By Alex Sawit

26 November 2009

“Oh, that is so cuuute,” gushed another female customer. “There’s a fat smiling hippo sitting on the corner of the bottle!”

Sigh. Girls will be girls. They all give the same reaction when I show them a bottle of Fat Bastard, which is now quite popular at the shop. I do tell them about the unusual crafting that goes into producing this delightful wine from the South of France. It’s all about the wine, I explain. But ladies just can’t help going all goo-goo and gaga over that happy little hippo weighing heavily on the front label.

Welcome to life at our re-booted Cyrano Wine Shop. It’s been a month since we celebrated our fifth year anniversary and it’s clear that customers love the new concept. Our new slogan says it all: “Fun wines, smart buys!”

That means fun flavor, fun character and just plain fun to drink wine that’s good value. I like to think, of course, that Cyrano has always been about fun wines. We just never thought of positioning ourselves this way to the public before. From now on we want Cyrano to be known for really fun wines, stuff so endearingly outrageous you won’t expect to find them in any typical retail establishment (and definitely not on any supermarket shelf).

Hence, we’ve proudly assembled half a dozen unique wines on which to build our new reputation. We call them Cyrano’s “Silly Six.” Made by some of the most unconventional, anti-establishment winemakers in the world today, these six wines are sure to impress customers by being every bit as quirky as they are delicious.

Remember: It’s all about the wine… duh! Cheers, Cyrano friends!

The revoultionary wines of Los 3 Bandidos.

Los 3 Bandidos. Don’t be fooled by the Spanish name. Los Tres Bandidos (“The Three Bandits”) is 100% French. This amusing fact recently offended one Spanish visitor at the shop. “Why are these Frenchmen,” complained the indignant Spaniard, “using a Spanish name for a French wine?” Lighten up, amigo. It’s made by a duo of wine rebels in the South of France who produce full-bodied wines as they please. See those bullet holes in the bottle label? That’s because Tres Bandidos is named in honor of Mexico’s three most famous revolutionaries – Pancho Villa, Emilliano Zapata and Venustiano Carranza. Maybe the name is due to the red wine being made entirely from the Grenache grape, called Garnacha in Spain, which is used to make classic Spanish reds. Or maybe it’s because the winemakers recommend it with Mexican cuisine. Or maybe it’s just a bold statement about how they make “revolutionary wines” that defy French tradition (yes, they actually describe it that way in their promo materials). French wine with a Spanish name… so what? Tres Bandidos is hilarious and, more importantly, it tastes really nice. And it’s fantastic with lechon. “Ay caramba!”

Our CSI officer took this closeup of the bullet holes. Note the
points of entry, indicating the precision with which the shooter
avoided the logo. But there are no marks to suggest that
blunt force trauma was suffered during the attack.

Goats Do Roam. For sillier stuff, try this one from South Africa. Created by folks who are mad about French wine appellations and goat herding – at the back of the bottle, the estate owner cheerfully describes the vineyard as a pseudo goat farm – this un-oaked wine adapts the same grapes used in France for making a white Côtes du Rhône (say “coat-doo-roan”). Rename it Goats Do Roam and you’ve got South Africa’s irreverent version of a French classic, its refreshing, crisp character evoking ripe citrus and gooseberries. We still don’t have the red one, which is their original effort, but we’re working on it.

Here’s the kicker. Back in France, the higher classification of a Côtes du Rhône wine is called “Côtes du Rhône Villages” (it’s French, so say “vih-LAJ” please). So we shouldn’t be surprised that those South Africans also make a higher variant of their version. Goats Do Roam in Villages is lightly aged in oak barrels, resulting in a softer, creamier white wine.

Baa-baa…

Fat Bastard. This is the pride and joy of the duo that makes Los 3 Bandidos. Business partners Thierry and Guy, a Frenchman and a Brit respectively, decided to thumb their noses at France’s old fashioned wine industry by setting up a rebellious operation of their own in the Languedoc region in the South. Armed with winemaking ideas and technologies pioneered in the New World, they produced exactly the kind of rich flavors they were hoping for. “Now,” proclaimed Thierry after tasting his creation, “zat iz what I call eh PHET bas-tard!” It’s a British expression but the name stuck. Fat Bastard comes in Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, Syrah/Shiraz, Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon, all with discernable French character but with a twist of delectable of richness. By the way, nobody sober at the winery seems to remember how the heck they wound up with a fat golden hippo on their label.

L to R: Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon, Sauvignon Blanc, Chardonnay and Shiraz.
All varietals (plus the Pinot Noir, which is not depicted) except
the Sauvginon Blanc are now available at Cyrano.

Goat Door. Those winemakers at The Goats Do Roam Wine Company just won’t quit with the homonyms. This time they take inspiration from the area known as the Côte d’Or (“Golden Hillside”), where the most famous and most expensive white wines in France’s Burgundy region are produced entirely from the Chardonnay grape. Likewise, Goat Door is exclusively made from Chardonnay, lightly aged in oak barrels to preserve the freshness that is the hallmark of the Goats Do Roam style of white wine.

Bored Doe. One day, the folks at The Goats Do Roam Wine Company had another smashing idea. “Hey,” they thought, “in South Africa we have all five grape varietals used in Bordeaux to make red wine. Why don’t we make our version of a classic Bordeaux red?” So they blended Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Cabernet Franc, Malbec and Petit Verdot, aged the wine in oak, put it inside a claret bottle and stuck it with an old château-style label illustrated with a pretty little French deer frolicking around (she’s described as “an udderly gorgeous doe” on the back label of the bottle). Just don’t expect Bored Doe to be like its French counterpart. South Africa’s terroir produces a richer, fruitier savor in its wines and this one is decidedly, though elegantly, full-bodied in style. But yes, it’s good – different but darn good. How ironic that it should go well with venison, heh-heh…

“The goats will roam… capisce?!”

The Goatfather. The last of the Silly Six is my favorite among the wines of The Goats Do Roam Wine Company. A blend of several varietals that includes four grapes of Italian origin – Barbera, Sangiovese, Primitivo and Nebbiolo – this is a remarkable mimic of a Northern Italian red, comparable perhaps to a praiseworthy Chianti Classico Riserva. It even bears some comparison to a classy Sicilian wine we also carry at the shop. Whether it reminds you of Northern or Southern Italy, either way The Goatfather is serious Italian-style vino at heart… uh, with a gratuitous goat portrait on the bottle for laughs. Never mind. This stuff is wonderful. Starting with soft lavender and subtle mocha on the nose and ending with a touch of cranberry on the palate, The Goatfather is a suave, tangy red that makes for eminently comfortable drinking.

In case you thought we were kid-ding about The Goats Do Roam Wine Company, here’s owner and winemaker Charles Back with The Goatfather
along with his property’s very real livestock. Baaa!

By Alex Sawit

31 October 2009

It’s been a fun October at the shop thanks to the amazing voice (or voices) of our favorite YouTube™ sensation, Nick Pitera. I’ve been showing his videos to unsuspecting visitors all month long and I still haven’t gotten tired of audience reactions to his jaw-dropping renditions of A Whole New World (his version of Brad King and Lea Salonga singing from Disney’s Aladdin) and Don’t Stop Believin’ (his duet version of the Glee cover of the Journey song). He’s a very good male vocalist but everybody agrees that his crossover voice is even better. A lot of women would kill to sing this good.

I guess it’s fitting that we were playing these two songs night after night for guests even if only for their gag value. This was a month of big change at our little neighborhood wine shop. In a cheesy but endearing way, these songs happily expressed our outlook on a whole new world of business opportunities that we now want to pursue.

When we opened Cyrano five years ago on October 23, 2004, we had a clear idea of what we wanted to be. But while we succeeded in creating a selling concept that would later become the “Cyrano friends” experience, for lack of resources we fell short of our final vision. The whole concept was sound but the execution needed a new spark of life. If we were ever going to achieve that vision then we had to get the people we needed to make it happen.

So we did. Allow me to officially introduce you to Cyrano’s new partners: Ric Dizon, Jonathan “Joco” Co and Cecile Mauricio.

Most Cyrano friends already know Ric and Joco as two of their own. We met Ric years ago after we opened shop and discovered 1) that he owned a spa across the street and 2) that he had recently visited Napa Valley and picked up a liking for wine. Though he gave up his stake in the spa not long afterward, Ric remained a believer in Cyrano. He’s a street smart guy with a fertile entrepreneurial mind, but more than that he has also become a dear friend, one whom I praise for his generosity of spirit and whom I admire for his faith in the goodness of others.

Joco? He’s been a believer in Cyrano since, well, forever. Equally adept at discussing the product benefits of using polyethylene terephthalate as he is at making a tour guide pitch about the Quail’s Gate vineyard estate in British Columbia, Joco brings both a discriminating wine palate and a process-oriented way of thinking to the business. Plus he instantly improves the view from our window every time he parks his red Porsche 911 out front.

Then there’s my longtime friend Cecile. One of the classiest ladies I’ve ever met, she speaks impeccable French, is an excellent bread maker and is now a devoted martial artist (good luck trying to take her away from her kendo practice). But that’s gravy. Cecile is an influential food & wine writer and is a much sought after consultant in the industry (she recently designed the training course for wine at La Salle Bacolod and regularly conducts wine classes at Asian Culinary Institute for her friend Chef Gene Gonzales). I’m glad that she’s already made a difference in rebuilding our wine inventory and in refocusing our operational efforts.

Together with my sister and me, we’re the re-booted Cyrano team. And we’re pretty excited about our wine shop’s future (to give you a sneak preview, expect to find more than one Cyrano Wine Shop by next year).

All together now (chorus): “Don’t stop believin’…”

By Alex Sawit

05 October 2009

Here’s a gag that the Brits tell from the Second World War. On a desert battlefield in North Africa, a duel ensues between a German soldier and a British Army Gurkha. The tall German is brandishing a rifle with fixed bayonet while the diminutive Nepalese mercenary is wielding a large boomerang-shaped knife. Confident of his superiority, the German lunges first, charging headstrong and grazing the Gurkha’s collar with a bayonet stab. The Gurkha sidesteps and counters with a swing of his blade.

“Hah! You missed!” the German soldier yells smugly.

“You shake your head,” replies the Gurkha.

Puzzled, the German gives it a shake and his severed head promptly falls to the ground.

It’s a grim joke but it makes a point. They’re tough fighters those Gurkhas, which is why they’ve been prized recruits of the British Army since the 19th century and have been exalted by generations of British officers as “the best soldiers in the world.”

But that’s not to say the Germans don’t make for good soldiers. It’s simply that in most of the Allied war stories I’ve read, the Germans always seem to get portrayed as bullheaded troopers who insist on doing things the Teutonic way – the “superior” way.

To be honest, that also happens to be how they are portrayed by the global media, with Hollywood being the guiltiest in perpetuating the image of Germans as overbearing, square-minded authoritarians (no disrespect to the Terminator, now also known as the “Governator,” who is actually a creative thinker and is technically Austrian by birth). It is of course an unfortunate generalization considering that I have encountered and befriended more than enough Germans who are nothing like this stereotype.

So I found it amusing, even startlingly refreshing, when the wine shop recently played host to a guest who exhibited basically all the stereotype characteristics described – a tall German with a wide frame, straightforward demeanor and a library of opinions that he was not the least bit shy about insisting upon. Whoa yeah, he was very opinionated.

“Let me tell you,” he said to me with a poker face from across the bar. “Don’t be angry but the way your place looks is DUMB.”

Yup, he said that. And he was just warming up.

“Don’t be angry but who designed your place? Your sister designed it? Is she a licensed interior designer?”

“Don’t be angry but your place feels like a house, not a store.”

“Don’t be angry but I wouldn’t pay good money to build my counter behind the bar like that.”

“Don’t be angry but your location is not good.”

For someone who didn’t want me to get angry he sure was laying it thick. And I actually wasn’t angry. The fellow is a really friendly and decent gentleman who has been living in the Philippines with his wife for the last two decades. Together they make arguably the best charcuterie products in the country, which was the reason I had asked them to meet me at Cyrano in the first place. But the gentleman seemed determined to discourage me from using him as a supplier.

“Let me get this right,” I asked. “Are you telling me that you don’t want me to buy your products?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but you won’t make money selling my products here. I’m sorry.”

“My friend,” I said, exasperated by the complications of what was supposed to be a simple request for supplies. “I’m NOT turning my place into a deli. This is a wine shop. My core business is wine, not deli products. What I’m trying to do is carry a few of your items so that customers who order them will also be encouraged to buy more wine.”

“Well, I will supply you if you really want but I tell you, you won’t make money. People won’t like your location. Don’t be angry but you asked me my opinion.”

“Actually, you volunteered,” I pointed. “I didn’t ask.” Gee, I must have said something right because his wife, who had kept quiet the whole time her hubby was freely dispensing advice, suddenly burst out laughing after my remark.

When our meeting finally ended, I wasn’t surprised that we hadn’t reached any agreement, not even in principle. But I made him a promise that we would talk again.

“I believe in your products,” I said as I escorted him and his wife to the exit. “Don’t worry. I’m sure we can come to some arrangement that works for both of us.”

Believe me. He’s one of the good guys. His opinions may flatly contradict what Cyrano friends have been telling me for years but I respect what he had to say because his heart is in the right place. He was just trying to look out for Cyrano in his own insistent, Teutonic way.

But I needed a drink right after that meeting.

By Alex Sawit

06 September 2009

I was rummaging through my computer files recently when I found something that I’d sadly forgotten about, something that’s been in the laptop for a few years.  I’d originally intended to edit it so that I could share it with Cyrano friends except that I’d set it aside when I was busy and lost track of it for one reason or another.

It’s a copy of the Sullivan Ballou Letter.

I have a profound appreciation for personal correspondences of historical value.  Unlike historical documents such as treaties, decrees and other grandiose political effects, personal letters offer us a special window not only into unfolding moments in time but also into the hearts of the individuals who wrote them, allowing us to relive their thoughts and emotions as though we were there when it happened.  More than the feeling of history, it’s the human experience that really touches me.

Not surprisingly, love letters are the most compelling.  Often the most famous ones are those written by great figures whose sheer statures imbue their writing with a feeling of consequence.  Napoleon’s letters to Josephine, for example, are filled with the bullying passion of an alpha male always wanting to have his way even if love be the battlefield.  Ludwig van Beethoven’s emotionally wrenching letter to his “Immortal Beloved” was so mysterious that it inspired the fascinating premise of a movie of the same title (with actor Gary Oldman portraying the brooding composer).  And the intoxicating words that Lord Byron and his scandalous lover, Caroline Lamb, imbibed between themselves in their letters serve to transport the reader into a world of reckless mood swings and unbridled notoriety.  And so on and so on.

Sometimes, though, the most moving love letters are those written by everyday heroes whom history would deem as mere footnotes.

I first learned of the Sullivan Ballou Letter nearly twenty years ago from a magazine review about the PBS documentary by Ken Burns, The Civil War.  Acclaimed as the definitive film series about the American Civil War, this masterwork of television presented U.S. audiences with a deeply insightful yet heartrending remembrance of that bloody and decisive period in their nation’s history.  I do recall the magazine praising the filmmakers for the sensitivity with which they used long forgotten mementos to bring to life stories of ordinary people who endured the war.  And I particularly recall that, of all those resurrected keepsakes, the magazine singled out Ballou’s haunting letter as the most enduring one ever written by any soldier on either side of that great American conflict.

To learn more about the Ken Burns documentary The Civil War, click here.

I’ve thought about discreetly putting it on view at the shop, framed and placed perhaps in some corner nook or quiet space on the wall where it wouldn’t be intrusive.  But I just don’t know if it would be as appropriate to display as hanging a poster of Robert Doisneau’s Le Baiser de L’Hôtel de Ville on an easel or displaying copies of Cyrano de Bergerac on our bookshelf.  I just don’t know if it’s too much sentimentality even for a place like Cyrano.

So I’ll settle for posting the letter here. I guess I’m more of a sentimental fool than I thought.

The Letter of Sullivan Ballou

   In the summer of 1861, one week before the first major battle of the American Civil War, an officer in the Union Army, Maj. Sullivan Ballou of the Rhode Island Volunteers, wrote home to his wife Sarah as she awaited his safe return.

   The letter he wrote is presented here in condensed form.

July 14, 1861
Camp Clark, Washington

 

My very dear Sarah:

   The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days – perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more . . .

   If it is necessary that I should fall on the battle field for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans on the triumph of the Government and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and sufferings of the Revolution. And I am willing – perfectly willing – to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt . . .

   But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows. . . is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of country?

   I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer night, when two thousand men are sleeping around me, many of them enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death – and I, suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart, am communing with God, my country, and thee.

   I have sought most closely and diligently, and often in my breast, for a wrong motive in thus hazarding the happiness of those I loved and I could not find one . . .

   Sarah my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field.

   The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them for so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood, around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me – perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness . . .

   But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights . . . always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again . . .

 

   Sullivan

*          *          *          *          *

   A week later, Sullivan Ballou was called upon to lead his regiment against Confederate forces at Manassas, Virginia. He was killed at the First Battle of Bull Run.

POSTSCRIPT: Sullivan Ballou never mailed this letter. His wife Sarah received it along with his other personal belongings after his death. Although the original document has since disappeared, the letter survived through a few hand-written copies. It is probable that Ballou’s widow permitted those dearest to her to copy the letter for the sincerest of reasons, keeping the original safe in her possession for as long as she lived.

By Alex Sawit

24 August 2009

Most Cyrano friends know by now that, thanks to my still unresolved dusk-till-dawn routine at the wine shop, I more or less keep an odd bedtime schedule that drastically reduces my exposure to daylight (if you have to ask, no, I’m not that kind of an immortal). Most of you know this well enough that you probably won’t even bother calling me on my cellphone until late in the afternoon. Heck, most of you may even suspect that the reason I can recite with uncanny dramatic effect the lines of The Architect (you remember him in The Matrix: Reloaded… you know, the Colonel Sanders look-alike?) is because that’s what my voice is like when I’ve been liberated all too soon from the sweetness of sleep – a deep, slowly reverberating voice that feels very tired, very ancient and not particularly amused by the unwelcome effort of speaking.

Albert del Rosario, however, is not most Cyrano friends.

“Alex,” asked Sir Albert with an amused, slightly chuckling voice that gently but firmly roused me over the cellphone the other day. “Did I just wake you up again?”

“No problem Sir Albert,” I answered lucidly and with genuine pleasantness. “Yes,” I continued, “how may I help you?”

Hey, no problemo. If it’s Sir Albert on the line, it’s cool. It’s all just part of the “Bro Code” that we both live by.

I’ve been hearing a lot about the Bro Code lately thanks to folks who’ve been bringing it up at the wine shop via email and i-Pod audio playback (and also thanks to my happy-go-lucky cousin who dropped into the shop exclaiming “Bros before hoes!” as a pledge of loyalty). Since most Cyrano friends already have a general understanding of the code, I won’t bother to explain. I do feel compelled, however, to point that although the basic code applies universally to all bros, there are Bro Codes and then there are Bro Codes.

As most of you are already aware, I belong to a small but tight knit group of black belts who have stayed a steadfast family through the collective blood, sweat and tears of our martial arts training. I wish I could fully describe the process by which this sort of brotherhood comes about, but truly you had to have been there with us to understand – been one of us, one bloody grueling day after another repeating kick after kick, strike after strike, grapple after grapple, pushing each other and never giving up till we got it right. If you’d been there, then you’d know why those who endure hardship and emerge as brothers-in-arms always develop a unique feeling of obligation to each other that transcends everyday friendship. Call it a warrior’s Bro Code if you like, but that’s what ours is.

That’s why I’d like to take this opportunity to say that I’m especially proud to call Sir Albert a Cyrano friend – the only Cyrano friend who is also my fellow Hwa Rang Do black belt.

Strange as it may sound due to the generation gap between us (he’s close to my father’s age, illustrated by the fact that I went to university with one of his sons), Sir Albert and I have been bros ever since we started training as classmates in Hwa Rang Do nearly a quarter century ago. Nowadays most folks in town know him only as a highly esteemed businessman and as a former Philippine ambassador to the United States. But for me that doesn’t say nearly enough. If you’d ever trained with him as a bro as I did, you’d know that his is the kind of stuff – that prized combination of courage of heart, strength of mind and integrity of spirit – of which real gentlemen are made of. I only wish he’d been given the opportunity to take up the martial arts much earlier in life so that we might have seen what he could have attained given the advantage of youth.

I hope Sir Albert gets to meet the rest of his fellow Cyrano friends someday soon. Although he is actually one of our best customers, regularly ordering vino for private functions and as gifts for friends, due to his never ending busy schedule he’s only ever been to our wine shop once and on a slow night at that, when there was no one I could introduce him to. Hopefully someday he will.

For now…

“I’ll need another case of the Cabernet I ordered from you last time,” Sir Albert said with his trademark civility. “I’ll be giving it as a gift, too.”

“Very good, one case,” I replied. “I could bring it to you by, say, Thursday?”

“That’s fine Alex. Thanks.”

“No problem Sir Albert,” I said as I ended the call. I jotted it down mentally: twelve bottles of blended Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon Reserva, which I planned to personally deliver to the Ambassador’s residence on…

Wait, did I tell him Thursday? Hah-hah, I delivered it to him Wednesday morning. Hey, no problem going the extra mile. That’s part of our Bro Code.

By Alex Sawit

01 August 2009

When Warren Buffet was the featured guest on a business show a few years ago, the investment wizard who once topped Bill Gates as the world’s richest man candidly listed his golden rules for investor success:

Rule # 1: Don’t lose the money.

Rule # 2: Don’t forget Rule No. 1.

Rule # 3: Look for unique companies.

Rule # 4: Do what you know.

That these were words of wisdom from arguably the most respected businessman on the planet was good enough.  But there was something else, something far less quantifiable, that Buffet said that I found more compelling.  He explained that, after all the number crunching is done, his decision to invest still relies on whether or not he gets a special feeling about it – that rush in the blood, that tingling sensation that happens when he finds a business he really likes and can even personally believe in.  That’s how he knows he’s got a winner.

I love that.  Warren Buffet I’m not, but I appreciate the notion that a business offer shouldn’t be just about the thrill of making money.  As far as I’m concerned, I’ve got to have a special feeling about it too.

That’s why I just recently rejected two different business offers from groups that were interested in Cyrano.  One group wanted to transform the place into an upscale, cocktail-serving piano lounge (yawn).  The other… well, they actually just wanted to kick us out and set up a gourmet chocolate shop (yeah, sweet, but how the heck am I supposed to sell wine?).

Most Cyrano friends are still unaware that our neighborhood wine shop has long been receiving business offers from all sorts of folk who take notice of our little operation on the street.  They generally covet us for our location, but most are also interested in tapping those savvy, convivial and cosmopolitan people who always seem to gravitate to our place (which is just about any typical group of Cyrano friends, right?).

Just to give you an idea, here are a few of the noteworthy offers from folks who approached us over the years:

• Galileo Enoteca.  Galileo’s Italian proprietor, Gaetano Vitrano, wanted to take over Cyrano so he could turn it into Galileo’s Makati branch.  Bye-bye Gaetano!

• Mickey’s Delicatessen.  A business associate approached me with a proposal but, after I pointed the limitations, they settled down on Jupiter Street instead.

• Mr. Hideaki Takeda.  A reasonably successful Japanese businessman and “semi-estranged acquaintance” of our famous neighborhood buddy Mr. Shimizu, Mr. Takeda wanted to convert the backroom into a cocktail lounge with bubbly hostesses speaking in halting Japanese and serving drinks to men twice their age. I must have told him politely a million times, “Uh, let me think about it some more.”

• Forth & Tay.  The country’s first single malt whisky & cigar bar needed a replacement showroom.  I offered the Cyrano backroom; they asked for our frontage.

• Attivo Café.  The nice young ladies who own this establishment across the park from us offered what seemed to be a great deal for both parties, where they would operate Cyrano as a café during the day and I would take over at night.  But after watching them handle the place for a trial run, I realized that the chemistry was badly wrong.

Looking back at all the offers I’ve turned down, especially the ones that would have been financially rewarding, it’s even clearer now that they all would have changed everything about our little place.  So I have no regrets.  In the end, none of them gave me that rush in the blood, that tingling sensation that happens when I know I’ve found a winner.

Come to think of it, Cyrano friends already have a winner.  And I ain’t gonna to fix what ain’t broke.

By Alex Sawit

30 June 2009

I hate dealing with drunks.

Of all the things I will eventually miss about this wine shop of ours, disciplining misbehaving customers of the smashed kind is not going to be one of them. Whether they’re newcomers who’ve just walked in off the street or folks who’ve been coming over for years, I don’t relish being forced to bring people into line after they’ve stepped over it. But it comes with the territory of running an establishment like ours. Normally I only have to restrain offenders by firmly communicating my annoyance in a manner that is both verbally and visually unmistakable (kinda like Bruce Banner’s mild mannered speech, “Don’t make me angry… you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry,” but delivered with the blood-shot ferocity in the eye of Tony Montana’s classic, “Say hell-oh to my little friend!!!”). But, yeah, there have been a few times when I’ve tossed people out when I deemed it necessary.

Just recently, I had to drop the axe on a pair of Aussie neighbors after an unpleasant night. They’re decent blokes when they’re sober, but they just couldn’t get it through their skulls not to act like bulls in a china shop when they’re at Cyrano.

“There are consequences for your actions,” I told one of them when he came back several nights later asking for a shot of malt whisky only to be denied service. “You’re welcome to order coffee when you guys are here,” I told him blankly, “but from now on I won’t serve either of you alcohol.” At first the fellow seemed to accept his sentence with aplomb. Then about a week later he showed up in a less than sober state and, in a pseudo-bullying manner that embarrassed me in front of my regulars, insisted on being served some Glenfiddich. So I put on my game face, loaded daggers into my words and knifed away.

Nemo me impune lacessit. *

“Go home,” I told him sternly even as he tried to explain himself on his way out. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” True enough, he did come back to formally apologize for his behavior and he’s since stuck to drinking coffee when he’s here.

Agreed, not all alcohol-induced behavior is unwelcome (as if Cyrano friends didn’t already know that). But when it gets to the point that customers are causing trouble, then it doesn’t matter how much money they’re spending. You have to lay down the law or they’ll keep doing the same stupid thing night after night, making life miserable for your other customers. I know it’s not the Filipino way to treat customers as “equals,” but then again I’m of the opinion that part of the problem with Filipino society is that we’re too tolerant, too accommodating and too bloody nice to know when people are walking all over us. No wonder most foreigners think we’re pushovers.

To quote the following business maxim: “Never accept what is unacceptable. Because once you start accepting it, people will start giving you $#@% on a regular basis.”

* Since the fellow asked for Glenfiddich, it occurred to me that anybody who is an advocate of single malt scotch should also know this Latin phrase, which for centuries has been the defiant motto of the whisky loving people of Scotland. Loosely translated, it means, “No one steps on me and gets away with it.”

By Alex Sawit

13 May 2009

I’m thinking about a scene from The Godfather. It’s the one where Michael Corleone (Al Pacino) confronts his sister’s traitorous husband, Carlo, telling him to fess up about his complicity in the horrific machine-gun slaying of Michael’s eldest brother. “You think I’d make my sister a widow?” he says to his terrified brother-in-law, assuring him that his life would be spared if he stopped protesting.

“Just don’t tell me you’re innocent,” Michael warns coldly. “It insults my intelligence.”

As fans of the movie trilogy know, what came next was one of the most brutal mafia executions in cinema history, with Carlo admitting his guilt only to be garroted inside the car, the killer uprooting him so violently out of the front seat that his shoes smashed the windshield as he kicked and struggled to his death. All of it had the effect of turning Pacino’s words into a chilling catchphrase.

Don’t tell me you’re innocent. It insults my intelligence.

I’ll take my cue from that, thank you very much. Like Pacino’s fictional character, I too find it insulting when I hear declarations of innocence from those who are blatantly and stupidly guilty.

As it happens, I’m annoyed at a bunch of sneaky executives at the country’s biggest brewing company, San Miguel. They’re the ones whose bright idea it was to reformulate San Miguel Pale Pilsen. In my last review of Southeast Asian beers, I chastised them for ruining this classic brew beloved by generations of Filipinos. The reformulated beer is now a hollow-tasting shell of its former full-flavored glory, all because of the decision by management to reduce the amount of high quality malt used in the recipe and substitute it with a higher proportion of cheaper cereal extenders.

But there’s more. I just found out, belatedly, that those same penny-pinching corporate clowns have been lying through their teeth to their own advertising agencies about what they did. This didn’t reach my ears, however, until someone from an ad agency that handles San Miguel beer brands dropped by the wine shop last week and relayed to me the “official story.”

“The reason San Miguel decided to reformulate Pale Pilsen,” the fellow sincerely explained based on the briefing he received, “is because the brand has been losing market share to San Mig Light. They altered it to make it taste more like San Mig Light, which is what their research says consumers prefer now.”

Really… that’s what they’re saying? Excuse me for a moment, readers…

[SFX: Imaginary footsteps of me walking around the room LMAO!!!]

Yup, San Mig Light, one of the blandest beers on the planet, something so hilariously lousy that horses would take offense if you were to liken it to their piss. Unfortunately, it’s an important part of the San Miguel brand portfolio, enjoying strong sales among pretentious teens and status-conscious young adults who’ve bought into the glossy ad message that light beer is “cool.”

“It’s a bogus explanation,” I said to my customer in so many words. Having once been in the ad industry myself, I still have insider friends of my own who are connected in one way or another to the local beer industry. Based on what they told me, I told my customer that the reformulation was a cost-cutting move in response to rising prices of imported barley malt.

“San Miguel owns both brands,” I continued. “Both sell for the same price even though the low-calorie variant is significantly cheaper to produce. They make more money selling San Mig Light, so it’s in their interest to push this brand even if it cannibalizes market share from Pale Pilsen. Like I said, they own both brands, so in reality they don’t lose market share at all.”

My customer was swayed. “You know, that actually makes more sense,” he said. “Now that I think of it, I think the story you received was the genuine one.”

The truth still annoys me, though.

I miss the old San Miguel Beer. I can only hope that someday in the future those manipulative liars at the company will be gone, allowing a new generation to set things right. It’s either that or Filipinos might just decide to take matters in their own hands.

Why not? Vengeful things can always happen if there are enough outraged consumers who feel insulted… capiche?

BEST BEERS OF SOUTHEAST ASIA 2009

Note: Only beers available for retail were considered for this review.

Best Pale Beer, Philippines – SAN MIGUEL OKTOBERFEST BEER

Producer: San Miguel Brewery

Alcohol Content: 3.6% vol.

In 2008, Philippine brewing giant San Miguel launched two all-malt beers for the domestic market: San Miguel Premium and San Miguel Oktoberfest Beer. The former is actually an old brand that disappeared from local shelves many years ago but remained in production for a few foreign markets. That’s beside the point, though. Premium is an overrated brew that has an odd, mild finish that really disappoints me, a far cry from the rich taste of the original San Miguel Premium that I remember from some twenty years ago.

San Miguel Oktoberfest is better. Though still not as full-flavored as I would prefer, it is slightly more tasty and much better balanced than the other all-malt beer despite its lighter body. Too bad, though, that this was just a limited edition brew for the company’s Oktoberfest marketing promotions last year. It’s not easy to find, but as of this writing you can still find it at a limited number of Seven Eleven outlets in Metro Manila.

Best Beer Overall, Philippines – CERVEZA NEGRA SAN MIGUEL

Producer: San Miguel Brewery

Alcohol Content: 5% vol.

Cerveza Negra was tops in last year’s review for this category and it looks like it will stay there for the foreseeable future. I have no problem with that. Though it has traditionally been overshadowed by its Pale Pilsen counterpart, Negra has never been anything less than its equal and in the minority opinion of a few discerning local connoisseurs is even seen as the better of the two.

Best Dark Beer, Southeast Asia – CERVEZA NEGRA SAN MIGUEL

Nobody else in the region has ever made a better dark lager than this. Period.

Best Beer Overall, Southeast Asia – BEERLAO LAGER

Producer: Lao Brewing Company

Alcohol Content: 5% vol.

The “laid-back beer” of Laos stays at the top of the list this year, though I get the feeling that Cerveza Negra San Miguel could displace it with a little bit more tweaking and a little less inconsistency. It’s just a pity that BeerLao isn’t available in the Philippines, because I’d take it any day over any pale beer from any of the local breweries.

UPDATE (24 May 2009): In case anyone wants to know, the current suggested retail selling price for a bottle of San Miguel Beer is PhP 19.00, while that of San Mig Light is PhP 22.00 a bottle. What a rip-off.

By Alex Sawit

21 April 2009

“So Alex,” I was asked for the umpteenth time at the wine shop, “I know you’re tired of hearing this, but what do you think of the Philippines episode?”

Here we go again.

It’s been over two months since No Reservations: Philippines aired on the Travel Channel in the U.S., but the debate rages on among Filipino fans of the show. It amazes me, though it does not surprise me, how a TV program about food of all things could spark so much divisiveness among Pinoys. On one side are people who are bitterly critical of Augusto, the Filipino-American fan handpicked by show host Anthony Bourdain to accompany him to the Philippines as a guide but who, once the camera started rolling, turned into a sheepish introvert unable to explain the culinary charms of his parents’ homeland. On the other side are those who defend Augusto as a new-born patriot, proud to have finally discovered his roots and whose love for his ancestral country puts to shame a lot of Pinoys who are grudging of their own national identity. Not surprisingly, the latter tend to like the episode a lot, while the former tend to like it a whole lot less… maybe not at all.

Since we say it’s better late than never, Cyrano friends, it’s time for me to once and for all make known my mind to you about what went wrong and what went right in that hotly debated episode.

Never mind that Bourdain’s researchers told him that Clark Airbase was a part of U.S. military history during the Spanish-American War (it wasn’t built until long after Spain turned over the Philippines to U.S. rule under the provisions of the Treaty of Paris signed on December 19, 1898). Never mind that Pampanga food authority Claude Tayag, talking to Bourdain, repeated the myth that sisig was invented by the late Aling Lucing (sisig was around long before Aling Lucing popularized her restaurant’s version on a sizzling plate in the 1970s). Never mind any of the other factual errors mentioned on the show that could be politely excused. In my opinion, No Reservations: Philippines was a good, entertaining episode.

But if I must admit to feeling disappointed, it’s because I was expecting more due to the mistaken impression I was under in the months leading to the episode premiere. Bourdain is known for constructing each episode around a strong central theme. When he arrived in the country for filming in October 2008, his interviews in local publications led me to believe that the theme for the Philippines would focus on a wonderful idea proposed by none other than Bourdain himself: That Filipino cooking, in Tony’s admiring opinion, is an astonishing fusion cuisine tradition that is already centuries old.

“You have had fusion cuisine from the beginning,” Bourdain remarked excitedly to one of his hosts, a conclusion he arrived at as a result of struggling to describe the kaleidoscope explosion of flavors he discovered here, which struck him as vaguely familiar yet seeming to defy definition by his palate even after years of traveling to most every food destination on the planet. “It’s an asset that you have a wide variety and different influences from your years of colonization,” he said, expressing delight that ours is the only cuisine in the world that is the result of both Chinese and Mexican influences. “Those (Chinese and Mexican influences) are two great cuisines.”

The Original East-West Fusion Cuisine. What an awesome concept. That’s what I thought would be the theme. I should say, that’s what I misled myself into thinking.

No matter. Cheers to Bourdain for deciding to build the theme around the story of Augusto – a story about a young Filipino-American in search of his cultural identity, which is really the age-old story about our struggle to define what it really means to be Filipino, to be a unique people whose heritage is of both Oriental spirit and Hispanic passion. That’s the right story. It should make all Pinoys take a good look inside and seek the honest answer in their own hearts. That’s what makes the Philippines Episode something special (along with the fact that Bourdain declared our lechon to be the best pig he’s ever eaten).

There’s just one more thing I should mention. I really wish the producers had recruited the flamboyant Carlos Celdran (he who pioneered the now famous walking tours of Manila) as their local fixer for the Manila segment of the episode. Celdran would have done justice to the city’s street food culture, unlike the person they wound up choosing instead. That culinary pretender ought to be called out for fooling the producers with his lousy, error-filled “foodie insights” and half-baked understanding. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing and the fellow just kept misrepresenting things to Bourdain over and over again, at times wrongly describing the regional context of the dishes or ignoring context altogether and passing off regional specialties as “typical” Filipino food. Thanks to him, Bourdain thinks that our indigenous kalamansi citrus fruit, which is ubiquitously used as a souring agent in our food, has a bitter taste (that’s because that fellow didn’t think of straining out the bitter seeds, which is what anyone with common sense is supposed to do, instead of allowing both kalamansi juice and seeds to be mixed into the palabok rice noodles that he carelessly asked Tony to eat). Worse, when Bourdain asked him to list the basic ingredients for making adobo, he completely excluded vinegar, a jaw-dropping omission because vinegar is THE ingredient without which a dish cannot truly be called adobo (sorry, but the stir-fried “adobo shrimps” he perplexingly chose for Tony to try is not a classic adobo dish). There’s more and I could go on but… ‘nuff said.

There, I’ve said my peace.

By Alex Sawit

07 March 2009

It’s good to see Iona going out for a spin in her own hot set of wheels.  For Cyrano friends who have been keeping track of Iona’s recent therapy sessions, seeing the little princess happy in her new red convertible puts smiles on our hearts.

The only downside for Iona’s boyfriend, Samu, is that the convertible seems to have room for only one passenger.  Poor Samu.  At least he can always drive beside Iona on his junkyard cruiser when they’re on a date.