In the mountain village of Dangtalan in Pasil, Kalinga, food goes beyond sustenance. It’s knowledge passed down, culture preserved, and a way to remain rooted in the community.
At the forefront of this grassroots movement is the Slow Food Community Pasil, which brings together farmers, cooks, artisans, and elders to protect the region’s culinary heritage. For them, it’s all about keeping heirloom ingredients alive, cooking the way their ancestors did, and making sure the next generation sees the value in both.
During a recent community-based tourism program led by the Tourism Promotions Board (TPB), we had the chance to witness how this quiet municipality is earning global respect for keeping indigenous foodways alive.
“Everything we do is intentional—from planting the seeds to cooking the food to serving it in the right pot,” said Walter Jensen, a local advocate and Slow Food community leader. “We’re not just preserving dishes. We’re preserving relationships—with the land, with each other, with the past.”
During our visit, we witnessed that relationship in action. We saw farmers harvesting heirloom rice by hand in the paddies, the grains destined for both everyday meals and special dishes served during rituals and gatherings. We joined the community as they prepared a spread of native dishes cooked in clay pots.
Among the standout dishes were intum ji ugwilas an lamka and the inanger native pig. The dinuguan na native pig had a rich depth that comes only from hours of slow cooking, while the lischog, a river snail stew, may be an acquired taste for some and a favorite for others.
Other dishes included intum ji lichoy, intum ji papait, adobong native pig, pukor with roasted kurjis, and pikaw with sardines.
All of them were prepared using earthenware pots handcrafted by the village’s women. The oldest pot maker in Dangtalan is Kum-as Sangga, a quiet but striking woman who’s been shaping clay since childhood. She doesn’t use a wheel. She digs her own clay, molds by hand, and fires each pot over open flames. In her 80s, she still teaches the craft with remarkable ease.
During our visit, she and the other potters gave us a hands-on tutorial. We tried shaping our own mini banga, laughing through our lopsided attempts while they offered gentle corrections.
Pasil’s Slow Food Community, the first of its kind in the Philippines, has gained international recognition for protecting local produce and culinary traditions. Here, dishes highlight the region’s biodiversity and creative use of local ingredients.
“As much as possible, ingredients come from nearby. The cultivation of taste starts not in the kitchen, but in the field,” Jensen said. Farmers in Pasil often avoid herbicides and pesticides, favoring longer, more natural cultivation cycles—even if that means lower, more expensive yields. “The quality is different—mas masarap talaga.”
They even performed the Banga dance, balancing their creations on their heads in a graceful, flowing ritual that celebrates both movement and memory.
“Even our dances are connected to food,” Jensen said. “They tell the story of how we carry our food and water, how we cook, how we share.”
The Slow Food Community in Pasil is doing more than keeping old recipes alive. They’re reclaiming their own narrative—one that resists the pressure to modernize in ways that erase identity. It’s not about resisting change altogether, but choosing which parts of culture to keep, and why.
Food here takes time. So does pottery. So does understanding why it matters.
But if you sit long enough, listen closely, and taste carefully, you’ll realize that in Pasil, every bite carries a story—and those stories are still being told.
“The way we live here has always been slow food,” said Jensen. “Ang kaibahan lang ngayon, may pangalan na, may suporta. May proteksyon na ‘yung mga species ng seeds at dishes na dati simpleng pang-araw-araw lang sa amin.”
In Pasil, food is about memory, justice, identity, and a constant reminder to take things slow.