Manila (CNN Philippines Life) — I grew up with the idea that Filipino food always came second. It was by no means my parents’ fault, nor was it anyone else’s. It was because when we went out to dine, we did not go to a Filipino restaurant — as far as I knew, Filipino food was reserved only for the home, and as far as I knew, it never ventured beyond the comforts of the dinner table. I, slowly and subconsciously, deemed Filipino food as just Filipino food. I was a very ignorant child.

Our food, and we as a people, have always lived in the shadow of something else. We’ve been subjugated to centuries of colonization, years of not being able to stand firm, years of being thrown along the narrative of them. History has shown us calling pureblood Filipinos indios — the dirt on our feet. And when celebrations were held, it was a spectacle of callos, paella, and estofado, meats covered in flavor, purity masked. It was more complicated, more process-laden. It was more sophisticated. For so long we’d been told that we were dirt. Sometimes we still believe it.

This thread continued well into the cusp of modernity. Restaurants that lined boulevards and malls were not Filipino, but rather international fare. You would find Filipino food on the streets, in carinderias and turo-turos. Filipino food was not haute cuisine; it was not the taste of the upper class. Filipino food equated to the meals of our childhood, but never the food at our birthday parties — occasions reserved for pizza and fried chicken. For the longest time Filipino food was held in the quietude of the household. Loved, but never shared.

Filipino food was not haute cuisine; it was not the taste of the upper class. Filipino food equated to the meals of our childhood, but never the food at our birthday parties — occasions reserved for pizza and fried chicken.

In an essay for the food magazine Lucky Peach, Margarita Fores, recently crowned Asia’s Best Female Chef, wrote, “Filipino people sometimes don’t realize the value of their own food. Our own cooks haven’t always realized that our food was something they could share — something other people would be curious to try.” However, she noted that it is changing: People are becoming more willing to push our cuisine, more willing to share our bountiful food.

It’s surprising that this realization has been belated by a few hundred years, and that the movement of Filipino food has only recently begun, after Anthony Bourdain proclaimed that the lechon was the best piece of pork he had ever tasted, Filipino restaurants sprouted in the U.S., and we were reassured by foreigners that our food was good.

But we don’t need their reassurance — we know our food is good.

I realized it when I read the writer Doreen Fernandez’s essays in “Sarap,” “Tikim,” or “Palayok,” which provide a point of view that saw local dishes as very complex, wonderful, and undeniably festive. Or when I learned about the history of our cuisine during the Spanish era in Felice Prudente Sta. Maria’s book, “The Governor-general’s Kitchen,” which richly detailed how it came to be. Then there were the virtual journeys I took with Claude Tayag around the Philippines in “Food Tour,” where each story becomes deeper and more poignant with each read.

After all this theory came firsthand experiences that allowed me to develop views of my own. I found evidence in seeing a fisherman take freshly caught fish in Virac, Catanduanes and turn it into the simplest, yet tartest and brightest cocido. It was in the first bite of buro right next to the rice fields over the fresh hito that had been breathing mere hours before.

Taking it all in, I slowly realized that our food is much more beautiful than I had ever perceived it to be.

Because even though we crave for Southern fried chicken or a bowl of ramen from time to time, we often grow tired of them. But we will never tire of the flavor of our mother’s adobo dumped on a mound of steaming rice, nor will we not crave for inihaw na panga, or a bowl of bulalo.

Even though we crave for Southern fried chicken or a bowl of ramen from time to time, we often grow tired of them. But we will never tire of the flavor of our mother’s adobo dumped on a mound of steaming rice, nor will we not crave for inihaw na panga, or a bowl of bulalo.

Because lechon is the best thing on the face of this planet, as it reminds us of our neighborhood piyesta with colorful banderitas waving in the afternoon wind as people line up to get a taste of the pig. Because there’s nothing like grilling fish by the beach at night, with fire as the solitary light in the blanket of darkness — the skin of the tilapia blackened and a bit burnt because the fire was too hot, but it still tastes so good when doused in toyo, kalamansi and siling labuyo, unceremoniously finished with a swig of San Miguel Pale Pilsen. Because eating bagnet is one of the most euphoric experiences ever, especially if you eat in the central square of Vigan or smack dab in the local market.

It’s realizing that sinigang is the most fulfilling meal when you are left unguarded, wet from rain, shivering from a full day of work — the tender cuts of pork are in your mouth and the soft fat is warming to your tongue, the kangkong is bursting with overwhelming vitality, the broth cuts the fat, simultaneously enlivening and comforting. It’s the comfort of bibingka and puto bumbong after simbang gabi, when the sun is just breaching the clouds, and the December breeze is hitting your face. It’s realizing that eating with your hands — rice sticking to your fingers, sarsa adorning your mouth — is the best way to enjoy food, because you feel it, you experience it so intimately.

It’s realizing that Filipino food is beautiful every day, and that we will never tire of crispy pata, pinakbet, or sisig because of their unique flavors and textures. It’s realizing that our food has always had purpose, and that our sabaw is the best way to cool down or warm up because it punches and is so alive in your mouth. That each piece of food has a rich story, poignant and purposeful in its inception.

Because for so long, as Fernandez said, it has been “Filipino food lang,” but now it is at the cusp of forever changing. We’re at the threshold of a revolution, of making Filipino food better than it ever has been. Because food is always changing and always growing, but never without its roots. Before anything else, we must understand Filipino food for what is and what it was. We must recognize its story, its meaning — its heart. Because before we can prove to the world that it is not just Filipino food, we must first realize it ourselves.