Amihan Dela Cruz
Chef & Co-ownerGrew up in Iloilo, moved at nineteen, cooked eight years of other people's food in other people's rooms. Opens the kitchen at nine, tastes everything twice, still calls her mother about the kare-kare.
Twelve people around a table too small for them, and an argument about whether the adobo needed more vinegar. It always needed more vinegar.
Amihan cooked Sunday lunch for whoever turned up. Cousins, their flatmates, the guy from work who'd never had kare-kare and then wouldn't stop asking about it. Eight people became twenty. Twenty became a problem the apartment couldn't hold.
In 2019 we took a narrow room off Main Street with a bad kitchen and a good hood, and spent four months arguing about the rice. We opened in October with nine dishes and one chest freezer. The lechon kawali sold out in ninety minutes and we went home and recalculated everything.
Seven years on we still cook the same food. There is just more of it, and the vinegar question has been settled: more.
Three rules, and everything else is negotiable.
Filipino food is built on acid — cane vinegar, tamarind, calamansi, green mango. It's not a garnish or a finishing touch, it's the beam the dish is hung from. We don't round it off to make a plate more polite.
The ihawan is lit at two o'clock every day and everything grilled goes over binchōtan and Filipino lump charcoal. Smoke is an ingredient we measure, not an accident we tolerate.
There are no individual entrées. Everything lands in the middle and gets fought over, because that's how the food was designed to be eaten and it stops working when you portion it out.
Pork is whole-animal from a farm in Abbotsford; we break it down here every Tuesday, which is why crispy pata exists on the menu and why the sisig is jowl and not shoulder. Spot prawns are seasonal and we don't fake them out of season — when they're gone, sinigang goes to fish.
The pantry is the part people don't see. Cane vinegar, patis and bagoong come from small producers in Ilocos and Pangasinan. Ube is real ube, not extract. Calamansi arrives frozen because fresh calamansi does not survive the trip, and we would rather tell you that than pretend otherwise.
Simple food, sourced stubbornly.
Grew up in Iloilo, moved at nineteen, cooked eight years of other people's food in other people's rooms. Opens the kitchen at nine, tastes everything twice, still calls her mother about the kare-kare.
Runs the ihawan and the whole-animal butchery. Believes charcoal is a seasoning, that most people pull pork belly off far too early, and that a grill you can put your hand over is not hot enough.
Built the lambanog and amaro list from nothing and trains every server to explain bagoong without apologising for it. Will find you a table if there is any table to be found.
Bring people. The menu makes more sense with four of you than with one.