PIGGING OUT IN LITTLE MANILA
A Filipino writer gets back to his roots
Written by Keith Wagstaff; Photographed by Daniel Krieger
Several years ago I was at a dinner party, sitting across from a nice couple who were talking about their recent trip to the Philippines. The woman, a vegetarian, recounted her efforts to explain to the locals that she did not eat meat. “Do you eat chicken?” their host asked, perplexed. “How about fish?”
Vegetarianism is a foreign concept to many Filipinos. I should know; despite my Anglo name, my mother was born in Manila, the Philippines’ sprawling capital. In this country, pork is king. During big events like graduations or weddings, lechón, or whole roast pig, is often the centerpiece of the meal. I can’t imagine anything better than ripping chunks of fatty meat from under loose, crackly skin, the house brimming with relatives.
“We Pinoys looove our pigs,” Alex Orquiza, a doctoral candidate in Filipino history at Johns Hopkins University, wrote me from the Philippines. He explained that despite the many varieties of native pig species spread throughout the country, it was the Spanish influence, with their concept of the fiesta, that really inspired the country’s love affair with pork.
At its heart, Filipino food is a product of the home, of family dinners and all-day celebrations. Restaurant culture isn’t nearly as big as it is in other countries, which is why you see Chinese joints everywhere but may have never entered a Filipino restaurant. This was fine when I was back in California, among a multitude of uncles and aunts and cousins and people who, despite no clear blood relation, were considered family. When I moved to New York, everything changed.
I was forced to search for Filipino restaurants if I wanted anything beyond the few recipes my mom had taught me, so I went looking. What I found was Woodside. My mother, Imelda, had three months of adventure in neighboring Elmhurst back in the summer of ’69, after graduating high school and before going off to college. The Filipino population in the area has only grown since then, hemming in the Irish pubs from previous waves of immigration. The 7 train rumbles over a small stretch of Roosevelt Avenue between 69th Street and 70th Street. Three restaurants call this block home: Krystal’s Café, Renee’s Kitchenette and Ihawan.
All serve a hearty, pork-heavy kind of cooking, instantly familiar to anyone who grew up in a Filipino family.
Krystal’s started as a tiny bakery around 12 years ago, selling pastries and the small, slightly sweet rolls known as pan de sal. Eventually owner Bruce Gomez took over the space next door and upstairs. Today, the restaurant turns out 900 to 1,000 bags of pan de sal every week. It’s the best in the neighborhood, springy and soft and perfect with ham or longaniza: squat little pork sausages rich in garlic and vinegar. Upstairs, there is a weekday lunch buffet, where you can stuff yourself for $7.37. The clientele is mostly local Filipinos, though you may spot a few outsiders.
The similarity to the family gatherings of my childhood is uncanny. Kids laugh and joke loudly, men go back for seconds, women chat in Tagalog. I half-expect to find one of my uncles passed out asleep in some forgotten spare bedroom. I spoon sauce from the adobo onto my plate, soaking a fluffy mound of rice in a tangy mix of soy sauce and vinegar, hunks of pork flecked with pepper and garlic resting on top. That smell, swirling with sourness and hints of bay leaf, always inspires moments of Proustian reverie, memories of arguing with my younger sister while my mom watched over a simmering pot in the kitchen. Adobo, like pickled herring in Sweden or prosciutto in Italy, is the happy product of preservation; before refrigeration, Filipinos prolonged the life of their meat with vinegar, using different herbs to cut the sour taste. Today, it’s easily the Philippines’ most recognizable dish.
If Krystal’s is the flavor of dinner at home, then Ihawan is the flavor of big parties and family gatherings, of piles of meat and artery-clogging indulgence. Jose and Adoracion Bacani opened it back in 1995 after emigrating from the Philippines in the 1970s. On Sundays, it’s packed with families still dressed up from attending Mass at nearby St. Sebastian. Follow the smell of pork upstairs, past the hair salon and into the bustling dining room. Order the crispy pata. Pig legs are cleaved open to expose the meat and then fried, leaving a fatty, crispy treat that is best picked apart with your hands. Lechon kawali is a heart attack on a plate: thick slabs of pork belly-fried and served with a side of rich liver sauce.
“In the Philippines, there really isn’t such a thing as vegetarians,” says Joyce, the owners’ daughter.
Down the street, you’ll find even more meaty goodness. Renee Dizon opened Renee’s in 1992 with her husband, Ernesto. Everything is made in-house, from the longaniza to the tocino (a.k.a. Filipino bacon). I didn’t much care for the Filipino stew kare-kare as a child, which is strange, as it’s easily one of my mother’s favorite dishes. I guess the idea of eating oxtail threw me for a loop. Thank God I’ve gotten over it; now I salivate when I think about coming here and tearing the tender meat away from the bone and dousing it in pungent peanut sauce. For pork pros, the sisig is a must. It’s like an all-star team of underappreciated pig parts: ears, liver, belly and more, all chopped up and seasoned with citrus and chilies. Eat it over rice with a bucket of San Miguel beer and you might as well be in Manila.
Food has always been the strongest tie to my heritage. A few summers ago in the Philippines, my family and I ventured from house to house, catching up with relatives and, of course, eating. That’s when I truly discovered the meaning of the word “merienda,” the wonderful little meal between lunch and dinner. The fact that Filipinos have such an extra meal tells you how much food, and the socializing associated with it, means to them. Now, I bring my friends to Roosevelt Avenue whenever I’m missing California. Sure, it’s not my mom in the kitchen and taking a nap after lunch is frowned upon, but passing warm plates of meat and rice around with people I care about is almost like being back home.
Where to Go
Ihawan, 40-06 70th St. Woodside, 718-205-1480
Krystal’s Café, 69-02 Roosevelt Ave., Woodside, 718-426-8676
Renee’s Kitchenette & Grill, 69-14 Roosevelt Ave., Woodside, 718-476-9002
More Filipino food coverage from Edible Queens:
World's Fare: Crawling Through Woodside's Little Manila
Queens on Ice: Jollibee's Secret Halo-Halo
World's Fare: Gastronauts Go Whole Hog in Woodside
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