I came to learn croissants, I left thinking about flour
I do not bake. I simply signed up for a croissant masterclass out of curiosity. I wanted to learn a little about Viennoiserie from an esteemed French chef, so I spent three hours at a prestigious culinary institution in Quezon City doing what curious hobbyists like me do best: observing, taking notes, and trying not to ask too many questions.
I never touched the dough; I simply watched. At one point, as the chef applied egg wash to a tray of croissants, moving the brush with practiced precision, the conversation drifted to the subject of flour. Almost casually, he remarked that one of the challenges of baking in the Philippines is the quality of our flour. He was not criticizing Filipino bakers. He was reflecting on the ingredient he had worked with in France, where baking traditions place enormous emphasis on the character of raw materials.
The comment was brief, but it stayed with me for the rest of the afternoon. Not because I suddenly became interested in baking, but because I started thinking about where our flour comes from.
Bread had always just been bread to me. Living in the Philippines, a country rich in crops, like cassava and sweet potato, I was surprised to learn how dependent we are on imported wheat. It turned out we mostly import the grain from the United States, Australia, and Canada before being milled locally. It had never crossed my mind that the flour behind our daily bread begins its journey thousands of kilometers away.
Yet, bread is deeply woven into Filipino life. We eat pandesal for breakfast. We have local bakeries in every community. Wheat may not be native to our lands, but we have become so dependent on it that we fail to notice where it comes from. And the vulnerability it creates is price instability and supply shortages, especially in times of geopolitical crisis and shipping disruptions.
Another problem here is the presence of counterfeit flour. There was a case in 2023 where authorities discovered fake flour being sold under a trusted brand. This only tells us how our complacency and lack of awareness became our vulnerability, especially for a product that we consume on a day-to-day basis.
What’s more, the imported wheat and flour may be produced under regulatory conditions that differ from the Philippines. Some countries allow bleaching agents such as benzoyl peroxide to improve the appearance of the flour. Some permit dough improvers, such as potassium bromate, which is classified as a possible carcinogen. Fortunately in the Philippines, we have already banned potassium bromate for use in bread-making in 1995.
It also raises a quieter question about local alternatives. Cassava, sweet potato, rice, and coconut flour cannot fully replace wheat, especially in laminated doughs, like croissants, that depend on gluten development. However, these local ingredients can be used in products such as cakes, cookies, muffins, and traditional Filipino delicacies. This, at least, reduces our reliance on imported wheat while providing new opportunities for Filipino farmers and food innovators. It could also make our food system stronger and more resistant to disruptions.
I attended the masterclass expecting to learn how croissants are made. Instead, I left wondering how our nation that eats bread every day became so dependent on a grain it cannot grow, and so unaware of what might be in the flour it trusts.
Teresa May Bandiola,
