90’s, rebranding the kropek as “Chicharap”, thus turning it into one of their most popular menu items, and the inadvertent Oriental counterpart of fries on the side.

Super Bowl of China, the famed Chinese food chain, has also been known to serve wooden bowls of kropek as complimentary appetizers, and no order of the pricey and celebrated Peking Duck would be complete without handfuls of the translucent cracklings peeking out beneath the glistening pieces of juicy roasted fowl.

With a name as crunchy as its texture, the kropek has gone from being a humble roadside snack to gracing the plates of some of the swankiest fusion restaurants as an edgy garnish or appetizer. With its varied transformations throughout the centuries and decades, one can only look to the future, and eagerly anticipate just how far this snack time staple will go as it continues to tantalize the taste buds and memories of generations to come.

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This article was originally published in 2014.

Kropek: The History of Our Favorite Prawn Cracker

Pancit is as crucial to each Filipino feast as rice is to every complete Filipino meal. With 

 (among other regional fiestas all over the country) looming over the month of May, stuffing one’s face with numerous variations of the said noodle dish is a delightful certainty. Yet while preparing (and consuming) big cauldrons of pancit is second nature to any true-blue Pinoy, the origins of this iconic party food are not exactly confined to a specific region (or to our country, for that matter).

From a Chinese Merchant’s Baon to a Filipino Favorite

Even foreigners who’ve been to our shores refer to pancit as Filipino noodles, but the word itself is neither Filipino in origin nor did it necessarily bring to mind images of long, thin strands of rice or wheat. 

The name comes from the Hokkien “pian e sit,” which literally translates to “something conveniently cooked” (i.e., fast food). It probably arrived in our country as a Chinese trader’s baon meant to tide him over in his homesickness as he plied his wares to the natives. Once his stash ran out, he may have tried to make his own noodles using rice flour as an alternative to wheat. Given how rice noodles are easier to cook than either rice or wheat noodles and are highly versatile vehicles for various toppings and sauces, the clamor for pancit quickly caught on.

During the Spanish occupation, the indigenous noodle dish was essentially the nation’s first “takeout food,” with panciteros (Chinese food hawkers who sold pancit) catering to the cigar factories’ working women who had little time for housework or cooking. The demand for the convenient, ready-to-eat meal soon led to the vendors establishing permanent roadside eateries to service both working and traveling customers, the resulting panciteria’s thus becoming our country’s first covered restaurants.

More than a National Dish: The Many Variations of Pancit

Nowadays, pancit is a fixture at many significant milestones such as weddings, baptisms, graduations, and most especially during birthdays, where their inherently Chinese symbolism as edible harbingers of a long life (provided you don’t cut the noodles before you eat them) are frequently invoked. It continues to be enjoyed by generations of Filipinos in various forms, with sotanghon, bihon, canton, or miki as the most commonly used and consumed noodle variants. 

Pancit also goes by a lot of names, each one indicating either the dish’s color (pancit puti or white pancit), how it is eaten (pancit habhab), where it is sold (pancit istasyon), alleged inventor (pancit Henoy), or its place of origin (pancit Malabon).

The following are just a handful of the ways that each region or province in our nation’s vast archipelago has incorporated their trademark produce with pancit to result in a fiesta staple that is all their own.

This pancit variant is so popular that it compelled certain conglomerates to develop an instant version of the stuff. Wheat noodles are stir-fried with soy sauce and ginger, and then tossed with a bevy of toppings from your usual squid, shelled shrimp, and vegetables to the fish balls, sliced pork, and fried, neon-orange tinted quail eggs that are emblematic of the famed Chinese birthday noodles.

Strangely enough, Pancit Canton has no roots whatsoever in Guangdong- formerly Canton- China. There has yet to be a conclusive explanation behind its misleading name, but it was most likely thought of by an enterprising pancitero seeking to lure in customers looking for an “authentic” Comida China experience.

Pancit Bihon Guisado (Sautéed Rice Noodles)

Also a contender for the most popular noodle dish, this type of pancit uses bihon or thin rice noodles. Its name comes from the root word “guisa,” which is Tagalog for sautéing, which in this case is in a pan with meat, vegetables, and soy sauce.

Similar to Bihon Guisado, translucent sotanghon (mung bean or glass noodles) is also sautéed with a savory sauce, and some hefty toppings. In the past, sotanghon noodles were imported from HK or China and were expensive, so these were served only during special occasions.

Also referred to in some circles as Pancit Malabon, this dish uses thick rice noodles that are dunked in hot water to soften them prior to adding the lip-smacking, unctuous orange sauce (“Luglog” means “to dunk in water”). Littered with fresh shrimp, squid, and even shucked oysters fresh off the northern fishing town of Malabon, this pancit is legendary and is a known staple in office and classroom parties alike.

Tuguegarao’s official contribution to the pancit world derives its name from the two ways that eggs are used in this delicacy. Miki noodles (which, incidentally, are also made from eggs) are stir-fried with carabao beef, bean sprouts, topped with a fried egg (“patong”) and served with an accompanying bowl of whisked egg-drop soup (“batil”).

This pancit earned its moniker from the way that it’s eaten. “Habhab” is the term that Lucban inhabitants use to refer to the practice of placing their famed pancit (made of miki noodles sautéed with pork meat, liver, shrimp, and vegetables as well as a dash of cane vinegar) on a banana leaf, and then maneuvering the leaf to dump the pancit straight into one’s mouth.

This pancit dish originated in Lipa, Batangas back in 1968, and was invented by restaurateur To Kim Eng. A bowl of lomi typically has thick egg noodles, pork liver, fish balls, kikiam, and quail eggs, all swimming in a thick broth and occasionally topped with a whisked egg. This pancit dish is such a significant part of the Batangueño’s life that they celebrate a Lomi Festival every June, alongside the capital’s Foundation Day itself.

These bowls of flat miki noodles with onions, shredded adobo meat, and chicharon drenched in flavorful broth can be found all over Imus, Cavite. Jose Rizal himself praised this soupy dish in El Filibusterismo, with one of his characters referring to it as “the soup par excellence!”

These days, most of us need only visit the nearest grocery or convenience store to get our instant noodle fix. But with so many scrumptious renditions of the “original fast food” to be had throughout the Philippines, an impromptu road trip to sample as many of them as possible might be an ideal way to cap off the summer.

This article was originally published in 2013.


Aquino, Mike. (2013). The Republic of Pancit. Retrieved March 25, 2014 from http://ph.she.yahoo.com/the-republic-of-pancit-094352930.html.
Fenix, Michaela (ed.). (2008). Kulinarya: A Guidebook to Filipino Cuisine. Anvil: Pasig.
Lumen, Nancy. “Republic of Pancit.” (2005). The Investigative Reporting Quarterly. Retrieved March 25, 2014 from http://pcij.org/i-report/1/pancit.html
Tayag, C. “Long Live the Pancit!” The Philippine Star. 10 May 2012.

Pancit: The History of this "Long Life" Noodle

Knocking back a few pints of beer while chowing down on copious amounts of salty, greasy food is a time-honored tradition all over the world. The Spaniards came up with 

, which is comprised of a pig’s face that’s been chopped up and fried to perfection. Crispy, tangy, and meaty, it’s a perfect complement for beer’s natural earthy flavors. While its high fat and sodium content can make you dizzy and bloated, none of that matters once you’re three bottles in to drowning your frustrations with your douche ex in between mouthfuls of sizzling 

The distinct, savory aroma wafting from that sizzling plate of 

 might make mouths water, but the recipe behind it 

 turn the stomach of the more squeamish among us.

The first step involves taking a pig’s head (a real pig’s, not your ex’s) and boiling it until it’s tender. The hairs are then removed, with the fleshy portions chopped and then grilled or broiled. Finally, the whole lot is seasoned with salt, pepper, vinegar or calamansi juice before being fried with chopped onions, various types of 

 is topped with a raw egg which is gently cooked by the sizzling plate’s residual heat. Some eateries occasionally add ox brains, crushed pork cracklings, and even mayonnaise for added richness.

Pork may be the default protein of choice for whipping up 

, but some adventurous cooks have also used exotic meats like ostrich, frog, and python. Vegetarians and pescetarians (along with practicing Catholics during the Lenten season) can also join in on the fun by going for a plate of squid, tuna, or tofu 

Though it might be difficult to believe now, 

 was initially conceived as an austere cure for hangovers and nausea (and the vomiting that accompanied both).

,” an old Tagalog word which means “to make it sour.”

Its existence was first recorded in a Kapampangan dictionary back in 1732 by Diego Bergaño, a Spanish missionary who served as the parish priest for Mexico, Pampanga at the time. The Augustinian friar defined 

 as “a salad including green papaya or green guava eaten with a dressing of salt, pepper, garlic, and vinegar.” The dish’s inherent sourness was thought to suppress the urge to vomit, and was thus frequently administered to those suffering from dizziness (or from a night of overindulgence).

This acidic green salad eventually found its way to the dining table as an accompaniment to roasted meats, but it wasn’t until the American Occupation that 

 became recognized as an entrée in its own right.

Back then, the US Air Force personnel were stationed at the Clark Base in Angeles City, Pampanga, and the commissaries in charge of preparing their food would dump unused pig heads into the garbage. Aghast at the waste of edible parts, nearby local residents offered to purchase the unwanted portions and were allowed to do so cheaply. They boiled the pig heads, sliced off the ears and jowls, and added these to the sour relish, thus making the prototype of the modern 

 that we enjoy today belongs to a little old lady who used to live by the railroad tracks. Lucia Cunanan, or “Aling Lucing” as she preferred to be called, retained the elements of the traditional Kapampangan dish (chopped meat cooked with a souring agent), but kicked things up a notch by grilling the boiled meat, chopping it up, frying it with pig brains and chicken livers, then serving it on a sizzling plate. The sourness from which the dish took its name no longer took center stage. In its place, the crunchiness of the pig ear cartilage with the creaminess of the liver and brains came to define a well-prepared plate of 

. Aling Lucing’s creation catapulted the humble dish from a regional delicacy to a national sensation.

Aling Lucing’s sisig also revolutionized the Kapampangan dining culture. Kapampangan society used to shun humid, open-air canteens and preferred only fancy, air-conditioned restaurants, but the renown of her sizzling 

 piqued the curiosity of the wealthy. Celebrities, government officials, and heiresses all found themselves risking their lives (and their expensive cars) by trekking to “Crossing,” Aling Lucing’s food stall in the slums by the railroad.

Now that customers focused on the food rather than on the ambience, other entrepreneurial cooks with very limited capital started converting garages and backyards into eating areas to showcase their specialty dishes. Popular Kapampangan eateries like Jojo’s and Razon’s were among those that flourished from that trend.

Sadly, Aling Lucing’s story does not have a happy ending. On April 16, 2008, the 80 year-old was found bludgeoned to death in her Angeles City home. The primary suspect was her own husband, then-85 year-old Victor Cunanan, but the investigation was inconclusive and the case remains unresolved to this day.

While Aling Lucing may be gone, her biggest culinary contribution seems to have taken on a life of its own. Angeles City is now known as the country’s 

 Capital, a title that was solidified further back in 2003, when the city held its first 

 Festival). The celebration featured a giant sizzling plate on which HRM students cooked up tons of 

 for the thousands of revelers, which included representatives from the Guinness Book of World Records.

 is enjoying significant international acclaim. It’s included in CNNGo’s 

 of 50 delicious Filipino foods, a sentiment echoed by Anthony Bourdain himself after he sampled the fare at Aling Lucing’s.

Tom Parker-Bowles, the food writer for Esquire UK (and the stepson of Prince Charles himself), also raved about 

 he wrote for the said magazine, and even traveled all the way to Angeles City (a mere two days before his 

!) just to sample an authentic version of this Kapampangan specialty.

Nowadays, foreigners and Filipinos living abroad no longer have to travel hundreds of miles just to get their 

 a modern Filipino restaurant in Manhattan, New York, specialties include fusion dishes like the Eggs Imelda (a riff on Eggs Florentine that sets a poached egg on a toasted pan de sal with taro leaves, coconut leaves, and prawns) to their sizzling 

. Described as “pig ears, snout, belly, cheek (cooked 3 times – boiled, grilled, sautéed) with onion, garlic, and lemon,” Maharlika’s 

 made waves in the multi-cultural city, even bagging the “Best New Food” award from 

, a leading food and entertainment guide in the Big Apple. (Maharlika closed in 

If hot, heavy sizzling plates aren’t your thing, you can always grab a 

 in San Francisco. The brainchild of two Kapampangan yuppies from Daly City, Señor Sisig combined all the good things about our favorite Filipino happy hour dish with the portability of Mexican 

 dishes. Founders Evan Kidera and Gil Payumo based their 

 on an old family recipe, but made one key improvement. Instead of using a pig head, they marinate a pork shoulder for over twenty-four hours in a special blend of spices before charbroiling the meat to give it a succulent, juicy flavor. The resulting meat is then used as a filling for tacos, burritos, and nachos. And if you’re not a fan of pork, they also have chicken and tofu alternatives. Whatever your preference, the 

 might not be the most refined (or the healthiest) example of our local cuisine, but there is something uniquely and identifiably Filipino about it. Its origins reflect our heritage and culture, speaking volumes about how we Filipinos excel at taking something that others see as useless or disgusting and elevating it into a culinary phenomenon that is enjoyed and celebrated the world over. The little old lady from the railroad tracks would have been very proud indeed.

Sisig: The Tragic History Behind Our Favorite Pulutan

Symbols play a huge part in Filipino culture. We have the carabao as our national animal, the 

 as our national flower, and Sandara Park as our national 

, but our food-loving country has yet to select a national dish. Considering how we have so many different regional delicacies, with each as delectable as all the others, it’d be pretty tough to come to a consensus. One dish sure comes pretty close though: the classic 

, from the call center agent with his packed Tupperware to the socialite lunching at the latest fusion place in Serendra. There are as many versions of 

 as there are households, but all of them share the same basic components.

 means “vinegar-braised.” Evenly-cut chunks of meat are first seared in hot fat or oil until they brown. Braising liquids, such as vinegar and soy sauce, are then added, and the mixture is left to simmer over low heat. The moist heat gently penetrates the meat to break down the collagen and tough fibers, resulting in a fork-tender texture with a thick, flavorful sauce. It’s a cooking method that’s time-consuming but undeniably rewarding.

While the cooking process sounds relatively simple, there are still a few details that can trip up a beginner. Remember that tougher cuts of meat need to simmer for a longer time. Tender meats like poultry or seafood should be braised in less liquid, at a lower temperature, and for a shorter period of time or they’ll disintegrate. Keep the temperature low to prevent the outer layers of the meat from toughening up before the insides are cooked thoroughly. Getting a good, even sear on the meat is also crucial to the 

’s flavor. Lastly, salt should be added (if at all) only towards the end of the cooking process to prevent the reduced sauce from being too salty.

Filipino or Spanish? Adobo‘s Disputed Origins

, which means “marinade” or “pickling sauce.” The existence of the tangy dish was first recorded in 1613 by the Spaniard Pedro de San Buenaventura.

In the dictionary he was compiling, Buenaventura listed the tart viand as “

” for its similarity to Spanish and Mexican dishes that went by the same name. But while our favorite 

’s moniker boasts of a pure Spanish lineage, little else about our 

 can and should be attributed to our Hispanic conquerors. According to the food historian Raymond Sokolov, the ingredients for 

 already existed in the Philippines before Ferdinand Magellan even laid eyes on our shores. Because the dish’s original name was never recorded (and in a case of what Sakolov calls “lexical imperialism”), the Spanish label stuck.

Like many cultures based in warm climates, Filipino natives developed various methods of preserving food. They cooked using moist-heat methods like steaming or boiling. To keep their edibles fresh for a longer period, they used plenty of vinegar and salt since the elevated acidity and high sodium content produced a hazardous environment for spoilage-causing bacteria. The Chinese traders who later visited our islands introduced soy sauce to early Filipinos. It soon found its way into our nameless vinegar-braised dish, eventually displacing salt altogether.

 shares its name with a couple of Hispanic dishes, there are key differences between the Filipino version and its Spanish and Mexican cousins. The Spanish 

 sauce is distinctly spiced and fiery, with at least three kinds of chili peppers, tomato paste, and cinnamon among its ingredients while the Mexican rendition uses lemon juice, cumin, and Mexican oregano. On the other hand, the Filipino 

 base is comprised almost exclusively of vinegar, which not only flavors but also tenderizes the meat.

For nearly five centuries, Filipinos have been coming up with their own new and unique takes on this classic. Here are a few of the more popular ones:

This is the “standard” version served in homes and carinderias across the country. Soy sauce gives it a dark color and salty flavor. Traditionally, it’s eaten the day after it’s made, once all the flavors have mixed, reabsorbed, and intensified. Since it involves two kinds of meat, the pieces of chicken are removed from the pot once they’re done, leaving the pork chunks to finish stewing.

This more decadent spin on the classic stew originated in Batangas, where 

) water is sometimes substituted for the soy sauce. This results in a less salty sauce and adds a reddish tinge to the dish. The meat is braised in order of toughness, with the hardier beef pieces hitting the pan first.

A popular dish in Southern Luzon, this Bicolano take on 

 adds coconut milk to the vinegar braising liquid. Green finger chili peppers, which abound in Bicol, are used instead of black peppercorns.

Although this dish is actually brown (an effect of frying the meat prior to braising), it gets its name from the clear vinegary liquid it’s traditionally made with. This version is preferred by the purists since it eliminates the soy sauce and the laurel leaves from the recipe, giving way to the three basic 

flavors: vinegar, garlic, and peppercorns.

This delicacy calls for sliced white banana flowers sautéed in white vinegar, a helping of 

 (small shrimps). Hailing from Cavite, this vegetable-based 

 is used as the main souring agent in the province’s version of 

Proving that Filipinos are highly resourceful when it comes to recycling leftovers, 

 entails shredding the meat from leftover chicken and pork 

 and frying them in hot oil until they are brown and crisp. Crunchy 

 flakes are known for their long shelf-life (especially when refrigerated in a sealed container) and for their versatility (they are paired with everything from 

Originating from coastline areas where seafood is plentiful but meat is scarce, this particular 

’s sauce is blackened further by pouring squid ink into the stew along with vinegar and soy sauce. Green finger chili peppers are sometimes added for an extra kick.

 (water spinach) as its main attraction. This version is inherently vegetarian, but is occasionally made decadent with the addition of 

These days, our iconic Filipino dish is just like the half-breed starlets that abound in local showbiz: born of a surprisingly beautiful union between East and West, and thrilling to Filipinos everywhere.

 flakes, for example. Instead of simply serving them on top of steaming white rice, you can now enjoy them in sandwiches, salads, and pasta dishes. I even read about a group of young Filipino entrepreneurs who came up with sushi rolls filled with 

 is even starting to make waves in places as far as the Big Apple. At Romy Dorotan’s Brooklyn restaurant, 

 (made with rice vinegar, coconut milk, soy sauce, garlic, and fiery Thai chilies) has been hailed by critics for its alternating notes of fragrant garlic, fiery chili, and sweet-salty nuttiness.

Sheldon Simeon, a Filipino-American chef from Hawaii, made a splash during the 10th season of 

. For the finale, Simeon’s offering included his tasty riff on the much-loved Pinoy classic: tender pork belly with mung bean puree and a pea shoot salad. Judge Tom Colicchio ended up praising it for its harmonious flavors and calling it “a very good, strong dish.”

Apparently, even the leader of the free world is a fan of our savory stew. But I suppose that’s only natural, especially when the executive chef to the Obamas happens to be Cristeta Comerford, the first Filipina (as well as the first Asian-American) to hold the position. Though, with the health-conscious Michelle Obama calling the shots in that kitchen, the members of the First Family probably enjoy their 

 without the chicken skin and with less soy sauce.

They say that Filipino food was prepared by Malay settlers, spiced by the Chinese, stewed by the Spanish, and 

 by the Americans. I guess that just proves that we Filipinos are quite good at adapting to change, and making the most out of our situation in order to come up with something that’s uniquely our own.

Adobo: The History Behind A National Favorite

If those catchy commercials on television are to be believed, 

 is the sole territory of fast food burger heavyweights. However, any homegrown Filipino will tell you that creepy, ginger-haired clowns or bug-eyed jolly bees have nothing on their favorite 

 After a long day at the office, a slice of 

 are what most of us normally crave for. We can’t help it; it’s practically in our blood.

” (rice). It’s an umbrella term for sweets made of glutinous rice and coconut milk, two ingredients that tropical countries like ours have in abundance. These ingredients are usually employed in one of two forms. Some recipes use 

, made by soaking rice flour overnight, then grinding and straining it using a cheesecloth. Other types of 

 or sticky rice grains that are either ground up or left whole.

Sweetened with sugar, wrapped in banana leaves and traditionally steamed in a special clay stove called a 

, sticky cakes were initially created to serve as offerings to pre-colonial gods and/or as gifts to honored guests and visitors. While the aforementioned clay stove is now a rare sight, many of the old recipes and cooking methods for making 

 are still actively used in modern times.

 has its own unique and quirky name. As you’ll see in the following examples, each carries with it a history that’s as rich and deeply-rooted in our culture as the delicacy it identifies.

A mainstay at town fiestas, weddings, and funerals, 

 is what usually comes to mind when you hear the word “

 rice and coconut milk, with a dark brown topping. Gooey, sticky, and with a distinct, nutty sweetness, 

 is one delicacy that’s difficult to put down after you’ve had a bite.

 takes its name from the coffee-colored, sweet coconut curd that gives it its distinctive flavor. The sticky cakes are also sometimes referred to as 

, although, strictly speaking, the term only pertains to the coconut milk, brown sugar, and glutinous rice powder mixture that is sometimes spread over the 

, this steamed rice cake is traditionally white in color, although it can also be tinged green or purple to indicate that its been flavored with 

 respectively. Like the French baguette, it is sometimes eaten alongside savory viands, most notably the 

 range from a single strip of cheese to a slice of salted egg.

, which literally means “portioned.” The regional variants of the steamed cake take their names from either their appearance or their most notable feature. 

, for example, is named after the chimney-like contraption used to cook it, 

” in Spanish (a nod to this variant’s biscuit-like texture), and bite-sized cakes stuffed with a sweet meat filling are called 

 as a tribute to the Chinese meat bun that inspired their creation.

, coconut milk, sugar, condensed milk, and an occasional 

/cheese flavoring, this festive and colorful dish is sometimes referred to as a sweetened and coconut-infused 

 by foreigners who encounter it for the first time. It has a dense, pudding-like texture, and is often seen at social gatherings like fiestas, school events, Christmas parties, birthdays and 

 is an old Tagalog word for “layers,” a word which evokes this sticky dessert’s appearance and taste. The name also hints at its method of preparation. When making 

 one must make sure that each layer of the glutinous rice batter is allowed to steam and set before the next layer is poured in to keep the vibrant colors and flavors separate and intact.

’s house in the province aren’t complete without a bowl of this staple comfort food. 

 is essentially a mixture of diced root vegetables (such as 

), bananas, and chewy rice balls. They’re all then cooked together in a soupy gruel thickened with coconut milk (and the starch from the sliced tubers). Sliced 

 or jackfruit is sometimes added to give the dish a tart kick.

 means “rice balls cooked in sweetened coconut milk.” 

, the Tagalog word for “coconut milk.” 

 comes from the sound the sticky rice balls make as they boil away on a stove. The syllables are just repeated because this supposedly increases the prosperity the 

Our Chinese forebears were the ones who introduced the idea that round, starchy desserts symbolize wealth sticking to anyone who consumes them. In addition, the tradition of doubling up the syllables in the dish’s name is said to strengthen its power.

 is the country’s quintessential rice cake. It is a name shared by many different variants that are all made from glutinous rice cooked in coconut milk, wrapped tightly in palm leaves, and then steamed. It’s quite delicious on its own, but those who like to up the ante enjoy it with a sprinkling of sugar. Others even fry it for an even richer version. (If that’s not indulgent enough for you, Fely J’s makes a mean dessert with 

 in the country. The most popular is called 

, which is comprised of soaked glutinous rice and coconut milk (treated with lye) wrapped in banana leaves and boiled for two hours.

 has been around for centuries, its original name might have been lost to history.

Its name is allegedly rooted in an old Spanish phrase for “rice cakes wrapped in leaves, with somewhat longish pieces,” as described by Antonio Pigafetta, the chronicler for the first Spanish expedition to arrive on Philippine shores.

’s regional variants, meanwhile, derive their names from the material or method used to wrap them. 

 are rice cakes poured into coil-shaped receptacles made out of young palm leaves, which are called “

, on the other hand, was named after the 

 (“stingray” in Tagalog) as a nod to the complex, geometric shape that resembles its namesake.

While American kids grew up on peanut butter and jelly, their Filipino counterparts had 

 is also made with ground rice and sugar, with the addition of lye (sodium hydroxide) to give it its distinct muddy yellow color and jelly-like texture. Usually sold in packs alongside mounds of 

 is normally served topped with grated coconut.

 was thought to have sprung up at the same time as its pasty counterpart, but the origins of its name remain a mystery. It has been theorized, however, that its name might have a connection to an obsolete piece of kitchen equipment responsible for its flattened, saucer-like shape. Unfortunately, the name of the said instrument has also been lost to history.

Sticky rice is washed, soaked, and then ground to a fine powder and then mixed with coconut milk and sugar to make the batter for this fluffy, dense 

. Scoops of the batter are then dropped into boiling water and left to cook until they float back to the surface as soft, flat disks. Rolled in sesame seeds, grated coconut, and sugar, they are a favorite among the young (and the young-at-heart).

” means “to rise” in the vernacular, and in this case, it refers to how you’ll know the 

is cooked and ready to be taken out of the pot. Colloquially, the 

” for its broad, tongue-like appearance (though I can’t imagine why anyone would find 

With globalization and the evolving local market driving a lot of international establishments to open establishments here, Filipino diners are increasingly being exposed to and developing a taste for foreign cuisines . But although we continue to cultivate a universal palate, the taste of 

the taste of home, really) remains something we can never do without.

Kakanin: The History Behind 7 Filipino Sticky Rice Snacks

Sweet spaghetti is like that kitschy ‘90’s boy band song on your playlist: it’s something you’d rather not admit to liking.

Due to the nature of my part-time job here at Pepper.ph and my own all-encompassing love for good food (spending for a good haircut gives me pause, but I would happily fork over thrice that amount for a full-course meal prepared by a very skilled chef), I’ve been fortunate enough to sample some of the best and most authentic world cuisines but good gracious, I still have a raging craving for the stuff from time to time.

Thousands of sweet spaghetti servings are sold by our several local fast food outlets every day, and you’d be hard-pressed to attend any children’s party in the country (and perhaps even beyond) without being given a serving of it. We Filipinos enjoy a wide range of native sweets and confections, but how exactly did our penchant for sugar spill over into non-dessert territory? The answer, it turns out, is far more complex than the flavor profile of the dish in question.

From Luxury to Necessity: Why We Love Sugar So Much

Sugar in itself is an addictive substance. When consumed in large amounts, it exerts a powerful effect on the reward centers of the brain and thus causing people to consume more of it to get the same amount of pleasure each time.

Historically speaking, our nationwide fixation with sugar originated from the same driving force behind some of the world’s most aspirational luxury brands. Although we are blessed with an abundance of natural sweeteners (palm sugar, panocha, honey, etc.), the foreign invaders who took over our country for centuries restricted their consumption to the upper classes (which was mostly composed of the said invaders, hence a lot of the desserts and sweets from the time period retaining their Spanish or American names to this day). The poorer classes only got to sample sweets on special occasions, if at all, so sugar was very much in vogue as a status symbol.

Once sugar was harvested and mass-produced in the 19th century (thus making it cheaper and more readily available), the masses latched on to it and added it to virtually everything.

Lastly, there’s always the nostalgia factor. Since sweet food is normally associated with happy memories in one’s childhood (the period of time in most people’s life where they felt most secure and carefree), so we end up craving it in times of stress (which typically increases as we get older).

Birthday Noodles and Beyond: The Beginnings of Sweet Spaghetti

If you take a close look at the run-of-the-mill spaghetti noodles or spaghetti sauce commercial, you might notice a common theme.

Apart from being a Filipino comfort food staple (and Italian culinary nightmare), sweet spaghetti is also the default children’s party dish, hence many commercials basing their premise on the said event. And although there’s no data as to when and where the recipe originated exactly, it was most likely conceived at one such celebration.

Filipino Food History

Kropek: The History of Our Favorite Prawn Cracker

Pancit: The History of this "Long Life" Noodle

Sisig: The Tragic History Behind Our Favorite Pulutan

Adobo: The History Behind A National Favorite

Kakanin: The History Behind 7 Filipino Sticky Rice Snacks

Filipino Spaghetti: The History of That Sweet Red Sauce

17 Types of Cookies in the Philippines

The Secret History Behind Pan de Regla and Other Panaderya Eats

Yema: The History of a Classic Filipino Candy