PUBLISHING DATE: FEBRUARY 20, 2015
(Cover Story - Original Submission. Go here for the edited version)
FROM BLACK SHEEP TO GOLDEN BOY: HOW JORDY NAVARRA IS CHANGING FILIPINO CUISINE
Photo by Julian Rodriguez
There it was sitting on our dinner table. A sprig sprouting from a bowl of “dirt.” Even before CNN named Black Sheep as one of the world’s hottest restaurants in 2014, expectations from its Fat Duck trained chef Jordy Navarra (and the first Filipino to cook in Chef Heston Blumenthal's kitchen) has been immense. A hint of spunk betrayed Navarra’s easygoing impression as he talked about the dish he accurately named Bahay Kubo. An amalgam of the song’s vegetables, the chef relates the dish is the very definition of his career. For a second I presumed that this Bahay Kubo may be among those eccentric fare only a few discerning palates can apprise. Blame it on our confined opinion of fine-dining as anything with a complicated plating and the addition of foie gras/truffle/caviar/gold flakes/insert-fancy-food-fad-here. The curtailment can’t be attributed solely on cautious taste since experimental food choices are limited to begin with. What’s disquieting with my reaction, though, was my intuitive menial notion on Filipino cuisine, sensing that despite it reaping the needed international attention, it shouldn’t graduate from street grub and eat-all-you-cans. A sample of Bahay Kubo has left a gash on these customary perceptions.
The delicate interaction on Bahay Kubo’s flavors, a play on individually pickling, sautéing, dehydrating, and caramelizing 18 of the song's native ingredients, satisfies all elements of taste yet leaves a distinctly fresh relish. Just as it astonishes the palate on the possibilities of discovering new flavors, Bahay Kubo is a reflection of Navarra himself: A complexity hidden behind modesty, resolute to bolster an underrated cuisine. This dish, along with his intricate Bicol Express exploding in a meringue, or his subtly tangled cauliflower, crab fat, squid, and black truffle for a novel goto adaptation, are notable imprints of Fat Duck's deconstructed classics and the reimagined cultural staples of Demon Chef Alvin Leung's Bo Innovation. "[Fat Duck] was eye opening for me. It inspired me to do professional cooking. It was hardcore, [we] worked the whole day. You figure what the word 'world class' really means. It's the peak of idealism in cuisine. They use the best for everything, and cost wise you'll think 'that's nuts' but at the same time you admire it. You really get what you pay for. It's also the cleanest kitchen i've ever seen, and that's something you tend to pick up. After Fat Duck I worked around in London. Then I worked for Alvin for about a year. It was great because I never saw a modern approach to Asian products. The taste is very familiar also and I could relate to the food," he shares. And yet, despite the influences from his apprenticeships in formidable Michelin starred restaurants, he branded an entirely new progressive Filipino cuisine that saves it from its dowdy repute; a cuisine that serves its purpose as an immersive experience.
Navarra is the antithesis of the Pinoy celebrity chef. Many of them bank on international merits, often within the walls of an institution, and relies mostly on charisma or notoriety to push their agendas of expansion. Navarra hopes for the contrary preferring to physically hold the reins of his only kitchen. He chooses to foster a harmonious work culture built on dialogue, trust, and sodality, much like the integrants of a music band he was once a part of. While others fixate their creations and contributions to classical culinary's foreign art, he ventures to discover the neighborhood's definition of Filipino cooking. "It's so hard to get legit information about food here, like the season of our fruits, or translation of fish [varieties], or even for our indigenous vegetables. I like going around with Bea Misa because she's like a walking encyclopedia [for native produce]. But if you walk with her in a village and she points out that a certain plant can be eaten, and then ask a farmer [about it], he'll be familiar with the land but wouldn't know what the plant is for. Or natutunan mo ba mag daing ng bangus? I often wonder how certain dishes were made in the precolonial era too. So now it's about innovating what we have and what we can find," he relates. His respect for produce led him to scour for suppliers and help them generate foodstuffs at the standards that he needs. One of them is Gejo Jimenez, an organic farmer from Silang, Cavite he has convinced to partner with him for produce supplies. Jimenez's vegetables arrive in Navarra's kitchen still planted in soil to maintain optimum quality. It has been a profitable partnership for both ends, Navarra claims.
It appears that he who is entitled to enlighten the industry is kept humble in the face of our unwittingly obscure cuisine. This can be accredited to his journey: a boy who was disinterested with food that isn't fried or bland, a contrast to countless chefs' narrations of growing up in the kitchen and expressing how cooking is a knack that needs no further definition. He wanted to pursue music professionally only for the enchantment to rive when he realized that it belonged as a hobby. He took on odd jobs before stumbling upon Fat Duck. And just like that, a passion he never imagined he had for food was kindled. He relates, "In college, I didn't know what to do. So at one point I stopped to think about it. That's when I started cooking, and then I discovered the Fat Duck. Nagulat ako with the possibility of food. That's how I got addicted to the style. I never realized the importance of how it looked, how it was presented conceptually. It was a whole new world for me." Following his stint in ISCHAM, he craved to further his education with actual experience and wrote letters to food establishments across the country. Not one bothered to reply. He looked to his inspiration, took a leap of faith, and wrote to Fat Duck for an apprenticeship, which leads us to his story today. "Don't stop looking for [your calling]. Get as much experience as you can. Don't give up," he advises. The same intrepid trait brought him to Bo Innovation. "I went on a trip to Hong Kong and I decided to eat at Bo Innovation. I had a meal and I thought that it was great. I talked to Alvin and I asked if I can spend time in his kitchen. He was like, 'Yeah, sure, whatever. Email me.' I did. I went to train there then they offered me a job," he muses.
Navarra could have opted to introduce fine Filipino fare to an international market who tends to appreciate its novelty, as compared to the local diners whose opinions on Philippine cuisine may need mending. But as we all say despite the crazy that is this country, there's no place like home. "Emotionally, wala akong connection sa food [abroad]. I missed home. The Philippines brings you back. I wanted to try using what we have here and keep the flavor and culture in the food. And what better place to do that but in a culture you feel connected with," he says.
His fascination with our diverse culture, how this stirred our cuisine, and our food definitions and preparations' colloquial methods pose as raw challenges to the eyes of the inquisitive chef. On the contrary, his aim of thrusting representations of Philippine fare to the aces isn't about shunning our native cookery, but rather a way of trickling down respect to its very roots. In Chef Jordy Navarra's command of food's shock value without alienation, much can be accomplished for our local industry, maybe even a Michelin star rating.
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