My mom made hot chocolate from those round coin-sized disks of chocolate wrapped in yellow paper. She would make it with the traditional batidor, whisking it over low heat until it took on the consistency she was happy with, which was slightly thicker than the resulting cup of hot cocoa if you followed the recipe on the Hershey’s container. It was good, but not impressive, and I did not crave for it (sorry, ma).

The first time X and I were in Café Xocolat at the Promenade I had to wait until some young boys took their time perusing the menu, which was quite extensive for a small chocolate bar. Aside from the usual hot and cold chocolate beverages there were also big hunks of brownies, which could all be had plain, or a la mode. The menu also boasted of small snack items to enjoy with your chosen sinful beverage. Unfortunately the boys took so damn long I lost my patience, and my chance to try the Taza that day.

Today I got lucky. X and I agreed to take on the large version of the Taza, which costs 145 pesos. The smaller one costs 115. We also agreed to split an innocent-looking brownie called Original Sin.

After about five minutes X started to whine that the Taza had not arrived, and I reminded him that it takes a while to prepare. In fact, the counter has a printed notice that says the Taza cannot be served before it is ready. When it arrived, it looked quite anticlimactic. It was in a small nondescript corrugated paper cup with the matching plastic lid. I was disappointed. Had I not told the counter person it was for here? Did we not deserve the mug like the one in the picture? Wasn’t it too small? And where was our brownie?

I went to the counter, cup in hand, asked for my brownie, and if the cup size was right. I was given the brownie in a small white paper bag, and the answer that yes, that was the right size for the 145 peso Taza de Xocolat. Hmph, I thought, and returned to our table.

I uncovered the cup and took a sip. Wow.

To say that the chocolate is thick is a gross understatement. It is almost solid. It has the consistency of lava, complete with the bits of chocolate floating in it. I have no doubt that if I stuck a churros stick or a chopstick in there it would stand in the center of the cup, supported by the viscous liquid. It is without a doubt, hands down, the richest cup of hot chocolate I have had in my life.

The brownie was no disappointment either. In baking shows and food magazines they always say that people who like brownies come from one of two camps – the cakey and the fudgy. I am definitely on the fudgy side, because I believe that if you want a cakey brownie you should just go have cake. The Original Sin brownie is rich, dense, and chewy, pure chocolate love.

X, who is not a chocolate person, mused that the Taza would go well with suman sa lihiya, which is bland and cries out for some sweet and rich companion to balance it out. Otherwise, he confessed, he would not be able to enjoy the drink much. He mused that between the Original Sin and the Taza, he truly understood the meaning of death by chocolate.

I would say that even for a chocolate lover, you would need to be in a certain frame of mind (and stomach) to finish even the small Taza. I found myself needing a chaser (Summit mineral water) after I valiantly finished the last of it.

I would be lying if I left out the fact that I would have enjoyed the whole experience more had I been served the Taza in a real cup and the brownie on a saucer as befits the whole chocolate bar experience. But I remember Jeffrey Steingarten saying something about how food writers would comment on the flooring, lighting, and seats of a restaurant and not saying enough about the food, which is really what it’s all about.

X and I left Café Xocolat feeling a little sorry for our arteries, which were trying to comprehend what on earth we had just ingested. I know he won’t try it again, and I’m not so sure I will be back soon either, and for the first time, I mean that as a real compliment.

Café Xocolat
Ground Floor, Promenade
Greenhills Shopping Complex

Otherwise, the organic market (held every Sunday morning) was a good find for Quezon City standards. Having been to the Salcedo Village Organic Market, I knew what I was looking for. At Salcedo I was besieged by eager vendors who enthusiastically held out samples of fresh cuts of fish with homemade dill cream sauce, rustic tomato pasta sauces, small crostinis with pate dips, and all sorts of things they were willing to put their name on. These were obviously people who oversaw the cooking and selling themselves, and they wanted you to try their food.

The one at the Lung Center complex was slightly smaller and, at the time that I went, quite muddy because it had rained earlier. Some of the vendors at Salcedo were also there, said my mom, including our friendly barako coffee bean guy. What I liked were the meals, beckoning to you from their large pans and stainless steel warmers. Fresh lumpia, bopis, caldereta, Bicol express, Pinoy barbecue, and ukoy beckoned from one side of an alley. There was also kakanin of all sorts – puto, biko, and cutchinta. My mom indulged her sweet tooth with arpahol, the Bulaceno’s guinataang halo-halo, and inangit, a sticky rice concoction which did not look appetizing to me at all.

A stall boasted of freshly roasted lechon de leche, another roasted calf sandwiches, and a long table impressively groaning under the weight of all things soy. The vendors willingly give out samples, even for expensive things like grapes.

I don’t know if it was the timing, though, but I did not find many organic food stalls. Of course there were fruit and vegetable stalls, one even had free-range chicken and eggs, but there were other things which I did not expect to find – one stall offered second-hand hardbound spy novels – like Tom Clancy and Robert Ludlum. Another was selling handmade native bags, and yet another was selling charming tea cups.

There were also some things there that I did not find in Salcedo. There were Fibisco biscuit rejects – chocolate mallows and Jolly finger cream wafers which sold for three packs for a hundred pesos. The same stall sold garlic butter toasts, which are my favorite stress-buster because they crunch away my worries. One time my mom and I polished off a whole bag of these by ourselves, and we were not proud of ourselves afterwards. At the same stall we also bought chocolate wafer sticks and iced gem biscuits.

Another vendor offered a confused mix of cashew nuts, small cookies and repacked nachos. I had the feeling that some of them were middlemen rather than the actual business proprietors themselves.

The irresistible smell of the specialties of a home-based cook (at least she looked like one to me) won me over. She sold Korean chap chae (translucent glass noodles, slightly spicy with sesame seeds, strips of beef), pan-grilled boneless bangus with spinach cream sauce, roast beef with garlic and mushrooms, and grilled baby back ribs. I bought everything except for the baby back ribs (because I had no money left). She smiled as she handed me my plastic containers and said, ‘babalikan mo yan.’

We left less than an hour after we arrived because our sack bags were full (we’re trying to avoid using plastic bags as much as possible), and it was getting too warm for comfort. I also inferred that my parents had spent enough money for the morning. I snuggled into my car seat, my lap warm from the chap chae noodles and garlicky roast beef.

Everything from the location to the way it is organized and the merchandise tells you that this organic market is for middle class Quezon City dwellers, and it is quite different from the Salcedo organic market, which caters to the well-heeled condo residents who have their drivers and yayas in tow. At the Lung Center market you are more bound to bump into old friends you went to college with, who carry their own bags and drive their own cars. It still is a good place to visit, if you have the money to spend and a passion for eating.

My mom was right. Come early to the organic market, bring more money than you think you’ll spend, and take your time. That’s how Sundays are supposed to be spent anyway – laid back, relaxed, and with lots of good food.

Sunday Organic Market
Lung Center of the Philippines Parking Area

When my sister told me about BreadTalk, she mentioned that bakers who come from their workstations announced aloud what they were bringing to the buying public. FRESHLY BAKED CHEEZYMADAS! FRESHLY BAKED FLOSS BUNS! I wanted to catch one baker coming from the kitchen with his handiwork and then barrage him with questions about what he had brought. Did he use yeast that comes in an envelope, or baker’s yeast, which comes in a block? Had he tried his own bread, proud as he was to promote it the way he did? Or was it standard operating procedure? Whatever made those floss buns so popular? No such luck today. I took a plastic tray and a pair of tongs and made the perfunctory rounds.

Some of the products had signs with brief descriptions, the others had signs with just their names, and some had no signs at all. I had to smile when I saw the pork sisig roll, which is shaped like a pig’s head complete with beady eyes, and the bear-shaped bun. You had to hand it to these bakers. They could really turn heads with those cute things.

I went around, picked up two cheese rolls, one long cheezymada roll, one bacon and cheese bun, and a loaf of sliced bread. The floss buns did not appeal to me at all. My brother-in-law, who is originally from Taiwan, once brought our family a big container of pork floss, which is meant to serve as toppings for congee and rice. I was not a big fan of it, but maybe that was because I was young and quite conventional about what I considered good food. I knew that pork floss was likeable, but I was not quite sure I would enjoy it on a bun. Maybe some other time.

I joined the line holding my plastic tray. The queue of customers waiting to pay for their purchases snaked past the glass case where the fancy cakes were on display. The cakes were lovely. One of the frustrations I have as a home baker is that I can never get my pastries to look like those in magazines or cookbooks. They look rustic, to put it kindly. Which is to say I would never display them in a case. BreadTalk’s giant blueberry cake and chocolate and green tea cake slices were works of art.

From a distance you could see the male bakers hard at work near the ovens and work surfaces dusted with flour and strewn with stainless steel bowls. One of them took a ruler and scored the lines on a huge batch of double layer cake plumped up with a creamy filling.

I paid Php 220+ for the items on my tray. The most shocking discovery was that the harmless looking loaf of sliced bread cost over a hundred pesos. I thought that for such an exorbitant rate BreadTalk bread must be worth it.

At home I tried everything except the bacon and cheese bun. The sliced bread was light and buttery, soft and delicate. It is so delicate, you could take a fork and flatten it out in five strokes. The other pastries tasted like milk and butter. They were different from what I was used to, and perhaps more beautifully presented, but other than that I could honestly not see what the fuss was about. Maybe this was because I had been reading Jeffrey Steingarten for the past two weeks and he spoke about bringing back the French baguette, which is chewy and crusty, golden brown inside and with large holes in the dough. Maybe I was looking for bread with more character.

At any rate I am glad I tried it. Maybe because I am getting older, I will try any new food craze once, just to get it out of my system, and to stop wondering what the lines are all about. I just hope that when the lines at BreadTalk dwindle, the bakers still call out the names of their pastries. After all, baking bread is hard work, and everyone deserves to be proud of what they take out of their ovens.

BreadTalk
2nd Level, The Block
SM City North Edsa

When X and I are in need of an el cheapo meal for two under a hundred bucks we always find ourselves heading here, to this homey carinderia-like joint which sells great Pampango-style home-cooked meals.

X first brought me to Ambula to try the rice topping meals, which come with your choice of viand (menudo, adobo or bistek Tagalog) and a small bowl of the day’s broth. These meals go for only 25 pesos each! Since we swore off sodas and sugary iced tea in the interest of saving some loose change (and our growing potbellies), we would walk away, fully satisfied, having shelled out only 50 pesos! The words cheap date never rang more true.

It would also be good to sample their sisig, potbellies be damned. A whole order goes for only 95 pesos, and they serve it on a sizzling plate. The sisig is good, it doesn’t give you that heady feeling that makes you want to walk all the way back home after you eat the whole plateful. Trust me, I’ve tried.

We also tried their sinigang na bangus and although the dish was not as hot as we would have wanted it when it was served, the soup was just the right kind of sour and salty, and the fish tasted fresh.

Ambula is clean and the attendants are attentive and helpful. It’s right smack in the middle of busy Maginhawa Street, and has its share of regulars, always a good sign that the food is good if you’re in the midst of so many competitors.

Thank goodness for Ambula, where they make sure that going el cheapo doesn’t mean going hungry or unsatisfied. Or settling for a value meal.

Ambula
Pampango-Style Rice Toppings
Maginhawa Street, Teachers Village, Quezon City

I remember coming across an article in an old Cooking Light magazine describing how only a chosen few cherish the feeling of kneading dough in their hands, knowing that it’s alive. You have the soul of a baker, the article intoned. Indeed, I thought.

I go berserk at the sight of the mother lode of stainless steel decorating tips, even though I can’t decorate a cake to save my life. Every time I go to the wretched castle-like baking supplies store I touch the signature white Kitchen Aid five-quart mixer even though I have my own reliable Krups stand-alone at home. I watch Gale Gand’s Sweet Dreams reruns on the Food Network even though I have tons paperwork left undone. I save dessert recipes on my mobile phone when I find something interesting in salon magazines while I’m getting my legs waxed.

Yes, I’m weird, and I bake.

As long as I can remember cooking always interested me. When I was in third grade I would come home to an empty house, let myself in, and find a cold lunch waiting for me. Both of my parents were working, my sister was then in fifth grade and would not be home until a few hours later, and we had no household help. My mom, knowing that I would eat lunch alone, tried her best to make the meal look as interesting as possible. These individual lunches were my first encounters with plating.

I also have this hazy memory of someone lending us an oven. It was a hideous orange thing, unwieldy and large, but my mom was able to produce a yellow layer cake – no frosting – using it. I remember the cake layers being slightly cracked in the center and uneven, but it didn’t matter. I was mesmerized.

When we were teenagers, my older sister and I got hold of this yellowing book sale copy of a cookie book. The only recipe we managed to try from the book was a recipe for chocolate pinwheel cookies, the dough for which required refrigeration. After the roll of dough was set up, all you had to do was slice it, put the cookies on a baking sheet, and pop it in the oven. After a few minutes, we had these great crunchy bite sized treats! Glistening with butter, I might add, but that is never a bad thing.

Being the Sesame Street kids that we were, we bought a Cookie Monster Bites VHS tape which came with a chocolate chip cookie recipe printed on an index card. After tweaking with a recipe a few times (mostly with the amount of sugar) I perfected my signature chocolate chip cookies which my friends order during Christmas or when they need their fix. They’re not the commercially packaged kind like Pepperidge Farm, but I’ve been told they taste like Mrs. Fields’. They’re thin and soft as opposed to cookies with ‘character.’

I also remember going to baking class with Gina Navarro, of Estrel’s Caramel Cake fame, who told us if we wanted to go into the food business, we should just work a few recipes to perfection and concentrate on those. It was during that class that I first entertained the idea of baking for profit, rediscovered the importance of precision and realized that I would rather die than make my own sans rival.

Modesty aside, I think I’ve acquired enough confidence to make more than just chocolate chip cookies. I also receive a lot of compliments for the things I’ve done, and every now and then I get orders for cakes and cookies. I’m even thinking of making baking a retirement option. The only thing I’m scared of is bread.

I remember buying a small tin of yeast and thinking, I have to conquer my fear if I’m going to be a true blue baker. Unfortunately, I kept putting the whole thing off. The yeast expired, and my fear remains unconquered. There is something about the whole idea of letting dough rise and punching it down and kneading it that just intimidates me. It’s like the dough knows I don’t know what I’m doing, and it will resist rising to prove its point.

The thing about baking is that you have to be exact. (This is why irritating people like Rachael Ray do not bake.) If the oven is too hot the cake comes out with a hump in the center. If you go crazy with the mixer the cookies come out tough. If there is a small piece of egg shell the whites will never whip up to soft peaks no matter how hard you try. I find some comfort in that. Some people hit the gym. Some people cut their hair. I measure baking soda. After sifting, of course.

And if all else fails, there’s always frosting.

Now I bake mostly when there are orders, or when someone in my family is celebrating their birthday, but also when something is bothering me. If most people have a comfort food, I find comfort in creating it. While I’m sifting flour or cutting parchment paper rounds I realize that I’m working through my issues silently, or processing my feelings of anger or hurt by myself. The best part is, at the end of my therapy session, there is something sweet to eat.

You probably wouldn’t understand. That is, unless you have the soul of a baker.

Franz Burger has framed posters and pictures of ‘senior’ singers like Cliff Richard, Rex Smith and the Friends of Distinction hanging on the walls. They are signed too, and some of the pictures actually show the singers posing with the food. Imagine Rex Smith smiling with a forkful of spaghetti. I didn’t know what to make of it all.

I first saw the small joint when we were trying to find our way back to Tomas Morato while avoiding the traffic caused by water service maintenance diggers. It claimed to have great grilled burgers, and I was fascinated that the owners chose to open shop in an inconspicuous part of a district lined with big-named dining joints. I told X we would have to go and check it out some time, and now here we were.

The place occupies what looks like the garage or service area of a large house. It is not air-conditioned but spiffy clean. The tables are immaculate. The restroom has a tabo and a small pail and the wash area is equipped with Safeguard and a hand towel, not liquid soap and electric hand dryers. It makes you feel like you’re having a snack at a friend’s house. All the tables have a bell for summoning the waitresses and their own set of condiments. I noted that they had mustard, aside from the usual ketchup and hot sauce. That’s something you don’t see at every cheap burger joint.

We went through the menu and saw that they had regular and special burgers. I asked the waitress (who was a friendly manang) what the difference was, and she said the regular burgers were made of regular ground beef, but the special burgers were made from ground sirloin. I decided to have the special cheeseburger, and X went for the regular chili burger and fries.

After a few minutes of marveling at the wall display, our fries came, glistening in oil and hot from the fryer. How they looked is exactly what they tasted like. I was thankful they were served before the burgers came otherwise I would still have the oily aftertaste in my mouth when I left the place.

The burger was quite large by Filipino standards. It was on a sesame seed bun, with exactly three nacho chips on the side. The burger patty was thicker than the usual, juicy and well-seasoned, but not like those American-style burgers which you can still taste a week after you ate them. This was definitely a Pinoy burger – with more substance. X’s chili burger was also good. For under a hundred pesos per order, this was a good and filling meal.

When we were done we rang the bell and manang came out and cheerfully handed us our bill and two tall glasses of iced water. We rubbed our tummies and walked out into the afternoon sun, thinking we’d be back to try the other burgers. I thought it was a worthwhile food trip.

The Friends of Distinction would probably agree.

Franz Burger
Scout Delgado Street
Barangay Laging Handa, Quezon City