My girlfriends from college had wanted to do this for years. It’s been decades since we last went out together. The weekend before the Chinese New Year, we stopped talking about it and just went. Dra. Mara, a doctor friend who works at the nearby Manila Hospital, volunteered to guide us through the narrow streets and crush of bodies. “Biglaang lakad, natutuloy,” as Filipinos say—a sudden impulse becomes a journey.
She moved through Binondo like someone reading a familiar text, not pointing things out so much as letting them register—the red lanterns, the shop signs in Chinese characters layered over Spanish facades, vendors calling prices for fruits and luck. This was ordinary Saturday commerce to her. To us, it felt like translation happening in real time.
Its narrow streets, lined with Spanish-style architecture, bustling shops, and eateries, truly transport you back in time. Aptly dubbed the “Chinese commercial district,” Binondo’s rows of must-try restaurants will certainly set your heart racing and make your mouth water.
Today, Ongpin Street is a gastronomic paradise, home to the renowned Eng Bee Tin hopia and numerous pioneering Chinese restaurants like Toho Panciteria Antigua (the oldest in the Philippines), Ma Mon Luk, Ling Nam, and many others, each famous for their signature dishes. These culinary institutions, having expanded nationwide, reflect the rich culinary heritage of Binondo.
Most historical books would say that Binondo was established in 1594, but a bustling Chinese community was already in Manila long before the Spaniards arrived. Binondo became the center of trade due to the establishment of “Sangley Parian,” which means “Chinese Flea Market.” The word “parian” came from the Chinese word xiang lei which means “traveling merchants” and palien, meaning “federation.”
On The Backbones of Religion
We started our day at the Minor Basilica of St. Lorenzo Ruiz. This 16th-century church’s architecture is a mix of Spanish baroque with Chinese influences, reflecting the cultural blend that characterizes Binondo. It is the church home of San Lorenzo Ruiz, son of a Chinese father and a Filipino mother, who trained in the Binondo Church before he was martyred in Japan.
At a corner outside the Basilica, Dra. Mara paused, perhaps a bit dramatically. “Twenty thousand,” she said. “That’s the estimate. The Spaniards massacred the Chinese because they were afraid of losing control of the galleon trade here. Late 1500s, early 1600s. The ones who survived were locked into this space.”
Long ago, the Manila/Acapulco Galleon Trade started selling Chinese products exported in the Americas, making Manila a world trading center. However, the Spaniards, fearing the Chinese would take over the trade, mounted a campaign against the Chinese that led to a bloody massacre in the late 1500s to early 1600s.
“The remaining Chinese traders were confined here, to this island surrounded by the Pasig River and esteros. Conversion to Catholicism became the price of staying,” she said, vaguely gesturing at the church.
The parians were originally exclusive only to baptized Catholic Chinese who were allowed to sell their goods. Those who were not baptized had to stay at Cavite’s Sangley Point where galleons were built.
The original parian was located at Mehan Garden (now Liwasang Bonifacio). This is the reason why the Intramuros gate at that location is called “Parian Gate.” Because of the increasing number of Chinese migrants, the parian located at Mehan Garden became overcrowded.
The then-Spanish Governor General Luis Perez Dasmariñas donated “Isla de Binundok” (the original name of Binondo)—an island surrounded by the Pasig River and esteros. The Sangley Parian was moved to “Calle Sacrista” (now Ongpin Street). He was also the one who ordered the building of a church in honor of San Gabriel, which is the present-day Basilica.
Since Binondo was an island, the rich Spanish residents of Intramuros had to take “casco” ferries to cross the Pasig River to go shopping in Binondo. To improve access, “Puente España” (Bridge of Spain) was built in 1632 by the Chinese. The bridge was located near “Puerta Isabela II” of Intramuros and spanned to Calle Nueva (now Yuchengco Street). The street that intersects Calle Nueva is Escolta, which got its name from the Spanish word escoltar, meaning “to escort.” This is because horse-carts were stationed at the foot of the bridge to “escort” the Spanish residents to Binondo and San Nicolas for shopping and dining.
Binondo became such a progressive shopping center that the Chinese merchants extended the parian to the neighboring district “Barrio Baybay.” The district was later renamed “San Nicolas” in honor of the patron saint of merchants, San Nicolas Tolentino.
The parian—the trading post—took root in these narrow streets, and somehow, over centuries, it became a place where something durable grew. It became what we now know as “the oldest Chinatown in the world”—a living, breathing witness to the dark history of Spanish colonization and war not only against the Tagalogs of Manila (Filipinos) but also against the Chinese people.
The Currency of Survival
Diving into Ongpin Street, the lifeline of Binondo, we see the sights, sounds, and smells that form the mosaic of the local Chinese-Filipino culture. For breakfast, we headed to one of Ongpin’s most famous restaurants, Cafe Mezzanine, known as the “fireman’s coffee shop.” It’s not only a place for a caffeine fix but also has great Chinese eats like savory noodles, signature dim sum, and other innovative dishes. Eating here contributes to a noble cause, as all their earnings go to supporting the local volunteer fire brigade.
After a rigorous walk through Chinese herbal stores, jewelry shops, and an array of places selling everything from traditional medicines to lucky charms, we stopped at Quik Snack, a narrow storefront that has occupied the same corner of Carvajal Street since 1967. Founded by Amah Pilar when she was already 60 years old—a remarkable act of defiance in a time when women rarely ventured into business—the restaurant still carries the ghost of her ingenuity.
Amah Pilar learned to cook vegetarian dishes while serving at Buddhist temples. When she opened Quik Snack, she brought that knowledge into a space that could have been just another noodle shop. Instead, she created something that honors both Chinese and Filipino sensibilities, stretching humble ingredients into abundance.
We ordered her famous tofu cake—Amah Pilar’s Tofu with cilantro and cucumbers—crunchy on the outside, soft inside, and swimming in sweetened soy sauce. The owner stood nearby, genuinely delighted to talk about each dish. She suggested combinations like someone sharing family secrets. When we couldn’t decide, she insisted we try the Sate Beef Mi, fried noodles with beef and a whisper of five spice that tasted like Chinese trade made edible. It tasted of something like pancit guisado but different because of a strong beef flavor. We also had Kuchay Ah, a kind of empanada filled with pork, mushrooms, tofu, chives, and a number of other vegetables.
What struck me was the economics embedded in that menu. The vegetables stretched across plates, the tofu made precious through technique, the five spice whispered rather than announced. This is the language of people who know how to make little mean something. Amah Pilar had learned it in temples, and she carried it forward into a storefront on Carvajal Street. The owner, continuing Amah Pilar’s legacy, still speaks it fluently.
We bumped into Ivan Man Dy’s famous Binondo Walk Tour here, and it was really cool to see people actually joining Binondo food tours!
A trip to Binondo is incomplete without a visit to a Ho-Land Hopia store, known for its ube hopia. Rival only to Eng Bee Tin, it has become synonymous with Chinese-Filipino confectionery, offering a variety of flavors. This is at Yuchengco Street, very near Quik Snack. We just dropped in for a quick browse through and, apart from buying Hopia, I ended up with an assortment of Chinese snacks and candies.
Behind the glass cases of perfect hopia were the back rooms stacked with interesting ingredients—bags of flours from different regions, dried fruits, nuts, spices. Each object represented connection to somewhere else: China, the provinces, relatives overseas who order through couriers. The logistics of longing, made ordinary.
We didn’t make it to every restaurant that day. We were full, and we wanted to savor the walking more than the eating.
The Palimpsest
We walked Escolta Street next, where old stone houses—bahay na bato—still reach toward the sky. Cell phone shops, karaoke bars, and laundry services have claimed the ground floors, and somehow the buildings hold both—the grandeur and the commerce, the past and the immediate need to make rent.
At the end of Escolta Street is Plaza Yuchengco, a redeveloped park project by the Mayor’s Office. Fronting the old Post Office right beside the newly rehabilitated Pasig River, it’s a bit of the old combined with the new.
We went on another leisurely stroll over Jones Bridge, a turn-of-the-century bridge constructed by the Americans. At night, the bridge, with its vintage lamp posts and view of the Pasig River, presents a picturesque scene, perfect for evening photography.
By evening, we ended at 1919 Grand Cafe, housed in a former HSBC building from 1922. The restored facade held dark wood and colonial elegance. We ordered tea and cake—a small rest from the day’s sensory overload. Inside, lawyers met with clients, couples prepared to meet parents. The kind of space where important conversations happen, and have happened for a century.
The building itself felt like a question. What does it mean to preserve a space when the world around it keeps demanding it become something else? Binondo answered by not preserving anything, but by letting the streets remake themselves, keeping only what still feeds people.
The Question Underneath
Walking back toward Carriedo station as the sun set, I thought about what had moved me most. It wasn’t any single restaurant or dish. It was the accumulation of small choices: Amah Pilar deciding to open a restaurant at 60, the owner at Quik Snack still talking about food like it matters, the hopia maker still wrapping each pastry carefully, the HSBC building still standing, still serving tea, still holding conversations that need to be held.
These are the threads Binondo is made of. Not monuments. Not preservation. Just the daily decision to keep going. Every restaurant, every vendor, every hopia wrapped in paper and handed over—these accumulate to something larger. A neighborhood that remembers itself by refusing to be forgotten. By cooking. By selling. By opening doors and calling people in.
