filipino food is more than just purple stuff
pikachu, the kid on "the ube exhaustion" and the future of Filipino cusine in America.
One characteristic about myself that emphasizes the “American” part of my Filipino-American identity is my love for the renowned grocery store Trader Joe’s.
I live near two of them and I like to pop in here and there because of how close they are.
Are there cheaper places for groceries? Absolutely.
Do I buy everything I make stuff with from Trader Joe’s? Absolutely not.
Trader Joe's is just one of many grocers and specialty stores in the New York Metropolitan Area where I go to appease my distracted palate or stimulate my mind with the world of food. Sometimes, I walk in with no expectations and leave with a $30 to $50 pile of items or ingredients to assemble a worldly culinary Lego set. Other times, I walk in and walk straight out because they don't have what I want, or the items in question are too expensive, or better quality ingredients can be found for way cheaper elsewhere.
Sometimes, I look at the flowers and get sad because I have no one in my life to give them to.
A particular thing I observed about TJ is that they sell a lot of products that become their gateway into certain ethnic foods - think frozen Pho, butter chicken, heat n’ eat kits of birria braised beef, you get the picture.
The Trader Joe's treatment is also given to food of my kababayan, but thankfully, they have started and are still stuck at ube. Another day can go by before I find something fucked or half-assed like a frozen porkless sisig bowl sold next to soup dumplings. Even worse, the guys at Trader Joe's corporate or food testing might have to learn the difference between afritada, mechado, kaldereta, and menudo.
But for the curious and uninitiated, ube (pronounced “ooouuu-BEGH”), is known for its earthy, nutty, and slightly creamy tasting notes when used as a flavoring in desserts in the form of baked goods, candy, and even ice cream.
One of my favorite uses of ube flavoring is in the ube latte from an independent coffee shop in Paramus, NJ called Thumbody. The ube does not clash with the coffee, rather the coffee acts as a carrier oil for the ube to blend itself in and enhance the coffee to taste like something else. In some weird way, it makes the coffee combo its own thing, like how pumpkin spice lattes feel mellow.
My mom’s favorite items from Trader Joe’s are the ube stuff - the mochi pancake mix and the ice cream. In my opinion, the mochi pancake mix can do without the mochi; the texture adds a layer of confusion that mentally separates me from the richness of the ube. The ube ice cream from Trader Joe's does not hold a candle to that of Philippine packaged ice cream makers like Magnolia, Selecta, or San Miguel Gold Label (yes, it's the same company that makes the beer, go figure.), but I digress because not everyone lives near an H-Mart or a grocer with imported goods from the motherland.
I love ube, but my excitement of finding the ube stuff at Trader Joe's once again reminded me that my love for ube can only go so far.
You see, there has been an effort by Filipino and American “fusion” chefs and boutique bakers to bring flavors of my motherland to the American palate, which I have both commended and criticized in the past in spaces off this platform. (Rachel Ray, Geoffrey Zakarian - stay in your own lanes, sunshine.)
Ube has the unique characteristic that other foods in the "essential Filipino menu" do not have - visual appeal. If you make something with ube, your waffle, muffin, cookie, or scoop of ice cream will stand the fuck out because ube is naturally bright motherfucking purple. Who wouldn't eat something purple?
The appeal of ube reminds me of this quote from Eddie Huang:
“Food is the easiest way to understand a culture. For most people, they may not want to understand your language, they may not want to understand your religion, they may not want to understand your values, but you put [food] in front of them, they’d want to eat.”
But there is a downside to having literally anything and everything under the sun ube flavored. The first time I ate something ube flavored that wasn't strictly Filipino was at Nicole Ponseca's Filipino fusion restaurant called Jeepney in the East Village. Before they shuttered around two years ago, I had a chance to eat there for brunch. One of the items they had on the menu was "Fried Chicken and Ube Waffles" - an American concept that is foreign to my mom without the ube, but unique enough to spark my curiosity because of its addition.
I have dined at places that have won James Beard awards, places that have been given rave reviews by the Times, and places that earned Michelin stars, but that dish was probably one of the most unique dishes I have ever had.
It was also a warning signal that I should have been made aware of. Ube would become the go-to flavor and everyone and their mothers would come out with some sort of Filipino fusion dish featuring something ube. I felt that it had saturated so much, that the purple hues would become a personal eyesore for me.
Ube this, ube that, ube buns on a burger, what the fuck? Ube donuts and ice cream sandwiches? Where does it end, and does it end with me being so embarrassed that I don't enjoy the actual taste of ube anymore?
No, it shouldn't, and thank god it didn't.
My point is not to say that a little gatekeeping is good, but sometimes you have to protect your own. Certain aspects of your culture, such as your cuisine, should not have a particular thing that becomes so prevalent and famous that it becomes a typecasted representative of that particular aspect of your people. I do not want ube, let alone any other Filipino ingredient or food thing to be the sole representative of Filipino cuisine.
Filipino food does not begin, nor does it stop at ube. Believe me, I eat desserts first, but the rest of the meal has to be served as well.
Filipino food, in itself, is fusion cuisine; we take inspiration from the people who have visited us, inspired us, or taken into our own hearts. For example; Pancit, a noodle dish mixed with vegetables, has its origins in Binondo - Manila's Chinatown, and Halo-Halo, a dessert of shaved ice, condensed milk and a potpourri of preserved coconut strips, sago, agar jelly, and other sweet textured preserves comes from Japanese immigrants to the Philippines.
Although it happened in my adulthood, I am glad that there are non-Filipino and non-AAPI people appreciating the food of my culture. The Philippines is the land of salt, heat, acid, and fat, and I want people to enjoy my people's food beyond the substance, beyond the looks, and to eat with the end goal of flavor first and looks second.
I hope by the time I have children, nerdy-ass white dudes reminiscent of Matty Matheson do segments on Munchies where they argue the differences between afritada, mechado, kaldereta and menudo.
But before that can happen, we have to take our eyes off the pretty things, get past the noise, and let people try our food in an unabridged manner.
There's a Filipino proverb that says "Look with your eyes and not your mouth," meaning that there are solutions to problems that are already there and do not have to be overcomplicated by your actions. Sometimes the solution is right in front of you.
Sometimes the best way is to back to the basics.
Ingat, remember to wash the rice before you put it in the rice cooker.