WE’VE had quite a few good times dining in rather sleepy Marikina, but aside from the odd lugawan, two of our standout experiences were in private dining rooms: at 61 Orange for a birthday party, and, on a professional basis, Mr. Cochinillo.
Former photographer Tinee de Guzman originally invited just a team from another publication for dinner on Nov. 16. When the pair found out that they had to finish off one of Mr. De Guzman’s cochinillos by themselves — a whole suckling pig which is good for between six to eight diners — the invitation list just grew longer and longer (part of the draw for us was an outlet that sold traditional Ilokano fabric, inabel, next to Mr. Cochinillo; a story for another day). While cochinillo is often best enjoyed at home, Mr. De Guzman opened his own tasting room in Marikina, just in case.
It’s this element of surprise that shapes Mr. De Guzman’s approach. While he grew up around people who liked food, as a photographer he would also learn from chefs while he shot pictures of their food, on commission from magazines in the city. In his own photography studio, he built a brick oven to amuse and feed guests (saying he “threw anything” in there). When someone wanted to rent the studio for a party, wanting to get the account, Mr. De Guzman bluffed his way into catering it with recipes picked up from work. One of these was cochinillo — which, quite frankly, he had not made yet when this happened back in 2012.
At that time, it was hard to source a month-old pig. Now, they can be found in high-end supermarket shelves, and there’s a handful of roasters in the city making the same thing. Mr. De Guzman had to find a supplier of young pigs, so he could practice. “Napasubo ako (I had to do it),” he said.
He still sometimes uses that brick oven, though he has added more, and some other kinds. “The char, the smoke, and the distribution of the heat is different,” he said.
We can say that’s true: Mr. De Guzman (we’re tempted to just call him Mr. Cochinillo at this point; the business name and nickname coming from a previous interview where the reporter called him by that name) brought out his pride and joy, a one-month-old pig cooked long and slow for hours. The skin was crispy, the meat soft, demonstrated by him cracking the pig open with a plate. The flesh and the fat were mild and buttery. This was accompanied by an Iberian Chicken, surrounded by roast potatoes and garlic. Paella and Fabada (a Spanish bean stew) and Rabo de Toro (a similar stew, but made with oxtails) were also on the table, making for an overall hearty experience (it also helped that he had a well-stocked wine and liquor cabinet).
While his kitchen didn’t produce the dessert — a luxurious Sansrival, done the French way, but with the innovation of studding it with macadamia nuts instead of the traditional almonds — if you order the cochinillo (which ranges in price from P11,999 to P13,999; smaller 1/4 options start at P2,899), he’d be sure to tell you where to get it.
Mr. De Guzman has worn many hats: he’s helped out at the family business and had gone into photography, among other ventures. We place an emphasis on this because when we ask him questions about the cochinillo, he turns back time and answers using examples from one of his old lives.
For example, when asked how to tell what a good pig is, he told us a story about another former career, which involved balut (fertilized duck eggs). His source told him that you could tell the quality of the eggs the duck is about to lay from the way it walks.
Finally getting to the point about the pigs, he said he used to inspect faces and noses, but African Swine Flu (AFS) changed it all: “It’s gotten a bit difficult, and it’s stricter.”
Swine health issues aside, he boils (roasts?) it all down to single quality: “A happy pig.” Pigs that lived a good life and were killed swiftly yield good, soft, delicate flesh; stressed pigs who died slowly stiffen up and yield low-quality meat.
On another question about how his previous paths shaped the way he cooks now, he answers by mentioning two of his jobs.
“It’s things done the old way, and the long way,” he said — he recalled how it took him some time to get a digital camera and stuck to film long after it became unfashionable. “When you see them come… then you play something bad, and they leave, then they come back — ang sarap n’on (that feels good).” He wasn’t talking about cooking, he was talking about DJ-ing (though the principles are the same).
He summarized it all — cooking, photography, music, etc. — in one maxim: “Simple things done properly are sometimes more difficult to do consistently.”
One can order from the website mrcochinillo.com, and get in touch with them via Instagram (@mrcochinillo) to book the private dining room at No. 16 Major Dizon St., Marikina. — Joseph L. Garcia
