The Amalgam Pantry: Ube
Ube is not taro, taro is not ube, and not every purple tuber is ube.
Ube (pronounced OO-beh) is the much-beloved purple-fleshed tuber cultivated in the Philippines and many other parts of Southeast Asia. I grew up eating ube in dessert form, usually in the form of a jam we call ube halaya, where mashed ube is cooked with butter, sugar, evaporated milk, condensed milk, and salt until it resembles a creamy, thick, and spreadable jam.
I cannot recall where I first started to notice ube make the upper ranks in Western food trends, but I feel like the ube train is here to stay, unlike charcoal-infused everything—remember those? I had all but given up on having ube again after my family and I immigrated to Canada. When we found it in some Filipino food stores back in the mid-to-late 90’s—in halaya form or even in ice cream form—they were priced far too high for our food budget at that time as new immigrants.
When I was in high school, during a free period, we hopped the Spadina streetcar to Chinatown for some snacks and bootleg anime tapes. Inside one of the Chinese-run malls where I got my fave bootlegs and anime mags, I was first introduced to boba tea (bubble tea) by my Korean and Vietnamese friends. The many choices in flavours were overwhelming, but my friend told me that for most people new to boba, they start with the taro flavour. So I ordered taro. It was purple! Cool! Upon first tasting that milky, purple liquid, I exclaimed, “OMG! This is like ube!” Up until that point, no ube-flavoured anything has touched my lips since… well… my time in the Philippines. I was immediately transported back to my motherland.
For the longest time, I thought taro was the common name for ube, because every boba stand named their purple drink that tasted very much like ube ‘taro’. I thought this for years and years until I saw a photograph of a taro root crop, and like the protagonist in Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, my eyes were opened, and I was like, “Hey, wait a second… TARO IS NOT UBE! Taro is gabi!”
Give me a bit of a break, ok? Wikipedia was not a thing in that day and age, and having the internet was still very much a luxury back in the early 2000’s. Back then, we did not go walking around with access to the information superhighway in our pockets. I came across that photograph of a taro purely by chance. (My god, my age is really showing here, isn’t it?)
We use taro (gabi) in soups like sinigang (pronounced SEE-nee-gahng; it’s like the Filipino tom yum). Gabi is used primarily in savoury applications, and for me, as someone who was born and grew up in the Philippines, there is nothing dessert-y about taro at all. Taro is super lush and creamy when mashed, with just the slightest mucilaginous (aka slimy) mouthfeel—similar to what you get when you eat okra. It sounds unappetizing to the indoctrinated, but mashed gabi on rice with tonnes of sinigang broth, braised vegetables, and fall-off-the-bone pork was one of my favourite meals back then.
Upon realizing that boba spots are essentially misleading some people into thinking taro is the same as ube, I was basically annoyed. I went on a mission to correct people when they say taro is ube. A deeper dive led to my discovering that sure, taro powder is most certainly used in boba, but the taro powder is oftentimes enhanced with a bit of purple food colouring, artificial flavourings, and sweeteners. These flavourings and sweeteners really lit up the ube part of my culinary memory, and the purple colour of the drink really threw me off, so of course, I, too, thought taro was ube!
There is a distinct difference between taro and ube when it comes to flavour and texture. Taro is creamier, with a balanced nuttiness and earthiness when cooked. In striking contrast, cooked ube sort of resembles the texture of russet potatoes; they have a slightly higher moisture and lower starch content compared to the creamy taro. They do, however, have a subtle sweetness—a combination of vanilla, pandan, and pistachio. And let’s talk about the key difference here: their colour! Cut into a taro and you will see a mostly white flesh with some purple specks; cut into an ube, and you will see purple.
It is difficult to find fresh ube here in Canada, but you can find ube in frozen form at your local Asian or Filipino grocery stores. Frozen ube is usually combined with extra water, so before making any dessert with them, defrost them fully, then run the ube through a fine sieve to get rid of any excess water before making halaya or ice cream out of them. You can also find ube in powdered form; you can reconstitute the powder with coconut milk or water to make halaya.
Now, let’s tackle some purple tubers that you might come across in grocery stores like Whole Foods, namely the Stokes Purple.
Scientifically speaking, ube belongs to the species of tubers under Dioscorea alata, and is part of the Dioscoreaceae family. The best-known member of this particular family is the yam. Stokes Purple, however, is part of the Convolvulaceae family, where the sweet potato is a member. These scientific classifications illustrate that yams and sweet potatoes are not interchangeable; yams are not sweet potatoes, sweet potatoes are not yams, meaning, yes, they are two different vegetables. The difference between the two, then, lies in the scientific fact that ube is a type of yam, and Stokes Purple is a type of sweet potato.
Admittedly, I have used both interchangeably. Because fresh ube is super difficult to find in this part of the world, and if I am out of the frozen kind and cannot make it to my favourite Asian grocers, I simply visit our local Whole Foods for a couple of Stokes Purples and make ube desserts out of that. The flavours between the two are somewhat similar, with one key difference: ube is far more subtle in its vanilla and pistachio undertones, while the Stokes Purple has a distinctly more pronounced sweetness—a combination of vanilla and molasses—with just a hint of spice—not heat, mind you, but spice—think, chai. There is also a distinct difference between the two textures. Ube, like I mentioned earlier in this article, is starchy with a good amount of moisture content, whereas the Stokes Purple’s texture is creamier, heavier, and more dense than ube, with very little moisture content. I have made ube desserts out of both, but whenever I make, say, a pie or a tart out of Stokes Purple, I call it an “ube” pie (imagine me making the “”-gesture with my fingers too).
One last thing: while it is highly unlikely fresh ube is about to make the rounds at your local green grocers anytime soon, resist the urge to call any purple tuber ube until you know for sure that the tuber before you is part of the Dioscoreaceae family. Ube has a rough, tree bark-like skin; if you spot one of these bark-like tubers in your local Filipino food grocers, and the flesh inside is purple, well hot damn, that would be one lucky find. I still squeal when I see fresh kalamansi in my local Filipino grocers; imagine how I would react if I ever come across fresh ube in this part of the world. I will just have to wait until we vacation in the Philippines next to see the real thing, I imagine, but until then, at least I have access to the frozen stuff… and the Stokes Purple sweet potato.
Update (January 18, 2024): My friend and Filipino-food expert Rezel Kealoha did a fascinating deep-dive into the history of ube halaya and made homemade ube halaya out of her homegrown ube. Read through and learn! She also includes some more resources at the end of her post about the Philippines’ most beloved tuber. Give her a follow too!