The Story

Kwento.Kusina.Humba

HUMBA de Cebu

Humba de Cebu is a beloved Filipino comfort dish, especially cherished in the Visayas and Mindanao regions. Often compared to adobo, Humba sets itself apart with its sweet, savoury, and deeply rich flavour profile. At its core, it’s a celebration of history, family, and the creativity found in every Filipino kitchen.

THE HISTORY
A Dish with Deep Roots

This dish is more than just a meal—it’s a story told through generations, shaped by indigenous ingredients, colonial history, and foreign influences that have made Filipino cuisine wonderfully diverse.
Humba is one of Cebu's most beloved heirloom dishes -braised pork belly stew that tells the story of cultural fusion, provincial identity, and the enduring power of slow-cooked love.

Its roots trace back to Chinese red-braised pork, brought to the Philippines through centuries of trade and migration. The Hokkien-style cooking -soy sauce, garlic, and sugar found a home in the Visayas, especially in Cebu, where locals adapted it with local ingredients and sensibilities

Key Ingredients & Their Heritage
1. Pork
The heart of Humba. Pork has been a staple since pre-colonial times, and Spanish colonization further cemented it as a culinary cornerstone. Pork belly or shoulder are often preferred, making the dish indulgent and adaptable.

2. Soy Sauce
Introduced through centuries of trade with Chinese merchants, soy sauce provides that umami depth, blending beautifully with local flavours.
3. Vinegar
A souring agent central to Filipino cuisine, often made from sugarcane or coconut. In Humba, it offers a tangy counterpoint to the dish’s sweetness.
4. Muscovado Sugar
This dark, unrefined sugar gives Humba its signature caramelised sweetness. It speaks to the Philippines’ agricultural traditions and love for bold, comforting flavours.
5. Garlic & Onions
Essential aromatics that lay the foundation for depth and richness—classic elements in Filipino home cooking.
6. Spices: Bay Leaves, Pepper, and Star Anise
Bay leaves and pepper are kitchen staples, while star anise reflects Chinese influence. Together, they create a warm, aromatic profile.
7. Banana Blossom (Puso ng Saging)
My personal twist. This tender, slightly bitter flower adds both texture and balance. When slow-cooked, it absorbs the sauce’s flavour, offering a unique and nourishing touch.

MY STORY
Humba Through the Years: A Personal Journey

“Every Filipino household has its own version of Humba or Adobo,” my father used to say. “It’s more than a recipe—it’s a way of life.”
I first fell in love with Humba as a child, tagging along with my late Auntie Criselda to Taboan Market. Her version was unforgettable, and even then, I dreamed of making it myself one day.

In high school, I recreated it for the first time in home economics class. My teacher’s praise ignited a lifelong passion. Later, in college, while writing my thesis, I cooked Humba to comfort myself in my tiny flat—each bite reminding me of home.
Marriage brought a delightful twist: banana blossoms.

Then came motherhood, and I began adding hard-boiled eggs—my sons’ favourite. Even my English husband now has his own take on -Humba! What makes Humba de Cebu distinct isn't just its flavour -it's the patience in its preparation and the cultural notes that evolved in every household. Unlike the salty sharpness of Adobo, Humba leans toward the sweet and umami-rich side.

RECIPE

Ingredients
• 2 lbs pork belly or shoulder, cut into 1-inch cubes
• ½ cup soy sauce
• ¼ cup cane vinegar
• ½ cup brown sugar
• ½ cup water
• 1 onion, chopped
• 5–6 cloves garlic, minced
• 2–3 bay leaves
• ½ tsp black pepper
• 1–2 star anise (optional)
• ½ cup banana blossom (optional)
• Hard-boiled eggs (optional, for garnish)
• Cooking oil (for sautéing)

Instructions

1. Marinate the Pork
In a bowl, combine pork, soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, and pepper. Mix well and marinate for 30 minutes to 1 hour. Refrigerate if possible.

2. Sauté the Aromatics
In a large pot over medium heat, add oil. Sauté onions until translucent.

3. Brown the Pork
Add pork (reserve marinade) to the pot and sear until browned on all sides.

4. Add the Marinade & Water
Pour in the marinade and water. Stir and bring to a boil.

5. Season
Add bay leaves, star anise (if using), and brown sugar. Stir until sugar dissolves. Adjust salt to taste.

6. Simmer
Lower the heat, cover, and simmer for 1.5 to 2 hours, until pork is tender. Stir occasionally; add water if needed.

7. Add Banana Blossom
Add banana blossoms in the final 10–15 minutes. Let them absorb the sauce and soften.

8. Final Adjustments
Once the sauce is thick and the pork is tender, taste and adjust seasoning.

9. Serve
Transfer to a serving dish. Garnish with hard-boiled eggs if desired. Best served hot with steamed rice.

Extra Tips

Make It Yours
Try adding potatoes, carrots, or even pineapple chunks for added sweetness and texture.

Storage & Reheating
Humba tastes even better the next day. Store leftovers in an airtight container in the fridge.

A Taste of Home

Each time I cook Humba, it’s a walk through time—a fragrant, bubbling pot of memories. It’s my way of honouring those who came before me, and of creating something new for those I love today.

dedicated to late Auntie Selda & Lola Pati.

'Ang pagkain walang kuwento, walang kuwenta' -Chef Sau

Lechon de Cebu: Where Crispy meets Legacy.

Kain. Kwento.Lechon de Cebu

Lechon de Cebu is a popular dish in many countries, particularly in the Philippines and Spain. Its origins can be traced back to Spanish colonial times when Spanish explorers and colonizers introduced their culinary traditions to the regions they conquered.

THE HISTORY

The Spanish term "lechón" originally referred to a suckling pig, which is a piglet that is still nursing. Roasting a suckling pig has been a tradition in Spain for centuries, often served during festive occasions and celebrations. The method of roasting the pig on a spit over an open flame imparts a delicious, crispy skin and tender meat.

In both Spain and the Philippines, lechon is more than just a dish—it's a symbol of festive gatherings and cultural heritage. Lechon is a popular dish from the Philippines, specifically associated with Cebu, an island province known for its culinary traditions. The pig is marinated with a mixture of spices, including garlic, herbs, and sometimes local citrus fruits like calamansi, before being cooked over an open flame or in a traditional oven. What sets Lechon de Cebu apart from other types of lechon is its unique flavour profile, achieved through a specific blend of seasonings and the way it's prepared. The skin is typically very crispy, while the meat remains tender and flavourful. Lechon de Cebu is typically served with a side of liver sauce or vinegar for dipping, enhancing its flavour and providing a tangy contrast to the richness of the meat. Lechon de Cebu has gained a reputation not only within the Philippines but also internationally, attracting food enthusiasts who seek out this iconic dish. Its unique preparation and flavours make it a cherished culinary tradition.

MY STORY

The aroma of lechon brings back cherished memories of my childhood. Growing up, I had the privilege of experiencing two contrasting worlds: the comfortable life provided by my father and the vibrant, community-driven life I shared with Lola Pati on Tres de Abril Street in Cebu City. From an early age, I was captivated by the resilience and ingenuity of the people in Tres de Abril. Their resourcefulness and unique skills left an indelible impression on me.

I can still vividly picture sitting by the window in Lola Pati’s house, watching life unfold on the bustling street below as I waited for my father to pick me up. One vivid memory is the blaring sound of music from a massive speaker at Nang Baresta’s house, tuned to DYLA—a local radio station. I remember the name “Lady Artura,” a lively host whose voice added charm to the airwaves. Nang Baresta, always busy stirring pots at her small carenderia, served hearty meals to passersby. My favourite dish of hers was sautéed shrimp paste with tomatoes and bilimbi (kamias or Eba in Cebuano).

Next to her eatery was where Noy Serging, the farrier who replaced horseshoes for the horse-drawn carriages that were still common in those days. Nearby stood the lechonan, where the iconic Cebu lechon was prepared. I loved watching the process—how they cleaned the freshly butchered pig, suspended it on a bamboo pole, and poured hot water inside before stuffing it with a medley of herbs and spices. Once stitched up and ready, the pig was roasted whole, filling the street with the mouthwatering aroma of lechon. Even now, I can almost smell that unforgettable fragrance.

One particular afternoon, curiosity got the better of me, and I watched the man grilling lechon. He enthusiastically shared the process, but I was too mesmerized by the enticing smell to absorb the details. Later, I would pester my father to take me to Basak, near Jai Alai, where we could buy a kilo or two of lechon since Noy Serging sold his lechon in bulk.

Life in Tres de Abril was filled with simple joys. I remember the man who patched bicycle tires using rubber from old slippers and a tin can of charcoal. Then there was Nang Gloria, who cooked peanuts in a massive wok on the street, cooling them in a large plastic basin before sealing them into bags with a candle’s flame. These small, everyday moments brought the neighbourhood to life, each scene brimming with character and warmth.

As I grew older, lechon became a staple at every celebration—birthdays, school events, and special occasions. My personal journey into making lechon began during a summer culinary class at a vocational school. It was a way to pass the time during school break, but it sparked something deeper. I still remember laughing with my classmate Gina as I stuffed the lechon, telling her, “This is how I saw Noy Serging do it!” That summer was also the first time I used an oven. While my first attempt was tasty, it wasn’t quite what I envisioned.

Over the years, as I got married and started a family, I continued refining my recipe. I worked to recreate the distinct aroma and flavour of the lechon I remembered so vividly from my childhood. My first lechon de leche was for my son’s second birthday, an event I insisted on catering entirely on my own. I prepared five dishes to feed the guests and felt a deep sense of pride and satisfaction in sharing my creations.

The journey of lechon has become intertwined with my life, a bridge between cherished memories of Tres de Abril and the family traditions I now carry forward.

Years later, while living in the UK, I recreated the lechon experience in my own back garden, digging a hole to grill a small pig. It became one of my fondest memories—gathering the Filipino community on the Isle of Wight for a spontaneous celebration, no special occasion required.

Today, lechon is most requested dish at my Kusina Restobar. Typically pre-ordered for birthdays, catered buffets, and special events, it’s also one of the most popular dishes during the Christmas season. From my first humble attempt to the present day, lechon has become an integral part of my culinary journey—a dish that continues to bring joy to my family and the community I serve.

RECIPE

Ingredients

1 whole pig (about 30-40 lbs), cleaned and dressed

2-3 tablespoons salt (to taste)

1 tablespoon black pepper

1 tablespoon of garlic powder

1 tablespoon of onion powder

2-3 cups of coconut water

1-2 cups of soy sauce

1 head of garlic, crushed

4 stalks of lemongrass

4 bay leaves

1cup of vinegar (for marinating)

3 star anise

For the Basting Sauce

1 cup of soy sauce

1/2 cup of vinegar

1/2 cup of water

1 tablespoon of garlic, minced

Instructions

Preparation:

Marinate the Pork: - Rub the outside and inside of the pig with salt, black pepper, garlic powder, and onion powder. - Mix soy sauce, coconut water, and vinegar and pour it over the pig, ensuring it is well coated. Marinate for at least 12 hours or overnight in the refrigerator for best results.
Stuff the Pig: - Inside the cavity, place the crushed garlic, lemongrass, star anise and bay leaves. This will infuse the meat with flavour as it cooks.
Prepare the Roasting Equipment: - If you have a traditional lechon pit, prepare it by building a fire with charcoal or wood. If using an oven or a rotisserie, preheat it according to the manufacturer's instructions.

Cooking:

Roast the Pig:

If using a pit or rotisserie, skewer the pig and secure it properly. Roast over medium heat, turning occasionally for even cooking. Cooking time varies but usually takes around 6-8 hours, depending on the size of the pig. If using an oven, place the pig on a large roasting pan and cover it with foil to prevent it from burning. Roast at 350°F (175°C) for the first few hours, then remove the foil to allow the skin to crisp up for the last hour or so.
Baste Regularly: - Mix the basting sauce ingredients in a bowl.

Baste the pig every 30-45 minutes to keep the meat moist and enhance the flavour.

Check for Doneness: - The pig is done when the internal temperature reaches at least 160°F (71°C), and the skin is crispy and golden brown.

Serving:

Rest the Lechon: - Once cooked, let the lechon rest for about 30 minutes before carving. This helps retain its juices.
Carve and Serve: - Carefully carve the lechon, serving the crispy skin and tender meat. It’s often accompanied by a liver sauce or vinegar dipping sauce.

Tips:

If you can’t find a whole pig, you can try making smaller portions (like pork belly) using the same marinating and cooking techniques. - Lechon is often served with rice and a variety of side dishes, making it a festive meal.

Enjoy your delicious Lechon de Cebu!

''Filipino food is not just about taste - it's about identity. it tells you who we are, where we came from, and how we celebrate.'' - Chef Claude

Kain.Kwento.Pancit

''A Filipino is ready for the world, but the world must also be ready to understand its heart.'' - Chef Margarita Flores

Pancit, derived from the Hokkien phrase "pian i sit," meaning "something conveniently cooked," is a beloved staple in Filipino cuisine. Introduced by early Chinese settlers, Pancit has since become deeply ingrained in Filipino food culture, symbolising abundance, community, and celebration.

At its core, Pancit refers to a variety of noodle dishes, each uniquely prepared and enjoyed across the Philippines. The noodles are typically stir-fried or sautéed with a combination of proteins, vegetables, and seasonings. Its versatility allows for endless variations, adapting to regional ingredients and personal preferences.

One of the most popular versions is Pancit Guisado, where noodles are cooked with soy sauce, garlic, onions, and an assortment of vegetables such as carrots, cabbage, and green beans. Often paired with chicken, pork, or shrimp, this dish is hearty, flavourful, and satisfying. Another common addition is calamansi, the Filipino lime, which is squeezed over the noodles for a refreshing citrusy kick.

Pancit is more than just food—it’s a symbol of long life and prosperity, often served during birthdays, fiestas, and special gatherings. The long strands of noodles are said to represent longevity, making it a meaningful dish in Filipino celebrations.

Whether it’s Pancit Canton, Pancit Bihon, or the iconic Pancit Malabon, this dish carries with it the history of Chinese influence and the resourcefulness of Filipino cooks who have embraced and transformed it into a culinary treasure. Pancit, in all its forms, remains a cherished reminder of the shared values of family, hospitality, and tradition.

MY STORY

As I continue to reflect on the memories of my childhood, I am transported back to the days when I was a young girl. On a Sunday, my father would take me to church to hear Mass, even though he himself was not Catholic. It was my choice to embrace the faith, and he respected my devotion wholeheartedly.

We would walk together to Sto. Niño Church, and after the Mass, I often caught a glimpse of the objections written on his face. Yet, he kept them to himself, honouring his commitment to raising his youngest daughter with an independent mind. This memory always brings a smile to my face—his quiet struggle to reconcile his beliefs with mine.

My father, a man of strong convictions, would occasionally refer to Catholicism as a "pagan belief," but he never pressed his opinions too far. If I turned to look at him, he would stop, his silence speaking volumes about his respect for my choices. That mutual understanding was the cornerstone of our relationship. He allowed me to express my own thoughts and develop my own understanding, while gently sharing his wisdom without undermining my perspective.

After Mass, our routine would take us to an old Chinese restaurant downtown. It was our special time together, and my favourite part of the day. I still remember the joy of savouring Pancit Guisado and Lumpia Shanghai, dishes that became little symbols of our shared moments—simple, comforting, and unforgettable.

My earliest experience with making Pancit was in our kitchen on Sundays when my dad felt inspired to cook dinner. My role was to help chop the vegetables, a task I loved because it made me feel involved in creating something special.

While I enjoy the many variations of Pancit, my favourite has always been the version with pork liver and Chorizo Bilbao. Our Sunday cooking sessions were more than just about preparing meals—they were moments when my father would share stories about the "good old days" and the history of where the Arago family came from.

Pancit has always been one of my father’s favourite dishes. If given the choice, he preferred it with chicken, less pork, and more prawns—a flavour combination that reminds me of the Pancit we often shared at Snow Sheen, a cozy restaurant in downtown Cebu. Those meals and conversations over a steaming plate of Pancit remain some of my most cherished memories with him.

Passing my Recipe

Over the years, I’ve developed my own take on cooking pancit, a dish with countless variations across the Philippines. It’s a dish I’ve loved preparing for every special occasion, and it holds a special place in my family traditions.

From my father to my two sons, I’ve had the privilege of passing down this recipe, teaching them the step-by-step process of creating this beloved dish. My youngest son, Chris, once prepared it for a school assignment, while my eldest son made it to share with his colleagues at work. Both moments filled me with joy, as I got to share a meaningful part of myself with my wonderful children.

Sharing with my family brings immense joy to my heart, and that happiness naturally extends to my closest friends. In October 2024, my husband and I travelled to the Philippines, where I had the chance to celebrate my birthday with some of the most important people in my life beyond my immediate family—my dear friends.

We spent time on the beautiful island of Siargao, and on our final evening, I shared a joint birthday celebration with my best friend’s husband and her daughter. It was a truly special occasion, made even more meaningful as I prepared my version of pansit, sharing not just a meal but a piece of my heart with them.

RECIPE

(Good for 4-6 people)

Ingredients

200g egg noodles

200g vermicelli (bihon) noodles, soaked in warm water and drained

250g chicken breast or pork, sliced into strips

150g shrimp, peeled and deveined (optional)

1 medium onion, sliced

4 cloves garlic, minced

1 medium carrot, julienned

1 cup cabbage, shredded

1/2 cup green beans, sliced diagonally

1 tablespoon soy sauce

1 tablespoon oyster sauce

1 tablespoon fish sauce (optional)

2 cups chicken stock or water

1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper

2 tablespoons cooking oil

Calamansi or lemon wedges, for garnish

Spring onions, chopped (optional, for garnish)

Procedure

Prepare the Noodles

Soak the vermicelli (bihon) noodles in warm water for about 10 minutes until softened. Drain and set aside. Cook the egg noodles in boiling water according to package instructions, then drain and set aside.

Cook the Proteins

Heat cooking oil in a large wok or pan over medium heat. Sauté garlic and onions until fragrant. Add chicken or pork slices and cook until lightly browned. If using shrimp, add them and cook until pink. Remove and set aside.

Cook the Vegetables

In the same pan, add carrots, green beans, and cabbage. Stir-fry for 2–3 minutes until vegetables are tender-crisp. Set aside with the cooked meat.

Prepare the Sauce

In the same wok, pour in chicken stock or water. Add soy sauce, oyster sauce, fish sauce (if using), and ground black pepper. Bring the mixture to a gentle boil.

Cook the Noodles

Add the soaked vermicelli noodles to the sauce and toss to combine. Once the vermicelli absorbs some of the liquid, add the cooked egg noodles and gently mix until well-coated with the sauce.

Combine Everything

Return the cooked proteins and vegetables to the wok. Toss gently to mix everything together. Adjust seasoning with additional soy sauce or pepper if needed.

Garnish and serve.

Transfer to a serving platter and garnish with calamansi or lemon wedges and chopped spring onions if desired. Serve warm.

Tips

You can add sliced Chorizo Bilbao or hard-boiled eggs for a more festive version.

Balance the egg noodles and vermicelli proportion based on your preference for texture.

Pancit is best served immediately, but leftovers can be reheated with a splash of water to revive its moisture.

Enjoy this hearty and flavourful Pancit that’s perfect for family gatherings and special occasions!

Where Royalty, Roots, and Rituals Simmer in One Pot

Kain.Kwento.Kare-Kare.Kababata

HISTORY

Kare-Kare is one of the Philippines’ most iconic and beloved dishes—a rich, peanut-based stew traditionally made with oxtail, tripe, or pork hocks, or Pork belly and served with blanched vegetables and bagoong (fermented shrimp paste) on the side. But beyond its comforting flavor lies a layered history, shaped by both royal kitchens and humble hearths.

Royal Origins or Accidental Invention? There are several theories about Kare-Kare’s origins, and like many great dishes, it may have evolved from a mix of influences:

Kapampangan Royalty Theory: Many believe Kare-Kare originated in Pampanga, the culinary heart of the Philippines. In pre-colonial times and during the Spanish era, Kapampangan chefs served in the kitchens of the aristocracy. The rich, thick stew was said to be a “royal dish”—served in grand banquets and celebrations, where time, skill, and the best cuts of meat were no object.

Moro & Indian Influence: Some historians suggest that Kare-Kare was influenced by Indian curry brought by Indian sepoys (soldiers) who came to the Philippines during the British occupation of Manila in the 1700s. These soldiers reportedly settled in parts of Luzon, especially in Cainta and nearby towns, where they adapted their curry recipes to local ingredients—replacing spices with ground peanuts and annatto (atsuete) to create a native version.

Chinese & Southeast Asian Links: The use of ground rice and peanut sauces in cooking is also found in neighboring countries like Indonesia and Malaysia. These culinary elements, traded through centuries of migration and commerce, could have blended into Filipino cuisine over time.In Filipino culture, Kare-Kare is more than just food—it’s a feast dish, a symbol of togetherness. It’s often served during fiestas, holidays, weddings, and birthdays.

The preparation is laborious, requiring time and patience, which is why it’s reserved for meaningful occasions. The pairing with bagoong is essential—a marriage of sweet, nutty richness and salty umami that reflects the Filipino palate’s love for layered contrasts. Every region, and even every family, has its own take. Some use seafood or vegetables only. Others substitute peanut butter for ground peanuts. But no matter the variation, Kare-Kare remains a beloved heritage dish, passed from generation to generation—nourishing not just the body, but memory, pride, and identity.

MY STORY

If food could speak, Kare-Kare would whisper stories of celebration, of comfort, and of coming home. For me, it has always been more than just a dish—it’s a memory that simmers, gently reminding me of who I was, and the people who loved me then… and still do now. I was blessed with a childhood full of laughter and lasting friendships. Among the most enduring was Michelle—my soul-sister from toddler days. We learned life side by side: from playing bato-lata, sneaking snacks before dinner, and whispering secrets under mosquito nets during warm Cebu nights. Life moved forward, but she remained constant. And when Andy came along—her high school sweetheart turned husband—he simply folded into our circle as though he had always been part of the story. Loud, grounded, and endlessly patient, Andy was the kind of man wh's laughter echoes—his presence enlightened us all. Then there’s Dra. Nenette, one of the brightest minds from our high school years. Focused, determined, always the one with neat notes and a polished future. Now a successful dentist, she remained an avid follower of my cooking journey—even from afar. Over the years, she’d message me photos of Kare-Kare attempts, always followed by: “Still not like yours, Cris! Something’s missing—but I can’t figure out what.” I’d laugh and reply, “That’s because I cook with all my wounds and love in the same pot.” Guen—now she is a spark that never fades. Elegant, classy, and always three steps ahead in both style and sass. She’s the kind who could walk into any room and own it with a laugh that could unbutton even the stiffest collar. But underneath all that shine is a heart loyal as gold. Her long-time partner Glen, reserved and wise, balances her energy like sugar tempers salt. And of course, Emem and Atan. Emem was always the soft-spoken one—the kind friend who remembered birthdays and lent you her notes when you missed class. Atan, her husband, carries the same gentle strength. Together, they brought a sense of calm and humility to our lively mix. Life, as it always does, took us in different directions.

Years passed. Jobs changed. Families grew. Some migrated, others stayed. Yet the thread that tied us together never broke—it simply stretched across oceans and calendars.

And then came Mother’s Day, 2025. After 17 years, we finally gathered again—older, wiser, each carrying our own set of stories and scars. And like any good reunion, there had to be Kare-Kare. I poured my heart into it that day. Slow-simmered pork belly, creamy peanut sauce, the tender crunch of vegetables, and bagoong on the side that could silence any room.

As I stirred the pot, I thought of each of them—how they stood by me, how we all stood by each other, even when life became too loud. When I served it, silence fell. Nenette took a bite, then another, then put down her spoon. Her eyes welled up. “Cris… I’m not even going to pretend. But no one—no one—cooks this like you. This tastes like our youth. Like everything I’ve missed, all in one bowl.” We all sat around the table, laughter tucked between bites, and for that moment, it didn’t matter where life had taken us. We were back in each other’s company, just like old times. That day, my Kare-Kare wasn’t just a dish. It was a bridge across time, a hug we didn’t know we needed, a silent thank-you to the people who helped raise me, even if we were just a group of mischievous little children back then. They say food connects souls. I believe that. Because in that quiet, joy-filled afternoon, surrounded by friends who became family, I knew this truth: Some friendships don’t fade. They just slow-cook like Kare-Kare—tender, rich, unforgettable.

RECIPE

Ingredients

For the meat:

1 kg Pork Belly (cut into 2-inch pieces)

Water for boiling

1 onion, quartered

1 tsp salt For the sauce:

1/2 cup peanut butter (smooth or chunky, depending on preference)

1/4 cup ground toasted rice (or glutinous rice flour, toasted and ground)

1 tbsp annatto seeds (soaked in 1/4 cup hot water) or annatto powder

1 tbsp garlic, minced

1 onion, chopped

2 tbsp cooking oil

Vegetables

1 bundle sitaw (string beans), cut into 2-inch pieces or Green Beans

1 medium eggplant, sliced

1 bundle pechay (or Pak Coi) or cabbage

On the side: Bagoong alamang (fermented shrimp paste), sautéed with garlic and a bit of sugar

Instructions

1. Boil Boil the Pork with Salt, crushed ginger, minced garlic & 1 tablespoon of Salt

Keep the broth; you’ll use it for the sauce. {When meat cook, cool down and deep fried}

2. Prepare the annatto oil by soaking annatto seeds in hot water. Strain and set aside (or use annatto powder for a shortcut).

3. In another pan, sauté garlic and onion in oil. Add the annatto oil for that signature color.

4. Pour in about 4 cups of the broth. Stir in the peanut butter, mixing until smooth. Add the ground toasted rice gradually to thicken the sauce.

5. Add the Vegetables.

6. Add the meat and let it simmer in the sauce until fully coated and rich in flavor. Season with salt and pepper to taste

7. Assemble the Kare-Kare: Place meat and sauce in a serving dish. Neatly arrange vegetables on the side or top. Serve hot with a generous scoop of bagoong on the side.

Tips

• Some like it nuttier—adjust peanut butter to your liking.

• Toasting rice is key: it brings that subtle earthy body to the sauce.

• Use beef shank or pork hocks if oxtail is hard to find, but nothing beats that melt-in-your-mouth richness from traditional cuts.

• Kare-Kare is best enjoyed family-style—served warm, passed around the table, with laughter flowing like sauce.

''Kare Kare is not just food, It is family, it's memory, it is Filipino'' -Doreen Fernandez (Food Historian)