‘Pinggang Pinoy’: When a proper meal becomes a dream

LAST July, the Department of Health (DOH) returns with its annual campaign promoting what a proper meal looks like. Nutrition Month symposiums will educate Filipinos about “Pinggang Pinoy.” But what truly defines Pinggang Pinoy in this economy?

Many Filipinos have not and may not experience a weeklong fortune of eating meals with complete portions of go, grow, and glow. It is not because we simply refuse to, but we are hindered by reality.

A dream out of reach. One of Filipinos’ trademarks is resourcefulness, but what if resources are out of reach? Sadly, we are forced to squeeze our wallets to survive each day. From the perspective of the 35 percent to 52 percent of Filipino families who consider themselves poor, Pinggang Pinoy may be attainable, but sustaining it is impossible, especially when rent, tuition, and loans dominate the household budget.

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Worse is the situation for Filipinos who belong to the 15.5 percent poverty-ridden population. They are left with nothing but trash. The point isn’t to dehumanize them, but to acknowledge that it happens. Look at the news: our countrymen below the poverty line resort to eating others’ leftovers. When they are lucky enough to get leftovers with some nutrients, do these qualify as Pinggang Pinoy? Obviously not. The campaign promotes proper nutrition, not risks as severe as starvation.

Making ends meet. Filipinos, amidst hardships, choose resilience and creativity. Perhaps these have always been part of our culture—the traits that keep us alive and hopeful for a better future. This is not about romanticizing resilience; it’s about recognizing the Filipino experience of daily survival.

Common in households are dishes that combine preserved goods, such as noodles, canned goods, and even chips, with vegetables just to make ends meet. They are called “budbod.” Individuals who consider themselves poor may have experienced, at least once, eating noodles with moringa or sardines with calabash. These dishes are only a few of what Filipinos have invented—and I may be luckier to know less. To many, these foods fill their daily Pinggang Pinoy.

Then we are back to leftovers. Although Metro Manila has the lowest poverty incidence in the country, reports on “pagpag” cases still exist. For those who have no knowledge regarding pagpag, these are leftover foods scavenged from garbage dumps commonly coming from fast-food restaurants. They are cleaned, recooked, and sold to people, most reportedly in Tondo. This is the extreme resilience Filipinos can reach—a sickening Pinggang Pinoy.

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Looking at reality. Pinggang Pinoy is the epitome of “all talk.” Its vision blurs, as reality distorts the meaning of Pinoy concentrated on the privileged—those who can afford to fill the portions of their plate with enough and balanced nutrition. The campaign is not enough to make a change, not enough to resolve the rising numbers of malnourishment, kidney failure, and diet-derived diseases, and not enough to bring a Pinggang Pinoy to a starving family tonight.

In this economy, there is no single picture of Pinggang Pinoy. For some, it is a dream out of reach, and for some, it is a result of making ends meet. What DOH’s Pinggang Pinoy should offer is beyond graphics. It should lead to access, making every Pinoy experience a plate not of neglect, not of poverty masked in resilience and creativity, but of nourishment and service—perhaps through building inter-agency cooperation with the Department of Agriculture and every relevant agency.

As long as there are children left accustomed to resilience, not aware of what a proper meal looks like, the Pinggang Pinoy campaign will reflect its exclusion of the poor, promoting health for the privileged and feeding only them.

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Yohan Domingo,

cogiejohndomingo@gmail.com

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