Gege Cruz Sugue

Tritan Plaza
Paseo de Magallanes, Makati City

The Bait: Namets-inspired sampling of Bacolod food
The Line: “Since 1965. Serving the Negrenses with Good Food For Over 40 years. “
The Hook: Comfort Food
The Sinker: Birthing blues with service not up to the first flux of wannabe-the-first-to-try diners.
The Catch: P350 per person; exclusive of dessert

In our marriage’s restaurant choosing power play, he usually says, “same old, same all-time favorite.” And she says, “anything we’ve never tried before.”

This weekend’s date night brought about a happy compromise.

Bacolod’s Pride, Bob’s, has been in Manila for just a few weeks. But it’s been satisfying the Negrense diners since 1965. It satisfies my husband’s craving for the familiar; the dishes vaguely reminds us of Dayrit’s comfort food. Spanking new and already attracting a wait-in-line clientele, it sates my hunger for the novel.

If you’re looking for newfangled cuisine, Bob’s is not the place for you. The food is no-frills, no-surprises, just-eat-it-and-enjoy, yummy in my tummy, comfy for my soul food.

This old married couple ordered the prosaic and predictable. Buffalo Wings (5 pcs for P250) with blue cheese dip. Good, but not outstanding given the metro’s choices of hot wings. Bob’s Chorizo Sandwich (P105) was a bit of a disappointment — delicious chorizo filling, but too much bread for not a whole lot of meat. They need to double up the chorizo serving and give it some visual interest. It is arguably the most boring looking sandwich on the face of the earth. The Big Boy Cheeseburger (P170) compensates. It doesn’t blow your taste buds away, but it pleasantly satisfies with it simple, beefy goodness.

The major disappointment was the absence of desserts. The mention of Bacolod food conjures visions of napoleones and other sweet treats. The cafe counter fridge offers only a blah display of chocolate cakes and brazos de mercedes.

The main pic above is their place mat, which shows a copy of their menu circa 1965. Nostalgic. But shows the stark contrast of today’s prices, thousands of percentage over. A bit depressing.

The service was a bit sucky; repeated follow-ups necessary before food and drinks are served. But that’s also because the place was packed. We’re going to give it another chance though. The steak and eggs breakfast insists on being tried.

Wine Depot, 217 Nicanor Garcia St. (formerly Reposo St.), Bel-Air,
Makati City, 8973220, 897816

The Bait: Dining in the middle of wine heaven
The Line: “Our Wine List is Our Wine Shop”
The Hook: Green tea pannacotta
The Sinker: I’m nitpicking here, but if you pick a copy of their biz card, you see their unimaginative logo, a literal translation of “purple feet,” which at best reminds you of your neighborhood spa and at worse, reminds you of er, purple feet.
The Catch: P1k-2k per person; exclusive of wine

How can this semi-alcoholic, 100%-gluttonic [my word] couple refuse an invitation to dine in a wine shop on the week that Wine Depot was having a restaurant promo around the metro?

With no signs outside, Purple Feet gives you the experience of entering a speakeasy, sans the burly bouncer and the secret password. It feels like you’re in on a secret, but it’s the food that is the contraband, not the alcohol. Walking in, one might take several minutes to get to the dining area with all the eye candy — glistening, glowing bottles of wine calling out your name, tempting you to shop. But we had friends waiting for us, so we had to resist all impulse to walk the aisles.

We were pretty hungry too; this made our decision to go for the set menu easy and obvious. Check out that picture of the blackboard. Four courses, each one accompanied by a glass of wine. At P888. It’s a really good deal; unfortunately tonight (October 11) is the last night for it.

The Blue Cheese Seafood Chowder is hearty, creamy, flavorful — three adjectives tops on my gustatory vocabulary. Dig deep into the tiny soup cup to find spoonfuls of shrimp and calamari. I would have wanted more, But more dishes were to follow. The Villawolf Gewutz…gewirtz…gewurtz…uhm white wine that comes with it is sweet; tastes like champagne without the fizz. A good start.

The Atlantic Smoked Trout in Macadamia Dressing doesn’t look impressive, but actually tastes good. To my untrained wine palate, the Tulloch Verdelho was just okay, but that’s because I’m not really big on white wine.

For entrees, my hubbalicious chose the chicken, and I had the fish — one of the few occasions when he was right, and I was wrong. The saving grace of my Lemon Poached Garfish with Saffrom and Olives were the fresh, raw herbs topping it, and that dollop of Indonesian catsup on the side. Other than those, the fish was the opposite of spectacular. More white wine, please.

Our host, who opted for the ala-carte menu had Duck Breast, which she made me try. It’s very good — oriental-flavored, slightly sweet, crispy skin. For that price (900+) though, you might be better off getting your duck fix in chinese tea houses, says my host. Of course, aesthetically, the warehouse, secret restaurant ambience of Purple Feet is hard to beat.

The dessert totally made up for the entree. The Green Tea Pannacotta was sublime. And the Dr. Loosen Reisling was almost ignored, if not for the fact that I’m cheap and I don’t want wine to go to waste. The Vittoria Coffee is very good; dense, bitter, and strong. Great ending to a good, well-paced meal.

I would love to come back on a non-promo night. The dishes on the other blackboard look like must-tries — that Portabello Mushroom with Foie Gras and Stilton Cheese is now officially part of my bucket list.

But what’s more interesting is the option to pick out “raw ingredients” like beef, scallops, duck from the board, and then collaborate with the chef to whip up dishes to your liking. That and the green tea pannacotta are worth a return trip. I’ll have red wine with my dinner next time though.

(Forgive me for the lousy pictures taken by my lousy phone cam.)

You like fashion? You also like literature? Here’s something that brings those two elements together.

Freeway honors Philippine National Artists by designing clothing collections that showcase the artists’ works. The first set features Nick Joaquin. It’s a scrumptious, artistic collection of t-shirts, blouses, jackets, and dresses.

I love the way the text takes as much space as the imagery. And if you’re ever stuck in an elevator/waiting room/queue without a book, you can read your shirt.

Freeway does not seem to have a website, but google led me to this site that shows off the collection: http://fashion-flick.blogspot.com/2009/08/freeway-loves-art-nick-joaquin.html

Gorgeous, huh? I know you want a piece of that.

It’s a bummer though that I wasn’t able to buy anything. I’m way off the size chart of Philippine apparel, so I was ready to go for a bag. But there’s no bag; just a tiny kikay pouch. And really, my closet will vomit the kikay pouch if I attempt to add another to the 2 million I already have. I need something I can use, sling on my shoulder, and show off so people will say, “Wow, that’s Nick Joaquin.” And I will beam and carry a silly grin while thinking of myself as some kind of cool, nationalistic, literate dudette with socially-relevant fashion tastes.

Oh well, maybe I will come back to their stores one of these days to try on a men’s shirt.

But for you, my lithe friends, I encourage you to check this out and get yourself a limited edition. Wear Joaquin. If you have 2 navels, now is the time to show them off. Let’s support Freeway as they support our artists.

Up next for the holidays is a collection paying homage to Ang Kiukok. I can’t even begin to articulate how excited I am about that collection as well, and it will break my materialistic, pa-cultured heart to leave empty handed, because here finally is my chance of having a bit of Ang Kiukok without having to pawn my husband.

Freeway people, make sure you include a tote or messenger bag for the Ang Kiukok set, okay?

Often, I find myself submerged in a thick plot, lost in the pages of a good book, deeply ensconced in an armchair and swept up in other worlds, embroiled in other people’s stories. But this post is not about that. This post is about submerging the book.

Yes, dipping a book in water. Uhm, yes, liquid water.

I hear gasps and the gnashing of teeth.

Warning: The pictures that follow might cause shortness of breath, activation of tear ducts, and the rapid increase/decrease of blood pressure among my obsessive-compulsive, plastic-wrapping, book-loving friends.

Be assured, however, that no books were harmed in the filming of this blog.This is my totally waterproof book. Melcher Media’s The Soothing Soak is a collection of poems, essays, and short stories by Pablo Neruda, AS Byatt, Diane Ackerman among others. It is meant to be read in the bathtub. But since we don’t have a tub, this book is my spa book.

I’ve been wanting to have a book like this. Ever since I discovered the existence of waterproof books, I’ve been entering steam bath and sauna rooms with a profound sense of emptiness and longing, knowing that if I had such a book, I would read in joyous peace instead of boring myself in contrived zen.

One time back in the days when I didn’t have this book, I tried going to the sauna with a regular book, the type with porous paper pages. I panicked when I saw the pages crinkling into little waves. In this mega-humid country of ours, water damaged books have the potential to attract molds and destroy your whole book collection. (There’s that gasping and gnashing sound again.)

Gimongous thanks to my Chicago based sister-in-law, Ate Pat, I finally have this.

One weekend, I baptized (uhm, literally?) the book at The Spa in Jupiter. I tucked the book into my little pink spa bag and brought it with me to the wet floor.

I read poetry at the steam room.I felt a bit self conscious because there were 2 other girls in the room. And maybe they were thinking I was silly bringing a book in there. Or maybe they were envious. Because they had nothing to read. While I was unabashedly reading in the steam room, instead of watching my navel or doing nothing but grappling with my body issues and trying to cover up my cellulite. I was happy.

Then I moved into the Turkish pools. I love Turkish pools with the contrast hot and cold baths, except this time the hot part was not that hot, and the cold was not that cold. Normally, I would be a wee bit upset about such technical flaws, but this time I had my waterproof book, and I was a happy camper. I read a couple of short stories. I can hardly remember the content as I was just so thrilled at the experience of being able to do two favorite things at once — reading and spa-ing. I enjoyed myself so much, I had to force myself to stop reading, pull myself out of the pool, and get on with my spa-ing.

Two drawbacks — one is that you need to allocate more time before your massage. The other one is that even if it is waterproof, the pages do get wet and stay wet. So I had to wipe every page before I stored the book back into my spa bag. Spritzed it with Lysol. It’s waterproof. I don’t know if it’s mold proof.

Aaah. I can’t wait until my next spa visit and my next soothing soak.