LA TRINIDAD, Benguet — In La Trinidad, a giant cake is never just dessert. It is agriculture on display, labor made visible, and a town’s identity grown, baked, and sliced in public.
By midmorning on Sunday, March 29, the line had already formed not for spectacle but for a taste of something distinctly local. At the 2026 Strawberry Festival, the centerpiece “Triplet” strawberry cake drew people in not just because of its size, but because of what it represents: a harvest carried from field to table by many hands.
Built on strawberry shortcake, the three-part creation used around 500 kilos of strawberry jam and 200 kilos of fresh strawberry garnish, all sourced from farms across the valley, including the well-known Strawberry Farm managed by Benguet State University and tilled by local growers. The cake is expected to yield around 10,000 to 11,000 slices, each sold to the public for P20.
SWEET. Rows of freshly sliced strawberry shortcake, topped with La Trinidad’s harvest, wait for ticket holders, each piece a small share of a big community bake. Photo by Mia Magdalena Fokno/Rappler
It is big, yes. But it is also rooted.
“This is binnadang in action,” said Mayor Roderick Awingan. “You see it in every layer—from the farmers to the bakers to the volunteers who make sure everyone gets a share.”
Awingan also thanked the Strawberry Cake Committee — Councilors Belmer Ellis and Nestor Fongwan Jr., Municipal Administrator Frank Bawang, and Budget Officer Imelda Grupo — for leading this year’s effort.
This year, the town made a deliberate shift. Instead of tapping multiple bakeries, the project was led by a single team to ensure consistency of taste — Valley Bread, under 31-year-old COO Nicolo Espadero, working closely with his mother, Perlita.
Young, but steady, Espadero approached the scale with clarity.
CREATOR. Valley Bread COO Nicolo Espadero holds a slice of the 2026 “Triplet” strawberry cake, four days in the making, meant to be finished, not just admired. Photo by Mia Magdalena Fokno/Rappler
“We wanted a cake people would actually enjoy eating,” he said. “Not just something big for display. We used the Sweet Charlie strawberry variety because that’s what was available and what tastes right. It took four days to prepare, but we kept asking ourselves: will people like the recipe?”
They did.
The cake, made from about 500 pans, each weighing roughly 2.4 kilos and cut into 24 slices, was not cloying. The strawberries were bright and fresh, the Italian buttercream restrained. It was, simply, a good shortcake — the kind that pairs best with Benguet coffee and unhurried conversation.
For Perlita Espadero, the foundation of it all remained the fruit.
“The strawberries were freshly picked just yesterday, with help from the Office of the Municipal Agriculturist,” she said. “All from La Trinidad. That’s what matters most.”
Behind the numbers — 60 volunteers, 20 bakers, and another 10 handling construction for the cake base— was a choreography locals have come to expect each festival season: days of coordinated work for something that disappears in hours, but lingers longer than it should.
Because here, the cake is not just about size. It is about continuity.
JOINING FORCES. Staff and volunteers work side by side to prepare and plate thousands of slices, binnadang in motion, serving the community one piece at a time. Photo by Mia Magdalena Fokno/Rappler
La Trinidad has staged this ritual before, on a scale that once reached the world. In 2004, the municipality set a Guinness World Record for the largest strawberry shortcake, weighing over 9,600 kilograms and serving more than 10,000 people. Since then, the annual cakes have evolved, from the towering “Twin Cake” in 2023 to the intricately shaped “Kayabang” cake in 2025, shifting away from record-breaking toward meaning-making.
The “Triplet” continues that trajectory. It is not trying to outdo the past. It is trying to reflect the present.
FESTIVE. Mayor Roderick Awingan leads the distribution of slices of the 2026 “Triplet” strawberry cake, as residents claim their share of La Trinidad’s community bake. Photo by Mia Magdalena Fokno/Rappler
Slices were distributed to residents and visitors, each one a small, tangible piece of a larger story. Some came for nostalgia. Others for curiosity. Many simply because this has become part of the valley’s rhythm — a shared act that begins in the soil, passes through many hands, and briefly ends in something sweet.
In a year marked by rising costs and uncertainty, the cake lands differently. Not as excess, but as offering.
Because at its core, the “Triplet” is not just about feeding a crowd. It is about showing what a community can still make together — rooted in land, in labor, and in a tradition that continues to grow.
Not too sweet. Just right. – Rappler.com
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