I find the term funny and too pop-ish for my taste, but because of a seeming lack of a (more interesting) term to describe it, and since the rest of the Filipino society, the masa, that is, calls it this way anyway, let’s call it a foodtrip. Going on a foodtrip at some unholy hours can be very invigorating after a very long day.
When everything is quiet and the streets of Makati are nearly desolate, roughly between 11pm to 1am, we usually go out to eat at a nearby diner for our favorite ribsi (braised pork ribs and fried rice) or variants of silogs like tapsilog (braised beef cutlets, sunny side-up egg, and fried rice), longsilog (local sausage called longganisa, egg, and fried rice), and the list goes on. If one is on the healthier side, he can order a bowl of goto (rice porridge with entrails) and fried tokwa (tofu) that floats in a sweet soy sauce solution.
These late night dinners that are starting to become a nightly ritual are the only times I can have the luxury to enjoy, in a more spiritual way, the view of a more subdued, easy Makati, minus the crowd, crazy traffic jam, and unlivable humid tropical climate in daytime.
At midnight, the fact that I see not much, relative to the normal daytime routine scenes, makes the slightest, simplest experience too much that my senses give my brain a plethora of inconsistent message. I almost always have a hard time synthesizing the things before me especially during late night dinners because I see less which forces me to see more.
I see people walking to some indeterminate destination, probably to work in the nearby buildings on Ayala Avenue; prostitutes waiting for customers in the narrow red light strip along De la Rosa Street; and some teenage kids congregating outside Cityland.
Probably that’s why I love going out at night. Aside from the gastronomic delight and interesting scenes that allow me to philosophize, this is also a great time to spend with the person I love. Ordinary, simple, even mundane things are the real stuff of our memory.
After all, during our last days here on earth, I read, what we remember are not the spectacle and the spectacular. Only ordinary moments that are too deeply ingrained in us.
Like a simple late night dinner in a Goodah diner several blocks away with somebody so dear.