A royal review of Pinoy food

You love Indian. You kill for Chinese. You dig Thai. You go out for Korean, stay in for Japanese. And there’s a great little Vietnamese place round the corner. Ever had a Filipino? Us neither. But then no one goes to Manila for the food, right? They go for the ladies. Or the boys. Or the ladyboys. Or they don’t go at all. Unless they’re fearless foodie Tom Parker Bowles, determined to discover the world’s great hidden cuisine. On tour in the Filipino capital, Esquire’s gallivanting gourmand encounters fried pigs’ heads, warm duck embryos and a strangely seductive dictator’s wife — only one of which he doesn’t eat.  — from Esquire magazine

One of the most pretentious people ever are those balikbayans (Philippine-born, newly-minted US citizens trying hard to fake the Stateside accent but hardly succeeding) who visit the Philippines and bellyache all day about the traffic, the heat, the beggars and why they’ll never go back to the Philippines again (they always speak too soon).

The ills we have here are real but are not unique; and I can understand why they horrify such visitors as Hollywood actress Claire Danes and the forgiving Gracia Burnham. But fellow middle-class Filipinos who think the world of In-N-Out burger but don’t see the paradise for the potholes in the Philippines — I think they forget that in the Philippines you have porters to carry your luggage; you can have a manicure, pedicure and foot spa for a tenth of the price abroad; you have househelp to help you keep your sanity and the softness of your dainty fingers. You can work hard so that you can afford a driver (and give employment in the process) so that you can sleep while your car is stuck in traffic and have someone park the car for you. And you can entertain all night in your home without worrying about who’ll do the dishes. Still wonder why Filipinos have a high happiness index? And why the allure of a Philippine posting is one of the best-kept secrets in the expat community?

When was the last time we said something good about a fellow Filipino, President Aquino asked in his SONA yesterday. Or say something positive about our country, dusty, dirty in parts though it is?

Sometimes, it takes a foreigner to slap the truth on our faces!

One of the most refreshing reviews about the Philippines was that made by Esquire food editor Tom Parker Bowles, who ended up doing a review of life in Metro Manila and its outskirts. The son of Camilla Parker Bowles, wife of Prince Charles, heir to the British throne, Tom came only with a photographer. No security detail.

Tom visited Manila just before the wedding of Prince William and Catherine Middleton, to which he was invited. His visit was on his own initiative and was facilitated by the Department of Tourism. He was billeted at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in Makati.

In his article for the British edition of Esquire, Parker Bowles was candid about his peers’ initial reaction to his decision to visit the Philippines.

Manila, according to one of his friends, was a “f-ck--ng armpit,” “one of the grimmest cities in the world,” “a cess-pit”, “hell-hole” and “dirty dive.”

“No one could understand why I’d fly all the way out to this tropical republic of 7,000 islands and spend my time in the capital! It was like going to Disneyland, only to waste the entire visit in the loos by the main gate. This was a city, I was told, to be endured with a hanky held firmly to one’s mouth, the sort of place that made Sodom and Gomorrah look like Marlow on a crisp autumnal morn. I was told that bodyguards were ‘essential,’ that everyone carried guns, and ‘had no compunction using them,’ and that cocks battled on every street corner.” (I guess Boracay, Palawan, CamSur and Cebu have better reputations than Manila!)

Furthermore, Parker Bowles was told, “The only reason a man goes to Manila, without being forced to on business is the girls. Or the boys.”

 He was quite frankly asked if he was a sex tourist. “Christ, no,” he would splutter. “I’m going there to eat.”

“Yeah right. Manila to eat. Ha!” the doubting Manila fans would counter.

But Tom trusted his instincts and concluded in the August issue of Esquire: “So why go (to Manila)? A city neither famed for its food or beauty, it’s not the most obvious choice for adventures gastronomic or aesthetic. But it was one of the few cities in Southeast Asia I knew next to nothing about. And for me, it’s always had a certain exotic, far-flung charm. The more people tried to put me off going, the more determined I became to tramp its streets.”

Parker Bowles’ article on Manila and Pinoy food in the August issue of Esquire.

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In Manila, the Mandarin’s gracious communications director Charisse Chuidian asked Tom his schedule for his five-day visit and Tom said it was pretty open. His only contact in Manila were Intas Destination’s Sonia Lazo (who provided him with land transfers and guide) and travel writer Ivan Henares.

Charisse suggested that Tom try Claude Tayag’s restaurant in Pampanga, Dr. Boy Vasquez’s Café Juanita at the Fort and the culinary masterpieces of Margarita Fores.

“Tom had planned on doing the research on his own, primarily on street food; nice that he was open to our suggestions as to whom to see. Too bad that he didn’t have time anymore to meet with Glenda Barretto, whom I had lined up as well,” says Charisse, noting that Tom’s must-see list included a cockfight.

At the dinner that Margarita Fores arranged on 12 hours’ notice were about 15 people including DOT Assistant Secretary Chicoy Enerio and Joel Binamira (MarketMan food blogger and Filipino food authority and historian).

Tom describes the dinner prepared by Margarita (held at her commissary, not in one of her restaurants) as one that turned a growing flirtation with Filipino food “into true love.”

“With about 12 hours’ notice, Margarita Fores puts together a feast in every sense,” he rhapsodized. “Chef, writer and restaurateur, she’s small and sexy, exuding the same, single-minded passion as Claude.”

The dinner included lechon, “a great, shiny roast pig.”

“The pig, seemingly coated in thin toffee, sits gleaming in the centre of the table,” Tom recalled. “He (Binamira) breaks off a shard of the brittle skin. It’s the finest piece of pigskin I’ve ever eaten. One of the best things I’ve ever tried, full stop… I chew, my head in hog heaven.”

 Tom also complimented Margarita’s sinigang, “stunningly clean, elegant and fresh tasting. And that sourness is just right. Simple, yet glorious.”

The visiting food writer ended his article (aside from also rhapsodizing about Imelda Marcos, whom he met at a dinner hosted by Philippine Tatler at the Mandarin’s Tivoli and whom he bowed to, like she were a queen) by recalling wistfully, “As we drive back to the hotel, my belly full, and head stuffed with chat and goodwill, I look around. Yes, it’s a city with a pockmarked face and a horrible limp, a place of erroneous preconceptions. But it has a heart of gold. Like the kind beauty who’s fallen on hard times. Far more than a mere hub for the rest of the country, an archipelagic afterthought, Manila’s one hell of a capital city. It hums and throbs and buzzes and whirrs. Overlooked and underappreciated, it’s the plucky survivor. You just have to look beyond the obvious, scratch away the generalisations and long-held cant. Just like the food. Visit Manila with those in the know. You can’t fail.”

And, as he quipped to his Filipino friends during the dinner at the Tivoli, “All I need now is for Manny Pacquiao to walk into the room.”

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