Grandson of Red Ribbon founder resurrects his lola’s beloved ‘mamon’
Luis Mercado is in no hurry to make it big in the food business. At 25, he knows how to pace himself, unlike more aggressive entrepreneurs.
Luis Mercado is in no hurry to make it big in the food business. At 25, he knows how to pace himself, unlike more aggressive entrepreneurs.
The afternoon air is heavy with the distinctively sweet scent of bread. In a basket on a table is a dizzying array of breads, enough to feed a Filipino family for a week. The baked goods come in all shapes and sizes. There is a giant conjoined pair of monay, huge as a person’s buttocks. There are breads in the shape of a lechon and the form of a crab. Scattered around are pieces of egg pan de sal, little golden drops of cooked dough. Visible in the pile are the bonnet-shaped goodies called, of course, pan de bonete. There are examples of the dense pan de sal de suelo, among others. Placed together, they threaten to overwhelm the senses: How can there be so many kinds of bread in one place at one time?
Man cannot live on bread alone, or so the Bible admonishes, but some 25,000 mostly mom-and-pop bakeries around the country definitely can.
The Cordilleras may have rice terraces but the region is hardly the country’s rice basket, managing only a yearly harvest of heirloom rice.
Most people eat bread with the usual spreads—butter, cheese, jam.
Pasuquin biscocho. Laced with the sweet and spicy scent of anise, this one-of-a-kind, prewar bread is available only at Pasuquin Bakery in San Nicolas, Ilocos Norte. The biscocho has placed Pasuquin on the map where bread is concerned. You get two types—the classic crunchy biscocho and the soft and pillowy one. The crunchy version is made from the toasted inner and outer crust of freshly-baked breads. The soft biscocho can be unfurled from end to end, lavished with your spread of choice and rolled back again to be enjoyed as a sandwich.
He won rice-eating Filipinos over with his European breads. Entrepreneur Johnlu Koa’s French Baker is turning 25—currently with 52 outlets, two upscale boulangerie-bistros called Lartizan, and two other brands that serve different markets.
Bread has become the latest obsession in Manila, which can only be a good thing. Pan de sal was recently featured in Saveur, described as “pillowy-soft,” though it needn’t be; the best has the merest semblance of a crust and a mature, slightly fermented, decidedly non-industrial interior.
I can hardly pass by a French Baker store without feeling lured inside. The aroma of freshly baked bread, the cracked pan de sal, and the golden brown raisin bonnets glistening behind the glass counters; the pillows of soft rolls encasing morsels of sweet asado or savory corned beef; and the flaky, buttery croissants are all much too tempting to resist.
Balai Pan de Sal owners Angelo Yaneza, Dwight Cham and Jonathan Go were college buddies who loved to eat.
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