The Spy in the Sandwich

Monday, January 13, 2025

8:01 PM | In Café Maria, A Restoration of Exquisite Flavors

From last Sunday’s “Culinary Cuts” column I share with Renz Torres for the Dumaguete MetroPost.

There is a particular alchemy to restoration, and Casa Paquita in Fatima Village in Dumaguete embodies this magic to the hilt. Once a stately home built in the 1920s along Acias Pinili Street, then slowly abandoned in the ensuing decades, and finally relocated and restored to its old glory in this part of Bantayan, the heritage house’s hallowed walls now reverberate with fresh culinary ambitions as it also plays host to Cafe Maria.

This marriage of heritage and gastronomy is more than mere coincidence—it’s a conversation, a song, an invitation to sit and savor. But what does it mean to dine within restored elegance? Let us begin.

Stepping into Cafe Maria feels like entering a sepia photograph splashed with modern color. The dark wooden beams overhead and the artful interplay of antique tiles and contemporary decor are not merely aesthetic choices but an homage to time. The air carries faint whispers of the past, and yet, it’s also unmistakably alive with the murmurs of current diners and the rhythmic clatter of plates. This is a setting built for storytelling—and no better storyteller exists than food.

We started with a dish that dares to walk the tightrope of excess: the Bangus na Tambok. Its name, with a chuckle of self-awareness, declares its fatty splendor outright. Here is a whole milkfish fried to an audacious crisp, glistening under a drizzle of atsuete oil. And yet, the dish is anything but overwhelming. The crackling skin yields to flesh cooked with an assured tenderness, and the supporting cast elevates it to a star’s performance. The kalamansi aioli delivers a citrusy zing, while the atchara slaw provides crunch and acidity. It’s a platter that asks, “How far can we push indulgence before it topples?” The answer: just far enough. One of us wished for crisper skin, but we’ll let that pass—to each their textural preference.

From bold flavors, we segue to opulence with the Negros Wagyu Kaldereta, a dish that seems to whisper, “Trust me.” And trust, indeed, is warranted. This is not your grandmother’s kaldereta—it is richer, deeper, and more unapologetically decadent. Sourced from Montenegro Farms, the wagyu beef collapses under the gentlest nudge, as if surrendering itself willingly to your spoon. The sauce, bolstered by liver paté, vodka, and a lively interplay of olives and fresh tomatoes, brims with a complexity that defies its humble origins. There is a symphony of flavors here—a crescendo of salt, acid, and umami—but alas, the potatoes falter. They lack the golden crispness that might have crowned this dish triumphant. Yet even in imperfection, the kaldereta’s stars shine brightly.

The prelude to our feast arrived in the form of the Dukot Salad. Its title, a nod to scorched rice, suggests playfulness—and what a play it is. Whole lettuce leaves cradle a mélange of textures: crispy dukot, slender strips of singkamas, bursts of tomato, and the smoky umami of thin bulad. It’s a salad that leans into its contradictions: rustic yet elegant, familiar yet novel. If the rice had achieved a sharper crunch or the vinaigrette more assertive acidity, it might have sung louder. But even as is, this dish feels like an echo of home cooked with a touch of finesse.

And what’s a meal without a little indulgence of the liquid sort? Cafe Maria’s signature cocktail, Pangpa-Igat, flirts unapologetically with its name. The drink arrives like a spell in a glass—swirls of green apple and elderflower dancing in soda water, buoyed by gin’s subtle sting. It is, by all accounts, a pretty drink—gentle, sweet, and deceptively harmless. But therein lies the rub: where one might expect the bold flirtation of tartness or the audacious burn of spirits, it instead plays coy. It’s a pleasant sip, no doubt, but for a drink named after mischief, I’d hoped for a wilder night.

Perhaps the truest triumph of Cafe Maria lies not in any single dish but in its vision. To dine here is to partake in a dialogue between past and present. The restored Casa Paquita lends gravitas to the dining experience; the creak of its wooden floors, the glint of its antique windows, the shadows cast by its ornate beams—all these whisper tales of Dumaguete’s storied past. Yet the menu is firmly rooted in today, with a sly wink toward innovation and an embrace of locality. The use of Negros-sourced wagyu, for instance, is not just a statement of quality but a celebration of place.

There is an audacity in Cafe Maria’s promise to comfort and challenge in equal measure. Its menu teeters on the edge of the familiar and the experimental, sometimes stumbling but never losing its balance entirely. Here, you are invited to reconsider the bangus of your childhood, to reimagine the kaldereta of your lola’s kitchen, to find new possibilities in the humble scorched rice. It is an act of culinary storytelling, woven through the threads of an old house that has seen countless meals and conversations.

As we lingered over the last sips of our drinks, we found ourselves thinking of restoration not just as an act of revival but as an invitation to rethink what was and what could be. Cafe Maria, with its heritage setting and bold kitchen, has accepted this invitation with aplomb. It is not perfect—but then, perfection is not the point. The point is the journey, the effort, the joy of discovering something old made new, something familiar made surprising. And for that, Cafe Maria is well worth the visit.

Labels: dumaguete, food, heritage