Finding a Niche for Bangus
What did it take to move 40-foot container loads of milkfish and transform them into one of the best-selling products across Asian supermarkets in the United States? What did it take to turn tinapang bangus—once a specialty delicacy that many Filipinos could barely afford back home—into a daily staple on Filipino American dining tables? And finally, what did it take to convince second- and third-generation Filipino Americans to regularly eat a notoriously bony fish?
During the 1970s, commercial milkfish production in the Philippines suffered from severe environmental challenges brought on by urban sprawl. Sewage and industrial runoff feeding into the fishponds of Bulacan, Malabon, and Laguna degraded the water quality, severely affecting the habitat and the fish itself. A marketing disaster soon followed when a major shipment bound for the U.S. arrived tasting of mud—the infamous lasang gilik. The incident stigmatized Philippine milkfish, allowing Taiwanese milkfish producers to seize control of the export market.
Years later, in 1998, I felt the lingering sting of that reputation during a meeting with an Asian supermarket buyer in the Bay Area. The buyer flinched at my pitch.
“From the Philippines? Nah, tastes bad!” he declared.
Supermarkets and grocers are notoriously slow to try new products, especially after a bad experience. By then, consumers had embraced Taiwan’s fresh-frozen whole milkfish. But I had a new angle to win over the skeptics.
I explained that production methods in the Philippines had improved dramatically: growers were now raising milkfish in open-sea cages and brackish water ponds, giving the meat a richer, natural flavor. By contrast, consumers often complained that milkfish raised in Taiwan’s freshwater concrete pens tasted bland.
Beyond superior flavor, I offered something even more revolutionary: convenience. Our milkfish were completely boneless. Deboning milkfish is a meticulous, labor-intensive process—something Taiwanese producers couldn't replicate without driving up their costs.
In an interview with a leading Filipino newspaper in the Bay Area at the time, I highlighted our competitive edge:
“We could not compete with Taiwan on price alone, where their fresh milkfish sold for half ours direct from the pond. But we found another way to win in the U.S. market. Instead of selling whole fresh-frozen fish, we focused on value-added products: vacuum-packed deboned milkfish, smoked deboned, marinated, and prime milkfish belly. They fetched higher prices, but once customers tasted them, they kept coming back for more.”
To build momentum, I developed an grassroots network of home dealers who sold directly to their families, neighbors, and friends. The parents of my piano students became my very first distributors.
Through word of mouth, demand exploded. People bought the fish by the caseload, loading their car trunks and selling them at work. During the tech boom, Silicon Valley campuses employed hundreds of Filipino workers. On lunch breaks, employees would head to the parking lot, pop open their trunks, and sell frozen milkfish straight from the boxes to their colleagues.
Business grew exponentially, and major retailers took notice. Before long, food wholesalers were beating a path to my warehouse door, practically begging to purchase inventory in cash. As the saying goes, the rest is history.
Today, value-added milkfish products are available in major Asian supermarket chains, neighborhood Filipino groceries, and even select mainstream supermarkets. Much of this success belongs to the visionary Filipino exporters who invested in modern processing facilities back home, alongside government agencies that supported aquaculture technology and trade financing. Kudos also go to the U.S. importers, distributors, and retailers who transformed from skeptics into believers—and, of course, to every Filipino American household that proudly supported products from home.
Finally, I’d like to think a small part of that success was driven by my own ongoing love affair with this fish.
During a routine checkup, my doctor—an American of Caribbean descent—mentioned buying a delicious frozen fish from a local Asian market that she grilled and flaked for fish sandwiches. She raved about how convenient and flavorful it was. When I told her that I was the one who brought that fish to the market, she was thrilled.
Moments like that point to the ultimate future of Philippine milkfish: a beloved cultural niche product crossing over into mainstream global cuisine. It is a crossover that feeds not only our national pride, but our country’s economy as well.
