Abiu

Abiu is one of those fruits you don’t forget once you’ve tasted it. The best way I can describe it is this. If you love leche flan, abiu will feel familiar. It has the same creamy sweetness and soft caramel notes, but it’s a fruit, so it feels lighter and fresher. Even then, that description never quite feels enough. There really isn’t another fruit like it.

My first taste of abiu was when I was very young. My dad brought it home from a trip to Hawaii. It was dehydrated, just a small piece, but the flavor stayed with me for years. I didn’t even know what it was back then. I just knew it was something special. Much later, someone mentioned casually that there might be abiu growing somewhere in Nueva Vizcaya, possibly near Solano, though she wasn’t sure. That single comment stayed with us. It became one of the reasons we traveled there.

Finding it wasn’t easy. It took two days of asking around, going from town to town, then from one barangay to another, showing photos of the fruit at public markets and hoping someone would recognize it. Eventually, someone did. That led us to the farmer. He had two trees. Those same two trees have been our source of abiu for the past three years. Every abiu season, we go back. The harvest is always small. Just a few kilos. Sometimes barely enough. That’s just how it is with this fruit.

Abiu isn’t grown at scale. It shows up briefly, then disappears again. When it’s available, it’s because someone cared enough to keep a tree, remember a fruit, and not cut it down.

If this is your first time trying abiu, let it ripen fully. Chill it. Eat it slowly. It’s the kind of fruit that deserves a little attention.

Abiu — P499 for 2 kilos