When you step in you forget completely that you are in a mall. The dark wood paneling with baroque carvings engulfs you in a special cocoon lost in time and space. Did I enter someone’s grandmother’s ancestral home? Large and looming bookcases with dented and scuffed cookbooks form small private enclosures and give the feeling like you’re in a library … a very old library. Unusual for local restaurants, which tend to have blinding hospital glary lights, the lighting here was soft and almost eerie. About a dozen odd-shaped chandeliers hang from the ceiling. They are all covered in wax; you cower a little, worried some might drip on your head. You think, “Hmmm, this looks nice.” An eerie chic. Something hip, different, beauty in the imperfect.
When most of Manila has gone for the sleek, all-white, clear Plexiglas minimalist, Cerveseria has taken an edgier approach. It reminds me of these New York Soho joints where the I’m-too-cool-to-care intelligentsia come to talk contemporary art and politics. Apart from quaint Hispanic reminders — a flamenco shawl here and a torero poster there — the space, much like the food, is a modern and cosmopolitan rendition of the old bodegas I’ve visited in Toledo, Spain.
I have to admit, Cerveseria took me by surprise. We were a table of 10, half of whom were really snooty expat food aficionados with an arrogant yet justified disdain for bad quality. Later, we all agreed that this was one of the better meals we’ve shared in a while. The food was simple, cooked properly with those distinct, bold Spanish flavors. Nothing fought; it was all quite harmonious.
To be frank, I had it in my head the whole time that my article was going to be about places that served draft beers because I had just written one about tapas. As I plopped on my chair I excitedly asked the waiter for a pint … turns out they didn’t have any! I was a bit distraught and disappointed that a place called Cerveseria doesn’t serve draught beer, but when I opened the beverage menu there are over 20 types of beer. A nice cold Heineken did the trick.
As we all settled in, we were served a well-curated selection of tapas. The battered and fried shimeiji mushrooms with the garlic aioli were a hit — crisp and earthy, they were wiped out in seconds. The huevos rotos con tocino (fried shoestring potatoes with eggs and bacon) was hearty and would’ve been a perfect hangover brunch dish. It reminded me of a better version of my childhood favorite of Mc Donald’s French fries with fried egg. There was a nice sweetness to it that came from the onions; the creamy egg yolk was like a runny sun covering everything in richness. The pimientos de padron were pleasant but a little soggy. Not one was spicy, which took away the “foodie Russian roulette” phenomenon and the excitement. I would still order them because they actually complemented the huevos rotos. The chistorra wrapped in kamote and fried is also worth a try, especially if you’re gearing up for a beer-laden night. For some freshness we had a goat cheese and tomato salad, which had to be one of the simplest yet most effective salads in Metro Manila. No creamy, gloopy sauce, just a nice vinaigrette, tart and cute cherry tomatoes and rather generous crumbles of goat cheese on a bed of lettuce and arugula.
Among the tapas there were two cham-pions: navajas y chorizo al- vino blanco was one of those perfect examples of opposites attract. Baby razor clams sautéed in white wine with crispy bits of chorizo were just stellar. The clams were piled high and deceiving as you had to dig for the little gems of flesh underneath all the shells, but when you found that special morsel? Then had a bite of chorizo? It was like Poseidon had made love to a forest nymph and this was their lovechild, the paprika undertones a reminder of their passion. The croquetas de queso de Cabra were also divine. Little clouds of fried wonder, crisp and fluffy all at the same time. You see, croquetas is something out of my childhood. My grandmother used to make them and even though most of the time it’s reduced to an oily, soggy mush of béchamel, I still order them for the nostalgic factor. It’s like sweet spaghetti. I know it’s gross but the memory makes it good. I’m a diehard fan of goat cheese and this just upgraded my food hard drive. It’s Croquetas 2000. Something worth coming back for.
Our mains were outright delicious. Nothing fancy, but that Paella Cerveseria is damn good. Oh, yes, soft-shell crab perched sexily atop saffron rice sticking lushly to the black pan. You knew that there was going to be soccarat, the prized burnt, crunchy bits of rice stuck to the bottom. Black gold that you scrape out. Generous tutong, well-seasoned and authentic-tasting despite the unusual crustacean addition — that’s all you can ask from a paella. The cuchinillo was cooked perfectly, soft fatty flesh and skin so brown and crisp it cracked loudly when you broke it. I would say it wasn’t exactly the best cut of pork, but the cooking was so well done it had done it justice. The Iberian chicken, however, is another story. Served standing up, it was melt-in-your-mouth juicy, the skin nice and tart, the flavor of roasted garlic emanating from the hot steam that escaped as you cut into the bird. I could honestly eat it whole, by myself, in a very shameful piggy moment. I would
dig in with my hands and burn my fingertips with the succulent juices because I’m too impatient to let it cool. Again, simplicity and excellence. A good-quality product cooked perfectly.
As we ended the meal with Manchego with truffle honey and nice individual portions of canonigo (again, straight to my abuelita’s house), we all nodded our heads in approval. The looming question was, however: is it only this good because they know I’m here? I must say, chef Gilbert Pangilinan is also the brains behind Kai’s creative Japanese menu. He has the discipline for consistency. Every time I go back to Kai, things always taste exactly how I remember it to be. Anyone can cook up a storm in one particular moment, yet it is a far more tedious task to keep consistent quality. Based on his credibility and past endeavors, I have no doubts it will be any different.
With very reasonable prices (including an impressive effort to propose well-rounded tapas set menus), enticing sharing portions and the overall belief in quality and simplicity, Cerveseria is truly worth a try. I would rock up there with a bunch of friends, order just about everything and clink some cold beers. You could come alone as well wearing a black sweater and a pair of faux tortoiseshell glasses with Albert Camus’ existentialist The Stranger open on the table. Nibble on that exquisite queso de cabra croqueta as you ponder how your whole life comes down to this one moment of perfection made out of crisp breadcrumbs, béchamel and tangy goat cheese.
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Cerveseria is located in Greenbelt 3, Ayala Center, Makati. For reservations and catering, call 757-4791.
Tapas set menus start at P1,588+ good for four to six persons with a selection of six different tapas.