Make ours Italian

Darleng and I have been doing food reviews together for the past seven years – or is has it been. Without fail, we come home full and bursting at the waist. At times, we are even tipsy. We always walk away from the dining table holding hands, like a very-much-in-love couple in the mood for tête-à-tête. Our lady friends often end up teasing us.

But ours is not really a romantic gesture. The truth is I get a slight vertigo from eating fatty and rich food, while Darleng loses her bearings when her intestines are overworked and lined with alcohol. So, our gesture is more of assisting the handicapped, really.

And my wife has no sense of direction. So, I hold her hand to make sure she doesn’t find herself in the wrong room or in the wrong car, or else I will be too drunk and too dizzy to even bother looking for her.

But always we come home happy and content as we talk about the food, the wine, and the merry company of other food lovers. Food, and not shopping, is what makes my Darleng want to travel 90 kilometers to Manila and back to our quiet home here in Angeles City. Chili and wine, and not jewelry and excessive makeup, make my Darleng glow and blush.

"You should count your blessings that I am inexpensive to keep," she often says. And, indeed, that makes my life easy.

"There is a new Italian chef at Mi Piace, the Italian restaurant of The Peninsula Manila," I said. "His name is chef Massimo Veronesi. And we are invited to try his cooking."

While many mistake these Italian words to mean "my place," mi piace actually means "I like it."

"I hope he is as good looking as chef Cloney," she said excitedly. My wife was referring to chef Michele Mingozzi, the former chef of Mi Piace, who impressed her with his dark good looks and his nine kinds of thin-crust pizza. (To Darleng, chef Mingozzi is a clone of actor George Clooney, that’s why the nickname.) Dinner started with cocktails.

"This is unusual," Mary Ann observed. "There are more men than women."

Oftentimes, I am the only male, aside from the chef and the hotel big shots, at the dining table.

"I’m afraid it’s going to be a boring dinner," she immediately warned me.

It is my wife’s theory that men are lousy at socialization and small talk, that we cannot sit long at the dinner table with strangers because we run out of nice things to say and start scratching ourselves, while the women, who are naturally nicer than men, think of countless things to say even while they are still busy talking.

"It’s just how God created mankind," she says. I hate it when she says things like that, but I cannot argue with her because I am guilty as hell sometimes.

I looked around and she was right. There were five women and 10 men at the table. I knew all the women, but eight of the men, who were all younger than us, were unfamiliar faces. I noticed, too, that everyone was drinking. "The wine will loosen our tongues," I thought, as I, too, took a sip, instantly warming me up.

The waiters walked around with silver platters of goat cheese with Parma ham, mini vegetarian pizzas, potato cheese, and a very nice gazpacho. After having two glasses of an Italian red, Renato Rotti, the conversation among strangers, men and women alike, was flowing continuously.

The first dish to be served was the antipasti variations plate with buffalo mozzarella and bell pepper topped with anchovy, zucchini and red wine pears with pecorino and arugula that looked so Christmassy with its beautiful play of red and green colors, slices of Parma ham (Darleng’s favorite) paired with the sweet local melon and some caper berries from Spain, and mini warm calzone. I couldn’t help but wonder how big the chef’s hands were, if he could shape calzone this cute and small.

"Next time I have Parma ham, I will eat it with pajo," my wife said. "Pajo? Those mini green mangoes?" I asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, because that’s what these Spanish caper berries taste like," she said. And truth to tell, the caper berries, which were nice with the Parma ham, have a distinct taste that is somewhat similar to our local pickled pajo.

The Italians like their risotto very al dente, which is similar to the way the Spanish cook paella in Barcelona. And that was how chef Veronesi served his risotto with foie gras and onion marmalade. Most Filipinos will find this version of risotto a bit uncooked. But I am sure that, upon a diner’s request, he will adjust the consistency of the rice.

That evening, however, all 16 of us foodies happily enjoyed it very much as is, very tasty with suggestive flavors from various herbs.

I was on my last spoon of the foie gras when I saw the lady to my left give her foie gras to her hubby who had a grin from ear to ear. "Buti pa siya," I thought, as I looked at my Darleng’s plate, clean of every morsel.

Then came the pasta dish of mascarpone ricotta ravioli with lemon sage sauce. It was a very fragrant dish that was so delicious it got everyone at the table talking and raving about it. I can still imagine its special taste, which was something very new to me. It had a very nice play of contrasting flavors.

This was followed by a slow-cooked salmon and prawn with tomato compote and homemade gnocchi in saffron-tarragon sauce.

Our last course was a beefsteak. It was tender, juicy Angus beef mignon, served with chanterelle mushrooms and red wine sauce. By now, we were almost full, but the pink fillet mignon was just too hard to resist.

Again the lucky husband had his wife’s share of the perfectly pink beef. Unlike his wife, my Darleng is a big steak eater. No way will she give me her steak, not even at "fork point." It is at delicious dinners like this that I wish Darleng was also a vegetarian. Okay, kahit semi-vegetarian man lang.

Then finally we met the amiable chef Massimo Veronesi, who, before Mi Piace, worked at the Ritz Carlton in Florida and Dubai. He can speak some Tagalog words and enjoys Pinoy humor because he is married to a Filipina.

"So, what do your kids eat at home?" I asked. "Filipino or Italian… or is it Fil-Italian food?"

He smiled boyishly and said, "Filipino food, because my wife does most, if not all, the cooking at home. I do enough cooking at work that I prefer to simply eat when I’m at home." He loves our adobo, while his kids love Chickenjoy.

The waiters came back with strong black Italian coffee and six kinds of Italian desserts beautifully arranged next to the panna cotta ice cream.

Darleng finished every dessert on her plate and got more from my plate as she naughtily whispered to me: "It is moments like this when I am so glad I am a nice woman married to a man." (She was, of course, referring to that thing about women and desserts.)