The Global Carinderia — Exploring the Filipino diaspora through the food we share

Five stories of perseverance from Filipino restaurateurs in Italy, the UK, Iceland and Hungary during the coronavirus pandemic.

No matter what you order at Romulo Café in London, your meal will start with pandesal.

Rowena Bech still remembers the salmon factory.

Little Manila Grill & Resto operates with some of the hush of a speakeasy.

There are no Filipino grocery stores in Tbilisi, so Chef Don Palmero has to improvise.

The hotel has become "a platform for artists, cyclists, passionate people generally," Marvin said.

At Hotel am Brillantengrund in Vienna, Chef Frezida Mangalino makes her seitan in-house.

"Hungarians don’t know what this is," said Esther, the teenage barista of Barako Kávéház in Budapest, when I asked her for a halo-halo.

If you happen to crave ube ice cream in Budapest, you'll find it at Barako Kávéház, a single-origin coffeeshop run by two Filipino expats.

"Cabalen," or compatriot, becomes especially meaningful when you're living in one of the thinnest-spread corners of the diaspora.

It's 1200 Icelandic kronur for halo-halo mix ready to be topped with ice — one ingredient in no short supply in this country.

The oldest Filipino restaurant in Iceland does not have a Filipino name.

If Iceland were one of the Philippines’ islands, sinigang sa rhubarb would be a familiar variation.

Coming soon!