Manila Explosion

Last Friday, a deadly explosion tore down three floors of Glorietta, one of the biggest shopping malls in Metro Manila. The blast killed eleven people and injured more than a hundred. I was kilometers away, in a different part of the city, when it happened. Preoccupied with other things, I did not have the chance to cover the incident, or even follow the news on the web and TV. Today, I went to the blast site, took some photos and offered a moment of silence for the dead and injured.


A blast-damaged vehicle parked across Glorietta.

While I was there, a fire broke out at one of the mall restaurants, causing another wave of panic. Employees and visitors were immediately evacuated from the building. Dozens of firetrucks and ambulances rushed to the scene. The place was littered with firemen, police, paramedics, and of course, the people from the media. The fire was eventually traced to an exhaust problem in the restaurant. There were no reports of injuries.


Firemen at Glorietta after the restaurant fire was contained.


People in the restaurant broke the windows to prevent
smoke suffocation when the fire broke out.


Evacuated employees from the mall shops.

From the Bottom of the Food Chain

I have always enjoyed eating, but my interest in making food started out of necessity. I was spending a few weeks in Perth, living with a cousin whose idea of breakfast is leftover pizza from the previous night. Before leaving home, my survival instincts prompted me to take along a slightly dog-eared copy of The Starving Student's Cookbook, the same one that kept my girlfriend nourished while she was in grad school. I tried a few recipes, but eventually settled on fried rice mixed with ham and sweet Chinese sausage for the rest of that Australian summer.

Now, I can barely find time to actually cook. So in the culinary arts, I am more often a spectator. I watch cooking shows on cable TV, and there are cooks that I admire and respect like rock stars. I think Nigela Lawson is very hot.

Isn't she?

I read and re-read Kitchen Confidential--Anthony Bourdain's memoir of his exploits deep in the underworld of the restaurant business. I found his account of drugs, sex, and conspiracies behind the service entrance as fascinating as a spy thriller.

A month ago, a friend of mine asked if I was interested in doing a photo story about the service operation of a restaurant. Naturally, I agreed. He arranged a shoot at Chelsea Market & Cafe, one of the popular dining joints in Manila. The place serves around 150 guests each night, and it’s almost impossible to get a table without a reservation. We spent three days with the kitchen and service crew, finding ourselves in middle of the hectic, laborious process of making food and getting it to the guest's table.

Jica sorting spices; pizza fresh from the oven.

Imagining Bourdain’s account, I was expecting a crew of rowdy trash-talking punks and other sorts of deviants. Instead, I found a genteel bunch of young, hardworking men and women, mostly fresh out of culinary school. No Gordon Ramsey-style shouting either. Despite the heat and high pressure, these folks managed to keep an easygoing, cool-headed demeanor. Cool enough to tolerate a 6-foot tall bald guy squeezed into their tight kitchen space, pointing his camera at their faces, while they were struggling to serve a crazy weekend crowd.

Order tickets posted along the hot kitchen shelf.

Michelin on her last workday at Chelsea Market Cafe.
She is going to Melbourne for further culinary studies.

The hot kitchen crew during the afternoon preparations
for dinner service.

The complete photo story can be viewed at Table for Three.