The Craving Hits Different When It’s Wet
There’s something about broth that’s been simmering for 12 hours, a little spicy, a little herbal, wafting through the air while outside, the wind beats against the windows. Inside? You’re surrounded by the hiss of steam, the clink of chopsticks, and the sound of someone saying, “Isa pa nga.”
You don’t crave salad when the skies turn grey.
You crave hot, rich, beefy comfort.
Hotpot during tag-ulan isn’t just a meal. It’s therapy with a side of brisket.
Soup That Means Something
Filipinos know soup. We grew up on it. Bulalo in Batangas. Sinigang sa bayabas. Tinola on Sundays. Soup, for us, has always meant home.
But there’s something different about hotpot in Manila. It’s not inherited. It’s chosen. And somehow that makes it feel new again — like we’re discovering comfort food on our own terms.
Satay broth that sticks to the spoon like peanut sauce with a grudge.
Sibut soup, dark and earthy, tasting like something your lola would make if she trained in Chinese medicine.
And of course, clear broth — clean, simple, quietly powerful.
All of them boiling in the middle of a table where no one touches their phones because they’re too busy feeding each other.
What Rainy Days Are For
I’ve eaten hotpot in Beijing, Chengdu, even in a strip mall in Queens. But here — in the middle of a rain-drenched Manila night — it lands different.
Maybe it’s the ox tongue, sliced thin and shivering in the broth like it’s afraid to overcook.
Maybe it’s the fat beef, curled into rosettes that melt if you so much as look at them.
Maybe it’s the barkada, all arguing over sauce combinations and who’s hogging the soup ladle.
Whatever it is, hotpot in the Philippines during tag-ulan just makes sense.
Because when the sky won’t stop crying, you eat something that makes you feel warm again.
It’s Not Fancy. That’s the Point.
You don’t need candles. You don’t need linen napkins. You need heat. You need spice. You need a bowl that fogs up your glasses and makes you say, “Lapit ka pa.”
And maybe that’s why, year after year, Filipinos are choosing hotpot over anything else when the rain rolls in. It’s not just soup. It’s survival with flavor.
So next time the streets flood and the clouds sit heavy, don’t reach for delivery.
Reach for your friends.
Get to a pot.
And let it boil.
Because if you’re in the Philippines during tag-ulan, there’s only one real forecast that matters:
Unli broth ahead.
