At LORE, Michelin’s Quiet Nod Signals a Turning Point for Filipino Cuisine | By Mae Lorraine Lorenzo

The Michelin Guide did not arrive in the Philippines with a drumroll. There were no sweeping declarations, no sudden reinvention of the dining scene. Instead, its first appearance for the 2026 Philippine guide unfolded quietly—much like Lore, the Bonifacio Global City restaurant that would soon find itself among Michelin’s inaugural Selected establishments.

For Chef Tatung—Michael Giovan Sarthou III—the recognition was neither chased nor staged. It came to a restaurant that had never tried to be loud.

“I have to admit, Lore isn’t really the kind of restaurant that gets overhyped,” he says. “We’ve always just been here in BGC, in a quiet corner, doing our thing.”

That quiet persistence, rooted in storytelling and regional Filipino cuisine, is precisely what Michelin appears to have noticed. And while the distinction did not change what Lore stands for, it subtly changed how others began to view it.

Recognition Without Reinvention

Before Michelin, Lore was steady—never empty, never overwhelming. It did not rely on spectacle or viral appeal. The restaurant sat comfortably beside the Philippine Stock Exchange, serving diners who came for curiosity rather than clout.

But the Michelin Selected distinction shifted perceptions.

“When Michelin gave us the recognition, people started looking at Lore differently,” Sarthou says. “Like, ‘Wait, maybe there’s something here.’”

The change was measurable, though not disruptive. “I have to admit, sales changed,” he says. “What really became stronger was the lunch crowd, especially on weekdays. Weekends were already strong.”

With more diners came a need for structure. Reservations—once flexible—became recommended, even for lunch. Some services now fill completely.

“We try to accommodate as many people as we can,” he says. “But you also have to pace yourself. I don’t want to overextend or go crazy just because of the recognition.”

No Star-Chasing, No Script

Unlike cities where Michelin speculation becomes a sport, the Guide’s Philippine debut arrived with little transparency for chefs.

“You’re not even aware they’re there,” Sarthou says. “The first time, we just got a letter asking about our philosophy.” The second correspondence was an invitation to the Michelin ceremony—still without guarantees.

“They tell you during the briefing that you don’t really know what you’re going to get,” he recalls. “When your name is called, that’s when you find out.”

While he sensed something might come—“you already have a feeling you’ll get something”—the moment never felt like validation. “Whatever it is, you’re grateful,” he says. “It’s not about proving anything.”

When asked if a specific dish may have tipped the scales, he is unequivocal.

“We can only guess,” he says. “We’ll never really know which dishes they focused on.”

A Direction, Not a Signature

Rather than pointing to a single plate, Sarthou believes Michelin responded to Lore’s overall direction.

“I think it’s really the direction of Lore—regional Filipino cuisine,” he says. “When you dine here, it’s not the usual, predictable interpretations.”

The menu draws from across the Philippines, foregrounding lesser-known regional dishes while resisting nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. Equally important, he says, is the experience beyond the food.

“It’s not just about the dish,” he explains. “It’s the total experience.”

That includes service, pacing, and atmosphere—elements often overlooked when conversations fixate solely on technique.

Food as Storytelling

“We wanted a concept that could communicate Filipino cuisine to that audience, that’s why we chose Lore, from folklore.”

For him, Filipino food is inseparable from narrative.

“It’s not just recipes or ingredients,” he explains. “It’s how dishes evolve through people’s lives.”

That belief now finds its clearest expression in Lore’s new menu, which reads like a love letter to the archipelago. Structured to mirror the rhythm of a Filipino gathering, each course unfolds like a shared meal at home—lively beginnings, comforting middles, and sweet farewells.

The experience begins with Simula ng Salu-salo, small plates designed to awaken both appetite and memory. Crisp okoy shrimp fritters arrive paired with aged sukang tuba, their sharpness cutting through nostalgia. Fiery chicken satti skewers from Zamboanga bring heat and smoke, while kinilaw na tuna glows with pomelo and native chili, bright and bracing, like the first conversation at the table.

“The journey of the dishes here is seen through the lens of my own journey,” relates Sarthou.

From there, the menu moves into Sabaw, Alaala, Sigla—broths that feel warming, restorative, and deeply personal. Kansi na baka is sharpened with batwan, its sourness gently coaxing the palate awake. Tinolang manok follows, fragrant with ginger and chili leaves, offering comfort without excess.

Reframing Authenticity

At the heart of Lore’s philosophy is a refusal to treat authenticity as fixed or rigid.

Sarthou says, “I have a very loose interpretation of authenticity and authenticity itself is very loose.”

Filipino food, he notes, exists in countless forms—shaped by region, family, migration, and circumstance.

“So what we do here is really my own perspective,” he explains.

That perspective becomes most apparent in Kalan at Paghilom, the stews that form the emotional core of the menu. Adobo sa pula glows with annatto and garlic, familiar yet unmistakably reinterpreted. A Mindanaoan rendang whispers of burnt coconut and patience, unfolding slowly on the palate. Each dish feels both instructional and soothing—proof that the Filipino palate remembers even what time tries to erase.

Chef Tatung is clear that reinterpretation is not about dilution, but translation.

“Street food, for instance, can’t always be served the same way in a restaurant,” he says. “You also have to adjust technically. You can’t please everyone.”

What matters, he insists, is honesty.

“When you go to a chef’s restaurant, you go for their point of view,” he says. “That’s the beauty of food—it carries your story.”

He offers a reminder that feels both humorous and profound: “You don’t go to your friend’s house and criticize their mother’s adobo.”

The meal comes to a close with Tamis at Gunita, where dessert becomes memory. Biko at mangga arrives with house-made langka ice cream, sticky rice meeting fruit in quiet harmony. Inutak is rich with ube and brûléed salted-egg custard, indulgent but precise. A slice of Chocnut cake—layered with chocolate and caramel—feels like childhood, carefully wrapped and handed back.

“We can modernize our food without losing its soul,” Sarthou claims. “Lore is my panata to that idea—that progress means remembering where we came from.”

Letting the Food Speak

Lore sources ingredients from various regions, but without obsession over rarity or excess narrative.

“We’re not obsessed with being exotic,” he says. “Too much storytelling can actually rob the experience.”

Food, in his view, should stand on its own. “Why watch a movie if you have to explain everything before and after?” he asks. “The food should express itself.”

Sustainability also guides those choices. “Some ingredients aren’t sustainable long-term,” he says. “That has to be part of the conversation.”

A Space That Feels Lived In

Lore’s dining room echoes the menu’s sensibility—whimsical but grounded.

“It’s inspired by folklore—like stepping into a storybook,” he says. “It’s dream-like, but still Filipino.”

Rather than leaning into overt symbolism, Lore opts for subtle references.

“It’s Filipino without falling into clichés,” he adds. “Contemporary, but still rooted.” For first-time diners, Sarthou encourages curiosity. “Start light,” he says. “Build up as you go.”

Many dishes are designed for sharing, and the restaurant offers a tasting menu for those seeking structure—though it remains intentionally low-key.

“It’s not something we aggressively promote,” he says and that what matters most is mindset.

“You also dine with an open mind,” he explains.

Michelin and a Global Frequency

For Sarthou, Michelin’s presence in the Philippines is less about hierarchy and more about language.

“I see it as us finding our voice in a global language,” he says. “It does not mean Filipino cuisine is suddenly better—or worse—than others. We’ve just tuned into a frequency the global community understands,” he explains.

The responsibility now lies with chefs and restaurateurs to articulate their work clearly.

“It’s a challenge to communicate on that frequency,” he says. “Not by changing who we are, but by explaining who we are.”

A Seat Earned Quietly

Participation in the Michelin conversation, he believes, is an intentional commitment.

“You don’t do it for validation,” he says. “You do it because you want a seat at the table.”

At Lore, that seat was not claimed through spectacle or ambition, but through patience, perspective, and respect for Filipino food as living culture.

The Michelin Selected distinction may be subtle—but in a country whose cuisine has long waited to be heard on its own terms, that quiet nod speaks volumes.

Lore is located at the 3rd Floor, One Bonifacio High Street Mall, BGC, Taguig.