Yes, we are dating again, dinner dates, that is. We had previously resolved that our rendezvous would be confined to breakfast or lunch. The logic was sound: more daylight, more vitality, more time to burn calories and indulge without restraint. Breakfast dates may have dulled the romance of candlelit evenings, but in exchange, we gained something arguably more virtuous—health.
Months ago, we embarked on an intermittent fasting regimen, which, thus far, has served us well. A disciplined sixteen-hour fast, followed by two measured meals within a defined eating window—structured, intentional, effective.
Alas most establishments of the Michelin Star kind open their doors only from six in the evening onward. And so, inevitably, we found ourselves returning to dinner dates , something the handsome hubs and I realized we had quietly, almost wistfully, missed.
After a prolonged pursuit of a reservation, fortune finally smiled upon us. We secured a table for two at Michelin One Star Celera.
We were part of the first seating at six o’clock sharp, already waiting outside on the third floor of the Comuna Building moments after stepping out of the elevator. The restaurant’s insignia was artfully obscured by tall potted plants, their fringes softening a façade of black and warm dark wood.
Before us stood an imposing grey-black door, deliberately austere in its anonymity. At its threshold lay a doormat bearing the legend , “wait lang.”
Part 2 posting soon …
Pigoutmanila 