MANILA, Philippines - Most people remember him as the bear of a man with smiling eyes and a soft engaging laugh. They still talk about his smile to this day. He was known fondly in my mom?s special circle of friends as the ?kissing bandit,? the gentleman who acknowledged all the ladies present in a room with kisses on both cheeks. He didn?t want anyone to feel like a wall-flower at gatherings, so he took it upon himself to sit and chat with whoever was by their lonesome.

When he passed away some years ago, parents and teachers on the PTA board he had served on 20 years ago came to pay their respects every night. He?d kept in touch and remained friends with them all this time. Cards and letters poured in from all over, from family, friends and people we?d never heard of. One surprising letter came from some nuns from Naga, Bicol, his hometown. They told us of their grief and sadness at the passing of one of their long-time benefactors. Forty or so years ago, his father gave him the task of delivering a sack of rice to the nuns in Naga. He was so taken by their simplicity and spirituality that the deliveries continued until the day he died.

He kept this reverence and affection for nuns and priests all his life, often aiding young seminarians wanting to enter the priesthood or helping nuns build their convents. On his deathbed, he offered his sufferings for his priest friends. Ramon to his classmates? Sonny to friends? Dad to me? Lolo to Amanda and Monchu.

Discerning palette

We?ve met so many people with stories of dad that echo the same sentiments? how loving and kind he was? how generous to a fault? how he always made them feel welcome and at ease. Hearing their stories helps soothe the pin-pricks of pain that surface from time to time.

My dad and I shared many things. We both loved walking (a bonding activity we did until 2004), hotels are enchanting to us, we love Victoria, B.C., we both love ?high tea,? and we both love food. Daddy never cooked but loved to eat.

His was the most discerning palette I know (next to my husband?s). He would scare the living daylights out of our cook, Mamang, when the food wasn?t seasoned or presented properly. The wait staff at restaurants would freak out when he?d stick his pinkie-finger in a bowl of smoking hot soup and declare it wasn?t hot enough and then send it back to the kitchen. I took to calling him ?the customer from hell,? a moniker he laughed at but then he would end it by saying ?you have no business serving ( food) if you can?t do it properly.?

I wish he?d lived long enough to see X/O Philippines.
Its funny how all my life, my most vivid memories of him are associated with food.

Self-appointed job

When I was in high school it was my (self-appointed) job to wait for him on nights when he came home after dinner. I would fix him his favorite Spam sandwich and Diet Coke. It sounds like a really simple task, but not the way he liked it. First it had to be white bread, lightly toasted with the crusts cut off. Then a thin coat of mayo on both pieces, then thin slices of tomato and shredded lettuce. And finally about eight pieces of paper-thin slices of Spam. Then I would cut the sandwich diagonally and fix it on his favorite plate atop a linen placemat complete with silverware and a cloth napkin.

Close by, I would have catsup, mayo, mustard, salt, pepper and Tabasco sauce at the ready. Then he?d sit down and eat his dinner topped off with a slice of chocolate or butter pound cake. No meal of dad?s was complete without dessert.

Although he never cooked, he was very ?taste sensitive,? and made bones about telling people if it wasn?t done right, including me. He never hung around the kitchen when I would cook, but he would wait patiently in the dining room for my opus to come out. When it did, it always had to be served and plated according to his standards. He was my most honest critic (unlike my siblings who would scarf down everything that came out of my kitchen) and best cheerleader. He always ended our tastings with ?keep trying, you?re doing good.?
Loyalist

Later, when I joined my husband?s fast-food business, Dimsum ?n Dumplings, daddy became our (self-appointed) taster. He loved going around our stores to try the food. He would beam with pride when a product did well in the market and (again) tell me in all honesty if he didn?t like it.
My dad was a loyalist. He never ventured into our competitors? stores ever. He even got mad at the help when they didn?t patronize our stores.

He loved talking about restaurants with me and Andrew. The whole concept just enthralled him.

I miss my unofficial taster and cheerleader, especially with our new concept ( X/O Philippines at The Block).
Two years after his passing, he is still very much alive in my food. During our research, our food choices were inspired by him. Andrew, with all his insight and sensitivity, told me that X/O was an ode to my dad. He loved daddy like his own and shared a lot of his food preferences.

Daddy, in all his quirky ways with food and serving it, loved Filipino fare, especially Bicolano dishes. He would describe in detail the laing his aunts used to cook and why his favorite Bicol Express was by Tita Cely Kalaw.
Under his watchful eye, our cook perfected the lechon kawali he had in mind and the callos that his mom, Lola Julia, used to make. Most of his favorite dishes are now in our menu, prepared and served to his exacting standards.

He would have loved X/O.

So here?s to good food? family? kindness? sharing? and life learned from an extra-ordinary Dad!