Kitchens of UCL: halo-halo recipe
A guide to heartwarming and mouth-watering Filipino food traditions shared by Gabby, a second-year English undergraduate.
Art by Millie Stimpson
When Gabby and I sit down to discuss Filipino cooking, I come prepared with a list of prompts and questions. Within seconds my notebook is put away, as she eagerly introduces me to dish after dish and all her happy memories entwined with them. Born in the Philippines, Gabby spent large parts of her childhood in the country so, for her, the cuisine is extremely meaningful. She tells me of how it is “indivisibly” tied to her family and memories of the country, as well as how it more broadly enables her to connect with the Philippines’ rich history and embrace her place within it.
Earlier in the week, she sent me a recipe for halo-halo, an iconic Filipino dessert made of shaved ice, sweetened milk, and a variety of vibrant toppings. When I recreate it in my own kitchen, it is delicious: the combination of creamy milk, watery ice, and almost startling sweetness is incredibly refreshing. I am thrilled to discover that one topping Gabby recommends, leche flan, is essentially the same as crème caramel, and this is a delightful addition. However, something is missing: a glass of halo-halo just doesn’t feel complete without ube ice cream — a fantastically bright purple yam ice that typically adorns the dish. It has such a unique taste, Gabby reflects, that it is difficult to find the English vocabulary to describe it!
Halo-halo means “mix-mix” in Tagalog, yet Gabby tells me that the dish doesn’t always reflect its name. “Only old people really stir the toppings” she laughs. “As a child, I would eat the ube ice-cream off the top, and then mix it.” And this is not the dessert’s only variation. You might buy it preassembled in tubs from Chowking, a popular Filipino chain, like Gabby and her friends do. Upon visiting her uncle’s farm in the countryside, Gabby even discovered packs of tinned halo-halo toppings, complete with ube paste that won’t melt like ice-cream. “I was wondering how he’d have ice-cream up there!” she tells me, though she points out that the paste is simply not the same.
“In the Philippines, we love cans,” Gabby elaborates. Filipinos have developed an appetite for canned goods stemming from American eating habits during World War Two. I am fascinated to discover that this is far from the only example of multiculturalism in Filipino cooking: the country is a melting pot of cuisines, featuring Spanish-influenced dishes from its centuries of colonial occupation, Chinese recipes acquired through trade, and flavours from neighbouring Japan. Brought together with the natural production of the country, the result is a truly special culinary experience. “We eat a lot of fish,” Gabby says, “the Philippines is an island — the sea is everywhere.”
It’s impossible not to feel tempted as Gabby talks me through the variety of meals enjoyed in the country. Many of her favourite dishes are Spanish-influenced — there is adobo, menudo, arroz caldo… I am particularly enticed by kare-kare, a Filipino stew of meat in peanut sauce. “It doesn’t matter what meat you use” Gabby says. Much of Filipino cooking revolves around meat, but you won't find it eaten plain — there is plenty of salt, plenty of spice and, in the case of kare-kare, plenty of nuttiness. Neither is it all sit-down meals — the country is inseparable from its street food culture, with Gabby recalling taho (a mixture of tapioca pearls, tofu, and syrup) being sold outside church, and bao buns (known as siao pao) costing “less than a pound for three!”
What else do Filipinos love? Rice. “It isn’t a dish without rice,” Gabby laughs. “We literally put rice on everything. Rice in noodles, rice with pizza…”. The prospect of eating rice and noodles together truly astonishes me, and Gabby’s elaboration makes it even better. She explains that it might be mixed into your typical birthday dish of pancit - or noodles, a tradition inherited from the Chinese belief that the long strips are symbolic of a long life ahead. In fact, Gabby’s Filipino food journey is full of fascinating traditions, and emphasises the importance of family cooking, particularly in the female domain. “Some people are believed to have a gift,” she tells me. “They can get the dish right just by looking at it.”
It is this sense of legacy, memory, and even something a little enchanting about Filipino food that makes my conversation with Gabby so interesting. We reflect on the ways that these things can be lost in chains and western reproductions, and I leave feeling doubly privileged to have been able to try out an authentic Filipino home recipe.
Art by Millie Stimpson
Gabby’s halo-halo
Essential ingredients:
Crushed or shaved ice
Milk
Sugar (to taste)
Popular optional ingredients:
Ube ice cream
Leche flan
Sago (tapioca pearls)
Sweet beans
Cubed jelly
To make:
Pour your chosen optional ingredients into a tall glass until approximately half-full. Next, add the ice to the glass, coming close to the brim. Top with the milk, and sugar to taste. Finally, complete the desert with an optional topping of your choice!
This article is published as part of Kitchens of UCL series, written by Pi Media columnists Nadia Freeman and Eleanor Smith.