A Crablet Odyssey

I had an itch today to get out of Makati City and see another side of Manila. I also wanted to find my crablets.  When I was here last in 2001, a place I used to frequent on “special occasions” (i.e., it is kind of pricey) is a restaurant called “Ang Bistro sa Remedios” (The Bistro on Remedios Street).  It is owned by some male tycoon from Pampanga—the province that touts itself to be the culinary capital of the Philippines; it was even featured on Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations. Pampanga’s reputation for its cuisine helps explain childhood memories of visiting my grandfather in Candaba (a town in Pampanga) during fiesta times.  What this means is that every household in town has food and tons of it, all day long! All I remember was the amount of lechon (roast pig) and leche flan (custard-like dessert with caramelized sugar made of egg yolks and condensed milk) I consumed.  Pampangueños are known for many types of food but I remember these two the most, and it seemed like every household during fiesta time had this to offer all fiesta visitors.

I’m not yet ready to go to Pampanga so I have to settle for this bistro as a good enough alternative for now. But getting there was not as easy as I thought. I was committed to taking public transportation and hop on their two rail transit systems that I used to take almost daily.Armed with my “EZ map,” I knew the stations I had to reach and still have a picture of Malate (the township where the Bistro is located). What I have forgotten were the long ticketing lines, the mass of humanity that take these trains, and the sardine-packed cars that are just heaven for pick-pocketers. And then there are foreign bodies like mine unaccustomed to the humidity and just constantly perspired. It was embarrassing to get on these trains and feel like I’m the only one sweating. My whole body was drenched in sweat.  If minds can sweat, mine was probably sweating too! At one point, my arm looked like someone has just poured water on it and I just tried to keep some distance from other passengers as the last thing I’d want is for my sweat to drip on them! Thanks to the air conditioning on these trains, I was able to at least dry off somewhat before the next outside exposure.  Now I realize why Filipinos walk so incredibly slow; it is to conserve energy and minimize sweating. What was I thinking? It’s not like walking fast will get me to my destination any faster, at least not with this crowd of people.

MRT “Express” lived up to its name on the first leg of the trip but the transfer to the other train, the LRT, required going through yet another mall (which is an improvement from before when you had to go through the treacherous city street to transfer. Not a great thing when it is flooding!). But it was also ingenuous to do it this way because passengers can enjoy shopping en route. By the time you get on to the next train, you may have just purchased empanadas (meat-filled pastries), a fake gold watch, or if you are like me, mini putos with cheese on top (rice cakes), ube halaya (purple yam sticky dessert), and mini cassavas (pudding-like dessert made of cassava root, topped 

with caramelized condensed milk) [see photos].  I just could not pass these up, especially since they looked home made and traveled all the way from Laguna (must be a place known for these treats; I know it is known for buko [coconut] pies).  Plus they were 3 for 100 pesos (approx. $2!)—a bargain compared to what I can find in the grocery stores. Taking the LRT was also like going through memory lane as it used to be “my train.” We passed through Vito Cruz Street where my old apartment used to be and from where I was, things seemed the same—the Bee was still there, as is Starbucks and the long line of street vendors, yellow pedicabs (tricycles operated by bicycles to transport people), and stray dogs on this crazy intersection. This is also the street where me and Robert accidentally “left” Corinne, my sister, who was visiting me then,  on the bus when we got off this street because it wasn’t officially the bus stop and you had to get off fairly quickly. And my sister was somewhat in the back of the bus.  The bus eventually stopped on the next street and  she was able to get off.  Otherwise, a pedicab was ready to take us and help chase the bus to its next official stop and who knows how fast that man could pedal his bike! The LRT has changed, though and for the better—I remember dreading to take it because its air conditioning was always broken.  Now, it seems to run much more smoothly, is as clean as the MRT, and they even put stickers of major “tourist spots” on each station. The riders have also changed and are seemingly more middle-class than before, probably because the fares have gone up and is almost worth twice as much as a bus or jeepney ride.

Finally I reached Pedro Gil station and crossing its street just requires a little bit, okay,a lot, of courage because all sorts of moving vehicles on the road don’t seem to stop at the crosswalk (eventhough it has a light); but I remember the trick—just cross as a group to ensure safe passage to the other side. I reached the street where I needed to be and one of the agencies I studied was still there—though it didn’t seem as “alive” as it used to be; I didn’t have enough time to explore it as the crablets are waiting for me so I decided to keep going. I even bypassed the street vendor selling lanzones (a type of fruit), which were probably really sweet, as she advertised, given the ants crawling on them. I also bypassed the banana-cues (bananas caramelized in brown sugar, deep fried, and served on a stick), and the garlic peanuts. I also smelled fried calamari on the street (must be a new street food) and sure enough, there was a vendor frying them up and serving them in little brown paper bags –good enough to eat on the go. I’d take pictures of these but this is not the place to bust out a camera given the stampede of people! A block and a half later, my sweatiness was getting to me, so like many Filipinos, I take refuge in Robinson’s Place—yet another mega mall. They must have renovated it as they added all these new wings.  The bathrooms look different too, now with motion-detected faucets, and my favorite—toilet paper dispensers in each stall (I used to pay an attendant for toilet paper here!).  I guess I don’t need to carry toilet paper anymore.

I walked through the mall for a bit to dry off while trying to figure out where the Bistro is. It would have helped if I took down the address before I left but I thought that just being in the area will help jog my memory.  Well, I couldn’t be more wrong!  For sure, it has to be on Remedios Street but I just did not know the corner street. So there I was standing in front of Padre Faura St., with my big “EZ” map trying not to be a conspicuous tourist.  The street rings a bell but I couldn’t figure out why. Then I look at my map, and see that Solidaridad Book Shop is supposed to be on this street.  I can’t bypass this.  Who knows if I’ll ever find it again.  The book store is owned by Filipino author F. Sionil Jose (beloved by Robert!) and a haven for works by Filipino scholars.  

So after about 20 minutes browsing the shelves, I leave with two books I have trouble finding in the U.S.— Tadiar’s Fantasy Production and Ileto’s Pasyon and Revolution.  The purchase should make this woman in the store happy (I overheard asking her staff whether the two people who are “browsing” the shelves were doing more than just browsing).  Maybe she is F. Sionil Jose’s mother.  They allowed me to take photos of the book shop; interestingly, the only other patron in the store, seemed to appear on all of my photos. Every time I positioned myself to take a photo, he would move to my vantage point, ever so casually (see photos--can you spot this mysterious apparition?).  It was funny and just a little odd. Maybe he knew this blog would make him famous. 

The detour to Solidaridad did not take me closer to the Bistro. In fact, I got totally lost. Every street looked the same and the security guards whom I passed and asked for directions did not seem to know of this restaurant. The streets of Ermita and Malate are not exactly where you would want to get lost, even in the daytime.  The townspeople can smell a tourist from a distance, and especially one who is lost. Several pedicab drivers yell out “Miss” to offer me rides on their tricycles.  In the night time, these streets actually seem much safer given the flood of people who frequent the karaoke bars, pubs, cafes, clubs, pool halls, massage parlors etc.  But in the daytime, the place looks dead and abandoned. All one sees are the people who try to survive on these streets everyday and all of whom recede to the background at night (or are pushed out) to make room for a place known for its “nightlife” and after passing a night club that advertised “entertainers wanted,” perhaps also its “red light” offerings.  I couldn’t help but notice a growing enclave for Korean and Japanese-named (owned?) establishments—restaurants, clubs, or karaoke bars.  This area was becoming increasingly unfamiliar to me. At one point, I got nervous walking when I entered a street where I was the only person to be seen walking. I didn’t want to pull out my map so I just walked fast to the nearest busy corner, not realizing it was Remedios Street—finally!  I didn’t know which way to go on this street so I asked another bank security guard for “Remedios Circle” because I knew that this Bistro has to be near there.  Surprisingly, he actually knew where the circle is. Getting out into the circle was like coming out of a maze but once I got there, the only live beings on sight are these stray dogs that did not look very friendly. I have a phobia of stray dogs after being bitten by one as a child so seeing them made my heart beat just a little bit faster. I find another security guard at a Poker Club but sure enough, he did not know the Bistro. This is strange because it turns out that the bistro is just on the next street from him.  He must not leave his post very much! 

By this time, I can only imagine what I looked like…and forget about my hair—even my amazing hair products cannot fight a long exposure to humidity. I was so happy to enter the restaurant and chose a seat by the window because it was right in front of the air condition vent! The place looks different and I later found out from my server that it was moved from another location.  I also told her that I had been walking for at least a good hour trying to find this place.  Of course, she informed me that all I had to do was take this one street—definitely more “direct” than the route I took. I asked her why people don’t know the Bistro and she just said all I had to mention was the name of the neighboring restaurant-Café Havana and everybody knows where that is.  Go figure. Maybe Lonely Planet should make that amendment!

The menu was great but the drawbacks of eating alone means I can’t really order a lot of things! Besides, I was here for one thing—my crispy crablets, which they described as “cultured little crabs deep fried till crisp” and served with a vinegar dipping sauce that they claimed was spicy (but not for me!). I saw they had Ukoy, which are these battered fried shrimps with strips of yams and carrots-- also deep fried. I once tried to make these at home—a process that took an eternity to complete! After that walk, I convinced myself that I needed some serious carbs to make sure I have the energy to make it back home, so I went for their infamous bamboo rice.  It is rice cooked with bamboo shoots, mushrooms, chicken and some interesting flavor. I thought they cooked the rice in bamboo, but it is really more decorative than it is functional.  And to clear my palate, I had green mango juice whose tartness and sweetness combined was sufficiently refreshing. Oh, and the meal also came with a serenade—from none other than the Bistro’s resident trio performers. Since I was the only one in the restaurant by about 1:30 pm, they seemingly engaged in a more experimental serenade –as their singing were mixed in with occasional chit-chat among themselves, while one of the guitarists just played the guitar lightly in the background. But they almost made me choke on a crablet when they ended their serenade with a very familiar song, which, for the life of me, I could not remember, until the chorus when they yelled out, in concert, the word, “Tequila!”; Did they just sing The Champs’ Tequila? They sure did. Maybe they were practicing for their night gig. I guess I was not good enough for the old Filipino ballads they performed to other customers there.  But what did I expect? Nothing about today I could have predicted. I wanted a fulfilling Manila experience. And my crablets did not let me down. When their serenade ended, I thought I couldn’t ask for a better ending to this reunion…..Well, Typhoon Choi Wan had a different plan and she darkened the skies to make way for a lightning and thunderstorm show just as I was leaving the Bistro.  I barely made it to the train station when it started pouring.