Chef Ed Quimson: Gone too soon

I rarely encounter situations where I am at an utter loss both for words and emotions, and yet here I am now, trying my best to give tribute to a man who was more than a friend to me. Chef Ed Quimson was my brother and confidant; in him I found both a shoulder to cry on and an ally I could rely on.

Chef Ed is known for his unconventional but superior culinary techniques, honed through years of experience and genuine hard work on the streets of Europe, when he embarked on a learning journey financed by his grandmother. He went on a gastronomic tour tasting the best Europe had to offer, and when the money ran out, he joined the ranks of the kitchen crew. No job was too humble for chef Ed, from dishwasher to line cook to sous chef. He climbed up the ranks with sheer guts and determination and eventually ended up with a distinctive culinary mastery that could rival any chef graduating from any Ivy League culinary school. He was as daring as he was indulgent, and loved to create new ways to enjoy food. He loved to think out of the box: once he suggested that I try his favorite fare, rice mixed with bagoong and mayonnaise. It might seem like an acquired taste, especially to someone like me who has more conventional tastes such as eating bagoong with un-ripened mangoes, but I gave it a try and I was pleasantly surprised by its rich taste, which merged beautifully with the salty contrast of the bagoong.

Chef Ed pioneered fusion cuisine in the Philippines when it was still relatively unknown. From his creations such as tinolang paella to his trademark Iberian chicken, chef Ed left his mark on the culinary industry and without him, it will never be the same again.

The last birthday cake author Heny Sison made for chef Ed

To say that chef Ed was wonderful would really be an understatement. Our paths crossed at the most common of meetings, but it was fate when I met a young chef Ed, with a buffed physique and a full head of hair. His genuine and no-nonsense approach made me feel at ease with him immediately. We met again at the Subic Yacht Club, and right there and then I asked him to be one of my chef-instructors at my culinary school. Without any hesitation, he said yes. In time he would be asked by other culinary institutes to teach at their establishments, and out of sheer loyalty he would decline and this was and always would be the way chef Ed was with me: always accommodating, always generous, and he never denied me. I would constantly ask him to accompany me to various culinary contests and festivals in the Philippines to be one of the judges, and in spite of his hectic schedule he would always go with me. As we consulted for Splendido, our foodie outings with Katrina Ponce-Enrile became more frequent and our bond grew stronger through the years. From that fateful day at the Subic Yacht Club to various culinary tours and food consultation gigs, he never left me alone. He was always with me; in fact, he would always call and ask me how I was. We became extremely close.

When one of my daughters graduated with honors, true to his generous spirit, he gave my daughter his bracelet as a token. My triumphs were his personal triumphs and my personal tragedies were his personal tragedies as well. When I was going through one of the toughest times of my life — when my mother lay bedridden and sick — chef Ed would not only go out of his way to visit with my mother’s requests of his food specialties, but he would also bring his dog, as my mother loved dogs. We would not be able to keep them due to sanitation and health purposes, but despite those challenges he took it upon himself to go out of his way and make an effort to comfort a sickly old woman and her daughter. His love and care did not stop there; in fact, during my mother’s wake, chef Ed catered for the entire duration of the wake.

This is what chef Ed is to me: a thoughtful, gifted and extremely generous individual that gave of himself wholeheartedly without expecting anything in return. Coming home from his cremation, I was awed by the stories lovingly told to me by his mother. She told me how as a child she saw how fascinated he was with the activities in the kitchen. She told me how chef Ed admired his grandmother and his aunts and relentlessly badgered anyone for cooking advice. She also told me one of his antics, where she saw a nine-year-old Ed sprinkling salt on a burning oven while asking, “Di ba I’m good, Ma?” after she told him that in case there was a fire, sprinkle salt instead of water to put it out.

He left beautiful memories with his mother. She told me how she shared her love of dancing with him and even while she was in a wheelchair, she stood up and with slow and graceful movements, she showed me how she taught chef Ed how to sway properly, not using the hip muscles but rather swaying from the knees, and that’s when I remembered the time chef Ed and I were in Ilocos Sur to judge their local culinary fair. He playfully asked a novice nun to dance with him, which she did while an upset Mother Superior looked on, and sure enough he had the grace and tempo of a seasoned dancer. Now I understood why, aside from his mother’s prowess in the kitchen, he learned her dancing skills as well. He was as naughty as he was stubborn. In fact, even when his cardiac health was on the line and his mother would constantly remind him to slow down in eating some of his favorite foods — because he had a tendency to taste ladles of his dishes instead of just a spoonful — he took food tasting to a whole new level. He would ask how was he supposed to stop eating when as a chef that was one of his duties?

His love for cooking was only rivaled by his passion for eating. He always said, “I am a chef. I won’t last long, I would like to die happy,” and this was something his mother knew all too well would prove to be true after the doctors told her that chef Ed had compromised heart functions. Towards the end his mother told me how they struck a bargain: whoever went to heaven first would be waiting at heaven’s door to greet the one that followed. She remarked how selfish it was of him to do that, knowing that a mother should never endure the pain of burying her child, that he was selfish for not taking care of his health, and that she did not want him to go before her. But being selfish was the farthest thing from chef Ed. In fact, as she told me, he had the remarkable talent of cooking hefty portions — enough to feed an army — even if, in fact, there were only three people in their household. Then he would say, “I cooked this much so that I would have something to give to the neighbors.”

Even as a child his generosity was epic. I have lost a friend but more than that, he takes with him a part of me that will always long for his hearty laugh and legendary generosity.

I am blessed that in his brief sojourn on this earth, I was privileged enough to have known him, and better yet to have been given the privilege to have loved him and for him to have loved me in return. I am a better person because of him, and now, upon his departure, the heavens brighten up a little more knowing full well that once again they have given another angel of mine their wings into his eternal rest.

Ed, mi hermano — hasta pronto (not so soon)! Muchisimas gracias y te quiero mucho. Saludos!