From the Gallery to the Fifth at Rockwell: The Chele Gonzalez Story

There was a brief moment that I lived in BGC, the peripatetic mecca of a new city.

- Monchet Diokno Olives

It was a pause that brought me away from my shire and, in doing so, introduced me to a new dining scene. From the late 2000s, Manila was having a culinary renaissance. And perhaps, more so, with the arrival of a new Spanish armada. Las Flores, just around the corner from where I lived, reignited a fresh take on the mestizo-castizo cooking that the likes of Albas and Casa Armas, and even our own cocineras would do. Dani Aliaga, Sergi Rostoll and Uri Singla weren't the only conquistadors taking the helm; there was Chele Gonzalez.

I met Chele Gonzalez in the early Vask days, when "modern" in Manila still meant a playful sauce smear or two. Vask was different. Entering it was nowhere close to the kitschy interiors of old. It was architectural, narrative-driven, and sculptural. It was and remains a homage to an immersive art experience—and the food became a manifesto—Spanish technique set loose on Filipino terroir, served with confidence. Back then, I didn't just leave full; I left curious—intent on a next visit.

Chele is the kind of chef who makes you pay attention to familiar ingredients as if you're meeting them for the first time. He restaged and worked with the masters of new Castilian at Mugaritz, El Bulli, Arzak and El Celler de Can Roca. When people asked what Vask stood for, I found the cleanest answer came from Chele himself: He called it "anthropological cuisine," marrying his fascinations with history and food, with the Philippines as the heart.