Pinoy Food Isn't a Drag

Hello, Friends!

Filipino food doesn't look good - that's the problem. Dishes are always served looking like haphazardly butchered protein of unknown provenance, swimming in a mysterious sauce, usually brown. Adobo, kare-kare, paksiw, kaldereta, bopis, and so forth.

On the other hand, Asian cuisines that have crossed over to mainstream dining culture at least gives the illusion of transparency and finesse, which allows diners to know what exactly they're about to put into their mouths. Chinese roast meats, Japanese sashimi, Thai tom yum goong, Vietnamese spring rolls, and so forth.

This is not to say that Filipino food is bad or inferior. In fact, out of all Asian cuisines, Pinoy food is the most soulful. Adobo recipes, for example, are beyond region specific. They're household specific. They're mother specific. How much love goes into a pot of kare-kare or lechon paksiw? As much love as it takes to tenderize damn offal or old roast pork, develop intense and complex flavours that'll make your eyes roll to the back of your head, which then convinces you to give up all pretense of tracking cholesterol levels and all such inconsequential concerns.

My good friend and fellow foodie, Jenny Jamora, and I were discussing how Filipino food might possibly cross over to mainstream dining. Now, I don't have the power to influence chefs or hordes of diners with cash to burn. But Jenny's family has just secured a booking in Noma. And Jenny's sister, Therese, brought Ilan Hall and Dale Talde - both Top Chef alumni - to Manila for a cooking demo. And if there were a Top Chef Philippines, Jenny's sister, Marie would probably direct it. And Jenny's brother, Gary, has food outlets in some of Manila's busiest dining districts. So Jenny knows her shit.

Jenny shared that she once went to a restaurant where Bistek Tagalog was prepared using Wagyu beef, or something crazy like that. That's just plain pretentious. I'm no food expert, but I've been working in hospitality for four years now and I can smell a culinary gimmick from 48 miles away. I love Filipino food, and Pinoy food needs no excuses. It is what it is. It's hearty, it will clog your arteries, and it will make you feel so good. No problem. Let your doctor deal with it. Enjoy your Pinoy food at home, because it'll always be a tough sell in any restaurant that aspires for big-ticket tables.

If we want to cross over to the mainstream, the way forward lies not in our savoury dishes, but in our desserts. We make the best fucking desserts in the world. We pack a wallop of sugar, plenty of love, and a shitload of artistry in halo-halo, biko, sapin-sapin, leche flan, and so forth. Our desserts are a paragon for what desserts should be everywhere: Sweet, pretty, and gloriously addictive.

So Chris and I went to Cafe Havana Malate for dinner before we joined the Bar Tour of the Mr Gay World crew. Chris ordered adobo and I ordered the Cuban stew.

Both dishes were divine. I didn't know what to expect, of course, being that I've never had Cuban stew before, nor have I ever been to Cuba. But Chris' adobo surprised us both because of its finesse and thoughtfulness of preparation. There were two generous chunks of meat: a cut of pork rib and a section of pork belly. The protein, crispy on the outside and ridiculously tender on the inside, rested on a bed of rice intensely seasoned with fried garlic and spices. The traditional adobo sauce was served on the side, on a little sauce dish. It was at once refined, authentic and elevated.

My Cuban stew was perfect, but that's not really relevant. What matters is, this adobo reinforced my belief in Filipino cuisine, as well as strengthened my opinion that our food need not pander to external influences in order to taste good. It's good as is. All it needs is a more imaginative presentation. At the end of the day, you look at a dish before you tuck into it. You need to have been seduced by it first before you even shovel a morsel into your gullet.

We also ordered a pitcher of margarita, and I swear, it was margarita that wouldn't give up. Chris and I must have had five serves each before accepting the fact that only melted ice could pour forth from the pitcher.

After dinner, we proceded to Club Mwah to join the rest of the MGW crew, and then to The Librarary. Just when you think you've been dragged out, there's always more to shock, delight and impress you. The Library was predictable and boring, but Club Mwah was genius. The bronze statuary outside the club belied the spectacular liveliness of the cabaret within.

No such thing as too much drag.

With Affection,
James