Dinner at The Dog and Bollocks— a satirical restaurant review
Lately, I’ve become wary of the ‘gastropub’, since in Manila, they’re about as authentic as Thai food at a provincial girly bar. When an establishment wants to seriously identify itself as a gastropub, there are certain standards that need to be fulfilled, namely high-quality food and an above average selection of draft beer. Despite its mildly suspect name, I decided to give The Dog and Bollocks, a self-proclaimed gastropub, located in the somewhat gentrified neighborhood of Poblacion a try, reserving my inherent misanthropy for a later date.
One of the primary reasons for the latter: it is the inspiration of Chef John Paul Grenot, the young half French half pinoy prodigy, fresh off a stint at Heston Blumenthal’s Fat Duck. Despite its curiously pub-ish name, the Dog and Bollocks is undoubtedly a restaurant first, one with an outlined farm-to-table philosophy; hardly the sort of establishment expected to found in P. Burgos the city’s most famous red district where midget boxing, gonorrhea, deep-voiced masseuses and open air dives are predominant features.
Sandwiched between two table dancing bars is the Dog and Bollocks — which despite its intentionally downtrodden, almost eerie exterior (its glass window panels are tinted a sinister black with a brightly colored Korean KTV-esque sign), inside is a contemporary abyss. There is a distinct type speakeasy exclusivity here, white tiled walls, smooth cemented flooring, hanging, fluorescent light bulbs, mismatched seating, a very open kitchen with young tattooed sous chefs — the works. It is a Tuesday evening but packed, well-dressed couples sit at the bar drinking intricate-looking beverages from Mason jars. Fortunately, I made reservations.
Chef John Paul is melancholic and fairly timid, brooding even, not the demeanor one would expect from a hotshot alumnus of some of the most storied kitchens in New York and the UK. He is 34 but could pass for a university student; his jet black long hair and slender figuring making him relatively androgynous. “I learned to cook from my dad,” he says with a mild lisp. He grew up in Manila for the most part but summers eating fresh oysters Provence and grilling langosteens in the Mauritian coast affected him in a profound way. “I cooked my fried my first egg at four and never looked back. This is what I was born to do.” His fondest memories are of strolling through farmers markets in the south of France, conversing with flat-capped purveyors in broken French and browsing for vibrant, symmetrical produce.
For the Dog and Bollocks, his first restaurant, he does not hold back — his creativity, his sheer ability to recreate classic dishes in his own distinct style is noteworthy. “We are all about using local, fresh ingredients here. We will not compromise,” he says, a sustainability-focused integrity influenced by all those summers in France no doubt. He is adept at using sophisticated cooking techniques with indigenous ingredients and in the process producing familiar tastes. “Nostalgia is an important theme to me.”
I was enthralled by the ramen. More than just an obligatory tribute to his Momofuku Ko (he spent several years here as a line cook), this bowl of soupy goodness is an event in itself. Al dente homemade flat noodles are submerged in a fragrant native pork broth, daintily topped with a duck ‘adobo’ egg and house smoked bacon sliced like choshu. It is a gorgeous interplay of flavors, the syrupy glaze of the fatty bacon providing a welcome juxtaposition to the savory richness of the broth — umami in every very sense of the word. Congratulations David Chang you have created a veritable beast.
Fried chicken (particularly of the buttermilk variety) and waffles may be ubiquitous on clipboard menus everywhere. John Paul deep fries grass fed chicken thighs to a handsome orange and serves them in taco form using a pillowy, black truffled infused pancake as the tortilla, along with pickled cabbage and black truffle aioli. “Instead of the traditional buttermilk, which is hard to get here anyway, we soak our chicken in cereal milk. It tastes even better. Buttermilk’s totally overrated.” I had never eaten fried chicken, perhaps my favourite food (whether hungover or not) in such a wonderfully unconventional way. Truffle, fried poultry, pickled vegetables — a symphony of tastes and textures, both comforting and alien at the same time. I am in fried chicken euphoria; I have not experienced this level of fried chicken-induced satisfaction since a drunken 3 am binge at my local KFC some years (okay, mid last year) ago.
The night doesn’t end there. For dessert, the Biodegradable, Biodynamic Vegetable Compost Cookie is not just tasty, combining the sweetness of chocolate chip and the earthy saltiness of vegetables, it is a fine ambassador to the restaurant’s environmentally aware mission statement. A chocolate chip here, half an onion or turnip there, it certainly isn’t the most conservative of desserts, but it is a dish that perfectly encapsulates the Dog and Bollocks. The cookie, a visual delight, harmoniously blends the classic with the avant-garde. A leftover bell pepper adds the elusive kick that most desserts simply do not have. The organic toppings may all be leftovers from other diners but John Paul assures me that they are cleaned thoroughly before serving. “Where someone sees waste, I see a creative pursuit. We don’t like to waste ingredients here anyway. That just wouldn’t be right.” It takes multiple bites for my palate to familiarize itself with the seemingly incongruous elements. But when they do, wow. “This is a dessert I am very proud of,” he explains of the vegan confection. “I don’t want people to look at this as strictly a dessert, it is a meal in itself.”
The red velvet cupcakes, meanwhile, showcase John Paul’s playful side. The delicate pastry is imbued with Chef’s barrel aged homemade Sriracha, artfully topped with white Pedro Ximenez Fromage Blanc, lush dark Xocolat sauce is encased in a urine drainage bag, the chocolate meant to be injected via catheter into each cupcake. Hospital paraphernalia is not an ideal sight post meal, especially when it’s on your table with dark fluid flowing through it (and when its original use is to collect human secretions.) The sheer bizarreness of the sight is enough to shock and awe any customer whilst becoming the subject of countless Instagram photos (my latest post, 58 m ago.) Urine bag or not, it doesn’t taste particularly special though; the Sriracha is a bit too pungent for a dessert, the pastry base a little too dry.
There are other highlights, such as the sizzling steak and ‘quadruple’ cooked truffle fries (think a well-done steak frites meets Landmark food court.) I am also told the Palawan lobster roll “banh mi” with foie gras is a hit, as is the Tsokolate Churros with ritual Chocnut butter. I will certainly be back soon, maybe I’ll even stay for a bottle of natural wine.
