The problem with working from a recipe is when one lacks a frame of reference, in this case, first-hand experience. From what I had read about scallion pancakes, they are supposed to be flaky. Well, I know scallions, and I know flaky — how hard could it be? After trying three different recipes, none yielding anything near that textural profile, I was about to call it quits when I wondered if Kenji had anything to say on the subject.
Our last meal in Singapore was the most expensive of the whole trip — and the least satisfying. This was at Makansutra Gluttons Bay, across the river from Marina Bay Sands. It had not been on our itinerary; that would be the Supertrees at the Gardens by the Bay, but a sudden downpour had us confined to our hotel room for the rest of the afternoon.
“Let them eat brioche,” was what the “great princess” was supposed to have said when told that the peasants had no bread. It’s a callous remark, all right, except that the anecdote was written by Jean-Jacques Rousseau before Marie Antoinette even met Louis XVI.
Chef Philippe of Tymad Bistro has Emick figured out. “I order the same thing every time,” she admits. “The servers must think me odd.” But never boring; she has them read her the menu in the original French. Imagine the legendarily stiff Visayan tongue riding roughshod over “mille-feuille.”
I happen to believe Nicnic Verano makes the best cakes in Maasin, but I just found out she makes broas as well. Her family runs one of the few remaining locally based bakeries that I remember from childhood, though she has quietly made a name for herself churning out delectable desserts from her upstairs home. Having resisted to go mainstream for a long time, she now displays her creations at the unhyped Cafe Romana at the ground floor of the eponymous hotel. They still come in unmarked boxes.
Cakes and pastries (and coffee) not being my thing, I tried to decline Noreen’s invitation to Giuseppe Café, the patisserie wing of my old alma mater’s training restaurant. But she insisted as only a lifelong friend could, i.e., she nagged Jenny and me into going. “Show some support, why don’t you,” she said. “And don’t be too hard on the food.”
We went to Oslob for the waterfalls, but it was the nearby grove of bamboo that fascinated me more. Besides, it had just rained and there was a chill in the air. Therese insisted, declaring the view better from the pool — all three feet of it. So what if we had traveled more than 100 kilometers to get there? Skirting the water, I went up a small hill to a clearing under the leafy canopy.
Of course that pie looks good — I only spent the better part of a day making it. The question is, will I make it again? I swear, I never considered apple pie could be so much work.
In my mother’s dim view, any decent bread that comes out of my oven is a fluke. “Enjoy,” she had said to Jenny and Eva about the cinnamon rolls. “The next batch won’t be as good.”
