Before ‘Somebody Feed Phil,’ Aling Sosing fed us

Phil ate here: Sosing's Carinderia in Palanan, Makati. Jeeves de Veyra

MAKATI -- If you grew up in a middle-class barangay like I did, chances are there’s a carinderia within walking distance that fed you more times than you can count. Ours was — and still is — Aling Sosing’s Carinderia.

Tucked on the fringes of Barangay Palanan, right where Manila, Makati, and Pasay bump into each other, Aling Sosing’s isn’t just a neighborhood eatery. It’s a landmark. A taste of home. A humble carinderia that gained a bit of exposure on the Philippine episode of Netflix’s "Somebody Feed Phil," where host Phil Rosenthal shared a meal with jeepney drivers after a joyride through my 'hood shot partly on my street. 

I’ve always been a fat kid. And I say that with affection. Because those love handles? They were built on extra cups of rice along with Aling Sosing’s dishes that have comforted me through the years.

Of course, the flavors that shape us as food lovers always begin at home. When we were too tired to cook or when the help had the day off or when surprise guests rang the doorbell, or when payday felt too far away — off we went to the carinderia. It was our pantry extension, our emergency backup, our everyday indulgence. Knotted plastic bags of food from Aling Sosing’s were usually a part of our dinner table.

Aling Sosing's is only open for lunch. Jeeves de Veyra

As the eatery is only open for lunch -- from around 10 a.m.  to around 2 p.m. when they run out of food, Aling Sosing's is always packed. Diners lingered, and the staff never rushed anyone. But the crowd waiting on the periphery, made it hard to linger. So I took food home, where there were unli-rice and unli-soft drinks and where we could take our time to finish our meal.

Back in college, I’d walk to La Salle Taft if I had afternoon classes, just to have brunch at Aling Sosing’s. Even then, it was a melting pot of hungry folk from all over. Scholasticans and La Sallites (before we were called Lasallians) squeezed in lunch between classes. Jeepney and pedicab drivers shared tables with car owners getting their tires vulcanized next door. Office workers stepped out of the occasional Benz and Pajero, clogging the corner of Zobel Roxas and Dian for the food..

And there was Aling Sosing herself — plump, warm, and sharp as ever. She remembered every order, computed the bill in her head, handed out change with one hand while portioning out food with the other. 

Today, the carinderia has kept up with the times, with a tablet-based POS system, a grill station complete with smokestack, and expanded seating behind the pass. But even as the original Aling Sosing passed away a few years back, it’s still the same Aling Sosing’s Carinderia.

Aling Sosing's grilling station. Jeeves de Veyra

The best seat in the house? Smack in the middle. Where the tug-of-war of scents and aromas compete for your attention — on one side, the nilagang baka station with its massive pot bubbling since dawn; on the other, the inihaw station, smoke wafting onto you and your clothes. And yes, you’ll leave smelling like food. But that’s part of the charm. 

On the table: unli calamansi and siling labuyo, flanked by the holy trinity of Filipino condiments: white vinegar, dark soy sauce, and fish sauce. A far cry from the stingy packets and single calamansi you'd get at modern casual dining restaurants. Here, you season to your palate's content. 

Aling Sosing's is known for its nilagang baka. Jeeves de Veyra

'The must-order? Nilagang baka. The most expensive item on the menu, and the most beloved. Unlike relatively blander versions elsewhere, this one is rich — patis-forward, peppery, and beefy. 

When dining in, the broth is poured from a pitcher over your bowl of beef and greens. You can ask for extra soup but try to get from the bottom of the pitcher — the part that's black with pepper, and beefy bits. With a cup (or two) of rice, and you get to extend your meal to make sure you leave with a full tummy.

The caldereta has beef so tender it practically falls apart, and goes so well with the slightly spicy, tomato-rich sauce with chunks of potato, carrots and peas. Carinderia food is usually inconsistent so I thought I just got lucky with a good batch. I just had to go back the next day and the beef was still perfectly melt-in-your-mouth.

Sili Con Carne is the author's favorite. Jeeves de Veyra

My personal favorite? The Sili Con Carne. Think of it as a feistier caldereta that's oilier, spicier, made with a different cut of beef and a generous hit of siling labuyo. It’s the dish that lit my preference for spicy food. Revisiting it now, it’s milder than I remember. Or maybe my taste buds have just toughened up.

Personally, the food from this carinderia added to my core culinary memories, particularly of Filipino comfort food. Those bites that defined "linamnam."

Thirty-ish years later, my palate may have changed. As I stumbled onto food writing, I'd occasionally go back to the first and familiar benchmarks —what does adobo really taste like? Nilaga? Bistek? Inihaw? Yellow chicken curry?'

This is the true Pinoy comfort food. Jeeves de Veyra

I once joked about having a lunch meeting at Aling Sosing’s with some big-name food personalities. The most influential in the group, quipped, “Doon na lang sa carinderia na malapit sa amin. Mas masarap at mas mura pa dun.” 

I'd say everybody has a version of that neighborhood carinderia — no-frills, affordable, comforting, familiar. Flavor over finesse. Palate over plating.

And just like adobo, everyone will swear that theirs is the best.

Here's to the carinderias that raised us where every bite is an extension of home.