Lomi Udon

Filipino lomi fused with Japanese udon, made with pork belly, prawns, cabbage, egg, dashi, and sesame for a thick, comforting noodle soup.  The last pot cooked on Swiss soil. Familiar flavours, borrowed noodles, and a bowl that quietly worked when we needed it most. #switzerlandseries #lomiudon #comfortfood #angsarap

This is my last Switzerland post, and fittingly, it came from whatever was left in the freezer. Leftover pork belly, 6 pcs of large prawns, a quarter of Chinese cabbage, 1 carrot, eggs, garlic, and onions. The kind of ingredients that quietly wait for their turn, especially when you have been cooking on instinct rather than planning.

All I needed were noodles.

I wanted to make lomi. Not because it was requested, but because it felt right. Thick, warm, familiar. The problem was simple. There were no lomi noodles anywhere. I tried the Asian supermarket, hoping to get lucky. No egg noodles thick enough, no pancit lomi. So I did what cooking in a foreign place teaches you to do. I adapted.

I grabbed Sanuki udon.

That decision shaped the dish that would become the last thing I cooked for my mom during this visit.

Testing the Waters

Most of the dishes I made recently leaned heavily into sourness. Sinigang, lemon-heavy soups, sharp broths. They worked, but I wanted to see if her appetite could stretch a little further. Something not sour, but still familiar. Something rich, thick, and soothing.

This Lomi Udon was a quiet test.

To my surprise, it worked. She did not finish everything I brought, but she ate. That alone felt like progress. It felt like the start of her coming back, even if just slowly. I do not want to overinterpret it, but hope comes in small gestures now, and this was one of them.

The Roots of Lomi

Lomi, or pancit lomi, is a Filipino-Chinese dish that found its identity in Lipa, Batangas. A Chinese-Filipino restaurateur named To Kim Eng popularised it in 1968, originally serving it to friends during mahjong sessions before opening Lipa Panciteria.

The name comes from the Hokkien term ló-mī, which means braised noodles. Traditional Batangas lomi is unapologetically heavy. Thick egg noodles, a starchy broth reinforced with cornstarch and egg, and generous meat toppings like pork liver, kikiam, meatballs, and chicharon. It is roadside food, cold-weather food, hangover food. Comfort taken seriously.

The Soul of Udon

Udon arrived in Japan centuries earlier. Legend credits the monk Kūkai with bringing wheat noodle-making techniques from China to the Sanuki region in the early 800s. Over time, udon became one of Japan’s most beloved everyday foods.

Unlike lomi, udon thrives on restraint. Thick, chewy noodles in a clear dashi broth made from kombu and bonito flakes. Clean, umami-driven, and deceptively simple. It is the kind of food that feels gentle even when it is deeply satisfying.

Where the Two Meet

Lomi and udon may seem worlds apart, but they share a Chinese ancestor. Thick wheat noodles from centuries ago evolved differently across regions, shaped by climate, ingredients, and taste.

This fusion felt natural once I leaned into that connection.

I kept lomi’s defining traits. The cornstarch-thickened broth. The egg ribbons. The pork richness. But I lightened the base with dashi, added sesame oil and sesame seeds, and finished with negi. The result sat somewhere between a Batangas roadside bowl and a Japanese noodle shop.

It did not feel confused. It felt intentional.

Closing the Switzerland Chapter

A week after I cooked this, we flew back to New Zealand. We arrived on a Friday, exhausted but holding on to the small comfort that she had eaten, that maybe things were stabilising, that perhaps we had bought a little more time.

The following Friday, my mum passed away.

Seven days.
That was all.

One week separated that quiet bowl of noodles from the final goodbye.

Everything shifted without warning. On Sunday, we were back on a plane to Switzerland, not to cook, not to care, not to try again, but to say farewell and organise her funeral. The speed of it still feels unreal. One moment I was standing over a pot, adjusting seasoning, watching egg ribbons swirl through thickened broth. The next, I was choosing urns, preparing for eulogy and signing documents.

Grief does not announce itself gently. It arrives and rearranges everything.

When I think about that bowl of Lomi Udon now, it feels heavier than it did at the time. Back then, it was simply dinner. A practical dish made from leftovers. A small test of appetite. A quiet attempt to nourish her in the only way I knew how.

I did not know it would be the last thing I would ever cook for her.

There is something both comforting and devastating in that thought. Comforting because I was there. I cooked. I showed up. I gave her warmth in a bowl. Devastating because if I had known, I might have lingered longer in that kitchen. I might have watched her take each bite more carefully. I might have memorised the moment.

But life does not give you that warning.

So I leave this Switzerland chapter carrying something bittersweet. I leave knowing I cooked everything I could with what I had. I leave knowing she ate, even a little. I leave knowing that in those final weeks, when conversations were heavy and energy was scarce, food became our language.

No grand speeches.
Just soup.
Just noodles.
Just love in its most ordinary form.

Lomi Udon was unplanned. Borrowed noodles, leftover pork, six prawns, and a quiet, fragile hope that maybe tomorrow would be stronger.

And somehow, without me realising it, it became the last dish I would ever cook for my mum.

Lomi Udon

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• Author: Raymund
• Prep Time: 15 mins
• Cook Time: 20 mins
• Total Time: 35 mins
• Yield: 3 1x
• Category: Main Course
• Cuisine: Filipino, Fusion, Japanese

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Description

Filipino lomi fused with Japanese udon, made with pork belly, prawns, cabbage, egg, dashi, and sesame for a thick, comforting noodle soup.

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Ingredients

Units MUS Scale 1x2x3x

Protein

• 250 g pork belly, thinly sliced
• 6 large prawns, peeled and deveined

Noodles

• 600 g fresh or frozen Sanuki udon noodles
• Vegetables & Aromatics
• 1/4 small cabbage, shredded
• 1 medium carrot, julienned
• 1 medium onion, sliced
• 5 cloves garlic, minced

Broth

• 500 ml dashi stock
• 500 ml pork stock
• 3 tbsp cornstarch mixed with 1/4 cup water
• 2 eggs, lightly beaten

Toppings

• 2 stalks negi or spring onions, sliced
• Sesame oil, to taste
• Toasted sesame seeds

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Instructions

1. Heat a large pot over medium heat. Add the pork belly and cook until the fat renders and the edges turn golden.
2. Add the onions and garlic to the rendered fat. Sauté until fragrant and softened.
3. Pour in the dashi and pork stock. Bring to a gentle boil.
4. Add prawns, carrots, and cabbage. Simmer for 2 minutes until prawns turn pink.
5. Drop in the udon noodles. If frozen, allow 2 minutes for them to separate and heat through.
6. Stir continuously while slowly pouring in the cornstarch slurry. Simmer until the broth thickens into a glossy, gravy-like consistency.
7. Turn off the heat. Pour in the beaten eggs in a slow stream while gently swirling the pot.
8. Ladle into bowls. Finish with sesame oil, negi, and toasted sesame seeds.

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