I can clearly remember my late Lola’s disdain for using measuring cups as I tried to achieve the balance of soy sauce and vinegar for the Pork Adobo we were to have for dinner that night. “Dagdagan mo pa!” she sternly commanded as I poured in more vinegar into the pot. 

I can only imagine; if she hears that the Department of Trade and Industry (DTI) has set up a committee of chefs to come up with a standard recipe for Adobo, she would have dismissed it as mere nonsense. No one tells her how to cook her Adobo, and my Lola and other grandmothers would probably just sigh in disbelief if they hear that the committee will also “standardize” other dishes like Sinigang, Sisig, and Lechon.

Despite the committee’s justifications and explanations, it still felt imposing and unnecessary for most Filipinos. While it is by no means mandatory, the concept of a “standard” recipe, or even guidelines on how to cook a dish, is all but foreign to the Filipino kitchen.

Slow Cooking

We can’t blame the ire of many behind the idea of standardizing a recipe that each region in the Philippines has its own version of. By nature, Filipinos cook with gut and intuition and this applies to every Filipino dish imaginable—a recipe is but a mere suggestion. The DTI’s effort to come up with guidelines for Adobo would be virtually impossible—trying to reconcile all the different traditions and techniques each province and town takes pride in. 

For instance, I would be proud of my late Lola’s Adobo as I have not found anything that closely matches it. All she does is to put pork, soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, peppercorns, and bay leaves into the pot, and simmer the Adobo on low heat. Perhaps the slow way of cooking allows the fat from the kasim and liempo to meld and emulsify into the sauce, creating this seemingly creamy mouthfeel when poured over hot rice. 

The recipe of Adobo we grew up with in the Metro will most likely be similar to the ingredients my lola used. As much as millions of Filipinos recognize Adobo to be this way, this isn’t the basic Adobo recipe as ubiquitous as it seems. Historically speaking, soy sauce wasn’t even present in the pre-colonial precursor to the Adobo we now know. 

In fact, as the renowned Filipino food historian Doreen Fernandez said, the use of soy sauce in Adobo is but a “modern hurry-up trick.” Fernandez describes how the slow cooking of the meat in vinegar and its own fat transforms into the brown color we recognize. Another food historian, Raymond Sokolov, said that it was the Spaniards who named the dish we now know as Adobo as it was similar to their Adobado, which was meat marinated in a pickling sauce with wine vinegar for weeks. Since there’s no documented name for the indigenous dish, the name Adobo stuck.

Despite our ancestors trading with the Chinese as early as the 10th century, William Shurtleff of the Soy Info Center notes that prior to the 1930s, patis was our choice for flavoring dishes over soy sauce. Though there are not many records as to when exactly we did start using soy sauce in Adobo, my lola’s lolas were cooking it with patis–close to the dish we now call as Adobo sa Puti. Other forms of Adobo sans soy sauce also emerged–including Adobo sa Gata found in Bicol and Mindanao, and Adobo sa Dilaw found in Cavite and Batangas.

Considering all this, the rich history and culture behind Adobo cannot be really reduced into a “standard” recipe. While the DTI’s press release revolves around the cultural preservation of Adobo, coming up with the “basic” recipe would be a paradox since it would essentially alienate other regional takes on the recipe. 

But to the global tongue, all these renditions could confuse them. Hence, the DTI’s standardization effort is more commercial than cultural–making Adobo marketable to the world.

Boiling Point

Looking at the success of our neighbors in the region, Thailand’s feat of making Pad Thai globally renowned can be seen as a parallel with what the DTI wants to do with Adobo. 

Pad Thai is standardized as part of Thailand’s cultural and commercial efforts to promote the dish to the world. Although the famous noodle recipe was developed as a policy to quell the influence of China in the 1940s, the Thai government continuously strives to set standards for the dish. A recent 2017 campaign by the Thai Ministry of Industry began the certification of “authentic” Pad Thai. 

Since the world is already able to taste dishes like Pad Thai and Adobo from afar, there is a perceived need for Thai, Filipino, and other cuisines around the world to standardize their food. Gastronomist Simone Cinotto notes that as countries perceive globalization to contaminate their food and culture, coming up with a national cuisine with standards is a response to strengthen their identity.

Thus, at the institutional level, Thailand has taken measures to tell the world how Pad Thai should taste like, singling out Western restaurants and their whitewashed takes on the dish. This is what DTI wants to replicate, albeit discounting the fact that Adobo’s history and culture is not as homogenous as that of Pad Thai.

Although the development of a national cuisine and standards may seem to protect one’s heritage, Cinotto warns that on the flip side, devising a standard national cuisine “may represent only an abstraction.” Thus, it discounts how food and the people consuming it adapts over time, upholding ideals frozen in time. 

Cinotto also reminds us that if we truly want to achieve “authentic” cuisine, it will only be attainable on the regional level at best. However, there can only be so many people to dictate what “authentic” Adobo is–alienating our antics and traditions behind our own versions of Adobo. How we see authentic Adobo will still be how our lolas and mothers cook it.

Simmering Down

Undeniably, policies to institutionalize the authenticity of heirloom dishes through standardization seems to be an effective way to improve its branding.

Glenn Carroll, professor of management at Stanford University, and food critic Dennis Wheaton speculate that one of the reasons that draw people to “authentic food” is status generation–people perceive preference for “authentic food” may project an “expert” taste and sophistication. This endangers food to be fetishized for their “authenticity,” rather than be celebrated for its heritage.

Instead of looking at the success of Pad Thai as an example, a more similar inspiration the DTI could take is the ubiquity of India’s Masalas. Similar to Adobo, each region in India has their own version of Masala, a dish with a region’s unique blend of spices, vegetables, and/or meat.

Though we know them as “curries” the term has been criticized for having a history of whitewashing and appropriation by British colonizers. The use of this word implies a hasty generalization that all Indian foods are the same. Like Adobo, there isn’t one right way or guidelines that indicate how one should cook a Masala, given the plethora of spice mixes one could concoct.

In a way, the DTI can instead look into a campaign that focuses on the promotion of a wide array of versions of Adobo that would impress varying taste preferences around the world. This way, we do not need to risk the oversight on the heritage and culture behind Adobo. How we present Adobo to the world should never be at the expense of adjusting the culture and history of our food.  

We should be reminded that several regions and provinces have their own iterations of Adobo; the dish is known by the variety of ingredients used. Coming up with a “basic” recipe defeats the very identity of Adobo. Therefore, the beauty of Filipino food is highlighted by its diversity. Why should we aim for an attempt to consolidate its varieties? 

Adobo should instead be recognized for what it is–a celebration of the taste of differences. ●