Filipino-Americans, or Filipinos in the United States, were once labeled the “model minority,” not only because they tended to blend in with the general American population, but also because they tended to subsume their own ethnicity to the dominant white culture, never raising their profile, or creating noise or disturbance, or carving out their own enclave, unlike the Chinese, Koreans, Vietnamese and of course the Latinos (which is not a homogeneous culture either) and the African-Americans.
Indeed, decades back, it was difficult to put a finger on the Pinoy community in the United States. This was years before Filipinos, or rather, Filipina domestics, carved out their own niche in Hong Kong’s weekend life with their Sunday assemblies in Statue Square, or in Singapore with their impromptu gatherings in a low-end Orchard Road mall. Filipinos tended to gather in discrete clumps, entertaining each other in their homes, and drawn mainly by blood ties.
The only proof of a sizeable Filipino presence in a US city was a row of eateries, most notably in New Jersey and Queens, New York, with Filipinos and their friends drawn by the one commodity that unites us all: food. But even then, these were modest affairs, more like holes-in-the wall, with just the scent of patis and boiling coconut milk to draw in customers.
Through the decades, there have been attempts to lift Filipino cooking to a level sufficient to attract serious food critics in mainstream media. I remember during my first visit to the United States dropping by a Filipino restaurant in upscale Georgetown in Washington, D.C., owned by the late Larry Cruz, craving for adobo but finding it a bit too “Westernized” for my taste. Cendrillon in Soho received rave reviews for the way owners Amy Basa and Romy Dorotan tweaked Filipino cuisine to “fine dining” levels, but its “fine dining” prices apparently did it in. I understand the owners have moved on with Purple Yam, a Filipino-Korean fusion place in Brooklyn, and I wish them all the luck in this multi-cultural world.
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But it is still food that now defines, for the rest of the American community, the Filipino identity.
Visiting the relatives of my friend Emma Coinco in San Diego, we were brought by her cousins Rudy and Reina Locsin to the newest outlet of a supermarket chain called Seafood City in Chula Vista, a Fil-Am enclave in Southern California. Founded over 20 years ago, Seafood City describes itself as a “one-stop shopping destination that aims to serve and satisfy the needs of a thriving ethnic population.”
Perhaps the owners were simply being shy, but that population is Filipino, and in fact its main endorser is megastar Sharon Cuneta.
P-Noy even paid a visit to a Seafood City outlet in the suburbs of San Francisco, hobnobbing with hundreds of members of the Fil-Am community.
A visit to a Seafood City outlet is like a brief outing to a market in Manila or even in the provinces. Obviously, it earned its reputation with fresh seafood that are the main ingredients for many Filipino dishes. It compliments these with meat cuts, vegetable and fruits, with a particularly large section devoted to bananas, the kind Filipinos love, not the huge, tasteless “chiquita banana” sort.
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Most important, inside every Seafood City can be found brands that Filipinos have grown up with: Mafran Banana Sauce, Purefoods Corned Beef, even Axion Dishwashing Paste.
There are even new foodstuff created, it seems, expressly for the overseas Filipino market. Reina served us one such innovative product: peeled frozen saba bananas that need only be heated in a microwave, made by a Davao-based company. It brought back memories of eating steaming saba on provincial buses, but without having to deal with the very hot peel.
Reina also told us about “chicharon that can be popped like popcorn,” pork rind that comes in tiny pellets that pop open when heated in a microwave. I briefly flirted with the idea of bringing home a sample, until the absurdity of taking chicharon back to Manila made me change my mind.
We toured the rest of the supermarket and found outlets for all kinds of establishments: food stores like Red Ribbon, Goldilocks, Chow King, Jollibee, and what seems to me a home-grown California outfit called Valerio’s Bakery. There were also remittance centers, a travel agency and even a pawnshop. Here is a “Little Manila” catering to the needs, desires, whims and whimsies of Filipino-Americans!
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Indeed, Filipino-Americans are invisible no more. In the San Diego area, the Fil-Ams are concentrated in places like National City (near the Naval Base), Chula Vista and Mira-Mesa (nicknamed “Manila-Mesa” for the Pinoy dominance). California State Route 125 which runs through these enclaves has even been dubbed “Fil-Am Highway.”
With two million Fil-Am residents, who make up 6 percent of the population, California is indeed a haven for Pinoys. Filipinos now compose the largest Asian-American group in California.
One other thing: Contributing to the emergence and recognition of the Filipino identity in the US are The Filipino Channel (of ABS-CBN) and GMA-7, overseas arms of the two biggest local networks.
Dropping by the home of Emma’s relatives (grandmother Rosalia Matulac, who just celebrated her 99th birthday, aunts Leonida Locsin and Monica Prilla and their brother Bernardo) we found two dominant themes: a huge altar crammed with religious figures, and a flat TV kept tuned all day to TFC (and GMA-7 in Reina’s home) that entertained us with noontime shows and talent competitions. These are shows, I must confess, that I hardly watch at home, but sharing the moment, I felt distinctly and proudly Pinoy.