The Brief

You've seen it everywhere — ube flavored pancake mix, mochi and cookies lining the shelves at Trader Joe's. Even your local bubble tea joint is pushing ube lattes, and the artisan donut shop is likely to carry an ube offering as well.

But what is ube, and how did this vibrant purple yam manage to colonize America's sweet tooth?

It's the kind of cultural conquest that happens in reverse — instead of us (Americans) imposing our sensibilities on the world, something with soul and history has steamrolled through our supermarkets and Instagram feeds.

This is thousands of years of Filipino ingenuity getting its due, even if it has to wear the costume of artisanal marketing to get there.

But for me, as a Filipino-American, I didn't always love ube.

The first time I saw it as a kid, I stared suspiciously at my aunt and uncle scooping vivid purple ice cream. The color alone made me hesitate — it didn't look like vanilla or chocolate or anything familiar.

I passed without a second thought.

Ube ice cream showcases the distinctive purple color that has made the Filipino yam a popular dessert flavor.

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Years later in Boracay, Philippines, everything changed. I finally tasted ube in halo-halo, a chaotic, layered masterpiece of green jellies, purple ube jam, red beans and yellow jackfruit. It looks like someone dumped a tropical garden into a glass and said "trust me." And somehow, it works perfectly.

But how did this flavor make its way from Filipino kitchens into mainstream markets and bakeries?

Cafe 86's famous "upside down" halo-halo features an ube ice cream base topped with vanilla ice cream, served alongside ube crinkle cookie and butter bar.

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From an ancient staple to modern sensation

Ube (Dioscorea alata) traces back 11,000 years in the Philippines, making it one of the world's oldest crops.

What most people don't realize is that the ube flavor they've fallen in love with isn't actually raw ube at all. Pure ube root delivers subtle, earthy vanilla notes with a delicate nuttiness reminiscent of pistachios — pleasant, but understated.

"What we're craving for is actually ube halaya," said James Oreste, founder of UbeFest, a local event that hosts more than 70 vendors with ube food items on their menus (coming up this weekend in Cerritos). "The flavor of ube mixed with butter, sugar and milk — that's really the flavor profile we're looking for. It's not ube by itself."

The mashed, sweet and creamy ube halaya made for a perfect base to adapt to ice creams, lattes, pancakes and more.

But before it became a sweet treat, ube was a food used for survival.

In the Central Visayas region of the Philippines, specifically in Bohol’s municipalities, ube was the sole surviving crop during extensive droughts in pre-colonial Philippines, sustaining indigenous locals.

The yam became so sacred that dropping one required an apologetic kiss to the dropped purple yam.

"The only thing they could eat was ube because it's invasive, so it could grow anywhere," Oreste notes. "That's why some people call it a blessing."

But the sweet dessert version that our taste buds are used to began with a nun in Baguio City, Philippines.

UCLA anthropology professor Stephen Acabado said that the Good Shepherd's Mountain Maid Training Center created legendary ube halaya in the 70s using carabao milk — from Philippine water buffalo — and butter.

"People would wait in long lines for hours to get a bottle or two, and it usually sold out within the day," he said.

Ube halaya spread on bread shows how the traditional Filipino purple yam jam has found its way into everyday American breakfast routines, bridging cultural flavors with familiar foods.

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The L.A. crossover

While ube remained a Filipino-American party staple for decades, the mainstream breakthrough came in the 2000s at an unlikely spot in Granada Hills. Ninong's Cafe, a small family-owned bakery that opened in 2008, started serving a revolutionary breakfast item: ube pancakes.

Co-owner Carissa "Kissa" Ortega grew up surrounded by ube thanks to her godmother who baked ube cakes after immigrating from the Philippines.

But Ninong's had a bigger mission: "We wanted to share our food and our culture with other cultures, not just share it with fellow Filipinos."

The ube pancake was their bridge — something approachable that would spark curiosity about Filipino cuisine.

"People from all over Southern California would flock to this place in Granada Hills to get ube pancakes," said Joseph Bernardo, who teaches Philippine American Experience at Loyola Marymount University.

The purple pancakes became such a phenomenon that when the pandemic hit and they were forced to close, Ninong's successfully pivoted to selling ube pancake mix online, reaching customers nationwide.

Now operating as Ninong's Dessert Lab, they've expanded to include ube spread, coconut syrup and seasonal products like an upcoming ube cookie mix.

And Ortega takes cultural responsibility seriously. “We were very intentional about not dumbing down the flavor and making sure that what we served was authentic so that other cultures knew what to expect," she added.

Fast-forward to 2021, when James Oreste's UbeFest accidentally ignited something much bigger. What started as a modest gathering hoping for 200 people in Belmont Shore exploded into 1,500 attendees — during a pandemic, no less.

"The city wasn't prepared for it, and everybody in Long Beach was like, 'What the heck is going on?'" Oreste said.

That response revealed massive hunger for accessible Filipino culture.

UbeFest, hosted in SoCal, now draws 50,000 people and has inspired nationwide copycats while pushing creative boundaries with ube pizza, ube lumpia donuts and ube tortillas.

The complex reality

Behind the purple Instagram fever lies something real. Ube's rise represents Filipino culture finding its place in mainstream America through food.

But here's the thing about ube — beneath our relentless appetite for the next trendy flavor lies thousands of years of Filipino heritage, turning a humble purple tuber from ancient survival food to modern celebration. Every ube dessert connects back to that history, whether we know it or not.

Downtown Los Angeles

A person in an inflatable frog suit holds a sign during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A woman holds incense during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A person holds up a sign during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis. (Photo by ETIENNE LAURENT / AFP via Getty Images)

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A person holds up a sign during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A tourist bus drives past as people protest in front of the Metropolitan Detention Center (MDC), in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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Pasadena

Alison Brett (far right) of La Crescenta at the Ice Out For Good protest in Pasadena on Jan. 10, 2026.

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Josie Huan

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LAist

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Casey Law of South Pasadena at Ice Out For Good protest in Pasadena on Jan. 10.

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Josie Huang

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People have been taking to the streets nationwide this weekend to protest the Trump administration's immigration enforcement tactics following the death of Renee Good in Minneapolis, a 37-year-old woman who was shot and killed by a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officer this week.

At least 1,000 events across the U.S. were planned for Saturday and Sunday, according to Indivisible, a progressive grassroots coalition of activists helping coordinate the movement it calls "ICE Out For Good Weekend of Action."

Leah Greenberg, a co-executive director of Indivisible, said people are coming together to "grieve, honor those we've lost, and demand accountability from a system that has operated with impunity for far too long."

"Renee Nicole Good was a wife, a mother of three, and a member of her community. She, and the dozens of other sons, daughters, friends, siblings, parents, and community members who have been killed by ICE, should be alive today," Greenberg said in a statement on Friday. "ICE's violence is not a statistic, it has names, families, and futures attached to it, and we refuse to look away or stay silent."

Large crowds of demonstrators carried signs and shouted "ICE out now!" as protests continued across Minneapolis on Saturday. One of those protestors, Cameron Kritikos, told NPR that he is worried that the presence of more ICE agents in the city could lead to more violence or another death.

"If more ICE officers are deployed to the streets, especially a place here where there's very clear public opposition to the terrorizing of our neighborhoods, I'm nervous that there's going to be more violence," the 31-year grocery store worker said. "I'm nervous that there are going to be more clashes with law enforcement officials, and at the end of the day I think that's not what anyone wants."

Demonstrators in Minneapolis on Saturday, Jan. 10, 2026.

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The night before, hundreds of city and state police officers responded to a "noise protest" in downtown Minneapolis. An estimated 1,000 people gathered Friday night, according to Minneapolis Police Chief Brian O'Hara, and 29 people were arrested.

People demonstrated outside of hotels where ICE agents were believed to be staying. They chanted, played drums and banged pots. O'Hara said that a group of people split from the main protest and began damaging hotel windows. One police officer was injured from a chunk of ice that was hurled at officers, he added.

Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey condemned the acts of violence but praised what he said was the "vast majority" of protesters who remained peaceful, during a morning news conference.

"To anyone who causes property damage or puts others in danger: you will be arrested. We are standing up to Donald Trump's chaos not with our own brand of chaos, but with care and unity," Frey wrote on social media.

Commenting on the protests, Department of Homeland Security (DHS) spokesperson Tricia McLaughlin told NPR in a statement, "the First Amendment protects speech and peaceful assembly — not rioting, assault and destruction," adding, "DHS is taking measures to uphold the rule of law and protect public safety and our officers."

Good was fatally shot the day after DHS launched a large-scale immigration enforcement operation in Minnesota set to deploy 2,000 immigration officers to the state.

In Philadelphia, police estimated about 500 demonstrators "were cooperative and peaceful" at a march that began Saturday morning at City Hall, Philadelphia Police Department spokesperson Tanya Little told NPR in a statement. And no arrests were made.

In Portland, Ore., demonstrators rallied and lined the streets outside of a hospital on Saturday afternoon, where immigration enforcement agents bring detainees who are injured during an arrest, reported Oregon Public Broadcasting.

A man and woman were shot and injured by U.S. Border Patrol agents on Thursday in the city. DHS said the shooting happened during a targeted vehicle stop and identified the driver as Luis David Nino-Moncada, and the passenger as Yorlenys Betzabeth Zambrano-Contreras, both from Venezuela. As was the case in their assertion about Good's fatal shooting, Homeland Security officials claimed the federal agent acted in self-defense after Nino-Moncada and Zambrano-Contreras "weaponized their vehicle."
Copyright 2026 NPR

Bob Weir, the guitarist and songwriter who was a founding member of the popular and massively influential American rock band the Grateful Dead, has died. According to a statement from his family posted on his website and social media pages, Weir died from underlying lung issues after recently beating cancer. He was 78.

A member of the Dead for its first three decades, and a keeper of the flame of the band's legacy for three more, Weir helped to write a new chapter of American popular music that influenced countless other musicians and brought together an enormous and loyal audience. The Grateful Dead's touring, bootlegging and merchandising set an example that helped initiate the jam-band scene. Its concerts created a community that brought together generations of followers.

Known to fans as "Bobby," he was born in San Francisco as Robert Hall Parber, but was given up for adoption and raised by Frederick and Eleanor Weir. In 1964, when he was still a teenager, Weir joined guitarist Jerry Garcia in a folk music band, Mother Mcree's Uptown Jug Band. In May of 1965 Weir and Garcia were joined by bassist Phil Lesh, keyboard player Ron "Pigpen" McKernan and drummer Bill Kreutzmann to form an electric, blues-based rock and roll band that was briefly named The Warlocks. After discovering that there was another band using that name, Jerry Garcia found a phrase that caught his eye in a dictionary and in December of that year they became the Grateful Dead, launching a 30-year run over which time they grew into a cultural institution.

Weir was a singular rhythm guitarist who rarely played solos, choosing instead to create his own particular style of chording and strumming that gracefully supported Garcia's distinctive guitar explorations especially during the extended jams which were the heart of the band's popularity.

Lyrics were largely a product of a communal effort between Weir and Garcia, as well as lyricists John Perry Barlow, Robert Hunter, that often blurred the lines between who wrote what. The opening lines to "Cassidy," which first appeared on Weir's 1972 solo album Ace and was played by the Dead on live recordings including the 1981 double album Reckoning, reflect the combination of metaphor, rhyme and storytelling set to memorable melodies that the band's audiences could memorize, analyze and sing along to:

I have seen where the wolf has slept by the silver stream
I can tell by the mark he left you were in his dream
Ah, child of countless trees
Ah, child of boundless seas
What you are, what you're meant to be
Speaks his name, though you were born to me
Born to me, Cassidy

Weir's emotive singing, on "Cassidy" and other songs like "Sugar Magnolia," "One More Saturday Night" and the band's unofficial theme, "Truckin', " often included whoops and yells, in contrast to Garcia's calm and steady approach. His occasional tendency to forget lyrics was usually greeted by thunderous applause from fans.

After Garcia's death in 1995, at age 53, the surviving members of the band carried on in various forms and arrangements, the longest running of which was Weir's Dead & Company, which also featured Grateful Dead drummers Kreutzmann and Mickey Hart. Weir and the band concluded their "final tour" in July of 2023, but then returned to the stage for two extended residencies at the Sphere in Las Vegas, in 2024 and 2025.

A self-described "compulsive music maker," in 2018 Weir formed yet another band to mine the depths of the Grateful Dead catalog. It was a stripped-down guitar, acoustic bass and drums outfit that he called Bobby Weir & Wolf Bros. Its members included renowned bassist and producer Don Was.In October of 2022, Weir & Wolf Bros worked with a classical music arranger to present yet another iteration of the Dead's catalog, notable for never being played the same way twice, with a group that largely only plays what's written on the paper in front of them, the 80-piece National Symphony Orchestra.

In a 2022 interview with NPR, Weir explained the reason for that collaboration, and in doing so, seemed to offer a possible explanation for why the band's music stayed so popular for so long: "These songs are … living critters and they're visitors from another world — another dimension or whatever you want to call it — that come through the artists to visit this world, have a look around, tell their stories. I don't know exactly how that works, but I do know that it's real."

After Jerry Garcia's death in 1995, Weir kept the legacy of the Grateful Dead alive, touring with bands that came to include generations of musicians influenced by the group. Here, Weir performs with The Dead at Madison Square Garden in New York City in 2009.

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Weir's work to shepherd and sustain the Dead's legacy was rewarded by ever younger generations of Deadheads, the band's loyal following, who attended tour after tour, often following the band from city to city as their parents and grandparents did during in the 1960's, '70s, '80s and '90s.

In an interview with Rolling Stone in March 2025, Weir shared his thoughts on his legacy, as well as on death and dying, that had a hint of the Eastern philosophies that were popular when the Grateful Dead emerged from the peace and love hippie movement of San Francisco. "I'll say this: I look forward to dying. I tend to think of death as a reward for a life well-lived," he said.

Copyright 2026 NPR

Planet Books, a long-running outpost known for its boundless collection of used books, toys, posters and other antiquities, must move — once again — by March or risk closure.

After 27 years in business, owner James Rappaport said the news came last fall from the proprietors of the neighboring Antique Mall II, which, since 2020, has sublet to him a 4,000-square-foot warehouse now cramped with rare tomes and second-hand memorabilia.

Andrew Jurkiewicz, who owns Antique Mall II alongside his partner, Linda, confirmed the move in a phone call Monday. They’re selling their own store, a decision that ran simultaneously to their landlord’s decision to sell the property altogether.

One person familiar with the sale said the listing — which opened in October — has drawn several interested buyers and is expected to enter escrow in the next week. A public record search found the properties, at 1851 to 1855 Freeman Ave., are owned by DPV Properties LLC, which recently moved its address from Seal Beach to out of state.

When reached by phone, one of the owners declined to comment on their reason for the sale.

After their leases end in March, the businesses are expected to vacate. The antique shop, Jurkiewicz said, will relocate to a space at 3588 Palo Verde Ave. — formerly a Joann Fabric and Crafts — under new ownership.

“We’re both tired,” he said of running the 37-year business that he moved into a former plywood business on Freeman Avenue in 2010.

The future of Planet Books, meanwhile, is far more uncertain. Rappaport has been quiet about his plight until now, insisting he didn’t want to “sound any alarms” that might disrupt the flow of business or scare his regulars.

“I don’t want to panic anybody, especially myself. Not really sure what to do, actually,” Rappaport said.

This marks the second time the bookstore has needed to vacate its location since it opened in 1998.

Its first incarnation on East Anaheim Street was a combination of a couple of hundred book crates left behind by San Pedro bookseller Vinegar Hill Books and collectible toys acquired by the store’s former owner, Michael Munns.

Monthly rent at that time was about $2,000 for 1,500-square feet. Today, Rappaport said, the building costs $5,200 a month to rent, with half of it currently vacant.

His search for a new space has spanned the city, even traveling into neighboring Seal Beach, each time running into the same story.

“Twice the money and one third the size,” he said.

It’s also difficult to find something to fit their needs. The current store has a bookstock of easily more than 100,000 titles.

There’s also the trove of toys, postcards, movie posters and other antiquities that line the walls, counters and shelves throughout. In the back area — the workers call it the “nether world” — towering stacks of books form trench lines leading to an aging work computer, limited-edition prints and a bathroom which hasn’t worked properly since they moved there.

Any storefront they find will likely require a “major purge” of inventory, Rappaport said. Planet Books has two music sections and three sections for both science fiction and mystery. He plans to downsize through donations to nearby schools, shelters and prisons.

If the store cannot find a new home, Rappaport said he’ll have to move his inventory into storage, likely at a facility in Stanton.

There’s also the definite possibility the store closes, he said, though workers are more optimistic.

For many, Planet Books has become the bookstore’s bookstore — the book hog’s mud puddle — where the clerks know the difference between Tom Wolfe and Thomas Wolfe and where patrons might lose themselves for the day among cheap out-of-print treasures on Zen and macrobiotics, Armenian dictionaries, Cantonese cookbooks and volumes on Lydia Maria Child, a 19th century abolitionist.

Wherever the store lands, Rappaport said it will be his last move.

“I’m 68, getting old, you know, I don’t need this,” he said. “I can’t retire because I don’t make anything in Social Security. I just want to have a little bit of fun.”