The native wines: Nectars of love

 Cultural Notes

Richard Kinnud

 

There’s a story from an Ifugao wedding that illustrates the significance of their traditional rice wine, bayah. At the "punlistaan"—a table where gifts for the newlyweds are placed—a guest was served a drink as a gesture of gratitude. But to his disappointment, he realized that what he was handed wasn’t the traditional bayah, but instead a mixture of juice powder and water. Disgruntled, he muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, "Higayu man hituwe u’unga! Udu’dul man di hubul mu tun malumii an natempla." (This was your laziness, you young ones. The last juice from the wine jar is better than this sweet mixture.)

In that moment, he was lamenting the decline of a cherished tradition—the bayah, which has been a symbol of Ifugao culture for generations. Traditionally, bayah was essential for mumbaki (shamans) in performing sacred rituals, especially those tied to the rice fields. This is also served during cultural events, from weddings to harvest celebrations. But today, the bayah—once a life-giving nectar—seems to be drying up. The reasons for this are twofold. First, the shift towards other faiths has led to the abandonment of many indigenous practices. Second, the intricate process of making bayah (called iwa) has become a daunting task. In today’s fast-paced world, it’s easier to buy ready-made alcoholic drinks, or even substitute with non-alcoholic beverages from the store. Not to mention, imported wines and locally-produced liquors like 2x2 have gained popularity, with some even claiming the latter gives a “better hangover.”

The people however still cultivate the daya’ot in its many varieties which is the main ingredient for the native rice wine.  So, if there’s one thing that could draw the younger generation back to bayah, it’s the process of making it—a practice that involves both skill and patience.

The process begins with ulut—the separation of rice stalks from the grains. It’s worth noting that rice harvesting is done carefully, cutting stalks at a specific length to allow for bundling. A single bundle of rice is referred to as botok—the basic unit of measure. Traditionally, about three bundles are used to make hin-iwa (enough for one batch), though some would argue that hindalan (five bundles) is the ideal amount for processing.

Next comes bayu (milling the rice) using a mortar and pestle, done at the same time as to’op (winnowing) to separate the rice from the hulls. For dark glutinous rice, the grains are roasted in a pan, constantly stirred with an inadu (wooden spatula) until golden brown. Once roasted, the rice is steamed, but only enough water is added to make it half-cooked. For white glutinous rice, the process skips the roasting step and goes directly from milling to cooking.

Once the rice is half-cooked, it’s spread in a ligawu (a winnower) to cool. During this time, banana leaves are gathered, carefully heated over a fire to make them pliable for wrapping. The binokbok (native yeast, usually in bar form) is then pounded and pulverized. The yeast, made from the roots of onwad (a local herb), finely ground rice, mother yeast, and ginger juice, is sprinkled over the cooled rice and mixed well using a smaller inadu. The amount of binokbok used depends on the ono’nong (the processor’s instinct and knowledge).

Once the mixture is ready, it is placed in a labba or tudung (containers made from rattan or bamboo) and carefully wrapped in banana leaves to prevent exposure to air. The containers are hung, with one end lower than the other, preferably in a dark and undisturbed corner. After a day, a small opening is pinched at the end to allow the initial juice (tonoh) to flow out. Over the next two to three days, the tonoh is collected in another container.

When no more tonoh is expected, the rice is transferred into a clean and dry clay jar, and the remaining tonoh is added back in. The jar is tightly sealed with banana leaves and cloth, then placed in a room or corner to ferment for anywhere between five days and two weeks. During this period, the tonoh ferments and becomes bayah. After the fermentation period, more liquid may be added in a process called tomyang to extract additional rice wine.

From one batch of hin-iwa, four to six bottles of undiluted rice wine (often contained in 4x4 gin bottles) can be produced. The wine maker may then heat sugar until it darkens, boil it in water, and mix it with the remaining rice in the jar to produce more fermented liquid. This process can be repeated until no further fermentation is observed. The last remnants of the wine, often bitter in taste, are called hubul.

Bayah is a product of local ingredients and thus, connects the drinker to Mother Nature. Its intricate production process makes it a labor of love, and according to folklore, the rice used to make wine is a gift from the gods. It's assumed that this is similar to the tapey of other Cordillera groups. A word of caution, however from a local proverb: Nan natong an page ya onwad ya adi mahna mi’nong hinan ballu an dalan di u’unga. (The spirit of the mature crops used in making bayah doesn’t mix well with the undeveloped, youthful blood.)

In essence, bayah is not just a drink—it is a deep connection to culture, nature, and tradition. It’s a reminder of the love and effort that goes into creating something that sustains both the body and the soul.  But just like love, one must be careful with the nectar, for it can be both sweet and bitter—nourishing for the soul, yet overwhelming for the untested heart.