The gift of memory at Vilmar Restaurant
January 5, 2006 | 12:00am
The ornaments are stored, the pots of poinsettia are back in the garden, the embers from the New Year’s bonfire have been swept away, the 2005 calendars have been discarded, and it is time to go back to work. As I keep the old Christmas records and carefully store the turntable, I am overcome by nostalgia. Another year has passed and the music that signaled the Christmas seasons of my childhood has gotten older.
As little children, we woke up to Ray Conniff, Percy Faith, Connie Francis or Jerry Vale singing carols and an intense excitement would seize us all. Dad had unearthed his old records. It was Christmas! The days went by very quickly and on a special weekend, our parents packed us into the Chevy and drove to Nepo-Mart or Our Shopping Center in Pampanga. There, we shopped for the imported goods that were the prized gift items of the time.
"Will we be there soon? How many more hours? Can I get the new Baby-Alive doll that could eat doll food, pee and poop?" We had planned to feed that doll toothpicks to see if these would come out the other end looking like worms. The questions came fast and furious and we took turns pestering our parents. Our hyperactivity was fueled mainly by sugar – Brachs butterscotch, peppermint candy canes, Hersheys bars, caramel apples and Dr. Pepper soda.
"Hey, Dad, let’s play Wacky Races and you can be Dick Dastardly. Overtake that car! We are Double Zero and we’ll win this race!" We jumped up and down on the back seat, and beads of sweat formed on Dad’s temples. Soon, Mom would admonish my dad, "Slow down. You are driving too fast!"
Invariably, we stopped at Vilmar Restaurant in Tarlac. With an audible sigh of relief, my dad pulled over to the roadside restaurant. He sat in the driver’s seat to collect his bearings, while we spilled out of the car and made a beeline for the toilet.
At Vilmar, we always had the delicious sago at gulaman drink; but to decide between the excellent pansit palabok and arroz caldo for merienda was sheer agony. Each of us would have either, and then enviously eye what the others were eating. The thought nagged us that, perhaps, they had ordered the better alternative. However, previous attacks of gluttony taught us that we shouldn’t have both, especially since leaving food on your plate was unacceptable to my mother. In one instance, we got greedy and had palabok and arroz caldo at the same time. Afterwards, we spent the rest of the journey being sick in the back seat of the car.
Deciding on what to have for lunch or dinner was so much easier. Tender slices of lengua estofado simmered in a thick, mouthwatering red sauce was always at the top of the list, with the full-flavored beef caldereta coming in a close second. We enjoyed the simple yet tasty crabmeat omelet and the rich, soothing broth of pochero, while our parents savored the fat inihaw na hito. Occasionally, my mom would have fish buro. Too young to appreciate the dish, we wrinkled our noses in disgust.
Fat squid skewered with toothpicks to keep the stuffing from falling out was cooked adobado style; and to amuse ourselves, we tried to get as much squid ink on our teeth to be able to flash black-toothed smiles at each other. There was a delicious pork chicharon that we dipped in chili-tinged vinegar, and Dad always had chicharong bulaklak until his big toe finally swelled up because of gout. Without fail, he also had pinakbet because he enjoyed the bitter native ampalaya.
Dessert was always pastillas made with carabao’s milk, and quaint San Nicolas cookies embedded with the religious tableau. "Did you know San Nicolas is Santa Claus?" we asked our gullible cousins who occasionally joined our shopping expeditions. "You have to eat more Santa Claus cookies to make sure you get the gifts you ask for." And, when our mother was preoccupied with other things, we surreptitiously arranged to trade. Our unwitting relatives thought we were being generous as they eagerly traded their share of delicious pastillas for our share of bland San Nicolas cookies. We were shrewd little devils.
Recently, the memories of trips and visits to Vilmar came back as we drove north to Baguio for the holiday season. As we passed the familiar landmarks in Tarlac and struggled through the horrendous traffic jam in the Luisita area, I told my youngest brothers, "Let’s stop at Vilmar instead." Generally, they would have insisted on fast food. They are much younger and grew up when other dining alternatives to Vilmar became more popular. But this time, they were amenable to the suggestion.
As we walked into the restaurant, we were met by familiar faces. "How are you? How have you been?" they asked us. "Your mother stopped by for dinner on her way back to Baguio last week, but you haven’t visited us for a long time."
We were surprised that they still remembered us. Manong Arthur, who has been working in the restaurant since 1967 is still there; and so are Ligaya and Cecilia who have been with Vilmar for the past 30 and 20 years respectively. Perhaps it is not so surprising that they still remember us, after all. Manong Arthur, especially, must have seen our transformation from the pesky kids we were in the ’70s to the pesky adults we are today. (Just kidding!)
To my consternation, gulaman at sago was no longer being served. "Matagal nang wala." Indeed, we had been away for a long time. However, it was comforting that all the familiar dishes remained, and each delicious mouthful satisfied the nostalgic yearnings of the palate.
Isabelita Mallari-Duaqui, who manages the restaurant today, is the daughter of Villa and Celestino Mallari who built Vilmar in 1967. The restaurant started out as a small gas station coffee shop, and from the start, pansit palabok and arroz caldo were favorite merienda fare. Mrs. Duaqui sees to it that the excellent quality of lengua estofado, beef caldereta, crabmeat omelet and other favorites remains constant throughout the years.
After decades of stopping at Vilmar for meals, I finally discovered the secret behind their delicious food. Mrs. Duaqui showed me the kitchen where the food was slowly cooked in a pugon or wood stove. The distinct and full-bodied flavors were coaxed out by means of a slow and gentle simmering.
As in childhood, our meal ended with the delicious carabao milk pastillas. In addition, I couldn’t resist the San Nicolas cookies prominently displayed on the counter. The cookies were shaped like giant teardrops and had the same religious figures imbedded in them. However, was it just my imagination or were the figures more distinct in the San Nicolas cookies of my youth?
Mang Berong de Vera, who has been making the cookies since 1967, continues to make the cookies today. Understandably, the San Nicolas image is less distinct because the cookie mold has been dulled with use. Mang Berong, too, has aged. The cookies had the same bland flavor, but surprisingly are so much more palatable now.
"Malaki na ang mga bata (The kids have grown up)," the Vilmar staff marveled as they smiled at my brothers – mischievous babies before, towering young men now. "Nakakalungkot na wala na si Sir (We are sad that Sir is gone)," referring to my dad who has since passed away. "Balik kayo, ha? Come back. We hope to see you again soon," the Vilmar family said as they walked us to the restaurant door. They were genuinely happy to see us again, a bit saddened that we had to leave so soon to continue on our journey.
I clutched at the bag of San Nicolas cookies to bring home as pasalubong for my other siblings. They will eat the Santa Claus cookies and delight in the gift of memory for the New Year, too.
Vilmar Restaurant is located along McArthur Highway, San Sebastian Village, Tarlac City, with telephone number (045)982-3721.
E-mail the author at jatsubido@yahoo.com.
As little children, we woke up to Ray Conniff, Percy Faith, Connie Francis or Jerry Vale singing carols and an intense excitement would seize us all. Dad had unearthed his old records. It was Christmas! The days went by very quickly and on a special weekend, our parents packed us into the Chevy and drove to Nepo-Mart or Our Shopping Center in Pampanga. There, we shopped for the imported goods that were the prized gift items of the time.
"Will we be there soon? How many more hours? Can I get the new Baby-Alive doll that could eat doll food, pee and poop?" We had planned to feed that doll toothpicks to see if these would come out the other end looking like worms. The questions came fast and furious and we took turns pestering our parents. Our hyperactivity was fueled mainly by sugar – Brachs butterscotch, peppermint candy canes, Hersheys bars, caramel apples and Dr. Pepper soda.
"Hey, Dad, let’s play Wacky Races and you can be Dick Dastardly. Overtake that car! We are Double Zero and we’ll win this race!" We jumped up and down on the back seat, and beads of sweat formed on Dad’s temples. Soon, Mom would admonish my dad, "Slow down. You are driving too fast!"
Invariably, we stopped at Vilmar Restaurant in Tarlac. With an audible sigh of relief, my dad pulled over to the roadside restaurant. He sat in the driver’s seat to collect his bearings, while we spilled out of the car and made a beeline for the toilet.
At Vilmar, we always had the delicious sago at gulaman drink; but to decide between the excellent pansit palabok and arroz caldo for merienda was sheer agony. Each of us would have either, and then enviously eye what the others were eating. The thought nagged us that, perhaps, they had ordered the better alternative. However, previous attacks of gluttony taught us that we shouldn’t have both, especially since leaving food on your plate was unacceptable to my mother. In one instance, we got greedy and had palabok and arroz caldo at the same time. Afterwards, we spent the rest of the journey being sick in the back seat of the car.
Deciding on what to have for lunch or dinner was so much easier. Tender slices of lengua estofado simmered in a thick, mouthwatering red sauce was always at the top of the list, with the full-flavored beef caldereta coming in a close second. We enjoyed the simple yet tasty crabmeat omelet and the rich, soothing broth of pochero, while our parents savored the fat inihaw na hito. Occasionally, my mom would have fish buro. Too young to appreciate the dish, we wrinkled our noses in disgust.
Fat squid skewered with toothpicks to keep the stuffing from falling out was cooked adobado style; and to amuse ourselves, we tried to get as much squid ink on our teeth to be able to flash black-toothed smiles at each other. There was a delicious pork chicharon that we dipped in chili-tinged vinegar, and Dad always had chicharong bulaklak until his big toe finally swelled up because of gout. Without fail, he also had pinakbet because he enjoyed the bitter native ampalaya.
Dessert was always pastillas made with carabao’s milk, and quaint San Nicolas cookies embedded with the religious tableau. "Did you know San Nicolas is Santa Claus?" we asked our gullible cousins who occasionally joined our shopping expeditions. "You have to eat more Santa Claus cookies to make sure you get the gifts you ask for." And, when our mother was preoccupied with other things, we surreptitiously arranged to trade. Our unwitting relatives thought we were being generous as they eagerly traded their share of delicious pastillas for our share of bland San Nicolas cookies. We were shrewd little devils.
Recently, the memories of trips and visits to Vilmar came back as we drove north to Baguio for the holiday season. As we passed the familiar landmarks in Tarlac and struggled through the horrendous traffic jam in the Luisita area, I told my youngest brothers, "Let’s stop at Vilmar instead." Generally, they would have insisted on fast food. They are much younger and grew up when other dining alternatives to Vilmar became more popular. But this time, they were amenable to the suggestion.
As we walked into the restaurant, we were met by familiar faces. "How are you? How have you been?" they asked us. "Your mother stopped by for dinner on her way back to Baguio last week, but you haven’t visited us for a long time."
We were surprised that they still remembered us. Manong Arthur, who has been working in the restaurant since 1967 is still there; and so are Ligaya and Cecilia who have been with Vilmar for the past 30 and 20 years respectively. Perhaps it is not so surprising that they still remember us, after all. Manong Arthur, especially, must have seen our transformation from the pesky kids we were in the ’70s to the pesky adults we are today. (Just kidding!)
To my consternation, gulaman at sago was no longer being served. "Matagal nang wala." Indeed, we had been away for a long time. However, it was comforting that all the familiar dishes remained, and each delicious mouthful satisfied the nostalgic yearnings of the palate.
Isabelita Mallari-Duaqui, who manages the restaurant today, is the daughter of Villa and Celestino Mallari who built Vilmar in 1967. The restaurant started out as a small gas station coffee shop, and from the start, pansit palabok and arroz caldo were favorite merienda fare. Mrs. Duaqui sees to it that the excellent quality of lengua estofado, beef caldereta, crabmeat omelet and other favorites remains constant throughout the years.
After decades of stopping at Vilmar for meals, I finally discovered the secret behind their delicious food. Mrs. Duaqui showed me the kitchen where the food was slowly cooked in a pugon or wood stove. The distinct and full-bodied flavors were coaxed out by means of a slow and gentle simmering.
As in childhood, our meal ended with the delicious carabao milk pastillas. In addition, I couldn’t resist the San Nicolas cookies prominently displayed on the counter. The cookies were shaped like giant teardrops and had the same religious figures imbedded in them. However, was it just my imagination or were the figures more distinct in the San Nicolas cookies of my youth?
Mang Berong de Vera, who has been making the cookies since 1967, continues to make the cookies today. Understandably, the San Nicolas image is less distinct because the cookie mold has been dulled with use. Mang Berong, too, has aged. The cookies had the same bland flavor, but surprisingly are so much more palatable now.
"Malaki na ang mga bata (The kids have grown up)," the Vilmar staff marveled as they smiled at my brothers – mischievous babies before, towering young men now. "Nakakalungkot na wala na si Sir (We are sad that Sir is gone)," referring to my dad who has since passed away. "Balik kayo, ha? Come back. We hope to see you again soon," the Vilmar family said as they walked us to the restaurant door. They were genuinely happy to see us again, a bit saddened that we had to leave so soon to continue on our journey.
I clutched at the bag of San Nicolas cookies to bring home as pasalubong for my other siblings. They will eat the Santa Claus cookies and delight in the gift of memory for the New Year, too.
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