Posted by mandz | Posted in | Posted on 8:56 AM
Its been a few days since my first ever post, and I've been toying with topics to talk about since. It hasn't been easy since i'm not exactly the best documenter of things. I tend to forget to take photographs of important moments after getting lost in them.
The rest of what we ordered however, was perfect. The rice was sticky, just what you would expect they would serve in a good Japanese restaurant. The miso soup was well-seasoned, while the tofu was perfectly crunchy on the outside, and firm on the inside.
All in all, it was a pleasant dining experience, only best described through our empty plates and full bellies.Though the meat did not come to par with my expectations, Omatsuri definitely left me only with good memories.
Today however, I did not forget.=)
Mike was craving for Japanese, and since I've been the one choosing the restaurants we've been eating in the past weeks, I decided to cut him some slack. We ended up in this small Japanese place hidden in a row of commercial establishment along BF called Omatsuri. I swear, you wouldn't even notice it at all if you weren't looking.
The moment you enter the place you're greeted with a resounding *insert Japanese greeting here*, and an overwhelming smell of Sake, seafood and grilled meat in the air. The next thing you'll notice is the ambiance, rows of Japanese artwork and bottles of what I can only assume is rice wine lined up along shelves across the wall.
To top that off, a couple of Japanese men were talking/arguing at the far end of the bar while the Japanese bartender (which I could only assume is also the owner) was happy just serving them platters of sushi and filling their glasses to the brim with beer. It felt as if we had entered some kind of wormhole which for some reason, led us to Japan! It was bizarre.
The food was good. My only complaint is that the meat could have been a lot more tender. But then again, it wasn't bad for the price we paid. I guess after feeling like i just teleported to Japan, my expectations increased three-fold. I expected Wagyu beef, melt-in-your-mouth goodness, cows lined up in some farm in Okinawa while they're fed endless gallons of beer and massaged on a daily basis, chopped, flavored, and grilled for my satisfaction. Alas, I ended up with beef from the nearest grocery in Manila.
All in all, it was a pleasant dining experience, only best described through our empty plates and full bellies.Though the meat did not come to par with my expectations, Omatsuri definitely left me only with good memories.
