Finding Family Through a Supper Club

Reflecting on our time serving Filipino food in London.

I was homesick when the idea of the supper club first came about. By then, I’d been in London for almost three years, and the only Filipino food spots at the time were on the other side of the city — absolutely worth the trek, but not ideal for those cravings that needed a quick fix. So, I cooked. First for myself, then for my friends, then for their friends, and for their friends’ friends… you get the idea.

Naturally, the demand outgrew my tiny kitchen in Stoke Newington, and it was time for a bigger space. That meant renting one, spending my own money, and, most terrifying of all, accepting money from paying customers. Cue a big ol’ serving of imposter syndrome. Because, what did I know about cooking, really? The answer — not a lot to almost nowt.

I was a graphic designer working in advertising. I had no ambition to be a chef, no dream of opening a restaurant. Even getting the word out was difficult — I had no money for ads, barely any Instagram followers, nor was I part of any hot East London chef clique. In summary, my cooking skills were subpar, and I had zero clout.

Still, the good word about Filipino food needed to be spread and I had one advantage: I knew the classics. Family dishes and recipes passed down to me from as early as I can remember; Mum’s favourite Binagoongan, Lola’s early morning Pandesal, Adobo after school, Sinigang on a rainy day, Inihaw beachside, Lugaw when I was sick and Pancit on my birthday.

Armed with this inherited knowledge, I swept aside the imposter syndrome. How difficult could it be?

Turns out, actually, very difficult at times. As you can imagine, a long teething process meant we got many things wrong — deconstructed spring rolls and the liquid ice cream we once served spring to mind. Still, everyone and their nan came to try our carinderia-style cooking. As it turns out, if you give people the combination of Filipino food, Filipino rum, and OPM (Original Philippine Music), you can’t go far wrong.

TonTon’s mood ft. lovely people and food.

Of course, I couldn’t have done it alone. First there was Mum, who insisted on being there at the beginning — mostly, I think, to make sure I didn’t fuck up any of the family recipes. At the time she’d travel over four hours from South Wales, where my family live, to help with prep and service only to make the long journey back home the next day. I loved every moment she was there, but it did feel like some sort of forced labour. So, after some reassurance that I’d be fine on my own, she eventually agreed to save on petrol fees and put her feet up. Don’t worry though, she still is very much involved with recipe development, tips, and words of wisdom — only these days it’s via FaceTime.

Mum & I

Then there were the many friends who, as friends do, come and go — but those who were involved with TonTon’s were incredibly generous, giving their time to help with all sorts. From running FOH, to letting me turn their flats into prep spaces, some stood in as hosts, took photographs, played music, mixed cocktails and even stayed behind to help with the washing up. I wrote a version of this where I listed every single person who showed their support over the years, but it ended up being enough words for a novella. So, I’ll just say this: if you’re one of them, you know who you are, and I am eternally grateful.

My work wife Camille, also my girlfriend irl. My work husband Lorenzo, not my boyfriend irl

Lastly, Kuya Ton — the real chef of the family. If you’re reading this from the astral plane, just know that I miss you, and I’m sorry we couldn’t do this together like we always spoke about. Naming the supper club after you was the least I could do.

My cousin Winston (whose nickname is TonTon) in orange looking ‘Swagipino’. He’s also on the right in the red probably on his way to heaven or something I dunno.

We ended up hosting on and off for six years. During that time, we did our best to do our bit for Filipino representation through the food we served. And I’ll be honest — by the end of it all, I burnt out. Probably the result of a few unexpected life spanners plus trying to balance what was essentially a passion project with my actual 9-to-5.

But despite this, and with every intention of sounding cliché — I wouldn’t change a thing. Because even the hard days were nothing but lessons learned, and the privilege of sharing the food and culture that shaped me allowed me to build a beautiful community, filling the Pinoy-shaped hole in my heart.

TonTon’s mood ft. when we launched our Atchara into the world of wholesale.

As I’m writing this, It’s been a year and a bit since we last did something. Most of that time was spent relocating to my new home, Lisbon. Now, having a better sense of the lay of the land here, I’m slowly coming around to the idea of starting the supper club back up. Because truth be told, I’m homesick again. Only this time it feels different. Now I long for the family, Filipino and otherwise, that the supper club helped me find in London.

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I’ll be writing more about TonTon’s—reminiscing on past events and reflecting on what the future holds for the supper club here in Lisbon. If you’d like to follow along, you can find us on Instagram: @tontons.lx