I first encountered Empanada de Kaliskis while researching for Adarna Food and Culture, the restaurant I co-founded in 2007. It wasn’t just an archival curiosity—it felt like a calling. There were no recent materials, no signage, no recipes passed down to the public. Its absence left me restless, sometimes waking up at night to pore again through old books and notes, hoping for a trace I might have missed. I wanted to taste history.
Then in 2010, a serendipitous trip to Malolos, Bulacan offered me my chance. A friend invited me to meet her balikbayan companion, who took us through the remnants of his childhood—a grand old Art Deco theater he hoped to save, and the city’s quiet struggle to protect its heritage amid changing tides. At the end of the day, he mentioned casually that he wanted us to try his aunt’s restaurant that served Empanada de Kaliskis. I nearly shouted in disbelief. Could it be?
Fate had led me straight to the “holy grail.”
Nestled quietly behind the Malolos Church, El Bulakeña stood modestly on Tengco Street—three tables, a glass display case, and nearly two centuries of culinary tradition. No pomp, no proclamation. Just the quiet dignity of memory kept alive.
There I met Mercy Antonio, and her business partner, Tessie Luriaga—the fourth-generation custodians of this heirloom. According to family lore, the empanada saga began in 1820 with sisters Agustina and Justina Domingo, taught by Spanish cooks who saw promise in their kitchen artistry. Their reputation spread, and Agustina built a business upon that delicate, flaky legacy. The recipe passed down through the matriarchs, always with the warning: if no one in the next generation was willing, let it end.
But at seven years old, Mercy heeded the call. Eventually, she took over the business which became so brisk that eventually, she taught Tessie, then only 17 years old, the ritual—early mornings, tireless kneading, filling preparation done with loving precision. Together they’ve kept the tradition alive, aided only by one or two relatives.
Originally known as Empanada de Malolos, it was the late culinary icon Mila Enriquez who suggested the name change to Empanada de Kaliskis—to distinguish it from the others and emphasize the crust’s signature “fish-scale” look.
Through the years, this empanada has graced tables both modest and grand: from Malolos homes to Malacañang Palace. Mercy recalls delivering boxes to at least four presidents. One tycoon used to order his empanada in advance while still abroad, insisting it greet him upon arrival. These empanadas never lasted long at parties; they disappeared before reaching the buffet. Even during the Second World War, Japanese soldiers once gifted Lucila a pig in exchange for a batch. Originally made with pork, the filling shifted to chicken in later years—as clients preferred something lighter. Beef was always deemed too heavy for its delicate shell.
Replicating the recipe? Many have tried.
It’s not just the ingredients—it’s the devotion. Dough is kneaded in the evening, then rolled into a large sheet and tightly coiled. Slices of that coil become disks rolled on greased banana leaves. Freshly cooked chicken—personally chosen and hand-shredded—is sautéed with spices and potatoes, always made from scratch, never recycled. Any excess filling becomes lumpia or torta. The dough and filling live only for the day. The ritual begins all over again the next day.
Then there’s the frying: the empanadas are cooked one at a time. One turner lays the empanada in oil, while the other turner is used to toss hot oil over it to coax the delicate overlapping kaliskis to emerge—golden, crisp, translucent. As light hits the shell, it casts an amber glow.
The first bite breaks the silence. Shards of crust give way to a sweet-savory medley that tastes patient. Not rushed. Not reheated. You wonder what stories were inserted into those folds.
This isn’t a snack. It is an opportunity to share an experience from the past. Unlike a picture or a relic, an heirloom delicacy, affords us to travel through time—to see, feel and taste what our ancestors enjoyed. We get to sit with them and know them. It demands our attention, our respect. And in its delightful texture and flavor, it comforts. A nostalgic embrace from a past that makes us part of it as we now carry it forward to the future.
Many things have changed since that time. In place of their restaurant, there is now only a takeout store. In 2015, the city conferred to Mercy Antonio the Culinary Heritage Award in recognition of her contribution to Bulacan’s culinary traditions. Articles have been written and TV shows have featured them. Those who seek the empanada will not have a hard time anymore. But the Empanada de Kaliskis endures not because of novelty but because it carries our aspirations for a good life. It comforts not just the palate but the spirit that continues to live in us. Each bite evokes an old memory adding to the layers of new ones we create toward an enduring heritage that we would now be able to recognize as our own.
