We love local food. But do we support the people who produce it?

By Janvie Soqueña Amido

Ilonggos love food. We take pride in our batchoy, pancit molo, native delicacies, seafood, cacao, coffee and the dishes that have made Iloilo a destination in its own right. Since becoming a UNESCO Creative City of Gastronomy, we have had even more reason to celebrate what comes out of our kitchens. But perhaps there is a more uncomfortable question we should be asking: Do we love local food enough to support the people who actually produce it?

This question becomes particularly relevant this August 28 to 30, when the Slow Food Iloilo Earth Market gathers farmers, fisherfolk, artisans, food producers, chefs and entrepreneurs at the Riverside Boardwalk in Mandurriao. There will be fresh produce, native rice, local cacao, heritage ingredients, handcrafted products and food made from ingredients grown much closer to home. It would be easy to see this as another weekend market. Come, eat, shop, take a few photos and leave. But Earth Market represents something much bigger. To understand why, we need to understand the movement behind it.

Slow Food began as a response to a world increasingly dominated by fast food, industrialized agriculture and the standardization of what we eat. What started in Italy grew into an international movement defending local food traditions, biodiversity and the rights and dignity of the people who produce our food. At the heart of the movement is a remarkably simple idea: food should be good, clean and fair.

Good means food should taste good, nourish people and carry the culture and traditions from which it comes. Clean means food should be produced in ways that respect the environment, biodiversity, soil, water and the ecosystems that sustain us. Fair means the people who grow, catch, process and prepare our food should receive just compensation and have the opportunity to live with dignity.

These three words sound simple. Put them against the realities of our food system, however, and they become quite challenging.

Think about what you ate today. Where did the rice come from? Who planted the vegetables? Who caught the fish? Who grew the cacao or coffee? How much did the farmer receive compared with the amount eventually paid by the consumer?

Most of us probably do not know.

Modern food systems have given us convenience, but they have also created distance between consumers and producers. We see products neatly arranged on supermarket shelves without seeing the hands behind them. Somewhere before that beautifully packaged product was a farmer waking before sunrise, a fisherfolk going out to sea, a family processing cacao, or a small entrepreneur struggling to bring a traditional product into the modern marketplace.

Slow Food asks us to shorten that distance.

It asks us to become more conscious consumers—not necessarily by rejecting everything modern or imported, but by understanding that what we choose to eat has economic, environmental and cultural consequences.

This is where supporting locally sourced food becomes important.

When we buy from local farmers and responsible producers, particularly through shorter supply chains, we have a better opportunity to understand where our food comes from and how it was produced. More importantly, more economic value can remain within our communities.

A farmer does not need our pity. A farmer needs a market. A fisherfolk does not need another speech about the importance of fisheries. They need buyers willing to pay fairly. An artisan cannot survive on compliments, and an MSME cannot pay salaries with exposure.

They need business.

And this is where Earth Market becomes interesting.

One of its features is a farm-to-table challenge in which participating food exhibitors source ingredients directly from organic farmers participating in the market and transform them into dishes created for the three-day event. It may sound like a culinary activity, but economically, something more important is happening.

A farmer becomes a supplier. A food entrepreneur becomes a buyer. A chef discovers an ingredient. A consumer discovers all three.

That is how a local food ecosystem begins.

Now imagine if those relationships continued after August 30.

What if more restaurants in Iloilo sourced a portion of their vegetables directly from local farmers? What if hotels deliberately purchased native rice, cacao, coffee, seafood and other ingredients from Panay producers? What if cafés proudly identified not only the variety of coffee they served but the community that grew it? What if supermarkets provided serious, permanent shelf space for qualified local food producers rather than showcasing them mainly during festivals and trade fairs?

Then “support local” would stop being a slogan. It would become an economic strategy.

There is another part of the Slow Food movement that deserves attention: biodiversity.

Our food system is becoming increasingly standardized. The more we depend on a limited number of commercially dominant crops and products, the more traditional varieties risk disappearing. Panay has ingredients, farming traditions, recipes and food knowledge passed down through generations. But heritage does not survive merely because we call it heritage.

If nobody buys a traditional crop, eventually fewer farmers will plant it. If nobody uses a heritage ingredient, eventually fewer people will know how to prepare it. If farming cannot provide young people with a reasonable livelihood, we cannot expect the next generation to remain on the farm simply because we tell them agriculture is important.

Food heritage cannot survive on nostalgia.

It needs demand.

And this is particularly important for Iloilo as a UNESCO Creative City of Gastronomy. That designation should not simply mean celebrating the dishes already associated with our city. Gastronomy begins long before food reaches the restaurant table.

Before there is a dish, there is an ingredient. Before there is an ingredient, there is a farmer, fisher, producer or artisan. Behind every celebrated Ilonggo dining experience is an entire chain of people whose work makes that experience possible.

If Iloilo’s growing reputation as a gastronomic destination is truly creating economic value, then some of that value must travel back through the food chain.

Our farmers should feel it. Our fisherfolk should feel it. Our small food producers should feel it. Our rural communities should feel it.

Otherwise, we risk celebrating gastronomy while leaving behind the people who make gastronomy possible.

Supporting ethical food also does not mean blindly buying something simply because it is local. Local producers must still compete on quality, food safety, consistency and value. Consumers deserve good products. Restaurants and institutional buyers require reliable supply. Supporting local should never become an excuse for mediocrity.

But when local producers meet those standards, we should give them a genuine opportunity to compete.

Government also has a role beyond organizing trade fairs. We should be helping farmers and food entrepreneurs improve production, packaging, certification, logistics, market access and their ability to supply larger buyers consistently. Markets are important, but the real objective should be turning occasional sellers into sustainable enterprises and farmers into reliable suppliers.

Consumers, however, have more power than we sometimes realize.

Every peso is a signal.

When we choose locally grown vegetables, responsible seafood, native rice, local cacao or products made by small producers, we are telling the market what we want more of. When diners begin asking restaurants where their ingredients come from, restaurants notice. When consumers care about how food is produced, businesses respond.

This is why Earth Market should not simply be somewhere we visit this weekend.

Go and meet the farmer behind the vegetables. Ask the cacao producer where the beans came from. Discover a native ingredient you have never tried. Listen to the story behind a product. And when you find something genuinely good, do something even more important: buy it again after the market ends.

Because the real measure of Earth Market will not be how crowded Riverside Boardwalk becomes from August 28 to 30.

The more important question is what happens on August 31.

Do the farmers gain new buyers? Do restaurants continue ordering from producers they met? Do consumers look for those products again? Do relationships formed over three days become something permanent?

That is the difference between holding a market and building a movement.

Slow Food ultimately asks us to rethink something we do every single day: eat. Food is never simply what is on the plate. Behind it are choices about livelihoods, culture, agriculture, biodiversity and the environment.

Good. Clean. Fair.

Three simple words, but perhaps they offer Iloilo a powerful way forward.

If we truly love Ilonggo food, our pride cannot end at the restaurant table. It must reach the farms, fishing communities, kitchens and small enterprises that keep our food culture alive.

Because the best way to preserve our food heritage is not simply to celebrate it.

It is to make sure the people keeping it alive can make a living from it.

Reach the writer at itsjanvie@gmail.com.