Midocentury modern Chinese
From its midcentury modern design to its unconventional approach to traditional cuisine, Moon Rabbit Restaurant and Café in San Juan is the antithesis of a Chinese restaurant
This year marks the 50th anniversary of the first moon landing by
Americans Neil Armstrong and his Apollo 11 team—a power move by the US to prove their (space) supremacy over the Soviet Union. Prior to this, the Soviet Union sent out a dog named Laika to orbit the Earth in a spacecraft called Sputnik 2.
But neither of these superpowers was actually the first to send out a living creature to the lunar surface. It was actually China—but not in a literal sense.
A book from the Warring States era tells the story of a rabbit on the moon that constantly pounds herbs in a mortar to produce the elixir of immortality for the moon goddess Chang’e.* The folklore has been passed down to succeeding dynasties and has taken various versions in other cultures. *The first human on the moon, at least according to Chinese legend. She is also the prominent subject of the Mid-Autumn Festival.
In Japanese and Korean texts, for example, the rabbit is believed to be pounding the ingredients for rice cake, which leads some to think that this glutinous food is actually the elixir of life.
In San Juan, the legendary rabbit on the moon inspired the restaurant Moon Rabbit.
Much like the contested contents of the lunar rabbit’s mortar, Moon Rabbit is a melting pot of influences. No other cuisine wields as much influence on the menu as Chinese cuisine but Patrick Sen, Moon Rabbit’s operations manager, will be the first to tell you that it’s more than that. Or not just that, at least. This is either a bid to differentiate Moon Rabbit from the throngs of restaurants in the vicinity or a way to temper the expectations of Chinese customers who anticipate familiar flavors.
This 1,500-sq.m. preschoolturned-restaurant lures people with its midcentury modern interiors that adapts well to the original structure. Wooden floors and exposed pillars, plenty of huge glass windows to let enough sunlight in, and taupe walls make it feel as if you are, in fact, at home and not in a restaurant.
The residential location plays to the illusion of a domestic setup. Bound by low walls, the structure itself is merely half of the entire property, the rest is a gravel-laid parking lot. There’s also the rare occurrence of a wheelchair ramp, which stretches on the right side leading up to an area that will soon be a café.
Coming from inside the restaurant, you can walk straight to the café. This part is the only actual addition to the original structure. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows bathe the space with ample light, while the wooden floors made from piecing together actual scrap wood from the renovation imparts character. All of these elements make Moon Rabbit a stark contrast to the stereotypical Chinese establishment.
But these aren’t the only aspects through which Moon Rabbit deviates from tradition. The way its management is structured veers away from the usual family-run businesses where elders take the lead. Sen and his third-generation cousins have full control of the operations while their parents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents occupy more passive
yet influential roles, like suggesting which family recipes should go on the menu.
There are none of those unfamiliar dish names and characters that alienate non-Chinese diners either. Instead, there are basic recipe descriptions they pass off as names that are more approachable both lexicon- and price-wise. Most dishes are priced between P100-P500.
Just like the restaurant’s interiors, the menu is strikingly modern while still keeping an eye on tradition. For appetizers, the Hong Ma Foccacia is a spin on mantou pork buns using Italian bread, while Three Kinds of Eggs combines steamed, salted, and century eggs, which are all fixtures in the cuisine. The chilled tofu in all its simplicity is telling of
Moon Rabbit’s direction: fuss-free and uncomplicated.
Reminiscent of Hainan chicken is the White Chicken, chicken poached in aromatics and served with ginger paste. It’s easily one of their bestsellers owing to its tender and flavorful meat and gelatinous skin.
At the end of the meal, Sen asks if we are ready for dessert, almost low-key hyping their new creation. In comes the sweet ending, plated no less on their signature white and blue ceramic. Fittingly, it’s a rabbit—inanimate but pure as snow and almost like a delicate porcelain creation. “You have five minutes to take all the pictures you want of it,” Sen says.
It’s the perfect Instagram food— it doesn’t melt quickly, it’s easy to photograph, and it won’t leave a dent on your wallet. It’s a baffling new genre of food that most dining establishments are racing to create to cater to a new market of social media-minded customers.
That is, until we slice the dessert open to reveal the crimson-colored strawberry purée inside the frozen panna cotta skin. The act of slicing through it is almost like dissecting a live rabbit, which makes one of my colleagues, who has pet rabbits, a tad uncomfortable. Still, we fork through it until only the snout is left.
Disclaimer: No rabbits were harmed in the making of this dessert or this story. Only a rabbit owner that was slightly distressed.
09/10/2019 10:05 PM
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Alley at Karrivin. Manapat also happens to be one of the partners at Manu Mano.
“When you’re making bread, it’s all about the feel. Kahit na alam mo ’yung technicalities, accuracies, temperature, lahat ’yon bale wala kung hindi mo ifi- feel ’ yung dough and know when it’s ready.”
Manapat’s Panaderya Toyo since opening in 2017 has had a cult following of mostly bread aficionados. It is no coincidence that Manu Mano’s flagship product is also pandesal, which despite being heavily influenced by Manapat’s ways remains distinct from Panaderya’s knotted variant.
It looks nothing like the pandesal we’ve grown accustomed to (or at least what I’ve grown accustomed to). There’s none of that half-baked pale exterior. It almost looks burnt. But it isn’t. Versoza assured us it’s still edible and I tell you it is.
The crisp outside is just a façade for its soft, billowy inside that pulls like a croissant. I am no bread expert, mind you, but any discerning Filipino who was raised in a household with hot pandesal in brown paper bags every morning knows that it is a better version. It’s not overwhelmingly sweet (believe me, I’ve had tons of saccharine pandesal), nor too dense. Out of respect, I didn’t flatten it to see if it was malleable, but it could have been, given its structure is made with sourdough aged over a week.
The secret? Fresh yeast and masa madre. In fact, all of Manu Mano’s breads (three as of the moment) are made using the same sourdough mix. Next to the hybrid pandesal, there’s the baguette, a 14-inch hard bread that the bakery sells for P90, and there’s also a sourdough loaf called Banawe Base.
From the looks of it, the small space that is Manu Mano can be deceiving. And luckily, it’s all part of the plan. There’s only a counter where customers can order, no dining tables or chairs. It is designed to exude an air of approachability to make it less intimidating. After all, Manu Mano is out there to introduce artisan bread to a broader public, to sell hot pandesal like million-peso jackpot Lotto tickets.
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670 Mayon St., La Loma, Quezon City
Started in 1966 in Binondo (Manila’s Chinatown figures heavily on this list), Polland Hopia’s main branch is now in Quezon City. Aside from their flavored hopia, the brand is also known for mooncakes made with yellow and black monggo, lotus seed and mixed nuts fillings encased in a vivid red tin box.
783 Ongpin St., Binondo, Manila
Salazar Bakery is another cult classic in Binondo. The bakery was founded in 1947 on Salazar
St., hence the name, but has since moved to its current location on Ongpin St. The bakery offers more traditional kinds of mooncakes, like the black monggo bean mooncake with salted egg.