There is the kinilaw, a process where raw fish is cured in potent vinegar. Its presence is always appreciated during celebratory gatherings or casual nights out. There is the green mango—most appreciated at the peak of its sourness—a favorite snack sold on streets topped with salty bagoong. There is the lumpia, the local spring roll, filled with a slew of meats and vegetables, never eaten without a dipping sauce of spiced vinegar. There are fresh produce like santol, duhat, and kamias, local fruits enjoyed as meal-enders, especially if tart beyond comparison.
No one can deny the Filipinos’ penchant for all things sour. But not just any type of sour. Doreen Fernandez, acclaimed Filipino food writer, describes the right level of sourness Filipinos crave: “sour enough to savor, to make the lips pucker and the eyes squint slightly, and yet not too sour.”
This affinity for anything sour is not some random inclination attained in recent years. It is deeply rooted in the country’s culture, history, and even environment. For Fernandez, sinigang, not adobo, is the dish that best represents the Filipino taste as it showcases the people’s understanding of the potential of their surroundings. Sinigang, that humble stew of meat and vegetables, soured by whatever agent is close by to the kitchen, showcases the Filipinos’ explorative tendencies and sensitivity to the bounty provided by nature.
Amy Besa, cookbook author and restaurateur, agrees that this affinity stems from the local domain: “Because there are many sour things in our environment. First of all, vinegar has been around very early on. Coconuts, sugarcane, and many fruits are sources of vinegar.”
Filipino ancestors, foragers in nature, most likely took a liking for the sour flavors around them, and this stayed on for succeeding generations. “There are all these different fruits, citruses, leaves that are used for souring: tamarind, batuan, libas, young cashew leaves, etc. So many indigenous leaves are used for souring. Every region and locality has its own sources of sourness,” adds Besa.
Another environmental factor where this affinity stems from is the weather. “It’s the hot weather. Sour food makes us sweat, helps cool us down,” says Filipino food historian Ige Ramos. Something sour, like sinigang, is believed to help the body cool down by releasing sweat. Sour food has that effect to make one feel physically better, despite the sweltering heat.
Filipinos also learned how to preserve their food before refrigeration came. Acidic ingredients became vital in prolonging the life of dishes and ingredients. Filipinos made atchara or pickles to utilize fruits and vegetables that would otherwise rot. Adobo, too, became ever more ubiquitous, because of its extended shelf life, thanks to the use of vinegar. And marrying the factors of weather and preservation, Filipinos naturally turned to fermentation, producing tart delicacies such as a local delicacy called buro.
Other reasons for this affinity evolved through time, influenced also by new experiences and external factors. The coming of Americans to the Philippines’ shores paved the way for an increased focus on food safety. Naturally acidic ingredients were used to sterilize food.
And as the local palate became more adventurous, Filipinos also became experimental with their flavors. Sour no longer stands as a mere foundational flavor. It is also a means to enhance the eating experience. There is the culture of sawsawan, the fondness to drizzle vinegar over anything savory like pancit and balut, and the inclination to squeeze calamansi to cut a dish’s richness.
“Sour celebrates freshness and it makes even the simplest foods shine. That’s why we love kinilaw, inihaw, sinigang, and adobo. Sour makes us happy!” says Filipino chef Myke Sarthou.
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