Gege Cruz Sugue

209 Aguirre Ave., B.F. Homes, Paranaque City, Philippines

Its unique selling proposition is that every dish comes out of their brick oven. And you have to go all the way to BF Paranaque to have some.

I read about it from a blog post by my friend Jag. 

The USP stated above was intriguing enough, but oh, how he waxed and profaned about that chocolate dessert and we knew we had to try it! And though I no longer profane these days, I understand the role of profanity as a figure of speech for emphasis. Especially for food.

But before we talk about the dessert, let’s begin with the appetizers. There’s no way baked potato can fail, and the Stuffed Potato Marbles (P110) are winners. I’m a big fan of potato skins, and this one had the skin, the flesh, and bacon and cheese stuffing, and sour cream dip. Everybody around the table liked it. The Wood-Fired Buffalo Wings (P175) failed to leave an impression on me. Mainly they failed to stay on the plate long enough. 

While I was taking pictures of the oven, my dinner mates attacked and left me with a ravaged platter not fit for a picture. I had a piece to eat though, but it really wasn’t very memorable in flavor. What is memorable is the Puchon! (P295) This is pork na nilechon sa pugon served with soy vinaigrette. Crispy goodness. And we tried to convince ourselves that it’s healthy because it was baked. None of us was convinced, but all of us were satisfied with this dish. 

Somebody ordered Buffalo Chicken Pizza (P315). Though that seemed redundant given that we also ordered Buffalo Wings, it deserved a place on the table. The thin crust was good. The tomato sauce and mozzarella blue cheese topping even better. I’m not a connoisseur with a palate that can differentiate brick oven pizza, but I can tell that this was very good pizza. 

I expected more from the Rigatoni in 3-Cheese Sauce (P235), but maybe mozzarella, cheddar, and quezo de bola are meant to be enjoyed not mixed together in one sauce. It was good, but not exceptional. 

And finally, the Brick Oven Chocolate Cake Ala Mode (P120). It’s as good as Jag says it is. The difference with other Lava or Molten cakes is the texture of the outer layer of the cake. It looks as if it were coated with white flour and there’s a mildly burnt and yummy flavor to it. Maybe that’s the effect of brick oven baking. As for look and ambiance, the place is tastefully done with a homey quality apt for its being a village resto. I like the malaga tile look on the ceiling. And of course, that great looking brick oven at the center is a commanding visual presence and gives the place warmth. 

Bottomline, Chi’s Kitchen is worth the trip to BF.

2/F, 32nd and 5th Building,
5th Avenue, Fort Bonifacio –
+6328569888

Some people exaggerate when they say certain dining experiences are better than sex. Dining at Aubergine makes you think about sex, and sunsets, and sand on your feet, and Puccini when you’re sad, and chocolate when you’re mad, and everything that’s sensual, that feels good, that’s sublime and spectacular at the same time. Yes, it is that good.

It’s food that makes you wonder why some people invest in illegal drugs when an ounce of foie gras can give you all the ecstasy you need sans the brainfry.

Visually, Aubergine is faultless. Posh decor with the Frenchy trimmings that give character to the place. A towering, gasp-inspiring wine bar. For us, a delightful view of the kitchen that should replace the aquarium channel because I could watch it the whole day. There is a guilty pleasure, like watching porn, in watching the great looking chefs-in-training putter around producing fabulous works of food art. I love the plating area where warm pendant lights keep the food warm. And the dessert station delivers the sherbet in “steaming” teapots. Art!! The lighting is just the right balance of dimness and coziness that gives your skin a golden glow but bright enough for you to appreciate the aesthetic delight of food presentation.

Sounds – ah, that’s where they can be faulted. The ambient music does very little to drown out neighboring tables’ chit chat noises, especially when the ones at the big round table are type A corporate bigwigs who all love the sounds of their collegiate twang voices. But eventually, you forget about noise as all your sensory functions focus on the sense of…

TASTE! – You’re given a choice of soft or hard bread to go with the butter and the hummus in quaint glass squares. The waiter gives you appetizer on the house — tuna carpaccio. The chervil leaf on top is divine.

Start with Melted French Brie de Meaux (P430) served on grilled watermelon, topped with watercress salad tossed in raspberry dressing, walnuts, and chinese truffles. I love the mix of cold and hot; and sweet and tart and savory rolling on my tongue.

Then, the Baked Oysters (P480) with wilted spinach and crispy bacon in champagne sauce. At first bite, it seems like the Rockefeller variety typical of any oyster bar, but eventually your palate detects something above par and exquisitely good about it. And you dwell on how great cooking can turn ordinary into extraordinary.

Then the main dishes. I figured the Trio of Grilled Mulwarra Beef Tenderloin, Braised Veal Cheek, and Pan Seared Duck Foie Gras (P1,350) would give me a sampler of the Degustation Meal, which was not tempting enough. This is heaven on a plate. I wanted my beef medium rare and they gave me carnivorousness perfection. Seared very lightly on the outside and rosy pink on the inside. I’ve had Veal Cheek before and this one didn’t match the first time. It tasted just a wee bit better than homemade caldereta and didn’t melt in my mouth like the first one did. And if I had to nitpick, the vegetables were a bit too wilted. But who cares about the vegetables when the foie gras was ooh-aah-baby-baby-so-good! I’m sorry to be so politically incorrect and insensitive to animal rights supporters, but this is food that really makes me happy to be above the food chain.

Hubbaluvva’s US Angus Rib-Eye Beef Steak (P1,550 fpr 300 grams) was also very good.

We have just decided to move to another restaurant for dessert, when the waiter gave us free macaroons and grand marnier chocolates. Perfect to top off a fine meal.

Overall, very very good food that made me want to go back to my Multiply site and change all my resto ratings to one because I was just so bowled over by the food at Aubergine.

Service was very good. It felt like the cute waiters were fawning over us. There was a minor mix-up with the reservations but we got in there early so we got a nice booth with a great view of the kitchen of my dreams.

The only downer was the wine list. I read from the reviews that they have a good selection. I was expecting a great big leather book of exotic choices but we were given a little cardstock paper foldout of obscenely overpriced, not too spectacular, available at Cash & Carry for 229.95 wines. So we brought in our own bottle and coughed up a criminal 750 peso corkage.

We went here for my husband’s birthday but I got a treat as well. I was too afraid to look at the final bill. My brain was slush incapable of doing math. And it’s probably well and good I didn’t ruin the delightful evening with sticker shock. But this was a celebration of my husband’s year and life’s many blessings, so an occasional splurge was called for.

The feast of the senses can be viewed here: http://islandhopper.multiply.com/photos/album/29/Aubergine

I was cleaning up my inbox and found this excerpt from one of the email exchanges with friends.

FOUR THINGS I HAVE LEARNED AS AN ADULT:

1. Salvation is not about how good I am. It’s about how good God is. Reaching heaven is not about amassing heaven points. Jesus already died once and for all. And He did it not because I deserved it, but because He loves me.
2. Giving is so much better than receiving. And that says a lot considering I get so thrilled about receiving gifts.
3. There is just no excuse to be bored. Every experience, if you look hard enough, presents opportunities for learning and fascination. And if you’re ever bored, you always have the power to stir things up and make it exciting and fulfilling.
4. The power of choice is one of God’s greatest gifts. Take every good opportunity to use it, but use it wisely.

A repost from May 2000
I have been called a nailchick. Definition : a female person who is inordinately preoccupied with her nails.

I guess that is better than being called a nail head. Definition : somebody who has the personality of a metal peg, or somebody whose grandest purpose is to be hammered on the head.

That title was meant to be neither complimentary, nor derogatory. It just is. I just am. A nailhead. I do obsess a bit about my nails. Okay, okay, I obsess more than just a bit. I have more than two dozen colors in my collection, ranging from virginal pink to satanic black. But this obsession goes beyond color, really. This addiction is not just about vanity or aesthetics. I mean, it is not just about whether this season dictates matte or sheen, or if purple goes with my skin tone.

What it is about is that it just feels so damn good to have your nails done. Feels really, really, really good. Better than sex? Nah, I wouldn’t go that far in extolling the virtues of nail culture. I wouldn’t put these activities in the same level, though there have been days when I would rather be manicured than shagged. It probably isn’t as ooh-aah inducing as shopping on a no-max credit card. But when you don’t have that utile gold visa, having your nails done delivers temporal nirvana for the puny sum of 120 pesos plus tips. My socially concerned husband would argue that my narcissistic folly is a minimum wage family’s lunch and dinner. I will ignore the comment as I get into scrubs, wash my hands and feet in preparation for this delightful, delectable, sensual, luxurious indulgence.

The pleasure starts at home where I keep my arsenal of nail ware and I choose the color of the week. Outside in another world, malls are being bombed, foreign embassies are demanding hostage negotiation rights, the Central Bank governor is choosing between increasing interest rates or devaluating the peso, Erap is distressing over cancelling his European state visit to give priority to the worsening peace and order situation, I am lining up those colorful little bottles, and thinking, will I go for the kohl or the mocha glaze? Electric blue or matte pink? Vampy red or boring beige?

Having made my choice, I walk/ drive over to the parlor. I don’t even mind the waiting time. The anticipation adds to the excitement. Witholding the gratification stretches the time spent in the salon atmosphere. My senses take in the scent of hair setting lotion, the screaming, screeching gaggle of salon staff in fag-speak, the heat of the hair steamer, the sight of women in terry turbans and scalps wrapped in foil, and the cerebral stimulation sparked by hollywood magazines littering the waiting room.

Then, the wait is over. The manicurist calls me and I excitedly respond and follow her as she leads me to my seat. Let me point out at this point that most manicurists have unkempt nails. That’s their occupational hazard – having to hold acetone-dipped cotton balls and having to use their own nails to tidy up nail color, they can not possibly maintain their own nails. I personally consider that a monumental sacrifice. Thanks to their selfless disregard for their personal vanity, nailchicks like me get to sport the latest shades from urban decay, wet & wild, bobbie and caronia.

So back to nail heaven. I usually have my hand nails done first. The first thing the manicurist does is to remove any existing color. Then she dips this cute little nail brush into this pink liquid imaginatively called cuticle remover. Then she uses an implement called the pusher, which serves a much nobler purpose than those whose occupational title is the same. The manicurist, let’s call her Vangie today… Vangie uses the pusher to scrape surface grime. It sounds disgusting, but be assured that the grime is colored white and is really just the topmost layer of the nail, not exactly yuck muck. The thought that this process may be causing damage to my nails is conveniently ignored as I give in to the pleasurable sensations. Vangie brushes all the nails again and then brings out the nipper, my favorite tool. Vangie nips around where the nails join skin removing superfluous dermis called the cuticle. Now, this is a delicate task. The manicuring tyro has caused many a wounded finger. But for us, nail mavens, a little blood, overnipped cuticles, tiny cuts are just minor irritants endured in the line of nailchick duty. Nothing that good old mercurochrome can not handle.

Cuticle-cleaning, actually the most orgasmic part of the process, now over. Everything is a bit anti-climactic, albeit still pleasurable, from this point on. Nails are filed – I go for square tipped. One final buff. A dollop of lotion. A hand massage that exceeds five minutes is glorious. Base coat applied. Two coats of color. Topcoat to protect the color from chipping, at least until after you leave the salon doors. Same process goes for the feet. Only it is much more pleasurable, because there is much more grime and extra skin to zap. Foot scrubs are nice-to-haves that double, no, triple the pleasure.

And as Vangie applies the last coat of polish on the last nail, I become sentimental, already missing the pampering sensations of having my nails done. Sighing. Wishing I had another pair of hands and feet. Hating the re-entry into the real world where our mentally challenged president reigns and dictates policies that diminish the peso, changing the title of this piece to two dollar fifty of happiness.