One night in Bangkok

So last week I was at a loss. I had just come back from Bangkok but felt perhaps I should write about something local instead. I didn’t have much else to write about. Then I said to myself I’d wait and see what the new week would bring me and to be honest, it was a rather uneventful food week. It made me realize just how difficult it is to find something truly special in my hometown when in Bangkok surprise and satisfaction lurks around every corner.

As the song goes: “One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble.” In this case it was a woman who was humbled. The plethora of great dining spots and drinking holes this city has to offer is amazing. From smelly side-street noodle shops to the fancy design joints to even the Aussie bar that has great chicken wings, quality and freshness are of the utmost importance.

Competition is tough and the cosmopolitan local palate is very discerning, which really sets the stage for some great creations. The whole weekend I kept asking myself the same question: “Why don’t we have more places like this in Manila?” Two restaurants truly caught my eye.

At Oskar’s, we were lured in by the imposing U-shaped zinc bar and icy-cold bottles of rosé: I intended to order only six oysters but happily slurped down 12.

A smallish resto bar called Oskar packs as much charm and excitement in the atmosphere, the handsome clientele and the “can’t wait to dig in” cuisine.  It was 4 p.m. and the imposing U-shaped zinc bar and those icy-cold bottles of rosé lured us in. I intended to order only six oysters, but happily slurped down 12. Straight from the cold waters of France, they were so fresh and glassy, they trembled sultrily under a drop of lemon juice. The taste of the sea, the iodine rush that brings a rosy flush to the cheeks and a sensual rush to the body. Why would anyone do anything else to such a beautiful thing? Why hide its perfection in slimy cheese and cream? An oyster so perfect with a crisp white wine was one of Hemingway’s favorite pleasures.

Despite it being only 5 p.m. we were overwhelmed by the menu — or perhaps the wine — so we ordered away. I had a parmentier of snow fish with chorizo and cauliflower and Jonathan had one with duck. Both of which I must say were extremely satisfying and refreshingly un-pretentious. Flaky rich white fish piqued by tangy smoky bits of chorizo and that simple homemade mash. His was pulled duck meat baked in under the mash with a spicy peppered mushroom sauce. Again it popped into our heads, “Why don’t we have a place like this in Manila?”

The French connection continued on till that evening, where we ended up at Indigo for a late dinner. Transported to a typical Parisian bistro in the boho 11th arrondissement, the place was an authentic Disneyland for the Francophile: old wood, vintage Negrita and Byrrhe posters and a menu straight out of the old Larousse Gastronomique. Blanquette de veau, anyone? I’ll bypass the minute details of our meal but the sum of it all was that it was once again that formula: good ingredients, simple, well-executed fare, a twist of creativity. Is this the Bangkok equation?

Flash-forward to last week in Manila, I have come to the realization that the city is slowly being overrun by chains. There is a sincere homogenization of the foodscape. Just yesterday I saw another Starbucks being built in front of an existing one. I like my caramel macchiatos, but at the end of the day we need a little more variety in this town.

Apero time at Oskar’s in Bangkok

Crippled by traffic and a chaotic, albeit practically non-existent public transportation system, the few gems that pop up here and there are too difficult to access. With our ever-growing busy schedules, where can one find four whole hours to dedicate to braving traffic and eating? Armed with good intentions but overcome by a sincere lack of time, I haven’t been able to venture to Quezon City to try out chef Him Uy de Baron’s Nomama Ramen, chef Cyrille Soenen’s reopening of Brasserie Cicou, no time to trek to BF Homes to check out chef Bruce Rickett’s Sensei … the list goes on. Overly high rent in accessible locations makes it easily available only to big-ticket chains and mediocre eateries with big investors.

Things are slowly looking up, though, as little by little edgy youths are going against the flow, putting up things without a care for the old “location, location, location” adage and more fueled by the “quality, quality, quality” mindset. It’s perhaps that “Bangkok Equation” or even the “Paris Equation,” where passion drives the business and the following slowly grows. Apart from the aforementioned joints, which I will soon go to but given the reputation of the chefs, I have no doubts that they won’t disappoint, there are a few others I’ve checked out in the center that prove that the Manilascape is changing. There’s Cova on Jupiter Street, whose menu needs a little tweaking but is truly a promising place: great design, friendly staff and the right idea of tapas. My personal favorite was the calamares — simple and really fresh. Don’t miss out on their Millionaire sangria.

A favorite: Blind Pig is the only place in town where I can get a real mint julep without it tasting like cough syrup; where they make the whiskey sours nice and frothy with egg whites; the mixologists happily joke around with you and you forget where you are, exactly.

My favorite addition to Manila’s nightlife is The Blind Pig. With a literally invisible, nondescript door with Braille writing, the staff peers at you through a hidden camera. The dark lighting has a semi-vintage industrial feel, a complete throwback to New York speakeasies. The only place in town where I can get a real mint julep without it tasting like cough syrup; where they make the whiskey sours nice and frothy with egg whites; the mixologists happily joke around with you and you forget where you are, exactly. Watch out, Bangkok, Manila’s looking good. Here’s a plus! You can drunkenly order truffle Parmesan French fries at 2 a.m., crispy and mushy in the middle, covered with microplane flakes of melty Parmesan and the heady waft of truffle oil — a perfect, indulgent hangover buster. Just don’t dunk the fry into your cocktail like I did. Whiskey Sour truffle French fry does not work. To be eaten separately, please.