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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Brandon Killman

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LAist

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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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Brandon Killman

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LAist

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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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Brandon Killman

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LAist

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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.

Long-term eviction defense funding for Los Angeles renters could soon begin to flow now that city officials have announced a break in an impasse dating back to May 2025.

L.A. City Attorney Hydee Feldstein Soto said Thursday she intends to sign a new $107 million contract with the Legal Aid Foundation of L.A. She said the contract — which was approved by the City Council and the mayor in April, but still awaits her approval — was “nearly finalized.”

“I am fully committed to supporting these crucial eviction defense services for our vulnerable neighbors in need,” Feldstein Soto said in a statement.

Feldstein Soto — who will not secure a second term after placing third in last month’s primary election — pledged to continue investigating the legal aid group. She has frequently criticized the nonprofit for what she sees as a lack of transparency, though L.A. Housing Department officials say the group has consistently provided accounting and caseload data to the city.

“Taxpayers deserve transparency and accountability and to know that their money is being used as intended,” Feldstein Soto said.

Barbara Schultz, a Legal Aid Foundation attorney overseeing the city-funded Stay Housed L.A. program, said both parties have been negotiating final contract details for more than a week. She said the city attorney’s announcement was encouraging.

“[Feldstein Soto] said she was going to approve the contract, so I'm very excited to hear that,” Schultz said. “Moving forward… we can continue to grow, fully implement the ‘Right to Counsel,’ and tenants in Los Angeles will be much better off as a result.”

In response to Feldstein Soto’s claims that more than $58 million in eviction defense grants remain “unaccounted for” in the foundation’s financial audits and IRS forms, Schultz said taxpayer dollars have not been misspent and that no findings have been made to that effect.

“[The Legal Aid Foundation] is a very large nonprofit law firm that has over 40 federal, state and local government contracts,” Schultz said. “We are very used to being audited. Any audit the city wants to do to satisfy itself is absolutely fine with us.”

Feldstein Soto denied a five-year contract to the legal aid group last year, arguing it should have gone through a competitive bidding process. After the city solicited applications and selected the group for new long-term funding, she later told city councilmembers in a confidential memo that they should consider withholding support for “a frequent litigant against the city.”

While she announced the contract should be ready for her signature by July 7, Feldstein Soto said her office would move forward with plans to assign forensic accountants to study how the legal aid group has spent more than $90 million in city funds since 2021.

At the Bristol Swap Mall in Santa Ana, people are flocking to buy their Mexico soccer team jerseys and paraphernalia.

“The color is green and that says Mexico right here,” said Catherine Hernandez, who’s entering third grade, as she pointed to the replica Mexico soccer jersey her mother had bought her at a nearby stall.

She asked her mother to get her one the day after Mexico’s win against Ecuador and is already thinking about how she’ll feel wearing it Sunday during Mexico’s knockout game against England in the Round of 16.

“Excited, very excited because I’m Mexican and I love this shirt,” she said.

Hernandez was born in the U.S. and her mother was born in Mexico. Both say their Mexico jerseys symbolize those similar but different prides in their Mexican backgrounds.

They're among fans rooting for Mexico’s men’s national soccer team to advance further than ever before into the World Cup tournament. A win against England would move the team to the Round of 8, the quarterfinals, for the third time. Along the way, this Mexico team has captured the imagination of many in the U.S. who have, or are close to, those of Mexican heritage.

Proudly wearing the green jersey

The market vendor at the stall said only one adult-size 2026 jersey remained. So many had been sold they'd had to place an order for more.

A replica of Mexico's 2026 FIFA World Cup soccer jersey.

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Adolfo Guzman-Lopez

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LAist

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Many Mexico fans have been wearing their jerseys on the days leading up to the team's World Cup matches.

“On Monday, I looked around to see a sea of green, white and red, and it nearly brought me to tears in line at Costco,” said Alex Alcantar, who lives in Norwalk.

He was born and raised in the U.S. and he says his Mexico soccer jersey symbolizes that experience.

“Why I wear my Mexico jersey is because I want to visibly represent this community when our contributions to society are so heavily discounted,” he said.

The team’s growing prominence has also coaxed some others in Mexican communities in the U.S. to feel more confident in their identity.

“I've never used [a Mexico jersey] before,” said Xochi Flores, who was born in Oxnard and whose great-grandparents were Mexican.

“I didn't feel like I could go around representing Mexico when I'm a Chicana, third generation, not the best Spanish speaker,” she said.

Xochi Flores (left), with her husband Cesar Castro, has become more comfortable wearing the soccer jersey recently.

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In the past year, she said she’s felt closer to her Mexican roots as she’s seen reports of farmworkers and other people of Mexican descent arrested by ICE agents.

So to her, wearing her Mexico soccer jersey means leaving behind insecurities she used to have about not being “Mexican enough,” as well as “not being American enough.”

“I want my kids to see me embracing all of the parts of me. … They don't have those insecurities, and that makes me happy,” Flores said.

Wearing the jersey when you're Mexican-ish

The stalls are attracting all types of customers. “I'm just looking for a Mexican soccer jersey,” said Son Lam, who lives in nearby Orange and identifies as Vietnamese.

Lam says he’s become devoted to soccer since the World Cup started June 11. Buying and wearing a Mexican soccer team jersey means showing off his newfound sports fandom already embraced by his extended family

“My wife is Mexican and to me, [wearing the Mexico jersey] means I can fit in with the family more," he said as he laughed.

However they identify, all these shoppers will likely be wearing their jerseys as they watch Mexico compete against England on Sunday, July 5. Joining millions of fans rooting for their team to advance to the next round, and keeping dreams of a 2026 FIFA World Cup championship alive.

Santa Ana voters could be asked in November to maintain the city’s 1.5% sales tax, which was set to decrease in 2029 and eventually expire.

Voters approved the citywide sales tax in 2018 on the condition that it sunset in 20 years. Now, the Santa Ana City Council will vote Tuesday on whether to ask voters in November to make the tax permanent.

The big picture

Only about one-third of cities in Orange County have a local sales tax on top of the county-imposed sales tax of 7.75%. Sales taxes in most of Los Angeles County are much higher — L.A.’s countywide sales tax is 9.75% and the highest total sales taxes for cities in L.A. County are in Lancaster and Palmdale, at 11.25% each, according to the California Department of Tax and Fee Administration.

Other potential tax hikes in OC

Voters in Orange will be considering a sales tax hike on their November ballot, after failing to get voters’ approval in 2024. San Clemente voters will also consider a local sales tax in November to pay for more sand to shore up local beaches.