[Time Trowel] Ube is taking over the world. So why are Filipinos still obsessed with rice?

While the Philippines remains heavily reliant on rice despite being a major importer, recognizing and investing in alternative root crops like ube and taro can enhance food security and agricultural diversity A trowel (/ˈtraʊ.əl/), in the hands of an archaeologist, is like a trusty sidekick – a tiny, yet mighty, instrument that uncovers ancient secrets, one well-placed scoop at a time. It’s the Sherlock Holmes of the excavation site, revealing clues about the past with every delicate swipe. Long before ube became fashionable in cafés from Los Angeles to London, Filipinos had already given it a place in halo-halo, one of our most beloved desserts. The combination of shaved ice, sweetened fruits, beans, and milk has long included ube halaya, sometimes accompanied by ube ice cream for those who believe one serving of ube is never enough. Now, the rest of the world has discovered this purple yam, transforming it into lattes and pastries that sometimes contain more food coloring than actual ube. The enthusiasm has attracted investment. The United States Department of Agriculture has committed $34.1 million to develop the Philippine ube industry through a five-year program expected to support 12,500 Filipino farmers. This is welcome news, particularly if it increases farmers’ incomes. Still, I find it amusing that a crop cultivated in the Philippines for generations is suddenly attracting millions of dollars because international consumers have developed an appetite for purple desserts. More importantly, the investment raises questions about how we value crops and determine agricultural priorities, especially in a country where food security has become almost synonymous with rice production. Filipinos have an enduring love affair with rice. Someone who has eaten bread for breakfast and noodles for lunch might still complain about not having eaten rice all day. Government agricultural policies reflect this preference, with billions of pesos allocated to rice production. Yet the Philippines is the world’s largest rice importer. According to the Philippine Statistics Authority, Filipinos consume approximately 329 grams of rice daily, or 120 kilograms annually per person. That is a considerable amount of rice for a country struggling to meet domestic demand. Root crops, meanwhile, are frequently associated with poverty or food shortages. Kamote has even become a term for incompetence, an unfortunate reputation for a crop that has fed generations of Filipinos. Our preference for rice has influenced how we value other staples, including those cultivated long before rice became central to Philippine diets. Archaeology offers another perspective on Philippine food history. There is no securely established archaeological evidence of wet-rice cultivation in the Philippines earlier than approximately 700 years ago. For much of Philippine history, communities relied on other food sources, including taro and yams, which played important roles in early Philippine agriculture. Our ancestors had more options on their plates than our contemporary obsession with rice might suggest. Our archaeological research in Ifugao has challenged the popular claim that the Cordillera rice terraces represent 2,000 years of continuous wet-rice agriculture. Evidence indicates that intensive wet-rice cultivation expanded approximately 300 to 400 years ago, partly in response to Spanish colonial intrusion. Earlier agricultural systems included taro cultivation, supported by Indigenous knowledge of land management. Ifugao communities were producing food long before rice terraces came to dominate the landscape. Their agricultural history extends beyond the terraces that tourists photograph today. This history has implications as the Philippines confronts climate change. Typhoons can destroy rice crops within hours, while drought threatens irrigation supplies. Certain varieties of yams and sweet potatoes tolerate periods of limited rainfall, while underground storage organs may survive wind damage. Although root crops are also vulnerable to flooding and prolonged drought, cultivating different crops could reduce dependence on rice. Given our annual encounters with typhoons, placing so much of our food security in one crop seems an unnecessary gamble. ALSO ON RAPPLER Think ube’s just ube? Purple harvest: Safeguarding the future of the ube industry [Time Trowel] Ube: History you can eat Trend Intel: Here’s why we’re not done talking about ube, the world’s latest craving Root crops contribute to household nutrition in several ways. Ube provides carbohydrates and dietary fiber, while orange-fleshed sweet potatoes contain beta-carotene, which the body converts into vitamin A. Including these crops in everyday meals can improve dietary diversity and provide an alternative to rice. Their nutritional benefits, however, depend partly on how they are prepared. Ube ice cream and sugar-laden lattes are hardly substitutes for nutritious meals. Adding ube to a dessert does not turn it into health food, regardless of what social media influencers might claim. Indigenous communities have maintained knowledge of root crop cultivation that agricultural institutions could learn from. Across the Philippines, farmers cultivate varieties of taro and yams adapted to local environments. Some communities also maintain knowledge of wild yams requiring processing before consumption. These practices developed through generations of experimentation and have supported households during periods of scarcity, often without the institutional recognition afforded to rice cultivation. Commercialization raises questions about the future of this agricultural diversity. Export markets favor varieties selected for yield or processing characteristics. Farmers may consequently abandon cultivars that do not meet commercial requirements, including those adapted to particular environmental conditions. It would be ironic if ube’s international popularity eventually contributed to the loss of varieties. The Philippine government’s decision to restrict exports of fresh ube and planting materials reflects concerns about protecting domestic production. Protection should also extend to farmers who have maintained these resources. Communities should participate in commercialization decisions and benefit from the use of their agricultural knowledge. Agricultural research could use the enthusiasm for ube to investigate root crops beyond export markets. Universities and government agencies could document varieties maintained by farming communities and assess their responses to changing climatic conditions. If millions of dollars can be mobilized because people abroad enjoy purple pastries, perhaps we can also invest in crops that could address food insecurity at home. I am certainly not proposing that Filipinos abandon rice. Anyone who has attempted to replace a Filipino household’s rice with boiled kamote knows how that conversation might end. Some might rather skip the meal entirely. Our preference for rice, however, should not prevent us from recognizing crops that sustained Philippine communities long before intensive rice agriculture became widespread. For now, I will continue enjoying halo-halo with a generous serving of ube halaya. Perhaps the next time someone pays six dollars for an ube latte in Los Angeles, they might consider the Filipino farmers whose agricultural knowledge has sustained its cultivation for generations. I hope the international enthusiasm improves their livelihoods and encourages investment in other crops that have long fed Filipino communities. Taro and other root crops may never achieve ube’s celebrity status, but they were feeding people long before anyone thought of putting a yam in a latte. – Rappler.com Stephen B. Acabado is a professor of anthropology at the University of California, Los Angeles. He directs the Ifugao and Bicol Archaeological Projects, which emphasize communityengagement in archaeological research. He grew up in Tinambac, Camarines Sur. His latest book, Stirring the Pot and the Past: Food Stories and Philippine History, co-authored with John Sherwin Felix, explores how centuries of cultural exchange have shaped Filipino cuisine and identity.