By Noel Galon de Leon

Every time I hear the word batchoy, I immediately think of home. I think of Iloilo, of the familiar smell of a hot broth arriving at the table, of noodles disappearing beneath slices of meat, liver, garlic, and chicharon, and of the particular comfort that comes with eating something that feels deeply and unmistakably Ilonggo. Batchoy is one of those foods that does not need an introduction among us. It carries memory before it even reaches the table. It reminds us of childhood, of family gatherings, of afternoons spent with friends, of visitors being introduced to something we proudly call our own. Perhaps this is why I have always felt that our conversations about batchoy tend to become emotional very quickly. We defend its authenticity, debate which version is the best, tell stories about its origins, and proudly present it to visitors. But while we are busy telling everyone how delicious our batchoy is, I think we are neglecting another conversation that is equally important: what exactly are we putting into our bodies when we eat it?

This is particularly worth asking now, while a Iloilo Batchoy Festival is being celebrated in a commercial mall in Iloilo City. Festivals are powerful because they transform food into public culture. They gather producers, restaurants, consumers, tourists, families, businesses, and cultural advocates around something that represents a community. I have nothing against celebrating batchoy. In fact, I believe we should celebrate it. But I also think that our celebrations should become more mature. If every festival is simply an opportunity to say that batchoy is delicious, authentic, historic, and distinctly Ilonggo, then we are repeating the same conversation over and over again. We are celebrating the past without necessarily asking what the future of this food should look like. We should be able to celebrate our culinary heritage while also being honest about its nutritional dimensions. Our love for a food should not prevent us from asking difficult questions about it.

There is something uncomfortable about talking about nutrition during a food festival because nutrition can sound like an unwelcome guest at a celebration. We would rather talk about taste, tradition, entrepreneurship, tourism, and cultural pride. We would rather hear that our food is among the best in the country than hear someone discuss sodium, saturated fat, serving size, dietary balance, or excessive consumption. But perhaps this discomfort is exactly why the conversation needs to happen. Food is not only something we taste. Food is something we consume repeatedly, sometimes throughout our entire lives. When a particular dish becomes strongly associated with our identity, it becomes even more important to understand it. Cultural importance does not make a food nutritionally neutral. Something can be deeply meaningful, historically significant, delicious, and still require moderation. These truths can exist simultaneously.

I am particularly interested in this question because of how easily we confuse tradition with health. We sometimes assume that because a food has been eaten for generations, it must therefore be good for us. But longevity does not automatically equal nutritional adequacy. A traditional food can provide important nutrients and, at the same time, contain components that should be consumed in moderation. Batchoy may provide protein and other nutrients through its meat and liver components, while its broth, seasonings, processed ingredients, and other components may also contribute considerable amounts of sodium, fat, and energy depending on the recipe and serving size. The important point is that we should not make exaggerated claims in either direction. It would be irresponsible to declare batchoy unhealthy without proper nutritional analysis, just as it would be irresponsible to call it healthy simply because it is traditional. What we need is evidence.

This is where I believe our discussion of batchoy needs to become more serious. Instead of asking only where batchoy originated, who invented it, which restaurant serves the best version, or which recipe is the most authentic, we should also ask what is actually contained in an ordinary serving. How much sodium does one bowl contain? How much protein? How much fat? How much saturated fat? How much energy? What micronutrients are present? How different are the nutritional values of batchoy prepared by different establishments? Does the amount of noodles, meat, liver, chicharon, broth, and seasoning substantially change its nutritional profile? What happens when the bowl is paired with rice, fried food, or sugary drinks? These questions may sound less romantic than the usual stories we tell about batchoy, but they are just as important if we are serious about understanding our food culture.

The issue of sodium, for example, deserves particular attention. The World Health Organization recommends that adults consume less than 5 grams of salt per day, equivalent to less than 2,000 milligrams of sodium. The Philippine Dietary Reference Intakes also provide reference values that can help us understand nutrient requirements in the Filipino context. These standards do not tell us that batchoy is automatically unhealthy. They give us a framework for understanding how one food fits into an entire day’s diet. This distinction matters because nutrition is rarely about one bowl of food in isolation. The question is not whether a person should be forbidden from eating batchoy. The more sensible question is how often it is eaten, how large the serving is, what ingredients are used, what else is eaten during the day, and whether the overall diet remains balanced.

And this is where the idea of moderation becomes more meaningful than the simplistic argument that a food is either “healthy” or “unhealthy.” I do not think we should tell Ilonggos to stop eating batchoy. That would be both unrealistic and culturally insensitive. Food is not simply a nutritional calculation. We eat because we are hungry, but we also eat because we remember, celebrate, socialize, mourn, welcome people, express affection, and construct identity. A bowl of batchoy can carry meanings that cannot be measured in grams or milligrams. But precisely because food carries so much meaning, we should learn to consume it with greater awareness. Loving batchoy does not require eating it every day. Protecting culinary heritage does not require ignoring nutritional concerns. We can love the bowl and still know when to put the spoon down.

This becomes even more significant when we consider Iloilo’s identity as a UNESCO Creative City of Gastronomy. I am proud that Iloilo has achieved this recognition because it gives greater visibility to our food traditions and acknowledges the creativity, history, labor, and cultural knowledge embedded in our cuisine. But the designation should also challenge us to think beyond food as spectacle. Gastronomy should not simply mean that our city has many delicious dishes that can be marketed to tourists. It should mean that we understand food as culture, livelihood, heritage, creativity, sustainability, and also public well-being. If we are serious about the idea of gastronomy, then we should be brave enough to ask whether the foods we promote are being studied from multiple perspectives, including nutrition and health. Otherwise, we risk reducing gastronomy to a sophisticated word for food tourism.

This is why I think health professionals need to become part of our culinary conversations. Nutritionists, dietitians, food scientists, public-health researchers, physicians, chefs, cultural workers, and food historians should not be working in separate worlds. They should be sitting at the same table. Imagine what could happen if a group of culinary experts worked with nutrition professionals to examine several versions of batchoy, document their ingredients, calculate their nutrient composition, compare serving sizes, and explore ways of improving nutritional quality without destroying the dish’s cultural character. Imagine if restaurants voluntarily provided basic nutritional information. Imagine if universities conducted laboratory-based studies on traditional Ilonggo dishes. Imagine if food festivals included conversations on healthy eating alongside culinary demonstrations. These would not diminish our food culture. They would demonstrate that our food culture is mature enough to examine itself.

I also think we need to be careful about the word “healthier.” There is a tendency today to modify traditional foods and immediately call the new version healthier, as if removing one ingredient automatically makes a dish nutritionally superior. That can also be problematic. A healthier version should not simply be a marketing slogan. It should be based on measurable nutritional improvements while maintaining as much of the cultural and sensory identity of the original food as possible. If we reduce sodium, for example, we should be able to demonstrate how much it has been reduced. If we alter the proportion of ingredients, we should know what nutritional changes result. If we introduce vegetables or modify the type of meat, we should understand what happens to the overall composition. Health should be demonstrated, not advertised.

There is also a larger issue here that goes beyond batchoy. Filipino food culture is full of dishes that are celebrated primarily through taste and tradition while nutritional discussions remain secondary. We proudly say that our food is comforting, flavorful, authentic, and part of who we are. But we do not always ask how contemporary lifestyles have changed the way we eat these foods. Portions have changed. Ingredients have changed. Commercial production has changed. Restaurants have changed. Our patterns of physical activity have changed. The frequency with which we eat outside the home has changed. Our food environment is not the same as it was decades ago. Therefore, preserving a dish should not mean pretending that the conditions under which people consume it have remained unchanged.

This is why I believe the Batchoy Festival should be more than a celebration of flavor. It could become a place for conversation. Alongside stalls selling different versions of batchoy, there could be nutrition information, public discussions, dietary consultations, demonstrations on portioning, and research presentations. Students could conduct surveys. Universities could present preliminary findings. Nutritionists could explain sodium and fat in accessible language. Chefs could demonstrate how traditional techniques can be retained while exploring nutritional improvements. Consumers could learn how to understand a bowl of batchoy without feeling guilty about eating it. Such an approach would make the festival more interesting, not less. It would transform the event from a purely commercial celebration into a space where culture, science, health, and community could meet.

Perhaps the most important thing we can do is stop treating cultural criticism as an attack on culture. I have always believed that loving our culture means being willing to examine it honestly. We do not protect Ilonggo culture by putting everything it produces beyond criticism. We protect it by understanding it deeply enough to allow it to evolve. Batchoy does not become less Ilonggo because we study its sodium content. It does not become less authentic because nutritionists examine its ingredients. Its history does not disappear because scientists analyze its composition. If anything, these efforts demonstrate that we care enough about the dish to understand every dimension of it.

And perhaps this is where our conversation about batchoy needs to become provocative. Why are we so comfortable asking whether batchoy is delicious but hesitant to ask whether the way we consume it is good for us? Why do we readily invest in food festivals, branding, tourism campaigns, and commercial promotion, but rarely hear about nutritional research on the same foods we are promoting? Why do we document the history of a dish but not its nutritional profile? Why do we celebrate our culinary heritage without equally discussing responsible consumption? These are not questions intended to shame anyone. They are questions about priorities. If food is central to our cultural identity, then food should also be central to our conversations about the health and future of our communities.

I do not want a future in which batchoy becomes a food that people are afraid to eat. Neither do I want a future in which we continue telling younger generations that our food is something they should simply consume without understanding. I want something more thoughtful. I want us to teach the next generation that loving a traditional food means knowing its history, appreciating the people who make it, understanding its ingredients, respecting appropriate portions, and recognizing its place within a balanced diet. I want our children to inherit not only the recipe but also the knowledge to make informed choices about it. That, to me, is a more meaningful form of cultural preservation.

So, while we celebrate batchoy today, perhaps we should allow ourselves to ask a question that is slightly less comfortable than “Ano ang pinakanamit nga batchoy?” Perhaps we should also ask: “Ano ang ginahatag naton sa aton lawas sa kada bowl nga aton ginakaon?” There is nothing disrespectful about asking that question. There is nothing anti-Ilonggo about wanting evidence. There is nothing wrong with admitting that a food we deeply love may have nutritional aspects that deserve moderation and further study. In fact, I would argue that this is what it means to take our food seriously.

Batchoy deserves our celebration, but it also deserves our curiosity. It deserves the attention of historians and chefs, but also of nutritionists, dietitians, food scientists, researchers, and public-health professionals. It deserves to be remembered, commercialized, innovated, and protected, but also critically examined. Because if Iloilo truly wants to be known not simply as a city that produces delicious food but as a genuine City of Gastronomy, then perhaps our responsibility is not merely to convince the world that our food tastes good. Our responsibility is to understand what our food means, what it contains, how it is changing, and how we can ensure that the culinary heritage we proudly pass on is not only delicious and culturally meaningful, but also approached with knowledge, responsibility, and care.

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Noel Galon de Leon is a professor at the University of the Philippines Visayas. His poems have been recognized by the Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature. He serves as Secretary and a member of the NCLA Executive Council of the NCCA.