For us who reside outside the Philippines, have we not been asked what Filipino cuisine tastes like? What an interesting and intricate question, isn’t it? For unlike the Thai’s Siam heritage that traces to the 13th century, or the Indonesian culture that is tens of thousands of years old, our archipelago only got its name when the Spaniards set foot in Samar and Cebu in the early 1500s. We have been colonized by different countries since, became part of robust global Manila Galleon trade from the 16th to the 19th centuries, and gained independence only in 1945. Thus, how does one make sense of the various cultures that influenced our indigenous cooking through the centuries in order to define Filipino cuisine? To propose one way to answering this question, I think of a few iconic dishes I grew up eating not only in my parents’ home but also in practically every Filipino kitchen, then mine our Philippine colonial history as context for cultural influences.

SINIGANG

It is written that indigenous communities in the archipelago stewed meat, fish and seafood with acidic fruits and vegetables in clay pots over a charcoal fire until flavours fused together. Sigang means to stew. Acidic fruits including green mangoes, kamias, guavas, small limes calamansi, tamarind sampalok—aplenty then and now—were used not only for flavour but also for preserving meats in a tropical climate without refrigeration.

The Spanish explorer Ruy Lopez de Villalobos christened the islands of Leyte and Samar Las Islas Filipinas after the Spanish Crown Prince Philip in 1543. During the early years of the Spanish colonization that ended only in 1898, the term expanded to cover the entire archipelago composed of over 7000 islands. Previously, Ferdinand Magellan named gold-rich Zamal (later Samar), Sugbo (later Cebu) and nearby islands Islas del Poniente (Western Islands).

During years of Spanish colonization, sampalok became the dominant souring agent. Then and now, the formula for making one dish meal remains acidic broth + protein + vegetables. Protein came in different forms: pork, beef, seafood such as prawns, large and small fish, and even fish head. Vegetables that may be stewed in this sour broth include yams, white radish labanos, siling gulay, kangkong, okra. There were regional variations of this dish. For example, the Bicolano version is spicy; thanks to the addition of bird’s eye chili labuyo. Sinigang, served with newly steamed rice, is enjoyed by every Filipino whichever part of the world they reside. In Japan, I substitute hourensou or komatsuna for kangkong, salmon head in lieu of pork.

ADOBO

Like sinigang, adobo predates Spanish colonization. The Spanish documented how locals stewed cubed pork or carabao meat, fish, chicken pieces in vinegar, crushed garlic, coarse salt and native spices in a pot lined with banana leaves, placed over a charcoal fire until the meat is tender. This reminded them of how they marinate or season food in a mixture of spices, vinegar and oil; the Spanish word for this is adobar.

It is the Chinese who introduced soy sauce to the indigenous recipe. I twice-cook pork adobo; that is to say, I marinate, then stew to tenderness, then fry each morsel before returning it back into the stewing liquid. I also serve adobo a day after I cook it, allowing flavours to meld even more.

SPAM AND CORNED BEEF SILOG

Even before the 10 th century, our islands have been trading with our neighbours in Asia, and regionally with China and India. The Americans came to the Philippines in the late 1890s to secure trade access to Asia. Initially, the Americans helped our nationalists defeat Spain in 1898; eventually, Spain ceded the Philippines to the U.S. for $20,000,000 in the Treaty of Paris. In other words, the Philippines came under American rule. During this time, not only did the U.S. establish naval bases, schools and hospitals across the Philippine archipelago, they also introduced to us the culture of processed foods.

Filipino kitchens localized canned Spam and corned beef by sauteing them in garlic and serving them with newly cooked sinaing or fried rice sinangag and egg silog. In addition, the Americans introduced replacements for fresh cow’s milk delivered to our homes in bottles; in time, we grew a preference for the more convenient canned evaporated evaporada and condensed milk condensada.

We take home a few cans of Delimondo corned beef from Manila sometimes. I fry corned beef on a hot griddle mixing it with an egg and serve this with sinaing. There are healthier alternatives of seasoned rice in Japan; my usual onigiris incorporate seasoned nori and salmon flakes.

HALO-HALO

For three years in World War ll, our country was under Japanese rule. Historians Sta. Maria and Ocampo trace the origins of our beloved halo-halo to the Japanese shaved ice dessert kakigori which was a luxurious treat served to nobility in 11th century Japan. The original kakigori recipe called for red azuki bean paste anko and shiratama balls mochi on a tall mound of shaved ice onto which a simple sugar syrup was poured. As these were not easy to source in the Philippines, they first two ingredients were replaced with sweetened red mung beans: hence, its name mongo-ya. Later, layers of garbanzos, sweetened tropical fruits such as plantains, jackfruit langka, sugar palm kaong and purple yam ube halaya accompanied the sweetened mung beans piled from the bottom of a tall glass. Shaved ice was packed on top before it was drizzled generously with evaporada and sometimes a scoop of ube ice cream. No wonder the name of this dessert evolved to halo-halo (from the verb halo: to mix) because a long spoon now had to mix all the ingredients together before indulging.

I borrow the concept of halo-halo in describing Philippine cuisine. History shows us that the Filipino is a mix of Chinese, Malay, Spanish, American and to a lesser extent, Japanese cultural influences. Revisiting our colonial past and role in global trade allows us to parse our traditional dishes and reflect on how our eating habits evolved through time. Doing so also allows us to marvel at just how receptive and adaptable we Filipinos have been and continue to be as we engage the different peoples who we live among.

Yoshino through Satoko’s eyes enriched my perception of this mountainous town. Our day trip began with a visit to Ue Washi (237-1 Minamiono, Yoshino-cho). We witnessed how Mr. Kozo Ue softened cedar bark and processed it by hand in batches to create a unique kind of paper with cloud-dragon mulberry washi fibres. This special paper looks elegant and is suitable for painting, wallpaper, and the backing or mounting of scrolls. Quietly observing each step in the lengthy papermaking process, I was invited to consider apprenticeship not only as a way to build skill but, more significantly, to cultivate a more meditative nature.

About twenty minutes away by car, we arrived at Niukawakami-chusha (869-1 Sako, Kawakamimura, Yoshino-cho). While in the car, Satoko excitedly spoke about the dragon balls that we should buy at the shrine entrance and later use for making wishes. Naturally, our first activity upon passing through the shrine’s red torii gate was for each of us to purchase a ryuudama (JPY300 per ball). Thereafter, we performed temizu, a simplified version of the ancient ablution ritual to cleanse the body and spirit before drawing near the deities. Satoko reminded us of the steps: (1) Stand in front of the basin and bow slowly. (2) With the right hand, pick up the wooden ladle, scoop water, and pour it over the left hand to cleanse it. (3) Repeat the process to cleanse the right hand. (4) Holding the ladle in the right hand, pour water into the cupped left hand and gently rinse the mouth, spitting the water carefully into the drain. (5) Tilt the ladle so the remaining water runs down the handle before returning it to its place.

The Niukawakami shrines in the three mountains of southern Nara are said to have been established in 675 CE under Emperor Tenmu to venerate Mizuhanome-no-kami, the goddess who controls the flow of water from the mountains into the farming areas below. In ancient times, rulers demonstrated their right to govern through harmony with the forces of nature; in other words, bountiful harvests resulting from favourable weather affirmed the legitimacy of their rule. Thus, the ancients prayed at these shrines for good weather. The traditional method was to ceremonially sacrifice a black horse to bring rain and a white horse to stop the rain. This explains the wooden prayer plaques (ema) bearing images of horses. The upper shrine, Niukawakami-hosha, is located in Shimoichi Town. The lower shrine, Niukawakami-shimosha, is in Kawakami Village. We paid our respects at the middle shrine, Niukawakami-chusha, in Higashiyoshino. Within this enclave are also smaller shrines and revered cedar trees.

Knowing that my husband and I are celebrating 33 years of marriage, Satoko urged us to place our hands on the moss-covered bark of the 800-year-old Aioi no Osugi (Great Cedar of Harmony). We also laid our hands on the 700-plus-year-old Kanae no Osugi (Great Cedar of Wishes) and the Negai no Osugi (Great Cedar of Prayer). Shinrin-yoku, or forest bathing—the Japanese meditative practice that promotes well-being—includes pressing one's hands or arms firmly against tree bark. Tree hugging in the West has likewise been shown by biochemical and neuroscientific studies to provide psychological benefits, including reducing stress, boosting immunity, and improving mood. In Jeju last year, I tried tree hugging for the first time and was surprised to experience such a profound feeling of safety that I thought it must be one way of becoming truly grounded.

Satoko also introduced us to the jiji baba ishi, two sacred upright rocks located near the torii. The rock on the left is the old man stone (jiji), and the rock on the right is the old woman stone (baba); together they are known as the married couple stones (meoto ishi). Local folklore recalls the era when timber was transported by river rafters, and these two stones served as visual markers for damming the water. As this was a dangerous activity, prayers were offered to the stones for safe passage. Today, visitors pray for long and happy marriages. Safe passage through a long marriage can certainly benefit from prayer, I thought to myself! Ha ha...

We then walked about 75 metres towards Ryujin Falls, passing another torii, a narrow footbridge, and a small shrine before reaching Yumebuchi. Yumebuchi is a deep pool where the Takami, Hiura, and Shigo rivers merge into one. Ancient people believed this confluence to be the dwelling place of the water deity kannabi, and they performed purification rituals here. Incidentally, these waters are also fed by the waterfall Higashi no Taki, which is believed to be the dwelling place of a dragon. Standing on the middle of an even narrower bridge, we performed the unique ryuudama ritual. This involved breathing a wish into the small hole of our ryuudama three times before throwing it towards the waterfall.

Reverence for trees, stones, and bodies of water—the visit to Niukawakami inspired me to sense divinity in nature.

After enjoying washoku at Restaurant SATO (572-1 Narai, Yoshino-cho), we visited the Nihon Ookami monument on the banks of the Takami River. This monument marks the exact place where the now-extinct Japanese wolf was last sighted and killed. Its plaque bears a haiku by Toshio Mihashi, translated as: "I walk / With that wolf / That is no more." The ancients revered this legendary predator as the mountain guardian inu-sama, believed to protect crops from wild boars. In Shinto, wolves were also believed to guard mountain villages and ward off evil. Unfortunately, during the Meiji period (1868–1912), modernisation regarded them as an agricultural threat, and the wolves were consequently exterminated.

We then dropped off Sofia and Alessandro at Akari Studio (13-12 Oaza Kitano, Oyodo-cho). Ms. Hisayo Sakamoto is a master artist who creates refined lighting fixtures from locally sourced Yoshino cedar, cypress, and traditional Yoshino handmade washi. That afternoon, the children built table lamps under Sakamoto-san’s guidance. Five years ago, Noni, Satoko, and I enjoyed making our own lamps in this same studio. Satoko suggested this activity with obvious pride in the products of her hometown.

Meantime, Satoko, Noni and I drove to La Peche and sunk our teeth in deliciously creamy mont blancs with coffee in the adjacent cafe. Yoshino is a famous sightseeing place not just in spring but also in autumn when the changing colours of the leaves inspire awe and reverie, and the savoury taste of roasted chestnut kuri is a real treat. Afterwards, we picked up succulent oranges setoka and sweet local strawberries kotoka from the Oyodo Farm Stand. Operated by JA Naraken, this ichiba offers fresh produce directly sourced from local farmers in the Yoshino and Yamato regions, and also locally crafted hinoki chopsticks and chopping boards.

On the return drive home, we expressed gratitude to Satoko for showing us Yoshino through a different lens, one that recalls Shinto as an essential aspect of the Japanese and celebrates nature’s power. This locally curated daytrip encourages me to plan future adventures with regional mindset and taste.  Certainly, there is much to learn from perspectives other than my own.

We enjoyed farm-to-table western-style dishes in Kemuri. The site of this restaurant was once a cigar shop cum-bar; hence the name (which means smoke or fumes). The darkened wooden planks of the interior are poignant reminders of this past, as are the glass windows and old black-and-white photos pasted on a wall.

Nearby, we discovered the chocolate shop Tatsunori Sato. Sato, who trained as a chocolatier in Ginza, fell in love with the sake Kaze no Mori and pitched the idea to Yucho Shuzo brewery to create chocolates that complement sake. Sato’s handcrafted chocolate-covered rice puffs, hazelnuts, orange peels, and roasted pecans use internationally sourced cocoa from countries like Switzerland and Belgium.

Petit Ami nearby sells French pastries, including financiers and macarons, in delicate Japanese flavors such as kaki and yuzu. Akebono sells scrumptious ichigo daifuku (soft, chewy mochi filled with a whole strawberry covered in sweet red paste, anko) and sakura mochi. If pressed for time, the one-stop shop offering food and drink souvenirs made in Gose is Higashigawa Saketen.

Gose is in present-day Nara. As many of us know, Japanese herbal medicine, kampo, originates from 7th-century Nara. On my next trip to Gose, I will join a guided tour of the ancient medicine chests and documents exhibited at Sankomaru Traditional Medicine Museum and find out how Sankomaru, a digestive preparation formulated from four local herbs, was made and used over time. I also plan to visit Muro no Oobaka, the large keyhole-shaped burial mound constructed in the 5th century. I want to say prayers at Takakamo Shrine, one of Japan’s oldest, and enjoy the sight of 500 varieties of wild azaleas, yamatsutsuji, abloom in May from a cable car on the Katsuragi-san Ropeway.

One of the fascinating aspects of local tourism is the harmonious and creative blend of old and new, of tradition and modernity. The sights and experiences in Gose are a testament to this. I can’t wait to make new discoveries!

March - April 2026

Every year, the Japan Meteorological Society provides information on when cherry trees bloom across the different regions of the Japanese archipelago. To further aid our travel plans, websites such as Nippon.com publish top hanami sites selected by the Japan Cherry Blossom Association. This list includes three locations in Nara-ken, where we call home—Nara Park, Koriyama Castle, and Yoshino.

I would like to add one more must-see hanami spot to the list: Takada Senbonzakura in Yamatotakada, just a short walk from Bojo Station along the Kintetsu Railway.

Its name perfectly describes the breathtaking view it offers—a thousand cherry trees lining both banks of the Takada River, planted in 1948. Boughs of pink and white blossoms gracefully lean toward the narrow waterway that winds through a 2.5 km stretch. The sight of these flowering trees during their brief 7–10 day peak in late March to early April is truly unforgettable. It inspires reflection: how can the simple act of planting trees bring such profound visual pleasure and spiritual respite across generations? How often do we take time to walk, appreciate nature, and remember that all kinds of growth take time?

Revelers stroll along the riverside roads; some descend to the banks to sit, enjoy the view, and picnic. After all, it is a joy to experience this floral spectacle—whether alone or with family and friends. Once, my husband and I noticed a young kimono-clad woman standing by the river, holding a parasol over her head. A photographer was carefully staging this poignant scene.

There are a few cafés along the path, as well as a children’s playground with swing sets and picnic tables. Nearby, you’ll find a popular dango shop. Along the 2.5 km stretch, several bridges offer excellent vantage points for photographing different sections of the bloom-filled landscape.

Closer to Bojo Station, one side of the river reveals another magnificent sight—a tunnel of cherry blossoms that creates a romantic walking path.

For me, this is also the perfect place to visit when the blossoms begin to fall. A strong breeze can sweep the petals from the branches, and they drift down like gentle snow.

January- February 2026

Inspired by recent trips to Madrid, Bilbao, and Barcelona, where my ears perked up at familiar words in local conversation, I began relearning Spanish eight months ago with the help of an app (Duolingo). I am surprised to see how easy it is to build vocabulary, primarily because there are many loanwords in Tagalog from the Spanish language.

In the Philippines, a version of counting numbers comes from Spanish; e.g., uno, dos, diez, treinta, ciento y cincuenta. We tell time using these words; e.g., a las diez y media (10:30), a las doce en punto (promptly at 12). So are the names of the days; e.g., lunes, miércoles, sábado, and months; e.g., enero, abril, diciembre, and religious holidays; e.g., Jueves Santo, Sábado de Gloria, Todos los Santos.

Like Tagalog and other Filipino dialects, Spanish is uttered in syllables. Unlike Spanish, however, our alphabet contains fewer letters (no “c” or “j,” for example), and so our dialects substitute c’s with k’s, j’s with h’s, v’s with b’s, and so on. We also dropped the -es suffix that denotes plurality.

Many of the things we encounter daily in our homes trace their names to Spanish. On the table (la mesa) in the cocina are our cubiertos: cuchara, tenedor, cuchillo. We serve dishes on platos, drink from vasos, and take café with azúcar in tazas. We add hielo to cool our drinks. We store goods in cajas/cajones and open cans with an abrelata. We sit on sillas and banquetas. We hang cortinas near our ventanas to provide shade from the afternoon sun when we take siesta in the sala with the ventilador turned on high to circulate air.

Among the eight Spanish villas (a high colonial town status during colonial years) in the Philippines were Pila and Bulacan, where my father and mother hailed, respectively. Growing up in my parents’ home, many a merienda included salted brioche with or without coconut jam, pan de sal or pan de coco, freshly baked in the horno of the nearby panadería. Our fathers, tíos, and lolos (from the Spanish abuelo) cooled themselves with cervezas on warm afternoons. We children watched reruns of películas on TV and chatted with friends on teléfonos. We brushed our teeth with cepillos, scrubbed ourselves clean with jabón in our baños. At night, we laid our heads on camas in cuartos shared with siblings. Even after all bombillas were turned off, my sister and I continued to exchange cuentos and secretos. Throughout the year, we observed religious rituals that included Visita Iglesia, abstained from eating carne on Viernes Santo, and recited the communal Santo Rosario.

We attended clases in escuelas, ever ready to scribble notes on cuadernos or papeles with lápices. Pambura, which we use to erase mistakes, came from the Spanish verb borrar (to erase). I was about eight when I learned to ride my bicicleta, which I would park near my father’s coche in the garaje. My father smoked his cigarillo until gingivitis forced him to stop. On weekends, my mother busied herself tending to plantas and flores in macetas in their jardín. Celebrating the town fiesta, January 15 in San Pablo, Laguna, included visiting the homes of family friends, where food such as caldereta and arroz a la Valenciana were served in large bandejas, buffet-style. Window shopping in souvenir stalls along Avenida Rizal was iconic in our childhood years too. It was along this avenida where lit-up carrozas paraded during Semana Santa.

Select pieces of clothing are likewise Spanish in origin. A lady may wear a falda with her blusa with collar, or a vestida, cinching her waist to achieve that hourglass figure with a cinturón. I saw Susan Romero wear guantes in old Filipino movies. A gentleman may be in his pantalón and camiseta; on formal occasions he dons a corbata and a camisa with mangas. We wear medias and zapatos on our feet, possibly a sombrero or gorro on our heads under the hot sun or rain.

Terms for some occupations retained their Spanish names. Here are a few I heard on a regular basis: bombero (he puts out fires), doctor (he cures the ill by dispensing recetas to pacientes either in his clínica or hospital), dentista (he takes care of our teeth), vendedor (she sells fresh produce), bordadora (she embroiders), plomero (he fixes broken pipes). A lavandera washed manchas off our play clothes and school uniforms, and a planchadora ironed them afterward. Cocineras cooked meals.

Conjugation differs between Spanish and Filipino. Furthermore, Filipino nouns and adjectives do not have gender, unlike in Spanish. However, several verbs conjugated in the single third-person present tense lingered in our Filipino vocabulary: pinta, canta (kanta), copia (kopya), cuenta (kwenta), para, manejo (maneho), alquila (arkila). The Filipino word sindi traces to the Spanish verb encender (to light).

We find Spanish words in our daily speech. Sigue (sige) means “go on.” Puede (puwede) means “one can.” Gusto comes from the Spanish verb gustar (to like). Para qué means “for what.” No one wants to be called a bruja (witch). Especially when in a mood to admonish us, my father drew from a treasure trove of expressions peppered with Spanish words: “Intindihin ninyong mabuti ang binabasa ninyo, ano kayo—cabezote?”, “Gamitin mo kaya ang iyong sentido común!”, “Gawin mo ngayon; ahora mismo!”, “¡Imposible!”, “Dios ko, ang bagal mo maglakad; ano ka, princesa?”, “Hindi ka ba educada?”, “Celosa ka?”, “Masyadong complicado,” “Tingnan mo kung may descuento sa precio,” “Basahin ang etiqueta,” “Ipunin cada centavo,” “Kaninong punto de vista ’yan?” Mom was more validating: “Kahit walang make-up, mainam ang natural,” “May regalo ka kung número uno ka sa clase.”

Many of the following words remind us of the 333 years of Spanish colonization: gobierno, ministro, presidente, campaña, candidato, discusión, elección, votante, puesto, alcalde, gobernador, ciudad, rural, centro, sitio, lugar, campo, municipio, local, plaza, calle, rotonda, viaje, proyecto, fábrica, máquina, compañía, empresa, empleado, cliente, secretario, supervisor, jefe, recibo, total, completo, cancelado, depende, explicación, banco, por ciento, interés, todo, parte, operación, huelga, garantía, estafa, producto, kilo, público, privado, trabajo, contrata, correo, sueldo, gastos, libro, historia, arte, música, guitarra, concierto, teatro, banda, teclado, ejercicio, basquetbol, béisbol, fútbol, ceremonia, efecto, celebración, regalo, invitado, religioso, actividades, decoración, clima, temperatura, distancia, tiempo, minuto, electricidad, gas. And more.

We retained some Spanish words for animals (pato, pavo, conejo, caballo, elefante, ballena), fruits (manzanas, uvas, limones, piña), vegetables (cebollas, lechuga, maíz, pepino), and colors (azul, verde).

Some of our common tools retained their Spanish names; some didn’t. We still call the screw tornillo, though the screwdriver is no longer destornillador. We still refer to the hammer as martillo, though the nails are no longer called clavos but pakos. I wonder about the considerations made for retaining some and not all Spanish words, particularly when using things in pairs, such as hammer and nails.

Furthermore, there are words that we use in a slightly different way. We use the term “desmaya” to express disappointment; in contrast, the root verb desmayar means “to faint” in Spanish. We use the term “molesto” to refer to being abused; in contrast, the Spanish verb molestar means “to annoy.”

As we know from our primary school history books, the Spanish who colonized our archipelago from 1521 named our country the Philippines after their reigning King Philip. Before their arrival, Chinese, Malays, and other Southeast Asians inhabited our islands, freely traded with neighboring countries, and lived their traditions, which included Buddhism and Islam. Thus, besides deep Tagalog words that are uniquely Filipino, such as dangal (honor) and pangarap (dream), the dialects we speak are a combination of Chinese, Malay, Spanish, and others. Furthermore, most of us Filipinos have mixed blood flowing through our veins because our country, the Philippines, developed as a result of global (Manila Galleon) trade. Studying the Chinese, Malay, and Spanish languages therefore allows us, not just me, to revisit and appreciate many aspects of our being Filipino.