Kapag umuulan like today, marami sa atin ang unang hinahanap ay sabaw. Something hot, uncomplicated, and filling. For those who don’t have the time to simmer stock at home, there is always the turo-turo. A row of steaming pots ready for point-point is our comfort food – lugaw, goto, mami, sopas. Like these are literal comfort that steady us in wet weather.
At these stalls, hindi mo na kailangang magsalita. The manang already knows what you want. A bowl appears, rice porridge or noodles that have been quietly simmering since morning, topped with fried garlic, chicharon, or a slice of egg. It is affordable, sustaining, and warm.
Syempre, storytime muna tayo. I remember one night in high school, during typhoon season. I was studying then at La Concordia in Paco. I left for school but did not go to school. Tumakas ako mula sa bahay, soaked through and shivering. A manang from a nearby turo-turo noticed me loitering near Taft. She did not scold or ask questions. She simply sat me down and placed a steaming bowl of goto in front of me. I could not even refuse. She handed it over as if she had already decided I needed it. This simple congee remains one of the best of my life.
Isang mangkok ng sabaw, isang plastic chair, at isang taong nagmamalasakit. Sometimes survival is exactly that.
Our lugaw traces its roots to Chinese congee, adapted into Filipino kitchens over centuries. Goto, named after the beef tripe added into the porridge was a local invention that stretched scarce meat into something filling for a family. Mami, meanwhile, is tied to the Cantonese migrant Ma Mon Luk, who sold his noodle soup in Manila in the 1920s, his name itself becoming shorthand for the dish. (I have another story for that but we can have it in another article, lol) And sopas, with its milk-enriched broth and elbow macaroni, entered our tables during the American colonial period, when U.S. surplus commodities like evaporated milk and pasta were folded into everyday Filipino cooking. Each dish carries traces of history -migration, adaptation, resourcefulness, and survival (Fernandez, Tikim, 1994; Fernandez, Palayok, 2000).
Even our language carries echoes of soup. We say sabaw ako when we feel scattered, forgetful, or not quite present. The phrase suggests something watery, loose, spread out (parang sabaw na masyadong malabnaw). Your brain floating, your thoughts slipping sideways. I like to think this is how we found the expression, though I may be making it up. Still, it feels true. 😁
And yet, sabaw always brings us back. To the turo-turo stall, where broth has been kept warm since morning. To the manang who ladles without judgment. To the histories simmered quietly in every pot, the Chinese congee, Cantonese mami, American sopas. Each dish was absorbed into the Filipino table, transformed by hunger, weather, and care. That night of typhoon and goto taught me what sabaw has always been warmth and food that holds us in the hardest hours, teaching us that nourishment is as much about attention as it is about taste.
Keep safe, everyone!
References
Fernandez, Doreen G., and Edilberto N. Alegre. Kinilaw: A Philippine Cuisine of Freshness. Bookmark, 1991.
Fernandez, Doreen G. Tikim: Essays on Philippine Food and Culture. Anvil Publishing, 1994.
Fernandez, Doreen G. Palayok: Philippine Food Through Time, On Site, In the Pot. Bookmark, 2000.
Ocampo, Ambeth. “Ma Mon Luk and the History of Mami.” Philippine Daily Inquirer, 2014.
Chua, Michael L. “Lugaw: More than Just Rice Porridge.” Philippine Star, 2019.
