I didn’t go to the Philippines for the food — not at first. It was a spontaneous backpacking trip with three close friends: Sarah, Lily, and Ava. We were four Americans chasing islands, sunsets, and freedom on a two-month break from work and routines. But somewhere between the smoky street stalls of Manila and the coastal kitchens of Negros Oriental, the Philippines turned me into a food traveler.
And no dish captured my heart more than Adobo — taught to me not by a chef or a restaurant, but by an elderly woman named Lola Herminia in a quiet Airbnb home outside Dumaguete.
But before Adobo, there were dozens of flavors, textures, and stories. This is a story of all of them.
Arrival in Manila: Where the Adventure (and Eating) Begins
We landed in Manila late in the afternoon. Tired and sweaty, we stumbled into a jeepney heading toward our hostel in Makati. The air smelled of exhaust, fried garlic, and something sweet — a mix of chaos and charm.
That night, we found ourselves at Mercato Centrale, a buzzing night market that locals and tourists both swarmed. And there began our first bites into Filipino cuisine:
- Isaw: Grilled chicken intestines. Charred, chewy, and dunked in a vinegar-chili dip that burned and soothed at the same time.
- Taho: A soft, silken tofu dessert served warm in a cup, topped with arnibal (brown sugar syrup) and sago pearls. Perfect breakfast in a cup.
- Balut: The infamous fertilized duck egg. I tried it after much debate. Salty, meaty, oddly comforting if you ignored what you were eating.
- Sisig: Served sizzling on a hot plate, this chopped pork head dish, seasoned with calamansi and chili, was crunchy, tangy, and unforgettable.
We didn’t know it yet, but the Philippines would keep surprising us, every single day, through its food.
On the Road: Islands, Street Food, and Hidden Kitchens
Tagaytay: Comfort with a View
A short trip south of Manila took us to Tagaytay, where we sat in a small eatery facing the Taal Volcano. There we tasted Bulalo — a beef marrow soup slow-cooked until the meat slid off the bone. It was rich and warm, and the marrow was pure decadence with a sprinkle of sea salt.
Bicol: Spice Meets Soul
In Bicol, known for its love of chili and coconut, we fell in love with Bicol Express — pork stewed in coconut milk with green chilies. The creaminess offset the heat beautifully.
We also tried Laing, made with dried taro leaves and again, coconut milk. Simple, green, and soulful. Every province had its own rhythm, its own flavors, and Bicol’s was fiery yet balanced.
Palawan: Island Simplicity
In El Nido, meals came in woven baskets. We tried grilled seafood caught just hours earlier — lapu-lapu (grouper), prawns, and bangus (milkfish), all served with a dipping sauce of calamansi and soy.
At a roadside shack in Coron, I had my first taste of Tamilok — raw woodworm soaked in vinegar. Slippery, briny, and oddly satisfying. A challenge dish, for sure.
We drank buko juice (fresh coconut water) straight from the shell and ate kinilaw — raw fish cured in vinegar and calamansi with onions and chili. Think Filipino ceviche, but even more vibrant.
Dumaguete: Where I Found Adobo
Our last few weeks were slower. We rented a modest Airbnb in a small town near Dumaguete, hoping to rest and write before returning home. The house belonged to a quiet, graceful woman named Herminia — “Call me Lola,” she said, which means grandmother.
She lived alone, tended to her garden daily, and brought us bananas, eggs, and local pastries without asking. One morning, while we sat on her porch sipping barako coffee, she asked if we wanted to learn “real adobo.”
Not the restaurant kind, but the one passed down from her mother. We said yes, of course.
Lola Herminia’s Classic Chicken Adobo
Adobo, she told us, isn’t just a recipe — it’s a story of survival. “During the Japanese war, we cooked with what we had. Vinegar preserved the meat. Garlic kept us healthy. It’s humble food.”
Here’s her recipe, just as she taught us:
Ingredients:
- 1 kg chicken (bone-in thigh and drumstick pieces)
- 1/2 cup soy sauce
- 1/2 cup cane vinegar (or white)
- 10 cloves garlic, crushed
- 3–4 bay leaves
- 1 tsp black peppercorns, lightly crushed
- 1 tbsp brown sugar (optional)
- 1/2 cup water (optional, if more sauce is preferred)
- 2 tbsp cooking oil
Instructions:
- Marinate the Chicken
Mix chicken, soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, bay leaves, and peppercorns in a bowl. Cover and marinate for 1–3 hours. - Sear for Flavor
Heat oil in a pot. Remove chicken from the marinade and sear until browned on both sides. Set aside. Keep the marinade. - Simmer and Soften
Return the chicken to the pot. Add marinade and water. Bring to a boil. Add sugar if using. Simmer on low heat, covered, for 35–40 minutes. - Reduce the Sauce
Remove the lid. Let the sauce reduce until it thickens to a glaze. Stir gently to avoid breaking the meat. - Serve Hot
Serve with hot steamed rice. Best enjoyed with friends and a quiet afternoon breeze.
More than a Meal: What Adobo Meant to Me
That meal changed me. It wasn’t just the tender chicken or the bold tang of vinegar that lingered on my tongue — it was the feeling of being welcomed into someone’s story. We ate together, laughed, and asked questions. Lola told us how Adobo differs by region — coconut milk in the south, drier versions in the north. Some use pork, others squid. But at its heart, it’s about patience and balance.
We made Adobo again the next day. And the next week, we made it for Lola. She said ours was “almost good,” which I took as the highest praise.
The Farewell Feast: A Taste of Everything
Before we left, Lola insisted on a small “handaan” — a gathering with food. She and her neighbors cooked up a spread:
- Pancit Canton – Stir-fried noodles with shrimp, chicken, and vegetables, symbolizing long life.
- Lumpiang Shanghai – Crispy spring rolls filled with pork.
- Ginataang Gulay – Vegetables in coconut milk.
- Bibingka – Rice cake baked in banana leaves.
- Halo-Halo – A dessert with shaved ice, beans, jelly, ube, and leche flan. A perfect mess of sweetness.
It was the most genuine hospitality I had ever experienced. Our bellies were full, and our hearts fuller.
The Takeaway: The Philippines Through Food
The Philippines isn’t one cuisine — it’s many. Spanish influence, Chinese touches, American echoes, and something deeply native and resilient run through every dish.
Food here isn’t just nourishment. It’s a welcome. It’s history. It’s identity.
If you come here, eat bravely. Talk to vendors. Ask questions. Learn the names. Don’t just try the Adobo — learn it. Cook it. Let it live in your memory the way Lola Herminia’s version now lives in mine.
Final Note: A Recipe Worth Taking Home
I left the Philippines with more than sunburns and souvenirs. I took home a recipe — not just on paper, but in muscle memory. And every time I cook Adobo now, with its heady steam of vinegar and garlic rising from the pot, I’m back in that small kitchen with the rain outside, learning to stir more than just a dish.
And that, I think, is the real gift of travel.
