Chef Nicole Ponseca is elevating Filipino cuisine to new heights
The chef and restauranteur treats creating dishes like an art, balancing tradition and innovation
Nicole Ponseca revolutionized Filipino food in New York City with her restaurants Maharlika and Jeepney, which are now closed, though the latter has re-opened in Miami.
Courtesy of Nicole Ponseca
Words by Kehinde Adepetun
Nicole Ponseca never envisioned herself as a cultural ambassador, yet her journey from advertising executive to restaurateur is transforming the way Filipino cuisine is perceived in the United States. For her, the kitchen is not just a place for cooking, it’s a battleground, marketplace and theater. Through her critically acclaimed restaurants Maharlika and Jeepney, which revolutionized Filipino food in New York City before closing in 2019 and 2021 respectively, Nicole has made a lasting impact. Now operating a Jeepney stall in Miami's 1-800-Lucky food hall—a vibrant hub of Asian-inspired eateries—and with her acclaimed cookbook, she continues to champion Filipino food on the global stage.
Ponseca has never undergone formal training in the culinary arts, but her journey illustrates a remarkable rise through the ranks. “I learned skills and techniques from my father in the kitchen, but I also bring 20 years of experience in the restaurant industry—starting as a dishwasher, advancing to bartender, and eventually becoming an owner. Along the way, I have cultivated invaluable habits,” she reflects.
Deftly balancing preserving Filipino culinary traditions with translating them for a diverse, dining audience Ponseca explains, “I strike an intentional balance between being both an artist and a businessperson, I also have a strong sense of what will resonate with guests, and at its core, it comes down to one thing: The dish must taste good. But as an artist, I see myself as a curator of interpretation.” This is achieved, she notes, through understanding the rich diversity of Filipino food, from its regional variations to its unique ingredients and techniques, and then channeling her creativity to craft dishes that connect with her guests.
Highlighting and celebrating her culture
With Filipino food now experiencing a 50 percent increase in interest in the United States, according to the Taste Wise Trend Report, the cuisine is steadily gaining recognition within the American dining scene. “I think Filipino food is gaining momentum, but it still has a long way to go,” Ponseca says. While it has garnered positive attention from chefs and the press, she believes there's still much more work to be done. “Dishes like sisig and lumpia are becoming more familiar, but a deeper appreciation will emerge through the efforts of entrepreneurs, chefs, restaurants, and the media,” she continues, further emphasizing the current state of Filipino cuisine in the United States and noting, “Filipino restaurants make up less than one percent of the industry, despite Filipinos being the second-fastest growing Asian group in the U.S. Addressing this imbalance requires more voices contributing to the dialogue.”
Reflecting on her journey, Ponseca describes how she saw Filipino cuisine relegated to the margins, “I realized that Filipino food, for much of my childhood, was misunderstood or overlooked. It lacked the representation and recognition it deserved,” she explains. “Growing up, dishes like balut or the practice of eating with our hands were sources of mockery among my peers. I vividly recall how my friends would make fun of my father for eating with his hands, a custom so intrinsic to our culture. In many ways, I felt a responsibility to reframe these practices, to show them in a new light.”
That mission materialized with the opening of her restaurant, Jeepney, which became the first in the United States to embrace and celebrate the Filipino practice of eating with our hands—a practice known as kamayan. By romanticizing it and elevating the experience, Ponseca has reimagined what eating with one’s hands could be.
Overcoming challenges
When discussing barriers specific to Asian American chefs, she says there are biases and socioeconomic barriers, of course, but there is plenty of opportunity. The main obstacles are access to capital and limiting self-belief. It’s not that there’s an inherent stigma or restriction in pursuing their aspirations, but it can be difficult to scale a business and secure the necessary financial support. But Ponseca says this is changing.
While the broader world may view Filipino cuisine through a single lens, the reality is far more nuanced. “Interestingly, some of the challenges in representing Filipino cuisine can stem from within our own community. There’s a level of critique that comes from our culture itself,” Ponseca says, adding that Filipino food can be hyper regional, and if a dish doesn’t align with the taste profile of someone’s particular region, it may be criticized or even dismissed. This doesn’t mean the food isn’t good—nor does it mean it’s not authentically Filipino. It simply reflects the diversity of the cuisine, she says, and how it varies from one region to another. The biggest challenge Ponseca encounters is ensuring that all aspects of Filipino food have a voice, and that every dish is embraced, even within her own community.
For a long time, she says, social currency has been defined by music, sports, and fashion—things that are often influenced by factors such as gender and socioeconomic status, which can determine a person’s access to these forms of cultural capital. But food, unlike these other elements, is the most democratic of all currencies. “If you can eat, you can have an opinion,” Ponseca notes. This universality is what makes food a powerful tool for cultural diplomacy, a concept that she’s embraced in her mission to place Filipino food on the global map and secure representation for her culture. "If I could introduce more Filipino cuisine to people, it could spark curiosity, not just about the food itself, but about us as a people, our culture, and perhaps even inspire travel to the Philippines," she explains. "For Filipinos, food served as a gateway to reconnecting with their heritage, tracing their regional roots, and fostering a deeper curiosity about their own identity." In this way, food becomes more than nourishment—it transforms into both a cultural ambassador and a means of social exchange, bridging divides and expanding understanding.
Ponseca explains that sourcing authentic, high-quality Filipino ingredients can be a significant challenge, particularly depending on where you live in the United States. “There are hubs with large Filipino communities, such as Los Angeles, San Francisco, San Diego, Seattle, Washington, and Oregon, and on the East Coast, New York and New Jersey,” she says. “But if you notice, those are the coastal cities, with the exception of Chicago. Filipino food is hard to find, and even in a metropolitan city like Miami, it’s not as prevalent.” She notes that where there is a large Filipino population, there is often a greater selection of Filipino food.
Ponseca also emphasizes the importance of building relationships with suppliers and small business owners, saying she supports them so they can order more, meet minimums, and together they can increase the demand for Filipino food. She also acknowledges that the conversation around sustainability and ethics in Filipino food is still developing and they are on the precipice of understanding what that means for the cuisine.
“In the next decade, I envision Filipino cuisine becoming a staple in the American food scene, much like Thai, Japanese, or Korean cuisine,” Ponseca predicts. “That growth will be driven by chefs and entrepreneurs. While there’s always going to be a hungry audience, what we need more of are business-minded individuals and innovators who can create and scale Filipino food ventures. This relationship between supply and demand will be key to its success.”
Embracing her differences
Her cookbook, I Am a Filipino, has been widely acclaimed and was a 2019 finalist for Best International Cookbook by the James Beard Foundation. Reflecting on the personal story behind her work, Ponseca shares a deeply intimate story, “It was very clear to me that my father used food to connect me to him and to the Philippines. His English wasn’t very good, and my Filipino was even worse, but he used dishes to bridge that gap. He’d share stories in his broken English about buying roasted chicken on the streets or about how rice was sold. He’d tell me, ‘You say five cents, ten cents—that’s how you buy rice in the Philippines.’ Through those stories, I felt closer to him and to my cultural roots.”
When Ponseca was young, she served herself food without checking if her family wanted some first. Her father, though not angry, seemed deeply saddened by this. He explained to her that in Filipino culture, it’s important to ensure everyone is served before you help yourself. This moment left a lasting impact on her, teaching her the values of community and generosity, which ultimately influenced her approach to writing the cookbook.
Ponseca also reflected on a significant cultural revelation she had while working on the book: “I realized my story had to be authentic and specific, as this adds depth and value. My curiosity about Filipino cuisine enriched my writing, focusing on the history and identity behind the dishes. Through this lens, I came to a deeper understanding that to be Filipino is to be truly multicultural.”
Transitioning from the corporate world to becoming a chef and restaurateur has profoundly reshaped Ponseca’s understanding of leadership, particularly as a woman of color. “First of all, when you're the only person of color in a room, you can’t help but feel different. Your food is different, your relationship with your culture is different, and your relationship with America can feel different,” she says. “Just by your physical appearance, you are automatically marked as ‘different.’” When she was younger, all Ponseca wanted was to blend in, to be like everyone else—because being different was scary.
“Becoming a restaurateur allowed me to embrace my authentic self. The restaurant, my mission, and my core values demanded that I lean into what made me unique rather than trying to conform,” she says. “My success stemmed from showcasing my differences rather than hiding them. On a deeper level, I’ve learned to trust my instincts and value my own opinions without dismissing them.”
Published on January 8, 2025
Words by Kehinde Adepetun
Kehinde Adepetun is a writer, researcher, and cultural storyteller with a focus on identity and representation. Her work has appeared in publications like Tagg Magazine, Black Ballad, and Canvas 8, where she explores themes ranging from food and fashion to social justice and cultural insights. When not writing, Kehinde enjoys reading thrillers.