In search of regional specialties
Matsuyama, Japan—Citrus is the agricultural specialty of Shikoku—the smallest of Japan’s four main islands roughly the size of Negros and Cebu combined—and it shows in its cities, from the iconography in train stations and airports to the menus of restaurants and cafés.
In Kochi Prefecture—home to the so-called “Yuzu Road”—there are numerous yuzu-flavored beverages, including sake and beer, not to mention pastries and desserts; in Tokushima Prefecture, the sudachi gets the same treatment. And here in Matsuyama, capital of Ehime Prefecture, there’s juice bars offering tastings of the countless variants of mikan (Satsuma orange), varying in sweetness, bitterness, and acidity. Delightfully, there are even ice cream flavors corresponding to some of the more famous varieties, like unshu, kiyomi, amanatsu, and iyokan.
Regional specialties (kyōdo ryōri)—and the prominent place they enjoy—are part of what has drawn me to the Hyakumeizan, or the 100 famous mountains in Japan spread across this archipelago. From the apples of Aomori after climbing Mount Iwaki to the zunda (green young soybean) shake in Sendai after climbing Mount Iwate, there’s always something to look forward to at the end of each hike beyond just the usual matcha soft serve ice cream.
Beyond sweets, there are of course the savory plates, and I still remember stopping by Yonezawa for the A5 wagyu after Mount Azuma, and visiting Kagoshima for the kurobota tonkatsu after Kaimon-dake; here in Shikoku, I am enjoying the katsuo no tataki (seared bonito) and the taimeshi (sea bream rice).
Japan’s regionally diverse culinary and cultural richness is partly a product of the environment; the diverging bounties of the Seto Inland Sea and the Sea of Japan means that they will have their distinct local sashimi, and the breadth of the Japanese archipelago means that there will be a place that is perfect for peaches (Okayama Prefecture), and another for cherries (Yamagata Prefecture).
But regional specialties are also products of a long history of cultural and multispecies exchange. Citrus itself originated from India and Southeast Asia and reached Japan by way of China sometime in the 7th century; unshu and the other mikan varieties are products of a long (and ongoing) history of plant breeding and research. Apples also came via China, but the famed Fuji apples—including those in Aomori—are actually derived from American varieties, which supplanted the local ones in the 19th century.
Equally, a product of history is a “regional specialty consciousness” that, in the case of Japan, is enshrined in literature and popular culture for centuries. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it was here—specifically in Oita Prefecture during the late 1970s—where the concept of “One Village One Product” originated, eventually spreading across the globe. With 61 of the Hyakumeizan to go, I hope to have more opportunities to sample more kyōdo ryōri in the coming years.
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The Philippines, of course, has its share of regional specialties, and in many ways, is also a motivation for me to travel and hike across the country. As in Japan, some of what we regard as “native” are not really indigenous; for instance, strawberries were introduced to Benguet by either the Spaniards or the Americans. The colonial enterprise, in a way, was a “one hacienda one product” scheme for very different (and very problematic) reasons, but given how we live in a world that’s always been about cultural (and not just colonial) exchange, being “local” does not have to be “native” and “indigenous” for it to be “authentic”; in a certain sense those terms themselves are time-bound. It is worth adding that in the scale of centuries, there’s also such a thing as indigenization, and products introduced have developed their own distinctive properties and flavors, such as the mangoes of Guimaras and Sergio Loon coffee from Mount Apo with its incredible notes of tobacco and mangosteen.
Regardless of their original provenance, there’s a lot more to (re)discover, from local produce like bignay and basi to entire cuisines, such as Ilocano and Maranao cuisine—and kudos to influencers and writers like Erwan Heussaff and John Sherwin Felix, for showcasing these to new audiences. Kudos also to chefs insisting on working with local farmers, and entrepreneurs, local executives, and others who are making this happen, at times going against the grain of popular demand.
Admittedly, this pursuit comes from a position of privilege, and again, there is a need to tread carefully, to make sure that indigenous and local communities benefit from these initiatives, lest we end up with nothing but “food gentrification.”
Still, given the potential benefits—including the potential to bolster nutritional diversity—there are ample grounds to argue for a more vigorous effort to pursue the “One Town One Product” movement originally inspired by Japan, and other similar initiatives. Promoting regional distinctiveness and diversity will boost local economies, encourage local tourism, and foster a sense of belonging to a country that is neither small nor homogenous.
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