Gruel that rules: Why porridge is Asia’s most enduring, evolving comfort food

Japan’s okayu is a minimalist take on rice porridge, often eaten by the sick or elderly, or during temple fasts. Cooked at a 1:5 rice-to-water ratio, it’s lightly seasoned—perhaps with umeboshi, miso or scallions—reflecting the Japanese belief in food as healing.

Its simplicity, however, belies its significance. During the Festival of Seven Herbs, nanakusa gayu—okayu made with seven seasonal herbs—is eaten on January 7 as a symbolic cleanse. Recently, okayu has seen a quiet revival in Tokyo’s café scene, with versions using heirloom rice, dashi infusions and refined garnishes such as uni and yuzu zest.

Thicker than congee, owing to its use of glutinous rice, Korea’s juk is both comfort and cure. Common variations include pumpkin or abalone juk, traditionally served to those recovering from illness. Sweet or savoury, juk is deeply embedded in Korean households.

Chains like Bonjuk have modernised juk with creative spins—think beef bulgogi or truffle mushroom juk—while chefs like Hwang Jin-seon have featured it in competitions, showcasing sweet pumpkin versions. There’s also a resurgence in homemade juk made with indigenous grains and seeds, aligning with Korea’s growing movement around heritage foods and holistic wellness.

Vietnam’s cháo lies somewhere between soup and congee. What sets it apart is the use of a rich broth base—often chicken, pork or duck gizzard—that gives each spoonful depth and umami. In northern Vietnam, cháo is thinner and more delicate; in the south, it tends to be bolder and more intensely seasoned. During the pandemic, cháo became a popular delivery item, proving that comfort food doesn’t need to shout to be heard.

See more: Late-night snacking: 9 midnight treats across Asia

Thai jok shares a lineage with Chinese congee but is typically thicker and more intensely seasoned. A breakfast favourite, it’s often served hot from street carts with pork meatballs and century egg, with a raw egg stirred in for richness.

The popularity of jok traces back to Teochew and Cantonese immigrant communities, but it has since become a Thai culinary staple. These days, Bangkok’s upscale cafés are reimagining jok with foie gras, local seafood and even edible flowers, proving that comfort food can also be refined.

In South India, rice porridges known as kanji or koozh range from medicinal to ceremonial. Kanji is typically plain and offered during fasts, while festive versions are enriched with jaggery and coconut milk. Koozh, made with fermented millet, is tangy and probiotic, often eaten during the Aadi festival in Tamil Nadu.

In Kerala, pazhankanji—leftover rice soaked overnight in water—is a rural breakfast paired with chillies and shallots. These porridges speak of toil, land and sustenance, offering hydration and energy to farmers in tropical heat.

Filipino lugaw is rice porridge with political weight. During the pandemic, the dish sparked a debate over its importance when delivery drivers were barred from delivering rice porridge due to its ‘non-essential’ nature. During the last two elections, it became a symbol of mockery, protest and identity. Presidential candidate Leni Robredo served it in her feeding sorties for the hungry, prompting detractors to taunt her with the nickname ‘Leni Lugaw’—the jibe backfired, however, as Robredo embraced the moniker. 

Historically, rice porridge in the Philippines has been a dish of warmth, simplicity and sustenance. Arroz caldo, a Spanish-influenced chicken porridge with ginger and garlic, is a staple for rainy days and sickbeds alike. Meanwhile, goto uses beef tripe and offal, adding depth. The version from Cebu is called pospas and boasts a variety of toppings. 

Manila’s brunch spots have elevated lugaw with longganisa oil, foie gras or even uni, turning it from survival food into a culinary statement.

Bubur ayam—Indonesia’s chicken rice porridge—is a beloved breakfast dish made with soft rice, shredded chicken and a medley of toppings like peanuts, celery, soy sauce and light, crunchy kerupuk crackers. Variants abound: bubur Manado features pumpkin and cassava leaves, while sweet versions like bubur sumsum are made with coconut milk. Whether found street-side or in a high-end hotel, bubur showcases Indonesia’s spice-rich creativity and its love for bold, balanced flavours.

Long before green juices became trendy, Sri Lankans were sipping kola kanda—a green porridge made from herbal leaves, red rice, coconut milk and a touch of jaggery. Rooted in Ayurveda and Buddhist tradition, it’s typically consumed at dawn for energy and detoxification.

Each version of the porridge is made with a specific herbal mix—from gotu kola for memory to iriveriya for digestion. The rice is slow-simmered, strained and blended into a consistency light enough to be sipped, and served warm and lightly sweetened. For generations, it’s been a ritual of purification, especially before meditation or a day of labour.

Teochew porridge, or muay, is less about the rice and more about the ensemble cast that surrounds it. The porridge itself is deliberately understated—loose, watery, almost broth-like—designed as a neutral canvas for a dazzling spread of sides. These can include everything from braised pork belly and steamed pomfret with ginger to fermented tofu, chai po omelets and preserved mustard greens. It’s a balancing act of textures and flavours: salty, sour, bitter, and umami.

In Singapore and Malaysia, Teochew porridge is eaten at breakfast or post-midnight, especially in old-school joints that still operate 24/7. For many, it evokes family kitchens and thrifty grandparents who turned scarcity into ritual. Today, while it may not be flashy, it holds its own as a quiet staple: equally nostalgic and nourishing, never out of place on either a plastic hawker tray or a minimalist modern table.

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