I’ve had enough adventure with the vegetable aisle that I decided to skip the butcher’s corner and go to

the pre-cut meats aisle. I do not have the social battery left in me to try and translate words in my head
and talk to the butcher and carefully explain to him what cut of meat I want with my limited Spanish
vocabulary. I go back to my local palengke in my brain, where you can tell your butcher you want the
sinigang cut, and he’d cut it for you without missing a beat. The pre-cut meat only offers me bacon-
sliced pork belly, which I took. I figured it’ll add more to the fine dining fusion flair I imagine in my head.

Fine dining has also taken on a more communal approach with the rise of supper clubs and pop-up
restaurants. Communal supper clubs are dining experiences where guests gather around a table to share
stories, laughter, and, of course, a meal. Communal meals are something the Western world has finally
caught up with from us in the Philippines. As far as I’m concerned, these supper clubs are gentrified
versions of “boodle fights” and the plain old communal atmosphere around meals in the Filipino
household.

Back in my shared flat in Madrid, the sinigang and rice are cooked. “Dinner!” I call out to my flatmates
Mara and Christine. Christine, my Filipino roommate, gladly came into the kitchen and fixed herself a
meal. Mara, our other flatmate, was hesitant. Christine, knowing better, takes the role of the maître d’
and waitress. She grabs another bowl, fills it with sinigang and rice, and carries it to Mara’s door.
Christine knocks on Mara’s door—knowing there isn’t much room for resistance, Mara accepts the bowl.
Like a good maître d’, Christine gives a brief dish description of sinigang—minus the nuances of a dish
description you would get in a fine-dining restaurant.