La Girolle: A true-blue Paris bistro

People who feel that a lamb’s cheek is gross and vulgar when a chop is not are like the medieval philosophers who argued about such hairsplitting problems as how many angels could dance on the point of a pin. If you have these prejudices, ask yourself if they are not built on what you may have been taught when young and unthinking, and then if you can, teach yourself to enjoy some of the parts of an animal that are not commonly prepared. — MFK Fisher, How to Feed a Wolf (1942)

Children of the ’80s in the Philippines grew up with McDonald’s French fries, Shakey’s Garlic and Cheese pizza and Bun on the Run Choriburger for merienda.

My palate was rather vast and sophisticated due to the many travels my mother brought me along to. Oh, yes, I loved lamb, pesto, truffles … I adored carpaccio even before I reached my double digits. But to eat these strange things — brains, pig’s trotters, sweetbreads, even liver — it wasn’t really in my nature. The first time I truly had foie gras was in New York at the Hudson River Café. It was a gourmet mac and cheese with a seared foie gras; I was perhaps all of 13 years old. Being adventurous I had wanted to try it. I almost hurled at the sight of the fatty piece of liver sitting vulgarly atop my pasta. I closed my eyes and forced myself to eat it. Still fighting back the gag, I slowly but surely allowed myself to forget just what it was and take it all in. I will try everything once. From then on I forced myself to like things that I didn’t like; to learn how to appreciate them. I hated mushrooms because all I was served were chewy, rubbery, canned ones. Imagine a world with no morel, no porcini, no chanterelle, no cute little enokis or buttery shimeijis? How depressing. I also hated olives and wondered why everyone loved them. I forced myself to keep eating them until I could eat a whole can by myself. Same goes with fennel, anise and Pastis. It’s a constant learning process.

I had been reading this amazing book all summer called Secret Ingredients: The New Yorker Book of Food and Drink. It’s an astounding collection of articles published by The New Yorker on restaurants, recipes and anything under the sun that has some sort of remote connection to ingestion. The older articles had always piqued my interest. It is there I read about the luscious poulet en demi-deuil, that gorgeous chicken slow-cooking in the embers of an open fire covered entirely with black truffles. It is there that I read about an extra-ordinary historic dinner where the favorite repasts of French kings were prepared, such as the unusual oyster and Camembert combination. It was also there that I read numerous accounts of the most perfectly cooked veal sweetbreads in Parisian cafés. It kept coming up all the time, haunting me. From AJ Liebling to MFK Fisher, what was this fascination with the lowly thymus gland that most throw away?

My first encounter was at Joel Robuchon’s L’Atelier. Where else to try but there? It was cut into small, heavenly crisp pieces, served with fresh chanterelles … a true revelation of richness and heady flavor. What had I been missing all my life? I remember telling myself this is a treat so special. An impossibility to get back home and yet my dreams have been fulfilled. There is now a place so bold as to serve that in Manila: La Girolle.

There are no clichéd escargots, nor is there French onion soup. Steak frites? Nope. Duck à l’orange? Uh-uh. This place is serious French food. Old-school stuff, not for the faint of heart looking for the fast food of fine dining. You won’t find sea bass, or Wagyu, there is only a hint of foie gras and not one trace of truffles. But, ah! They have pig’s trotters, raw lamb and my darling sweetbreads … wonderful forgotten ingredients that hail from the time when MFK Fisher was still writing and that the uneducated palate might frown upon. Here there are no bells and whistles of high-priced ingredients that pull all the stops and make up for a poor understanding of true French fine cooking. La Girolle is a temple of French food that fearlessly and proudly puts ris de veau on the menu in a restaurant in the Philippines.

Ma dulcinee: The sweetest sweetbreads

Hidden amid a corporate labyrinth of unopened offices, the fact that it’s hard to find the site contributes to its cachet. It has warm, soft lighting — a rarity in this town — simple yet tasteful décor and a great chef’s table. The menu is reasonably priced: P3,000 for the nine-course tasting menu and the à la carte menu is priced like a degustacion: P1,750 for three courses and a little over P2,000 for four. Being the food brat that I am, I smile big and order all over the place, which probably made accounting a nightmare but they happily indulged me anyway. And thanks to the tasting portion sizes, I indulged myself. Thank goodness my body-con dress was made out of some high-tech stretchy material or else I would’ve needed to borrow a tablecloth on the way out.

The ravioli of foie gras and oxtail was excellent — I would say the most crowd-pleasing dish they have on the menu, especially for those with an unadventurous palate. It was rich, heady and earthy. The pasta was perfectly al dente, there was a velvety texture not unlike the feel of satin against powdered skin. The pied de cochon was the most dainty I’ve ever seen. Flaked into tiny sumptuous bits, breaded then fried to a crisp, served with the most old-school sauce, gribiche, which I see more in 1970s cookbooks and my Larousse Gastronomique than in restaurants. It was a perfect balance of herby acidity, textural crunch from the breadcrumbs and creaminess from the quail eggs. I was jealous of the lamb tartare my friend ordered. It looked divine and I greedily ordered one for myself. Not pungent, not strong or gamey, but definitely not for the meek. It was delicate but the flavor of lamb was distinct and refreshing. Hand-chopped to perfect little tiny cubes, it is probably one of the most sophisticated dishes I’ve encountered in Manila.

These gems just whet my appetite. I was hungry for more and eager to be amazed. My lamb confit was comforting. Slow-cooked lamb shoulder then pan-fried to form that sought-after crust… Duck confit is a thing of the past and lamb confit with tiny stars of fleur de sel is the future. The 48-hour beef, I must admit, was a truly melt-in-your-mouth experience, another recommendation for those with simpler tastes. However, the true star of the show was my ris de veau. Extra crispy, caramelized on the outside, which gives way to this truly unique sensation. A small piece of heaven. A gift from God and from the veal, because for every suckling calf there are only two of these precious jewels. The jus was simple and complementary. In every dish chef Ian Padilla showed dignified restraint, respecting the ingredient, nurturing each one to bring out their full potential and glory.

It was wonderfully orchestrated because I also attacked the cheese and a full range of desserts, smacked my lips with Champagne, Bordeaux and honeyed sauternes. I was not full, I was happy. I was satisfied. Shared with good friends, I was quickly transported to one of these articles of AJ Liebling. I was in that world, where life was good and there is a glimmer of hope for the local dining spectra.

The bar has now been set high. The talent is there but will consistency follow? All I know is that it is worth a try, worth every penny, worth even being taken aback at some of the uncommon items. Go to expand your culinary experiences, for if you can’t go to Paris to sit in a true-blue bistro, you can come to Fort Bonifacio and let your mouth travel.

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La Girolle is located on the second floor of the Blue Sapphire Building, 2nd Avenue corner 30th Street, Bonifacio Global City, tel. no. 478-4119.