Laguna is where city noise fades into quiet. It’s where the air gets cooler, and the food gets better. But beyond the postcard views are stories that don’t make it into guidebooks—stories of people still making things the hard way because they believe it’s worth it.
In this Flavorful Escapes Laguna journey, Chef Tatung meets three artisans in Sta. Cruz whose work isn’t just about flavor. It’s about memory, labor, and holding the line when no one’s watching. This isn’t nostalgia—it’s survival, salted and stirred.
Gigi and the Egg That Raised a Family
Salted duck eggs weren’t always pink or packed in plastic. Itlog na maalat was once a slow craft passed through backyards and generations. While Pateros was the capital, many duck farmers moved to Laguna by the 1950s, drawn by its rich wetlands and abundance of natural feed.
In Brgy. Gatid, Sta. Cruz, Gigi Magtibay still cures eggs by hand—just like her mother did.
“Napaaral kami lahat dahil sa pag-iitlog,” she says. That egg paid for everything.
Watch the full Flavorful Escapes Laguna series — streaming on Simpol.ph.
But today’s market is tough. Cracked inventory, unstable prices, and rising feed costs have forced her to adapt. Her solution? Bibingkang itlog—a dense, savory custard that gives unwanted yolks a second life.
She’s keeping the business alive. But even then, she wonders: if people like her are struggling, who’s left to take over?
Arlene and the Cheese Wrapped in Memory
Sta. Cruz, Laguna has made kesong puti for over 400 years. Locals still honor this with an annual Kesong Puti Festival—but in quiet kitchens, the real work continues.
Arlene Macalinao has been wrapping cheese in banana leaves for decades. Her family’s method uses fresh carabao milk, sourced from nearby farms.
“Wala nang native,” she says, referring to those who’ve switched to commercial milk. “Pero dito, buhay pa.”
When her husband passed, she stayed with the business—out of duty, out of love. To keep it going, she created kesong puti ice cream, which gave the craft a second wind.
Still, the pressures are real. Carabao milk is expensive. Young people aren’t interested. Arlene may be the last in line.
Mang Larry and the Fire That Still Burns
Before colonizers arrived, Filipinos were already tapping coconut sap, fermenting it into tubâ, and distilling it into something stronger. Over time, lambanog became the drink of farmers and fiestas—potent, smoky, and deeply Filipino.
In Liliw, Mang Larry, a third-generation distiller, still does it all by hand. He climbs trees, collects sap, ferments it, then distills it in a handmade still over open fire.
“Lambanog is fire, laughter, and grit,” says Chef Tatung. “It’s distilled memory.”
But the flames are flickering. Cheaper industrial alcohol dominates the market. Fewer drinkers remain. And no one’s lining up to learn the craft.
If Mang Larry stops, who climbs next?
When Makers Go Quiet
These aren’t just food products. They’re living archives—recipes that don’t always have measurements, only feel. They’re made by people who stir and salt and fold the same way every day, because they believe it still matters.
But they’re slipping away. Quietly. Gradually. Not because they failed—but because we stopped paying attention.
We celebrate innovation, but sometimes, the most radical thing you can do is keep going.
So That We Remember
In this part of Laguna, salted eggs aren’t just breakfast. Cheese isn’t just cheese. Lambanog isn’t just a drink.
They are stories. Carried in buckets. Wrapped in leaves. Distilled in fire.
Their hands tell the story.
And through the heat, the salt, the waiting—they continue.
So that we remember not just how things taste—
but how they were made.
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What food tradition in your hometown still survives? Tell us in the comments.
1 Comment. Leave new
Beautiful writing that keeps tradition and memories of good food (and drink) alive and kicking.