In the Philippines, a nation where food is both a love language and a cultural cornerstone, the idea of crowning one region as the “Culinary Capital” sounds like a recipe for celebration. So when the Senate pushed forward a bill to declare Pampanga, a province already famed for its sisig and tocino, as the country’s gastronomic crown jewel, it seemed like a no-brainer. Senate Bill No. 2797 and House Bill No. 10634 sailed through the legislative process—passed by the Senate on December 9, 2024, and adopted by the House on January 15, 2025—before landing on President Ferdinand Marcos Jr.’s desk. But on March 18, 2025, Marcos vetoed the bill. So what went wrong?

According to Ige Ramos, independent food scholar, Ugnayan Center for Filipino Gastronomy, the answer lies not just in Pampanga’s culinary prowess but in the simmering tensions—cultural, legal, and economic—that bubbled up around the proposal. This wasn’t just about food; it was about identity, equity, and the perils of putting a single region on a pedestal in a country as deliciously diverse as the Philippines.

Kampapangan sisig at Hilton Manila | Photo: Hilton Manila

The Case for Pampanga

Pampanga’s culinary credentials are undeniable. The province has long been a beacon of flavor, its kitchens churning out dishes that blend indigenous roots with Spanish influences and a dash of Kapampangan ingenuity. Think sizzling sisig, a symphony of pork and spice that’s become a national icon, or the rich, slow-cooked stews like kare-kare that showcase the province’s mastery of comfort food. “Pampanga is no longer a budding culinary destination,” writes food historian Ige Ramos in his analysis of the bill. “The province is already well-known across the country and abroad as a major food destination.”

The bill itself was lean—four provisions total. It declared Pampanga the “Culinary Capital of the Philippines” in recognition of its “contribution to the dynamic and rich culinary history of the country,” tasked the Department of Tourism with promoting it, included a vague repealing clause, and set an effectivity date. Simple, right? Proponents argued it would boost tourism and cement Pampanga’s status as a gastronomic hub. After all, the Kapampangans are passionate about their food—Ramos recounts delivering a paper at a conference in Pampanga, half-expecting a mob for critiquing their cuisine, only to find spirited debate instead.

The veto heard ‘round the archipelago

But President Marcos wasn’t convinced. In his veto message, he acknowledged Pampanga’s culinary legacy but pointed to a bigger picture. “While I recognize the province’s rich contribution to our nation’s culinary heritage, I am constrained to veto the measure,” Marcos said, as reported in ABS-CBN. “The designation of a single province as the ‘Culinary Capital’ risks overshadowing the equally vibrant and diverse culinary traditions across the Philippines.”

He added that the bill’s intent—boosting tourism and cultural pride—could be achieved without legislation. “The promotion of Pampanga’s cuisine can be effectively pursued through existing programs of the Department of Tourism and local government initiatives, without the need for a statutory declaration,” he added. Translation: Pampanga’s already got the spotlight—why legislate what’s already working?

Anthony Bourdain at Mila's Kambingan in Pampanga with Kapampangan chef Claude Tayag | Photo: Claude Tayag on Facebook

A recipe for controversy

Marcos’s veto echoed concerns raised by critics like Ramos, who dissected the bill with surgical precision in his paper “What are the legislative and legal implications if Pampanga is declared the culinary capital of the Philippines?” For Ramos, the proposal was less a celebration and more a Pandora’s box of unintended consequences. “Designating Pampanga as the culinary capital may cause resentment or feelings of exclusion among other regions,” he writes, pointing to culinary powerhouses like Bicol, with its fiery laing, or Cebu, home to the succulent lechon. Why should one province get the crown when the Philippines is a smorgasbord of flavors from Aparri to Zamboanga?

Cebu-style lechon | Photo: Abub's Cebuana Lechon on Facebook

Then there’s the diversity dilemma. Ramos warns that spotlighting Pampanga could homogenize the country’s food culture, sidelining lesser-known traditions for the sake of a marketable narrative. “Focusing solely on Kapampangan cuisine risks overshadowing the Philippines’ rich culinary diversity,” he notes. Imagine a tourist skipping Iloilo’s batchoy because Pampanga’s the “official” food mecca—sounds like a loss for everyone.

Legally, the bill’s vagueness raised red flags. That repealing clause? It promised to override any conflicting laws but didn’t name names, leaving a mess of ambiguity. Could it clash with something like Republic Act No. 10066, the National Cultural Heritage Act, or Presidential Proclamation No. 469, which declares April as Filipino Food Month? Ramos asks: “We have so many laws governing food consumption and production. Do you mean that if those laws are not inconsistent with this clause, they will be repealed?” It’s a legal can of worms no one seemed ready to open.

And don’t forget the money. Tasking the Department of Tourism with promoting Pampanga could mean funneling funds away from other regions, creating an economic imbalance. “Allocating a significant portion of the budget to promote Pampangan cuisine could put a strain on government resources,” Ramos cautions. Overcrowding and environmental strain from a tourism boom were also on the table—sustainability isn’t just a buzzword when you’re talking about a province feeding the masses.

Bale Dutung, a culinary landmark in the heart of Pampanga | Photo: Bale Dutung on Facebook

Pampanga doesn’t need a title—it needs a plan

Here’s the kicker: Pampanga might not even need this. Ramos argues the province’s culinary cred is already rock-solid—no legislation required. “They do not have anything to prove to the world,” he writes. Instead of a title, he suggests a holistic approach: keep traditional foods thriving, make ingredients accessible, support farmers, and prioritize health and food security. “Most 21st-century food capitals take a more holistic approach to framing and promoting their cuisine,” he says. Think less about a crown and more about a legacy.

The President seemed to agree. “Pampanga’s culinary heritage thrives through the passion of its people and the excellence of its cuisine,” he said in his veto message. “It does not require legislative fiat to shine.” For him, the bill was a solution in search of a problem.

The billboard of Aling Lucing Sisig, an icon in Pampanga | Photo: Aling Lucing Sisig on Facebook

The bigger plate

The veto doesn’t kill Pampanga’s culinary star—it just shifts the conversation. Maybe the Philippines doesn’t need a single capital but a constellation of them, each region shining for its own flavors. Ramos puts it best: “In a country as rich and diverse as ours, even designating one region as a culinary capital is contentious and not acceptable.”

So, what’s next? Pampanga will keep cooking, no doubt—its kitchens don’t need a law to sizzle. But the debate has plated up a bigger question for the nation: How do you celebrate one flavor without drowning out the rest? For now, Marcos has sent the bill back to the kitchen. And maybe that’s where it belongs—because in the Philippines, every region’s got a seat at the table.