BY JEREMY C. MALCAMPO
D iscovering this eatery known as Amici, humbly situated along Pasay Road, Makati City, just recently, was an awakening for me when it came to my technical culinary views about Italian cuisine. Actually fringed within the peripheries of the Don Bosco Technical School, past the church gate, my awakening was nothing simpler than realizing that Manila’s best Italian restaurant is a cooperative canteen, ran by seminary priests with manongs and manangs as cooks. Though this place is situated under the dimming curves of the flyover-base of Amorsolo St. corner South Super Highway, this restaurant is blessed with God’s brightest culinary light.
Though I have quite a considerable background in Italian cuisine, it was in Amici Restaurant (actually a canteen) where I realized that all my fine-dining pasta experiences were no match for the cookery, taste and quality of this place. After ordering two big platters of Vongole e Gamberetti Pasta, for P170 each, four gelato scoops, four Coca-Cola cans, and a pepperoni pizza, indeed, my Italian cuisine quest was resolved with certainty; no five-star professional chef can match the authenticity of this restaurant’s dishes. "La buona cucina casalinga," good home-cooked food, as the Italian culinary masters would say. Rustic would be the best term for it, not to mention the "super-generous serving" per plate.
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Vongole e Gamberetti Pasta | | My Vongole e Gamberetti pasta was literally heaven. It was christened by honest ingredients of two large freshly sautéed prawns, two silky-soft scallops, and eight Manila clams still in their shells, which was a surprise given its price. The pasta’s garlic profile was pretty upfront with authentic fruity olive oil and supreme bouillon, white wine, pepper, and chopped parsley. "Chopped parsley," as the gauge of true Italian pasta cookery with oil—as should be—and not basil which is what pseudo-Italian Pinoy chefs do. It’s the idea that parsley lends a fresh flavor to the ingredients, except in pesto where no other counter-flavor exists besides garlic and nuts, unless you intend preservation.
I found it really amazing when I watched canteen manongs tossing pans and preparing five-star hotel pasta dishes with flair better than most of this country’s prominent chefs. In high astonishment, the pastas were perfectly al dente to the bite.
But that’s not the only remarkable thing: I couldn’t believe that the mini-canteen was full of patrons, and overflowing with customers (more than a hundred) during a peak time when most fancy cafes could only have so much. I thought they were mostly Don Bosco churchgoers who knew how to enjoy good food with loved ones. Maybe it’s the idea that God knows real good cooking, as I thought so, that’s why they’re blessed.
After bustling with the crowd—mothers, fathers, children—just to line up and grab scoops of gelatos, my palate was refreshed and felt quite capable of eating another pasta dish, but that would be gluttony. God wouldn’t want that. Since my gelatos were pretty flavorful (Gianduja or Chocolate Hazelnut, Rum Raisin, Chocolate, and Vanilla) I was convinced that I needed to refresh my palate again with a savory dish, before I’d refresh it again with coca cola and a cigarette. Sometimes, a good well-gratinated, cheesy pepperoni pizza effectively refreshes the palate after dolci or a good line of desserts.
Though my Amici food experience was not geared towards redirecting my life to priesthood or anything close to that, I vowed never to cook a dish to manipulate cuisine. Like how Italian priests and Don Bosco seminarians taught their canteen staff, the true value of food and gastronomy--maybe my experience--was a sign that God rules all dining tables of the world.
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