We crave them, we miss them, we mourn them—but hey, what better way to cope than taking a walk down memory lane?
It’s a mortifying scenario to find yourself craving food from your favorite haunt, only to discover that it closed down—either by seeing the shuttered, dark windows yourself; learning about it online; or hearing it from a friend who knows you all too well. You want to fall to your knees (you may actually do it, if the grief is potent enough). For a moment, it feels like no one in the world can possibly understand the strangely intimate attachment you’ve formed with this place that didn’t just delight your tastebuds, but also nourished your soul.
Okay, maybe I’m waxing poetic, but it’s born from a shared truth. Food, and the establishments that serve them, are repositories of memory made up of both tangible and intangible sensations. The great Anthony Bourdain said it best: “The perfect meal, or the best meals, occur in a context that frequently has very little to do with the food itself.” That isn’t to say taste is insignificant. It’s part of the equation, yet there are other things: a sense of place, a particular moment of joy, time spent in good company, even the zen-like peace you might find savoring dishes on a solo merienda out.
So when your favorite food spot closes for good, it’s so much more than a physical, factual loss. There’s no need for further elaboration, because you’ve likely felt the sting of it more than a few times. We certainly have, which is why we’ve come up with a collective eulogy of sorts, an ode to the dining establishments that are no longer with us, but remain firmly ingrained in our memories, hearts, and appetites.
READ ALSO: 8 Singular Culinary Treasures From The Archipelago
Let’s Take A Moment Of Silence To Remember These Food Spots
Le Petit Soufflé
Launched by Tasteless Food Group in 2015, led by Chefs Miko Aspiras and Kristine Lotilla, Le Petit Soufflé served Filipino diners Japanese-French fare for seven years until it permanently closed in 2022. I regret not having tried more of their offerings, but being a creature of habit, the fixation that lay at the center of all my visits also happened to be one of their specialities (hint: it’s in the name).
How can I possibly forget the ecstatic feeling of walking into the bright, peppy establishment and getting a ramekin of freshly-made soufflé? Chocolate, matcha, and my favorite vanilla—topped with a thin chocolate disc and a serving of crème anglaise. Fluffy like a cloud, and just downright comforting, there was truly nothing like it.
And when I say “freshly-made,” I mean it: they inform you from the get-go that the waiting time is roughly 20 to 25 minutes. A window in the SM Megamall branch would show the chefs working on the desserts, mixing and whipping up masterpieces; and yes, it’s always worth the wait.
I was, to say the least, upset when I found out it was closing for good. I missed their vanilla soufflé so much I learned to make my own at home. I succeeded and memorized the process by heart, but still—when heating an oven in the kitchen feels like a tad too much work, I find myself yearning for those easy days of waiting for sumptuous ramekins containing melt-in-your-mouth heaven.
Metronome
This one comes from Lifestyle Asia Chief of Editorial Content, Kerry Tinga, who mentioned missing modern French restaurant Metronome a great deal during a conversation we had. Who wouldn’t? The well-executed concept was helmed by none other than Chef Miko Calo, who carries years of culinary experience under her belt, having trained under the late Joël Robuchon. Metronome permanently closed its doors in 2024, leaving behind a solid legacy and a grieving fine dining community.
What Kerry enjoyed most about the place was the ways in which it strove to distinguish itself as a truly world-class force. “It had chic interiors, and a bar that you could sit at while waiting for a table—I don’t think a lot of restaurants have that here, but they do abroad,” she recounts. Champagne by the glass, yet another rarity in the F&B scene, was also part of its allure—and it was Pol Roger, no less.
Funny enough, Kerry’s first encounter with the restaurant was a “funny memory” as she describes. A family friend had invited her and her mother Kaye to dine there, though they hadn’t known they’d be trying a tasting menu—it was, however, a pleasant and delicious surprise that placed Metronome in their regular restaurant rotation.
Alfredo’s Steakhouse
Alfredo’s Steakhouse was a heritage site in the world of steak haunts, and a Quezon City dining icon. It first opened in 1968—then referred to as “Alfredo’s Country-Style Steaks” —in a small apartment owned by Alfredo and Mitos Araneta. Yet its popularity grew thanks to its selection of high-quality imported steaks, and soon it found a permanent home in Tomas Morato: becoming the two-story, rustic building everyone around the neighborhood knew and loved.
The restaurant ran for roughly five decades, before it closed for good in 2022. In some way, it became an heirloom dining ritual for many families, including mine. I never experienced it in its early days, but my lolos and lolas did—and they took their nephews, nieces, and children dining there, too, then they took their own kids. Even in its final years, it retained a certain ambiance that evoked the spirit of a Western steakhouse in the 1960s and 1970s: homey and rustic, a little old fashioned, but so earnestly rooted in its traditions that you couldn’t help but admire the authenticity.
I recall the first time my father brought us there, his face lighting up with what I could only describe as gleeful nostalgia. You can’t compare it to the modern-day, premium steakhouse in today’s globalized F&B scene (apples and oranges), but still its range of flavorful local and imported steaks held up well on a sizzling hot plate, typically served with a side of veggies and potatoes. And yes, the old man even taught me how to hold up my napkin in front of me like a shield (a dated steakhouse custom) to cover myself from the hiss of steam that comes after a generous gravy pour.
I remember visiting Alfredo’s with my family during its very last day, for one final hurrah. The building’s two floors were filled to the brim, not a spare table in sight. While we weren’t able to dine there one last time, it’s a visceral scene that remains stuck in my head because of how much it speaks for itself. The Quezon City institution is gone now, but I have the memory of it, and isn’t that the most important part when all is said and done?
Kam’s Roast
Kam’s Roast is a Michelin-starred legend among fans of all things roasted, having begun in 1942 on Wellington Street in Hong Kong. Established by founder Kam Shui Fai and his son Kam Kinsen Kwan Sing, it would only continue to grow over the next 70 years, becoming the highly-lauded institution it is today, now run by the family’s third generation.
In 2018, FooDee Global Concepts brought Kam’s Roast’s beloved signatures to the Philippines. Lifestyle Asia Managing Editor Chino Hernandez cites the restaurant as among his all-time favorites—which is why he was nothing short of distraught when he found out its sole branch in SM Megamall closed down.
“My first memory in Kam’s was going to the original branch in Hong Kong with my family. For most of my childhood, we went there once a year, and I fell in love with the food culture,” he tells me. “Kam’s was my favorite restaurant, and it didn’t matter that I had to line up for hours just to eat their succulent roast goose. It was worth it. When they opened in the Philippines […] I was elated.”
The managing editor’s dedication is evident in the way he recounts eating at Kam’s Roast at least once a week—even a global pandemic couldn’t stop him from ordering his favorite dishes through Grab. As for the food, Chino could write paragraphs about the perfect roast; and while the Philippine branch of Kam’s didn’t serve roast goose, its other offerings more than made up for it.
“The duck that they serve over rice is really amazing. It’s juicy, flavorful, and addictive; the perfect alternative to goose, and maybe the best duck dish in Manila,” he shares. “I’ll take it any day over fancier offerings. I also really love their pickled cucumbers. It’s a simple dish, but packs flavor. I love how firm it is, despite being covered in the perfect sweet and spicy sauce.”
While Kam’s Roast is no longer in the Philippines, it remains a fixture in its birthplace of Hong Kong, as well as Singapore. Chino, longing for a taste of comfort, even scheduled a weekend trip to Fragrant Harbour, motivated in large part by his desire to revisit the succulent roasts of Kam’s—an experience he recounts in riveting detail through a recent article about trying out 18 restaurants in four days. Still, there was an irreplaceable (not to mention convenient) charm to the Philippine branch that he’ll continue to long for. What he misses most? Everything.
“The duck and how unpretentious and straight forward it was; how delicious the food is every single time; the really nice wait staff who probably didn’t know my name, but recognized me as the duck addict I am, the unassuming location,” he enumerates. “Rest in peace, I’ll miss ya Kam’s.”
Sabrett Hot Dogs
Where do I begin with Sabrett Hot Dogs? If you’ve viewed films, TV shows, or photographs set against the backdrop of New York City, you’ve likely seen the brand’s metal hot dog carts parked in bustling streets, their distinctive bright yellow and blue umbrellas on full display in the background. Sure, it’s not the Ritz, but Sabrett planted itself so firmly within the famous city that it created its own kind of prestige.
For quite a few blissful years, this piece of The Big Apple made a home in the Philippines, its longest-running stall having been on the fourth floor of Shangri-La Plaza’s old wing. I have nothing but fond memories about that simple stand that was paradoxically unassuming and eye-catchingly campy up close. Apocryphal information says it was around since the mall’s launch in 1991. When I think about it, I remember my earliest grade school days: my father picking me up and driving to Shangri-La, each of us grabbing our own hot dog in a bun (during particularly ravenous days, sometimes two).
They were true beef frankfurters, juicy but still possessing that famous Sabrett “snap” with every bite, buns steamed in a way that just felt right (the only thing I hate more than a soggy bun is an overly toasted one that crumbles like a withered corpse). I couldn’t resist topping mine with a myriad of condiments (which I’ll argue is the right way to enjoy a Sabrett hot dog): relish, pickled onions, sauerkraut, ketchup, mustard.
It remained a fixture of every Shangri-La visit until my high school years, somewhere after 2015—then the stall simply disappeared. Sabrett felt like a time capsule of sorts: stuck in a bygone era as its fellow mainstays began dwindling (don’t get it twisted, the hot dogs remained amazing until the very end). The only thing I have left of it are photos on review sites like Yelp and first person testimonies that echo my own saccharine sentiments.
The loss is its own kind of heartbreak. But as the adage goes, applicable to all the food spots in this list: don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened. If that frame of mind is a bit cheesy, how about this: for every love lost, another is gained—who knows what new favorites the budding F&B scene will bring?
