Soft, Tender Pandesal Pull-Apart Bread Is My Take on the Filipino Classic (2024)

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• Breads

published Jun 18, 2022

Filipino pandesal baked in a cast iron skillet

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Pandesal (sometimes spelled pan de sal) is the most loved, most popular bread in the Philippines. It literally translates into “bread of salt.” No one really knows why it’s called that since the first time “pan de sal” was used in the Philippines, as in Spain, was as a measure for salt. There is pan de sal (a small lump of salt as big as a bread bun) and the larger torta de sal (a cake of salt that was flat and resembling a cake in size). Could be a case of the chicken or the egg — or, shall we say, the bread or the salt? Either way, the French have baguette, Italians have ciabatta, and Filipinos have pandesal.

A Brief History of Pandesal

Wheat-based baked goods were not a thing in pre-colonial Philippines. It wasn’t until the age of exploration and colonization in the 1500s that the knowledge and ingredients of bread-baking made their way into our cuisine via the Portuguese explorers, who pre-dated the Spanish explorers by at least a decade.

Filipino bread production didn’t really take off until the age of industrialization and the changing of colonizers from Spain to America, in 1898. During the American colonial era in the Philippines, the influx of industrialized goods —from canned milk to milled flour — became more accessible. The cheaper American flour resulted in softer bread and, along with the modernization of gas-powered stoves and ovens, gave birth to pandesal.

The first mention of pan de sal with a description is around 1911 in a home economics teachers’ manual, although it does not mention it tasting salty or having salt. It was always just pan, which translates to bread.

Pandesal is now ubiquitous all over the 7,107 island-archipelago nation. No mornings nor merienda (snack time) are complete without it. It’s the bread for all dining occasions. Mornings are usually spent scouring the local panaderia (bakeries) for the freshest pandesal from the pugon, although there has been a decline in pugon bakeries due to the nationwide ban on using mangrove trees for fuel and a shift toward gas-fueled stoves.

Pandesal Today

Living in Iloilo City, on a different island from Manila, we still had a couple of pugon bakeries. It was a sought-after treat, as the bakeries would usually sell out by mid-morning. We used to line up as early as 5:30 a.m. to just grab a bag (or two) to eat with our almusal (breakfast).

There are still panaderias that make pandesal traditionally — by hand, cut with a wooden knife, dusted with breadcrumbs, and baked in a pugon. The typical pandesal is small and oval-shaped with narrow, pointed leaf-like edges on the top that differentiate it from any other roll.

In panaderias, the traditions and techniques are learned from the maestro panadero (master breadmaker) and passed down from one baker to another. The title maestro panadero isn’t given through certificates or culinary school but through years of apprenticeship and mastery of bread.

The maestro makes pandesal as he learned from the maestro before him. Old recipes utilize the sponge and dough method: the sponge (starter dough) is made first, then mixed with the second set of ingredients to form the dough. To develop its structure and flavor, it is fermented for several hours on a wooden trough, known as a bangka, which means boat or canoe.

When the dough is ready, it’s formed into logs, called bastones, which is Spanish for cane or walking stick. The bastones are then rolled in breadcrumbs, which are often made from toasted older bread. The dough is cut into smaller pieces using a wooden cutter that gives each pandesal its distinct leaf-shaped mark.

This mark gives the traditional pandesal its distinct shape, but is not required. A lot of the modern pandesal iterations are rounded, more like the Mexican bolillos. This specific technique is known only within the older generation of maestro panaderos, which we fear is a dying breed and will then be lost with them.

Pandesal at My House

Throughout my childhood, pandesal was a staple in our house. We had it for breakfast, paired with sunny-side-up eggs or used to make breakfast sandwiches. At merienda the rolls were stuffed with ice cream from the sorbetero, or paired with Tang orange juice. And for lunch, pandesal would be eaten with pancit or dipped in soups. There’s rarely a meal that doesn’t involve pandesal.

My lola always had pandesal to dip in her morning coffee. I learned to dip all my baked goods in coffee from her. There’s a Filipino saying “Walang matigas na pan de sal sa mainit na kape,” meaning “There’s no hard bread in hot coffee.”

This recipe is one that my lola taught me with an homage to the original iteration. She passed away about five years ago but I was able to spend some time with her in the kitchen, learning how to make her famous pandesal.This recipe is quite similar to Parker House rolls, but with a heartier crust on the bottom (similar to the pan de suelo).

By using a sponge as the base of this pandesal and baking the rolls in a cast iron pan to encourage a crust to form, my aim was to create a recipe that reflects the care and craftsmanship that the maestro panaderos had in order to preserve some culinary tradition, even on a small scale.

To quote the late Doreen Fernandez in her book Palayok: Pandesal “is our basic tinapay, our ‘bread of salt,’ whether putok or pang-araw-araw (the daily bread). It is the bread of our history, at the core of our culture, at the heart of our tastes. It is brown and plain like the Filipino, good by itself or alone, crisp on the outside and soft on the inside. It is good, basic and strong — just the way we are, and would like the nation to be.”

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