Panso is forever

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By Herman M. Lagon

Nestled in a quiet alley between Mapa and Ortiz Streets in downtown Iloilo City lies a local treasure that has no fancy signage or digital billboard, yet remains unmistakable to generations of Ilonggos: Buho Bakery. Its name, endearingly derived from the literal “buho” or hole in the wall from which breads are passed to loyal customers, may sound modest, but its legacy is anything but small. While Iloilo has steadily become a gastronomic haven recognized by UNESCO, some of its richest flavors still come from humble corners like this.

The bakery’s signature creation, the panso (or pancho to some), is a soft, slightly sweet bread stuffed with chewy, coconut-based filling. More than just a snack, each piece carries the warmth of a simpler time. For only ten pesos for three pieces, the panso is both a treat and a time machine. The bread, made from the bakery’s classic dough recipe, is so addictive that stopping at just one or two feels impossible. Whether eaten with hot native coffee, dipped in warm milk, or savored straight out of the paper bag, it evokes memories that no gourmet bakery can replicate.

Buho is not just about bread; it is about ritual. Old-timers remember tapping coins on the wooden door at dawn or dusk, calling out for freshly baked panso through the square hole. Students from the nearby University of Iloilo and Sun Yat Sen High School made it a post-class pitstop, and families would swing by after Sunday Mass at San Jose Church and Santa Maria parish. Lovers, boarders, teachers, sikad drivers, and market vendors have all, at one point, queued at this hole for their favorite treat. A ritual, quiet and sacred, passed down like a good recipe.

Run by a Chinese-Filipino family since the 1940s, Buho Bakery began as a wartime workaround. During unstable times, the hole provided safety without closing shop. Decades later, that same buho remains operational, even as a physical store now exists alongside it. The bakery never branded itself as artisanal, yet it built a brand stronger than many hip new cafes: one made of consistency, honesty, and daily hot bread. Some might say that in a world obsessed with Instagrammable food, Buho bakes for the soul.

The humble panso’s appeal, much like pan de sal or pan de siosa, lies in its ability to nourish not just the stomach but memory. In the recent pandemic, when everything felt uncertain, people turned to the familiar. Bread flew off shelves, but in Iloilo, it was not sourdough that people craved—it was panso. Affordable, warm, and real. It is proof that culinary heritage is not just found in high-end restaurants or travel blogs, but in everyday resilience.

Even today, the alley where Buho stands remains unassuming. Visitors often rely on tips from trisikad drivers or morning joggers to find it. Some stumble upon it by accident and end up returning regularly. It does not chase fame, yet it commands loyalty. This bakery—like a favorite teacher who never asks for the spotlight—lets its work speak for itself. You do not need a Michelin star when every bite is a gold star from someone’s childhood.

Many Ilonggos now based abroad still carry Buho in their stories. Facebook posts recount early morning runs to the alley, the comfort of hot bread during exam season, and the joy of bringing home a bag of panso as pasalubong. Up until now I still remember the aroma of bread that marked my high school and college in UI. These are not mere recollections; they are testaments to how food intertwines with identity.

As Iloilo continues to evolve—with coastal roads, bike festivals, and booming tourism—Buho remains a touchstone. It serves as a quiet reminder that progress need not bulldoze memory. In the middle of flashy cafés and fine dining, places like Buho Bakery remind us that greatness often hides in the familiar. In a society that sometimes values novelty more than depth, maybe a little panso is just what we need to keep us grounded.

Buho’s story also resonates with educators and cultural workers who advocate for place-based learning and community-rooted identity. In the same way we teach history through old churches and literature through folk songs, we can teach values through food. And what better example than a panso baked in the same way, in the same place, and with the same heart as seventy years ago?

So next time you walk past Calle Real or find yourself near Phinma-UI, take a slight detour. Ask a local about Buho. Tap the wall gently, and wait. You may not just find bread—you might just find a little piece of yourself. (Photos courtesy of Rjay Zuriaga Castor)

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Doc H calls himself a ”student of and for life” and, like many others, wants a life-giving, why-driven world dedicated to social justice and happiness. His views may not reflect those of his employers or associates.