The scribe may allude both to Antonio Pigafetta, explorer Ferdinand Magellan’s assistant and keeper of a detailed journal of the first circumnavigation of the world, or the man across me, Joel Binamira, a scribe of a more digital persuasion whose food blogs as the Marketman (www.marketmanila.com) brought another explorer—Anthony Bourdain—to these shores. The parallelisms between them are endless, but let’s stick to the Italian connection.
Pigafetta may have been arguably the first Italian on Cebuano shores, Joel points out. And in honor of that fact, he names his first venture into this cuisine after the man. The latter’s take on Italian is painstaking and yet simple. I had written about Pigafetta the restaurant before when it just opened, and my takeaway from that first experience is that real carbonara uses only egg whites, and—gasp—no cream. It is details like that, and the story one weaves into the food, that elevates dining from a mere meal to an experience. And I was ready to experience more.
On this second visit, I was met with a memory, and an identity crisis. The Pork Belly Ragout Pasta on the menu was of the French variety (often confused with the Italian ragu, which is equally saucy, your spaghetti sauce falls under this general category), an unmistakable slow stew with cuts of pork simmered in vegetables and seasoned heavily, topped on a starch of choice, in this case, penne. It was my favorite this lunch because it also triggered a memory. The ragout reminded me of a pork mechado made by my friend Maan Blurete’s grandfather, who we all called Daddy. Daddy’s mechado— unmistakably Spanish—was always the star of every gathering at Poblacion in Makati where they lived, and my stomping grounds way before it became the chic district it is now. I have never tasted anything as good as that tomato-based stew until this Pigafetta lunch, and that set off a tingly chain reaction of, as the classic Beach Boys hit puts it, Good Vibrations.
And in the tradition of home shopping networks, Joan Danao of the Zubuchon and Pigafetta group interjects: But wait, there’s more. The ragout takes on an even more homegrown vibe served over rice, and in the menu as Pork Belly Ragu, a dining option popular with the lunch crowd. Now that’s how Daddy’s mechado tasted. And despite my protestations to be a stickler to Italian tradition, I succumbed and scooped sauce and jiggly pork and a spoonful of rice happily into my mouth. Your true self always wins in the end, I guess, and there is no blasphemy in good food.