Memories on the Plate: Filipino Culture and Food in the Diaspora
The phrase “Kumain ka na ba?” (Did you eat yet?) holds a significant place in Filipino culture, serving as a form of affectionate communication that has shaped my upbringing. As a Filipino-American, I have always been captivated by the intricate interplay between my heritage, food, and memory. Eating home-cooked food is an integral aspect of one’s commitment to family life and good health, alongside connecting to your cultural roots (Bowen et. al. 15). Against the backdrop of immigration and heritage, my family relocated to the United States in 2017, driven by the pursuit of the American Dream. Consequently, the need for assimilation while preserving our Filipino heritage became deeply ingrained in our immigrant household. The experiences of three generations within the Calara household — my grandmother Mommyla, my father Nestor, and my eldest sister Danielle — present the identity of being Filipino immigrants. From their statements and the application of the food anthropological lens, the mastery of native cuisine is acquired through deliberate practice under the guidance of mentors, that food serves as a tangible reflection of the immigrant experience, and that cooking and eating are deeply intertwined with a sense of cultural belonging and longing for home.
“I taught myself foreign dishes like baked ziti, lasagna, and spaghetti through cookbooks when I moved here to the U.S.,” my grandma Mommyla says in Tagalog, “but I learned all of the Filipino dishes from my mom and my dad just from helping them cut the vegetables– I knew what they were making based off of what vegetables I was cutting.” Similar to David Sutton’s article Cooking Skills, the Senses, and Memory: The Fate of Practical Knowledge, an education of attention and memory occurs to Mommyla. My grandma utilized not only what she saw as vehicles to learn how to cook Filipino food but also utilized her exposure to Italian cuisine in the United States to learn how to cook other meals. Sutton mentions, “Skill must be learned through the sensuous and sensory engagement of a novice with the environment and/or with a skilled practitioner” (Sutton 92). Nestor, my father, also learned how to cook with this method: “Growing up as a single mom, your Mommyla would go home late. So, she gave me and my siblings the recipe for our dinner on a piece of paper, and we would cook it.” After hearing these responses from my grandmother and dad, I noticed how they contrasted slightly with how my eldest sister Danielle learned to cook. Danielle learned how to prepare Filipino meals such as chicken tinola, pork adobo, and beef nilaga through mandatory cooking classes in high school. She also adds, “As the eldest sister, I feel like I have to take a secondary parent role since mom and dad were both working in person. So, during the pandemic I began to teach myself how to make other food like sushi bake, japchae, and pork tonkatsu so that we could eat something different every now and then.” Reflecting on what Danielle said, I thought about how she was akin to Leanne Armstrong, a mother in Pressure Cooker who took the secondary parent role when her mother left her family and learned how to cook through learning from her grandmother (Bowen et. al. 85). The slight nuances from how Mommyla and Nestor learned how to cook Filipino food was evidently from someone experienced in cooking those meals. In retrospect, Danielle learned through an ingrained system in academia, which people from the past two generations did not have the ability to have. From listening to the stories of how they learned to cook their delicious meals, I pondered the difficulties my family faced upon moving to the United States.
Luzviminda, also known as Mommyla, is an 87-year old Filipino-American who was an undocumented immigrant in 1990 until attaining citizenship in 2007. She shared her experience in getting to the U.S. and how even in the Philippines, the struggles of attaining food was difficult. “When the Japanese arrived in the Philippines, my family had to evacuate to Mindoro. Me and my nine siblings to harvest rice from the rice paddies so we had something to eat. It’s probably why I never got tall– we were always bent over.” Teary-eyed, my grandma continues, “It was so hard back then. I was asking myself– why are we so poor?” Mommyla’s deeply saddening memory of displacement and difficulty is an act of symbolic violence: the naturalization and internalization of social asymmetries (Holmes 58). Many years after the war, my grandma was driven to move to the United States– regardless of the consequences– to fulfill the American Dream. “I worked as a full-time nanny for an old rich white woman in Manhattan, and I cooked for her,” my grandma says, “That’s where I learned how to cook good Italian food.” Mommyla’s experience as an undocumented immigrant reflects a sense of resilience that Rain from The Kitchen Network article had. Like Rain, Mommyla learned dishes she had never seen in her home country (Hilgers). My grandmother retired in 1990 when my eldest cousin was born. Mommyla’s experience as one coming from hardship is only one instance of how immigration affected how food came to our modern-day tables.
Prior to our migration to the United States, my family enjoyed an upper-middle-class status in the Philippines. Both of my parents held positions at the U.S. Embassy in Manila, which eventually paved the way for our legal status in America. However, upon our arrival, my father, Nestor, faced the harsh reality of unemployment for more than eight months. “Despite my 28 years of experience, no one seemed interested in hiring me,” he recalls. Nonetheless, our family managed to navigate through those challenging months due to the savings we had accumulated. Consequently, each member of our family, including myself and my sisters, played a role in contributing towards our household expenses. In terms of grocery shopping, my 26-year-old sister, Danielle, adopts a conscientious approach. She emphasizes prioritizing quantity and price, striving to make economical choices when purchasing food. With numerous financial obligations to fulfill, she is also saving money for her upcoming wedding. Danielle’s thoughtful food expenditure aligns with the notion of the hierarchy of taste, where immigrant communities gradually become more willing to pay higher prices for their food as they ascend the economic and cultural ladder in the United States (Bowen et. al. 9). Amidst the difficulty and the financial repercussions of moving across the world, my family never failed to bring our culture and heritage on our plates.
Filipino culture places great emphasis on strong family bonds, and one of the ways this is manifested is through the shared experience of food. The concept of homeland imaginary, as discussed in Other Women Cooked For My Husband, highlights the sensory construction of home by recreating the aromas and flavors that evoke a sense of belonging (Williams-Forson 441). This phenomenon is evident in my household when my father compares pork in the Philippines to pork in the United States. He reminisces, “Whenever I smell the smokiness of grilled pork belly, it takes me back to the delectable and tender pork in the Philippines. In the U.S., there is a discernible difference in taste, it’s somewhat bland.” In this instance, we observe the semiotic significance of the homeland imaginary, where even when the pork is prepared in a similar manner to the Philippines, there is a subtle distinction that still evokes the taste of home for my father. The binding force between Filipino culture and food lies in familiarity. Danielle, for example, expresses her love for beef nilaga, a traditional Filipino stew. “Whenever I have Dad’s beef nilaga, it brings about a sense of comfort and coziness. It leaves me feeling refreshed, reminding me of the rainy season in the Philippines when we would enjoy it to keep warm,” she shares. This example showcases the cultural retention that occurs, emphasizing how memories, identity, and culture persist even when one has left their home country.
In turn, homesickness is a common feeling every immigrant feels from time to time, and manifests itself in various ways. For my father, who hasn’t visited the Philippines since moving to the United States six years ago, the longing for certain aspects of Filipino cuisine is particularly poignant. He often reminisces about the flavors and ingredients that were readily available back home. “I really miss having fresh Filipino vegetables like malunggay for our chicken tinola,” he shares in a wistful tone. “Those kinds of vegetables are too expensive to buy here because malunggay only thrives within warmer climates.” Due to this, my father usually replaces malunggay with spinach. The unavailability and high cost of these ingredients serve as constant reminders of the physical and cultural distance between the Philippines and the United States. Alongside the longing for specific ingredients, memories of home and the importance of family permeate through our shared meals. Filipinos place a strong emphasis on the significance of eating food together as a family, considering it a sacred time for bonding and connection. This sentiment deeply resonates with Mommyla, Danielle, and Nestor, who collectively agree that sharing meals with other family members is something they eagerly anticipate every day. The act of gathering around the table becomes a cherished ritual, serving not only as a time to satisfy hunger but also as an opportunity to nourish their relationships and strengthen their familial bonds.“Dinner with the family is the only time of the day where we can exchange our pleasantries and updates of our current lives together. Food brings the family together, and I find it extremely important to keep this tradition since I never got the chance to have dinner with my family growing up,” my father shares. For him, each meal becomes a moment of connection and intimacy, a precious respite from the challenges and demands of daily life. Through the act of sharing food, stories, and laughter, my family creates a space where they can reinforce their bonds, nurture their cultural heritage, and create lasting memories.
In conclusion, the longing for familiar flavors, the act of sharing meals as a family, and the preservation of cultural identity through food is a universal way of finding home. The meals shared in my household carry within them a rich tapestry of traditions, stories, and cultural values. Each dish tells a story, evoking a sense of place and belonging. It is through these shared meals that we keep our heritage alive, passing down recipes and culinary traditions from one generation to the next. The memories and experiences shared by Mommyla, Nestor, and Danielle reflect the resilience and resourcefulness of immigrant families as they navigate the challenges of relocation while holding onto their cultural heritage. Furthermore, the importance of family meals transcends mere sustenance. It is a sacred time for bonding, communication, and celebration. Sitting together around the table, exchanging stories, and sharing laughter not only nourishes our bodies but also strengthens our familial bonds. In a fast-paced and ever-changing world, these moments of connection become a grounding force, reminding us of our shared heritage and the values we hold dear. Through these experiences, we create a sense of home wherever we are, bridging the physical and cultural gaps between our past and present. With every plate of beef nilaga I eat, every conversation at the dinner table, and the passing of culinary traditions from one cookbook to another, I find myself carrying the flavor and memory of my Filipino heritage. And with that I ask: kumain ka na ba?
