Stepping into Rekdi offered a sense of familiarity. Snacks and toys reminiscent of a Filipino childhood — wafer sticks, plastic balloons, braided rubber bands for Chinese garter, and more — filled the bar, which was clearly meant to resemble a sari-sari store.
The restaurant’s owner, acclaimed Filipino filmmaker, director, and producer Erik Matti, was warm and welcoming, much like an uncle you suddenly decide to visit and who lets you into his home after a long time. And that attitude, as it would turn out, is entirely by design.
“I just wanted a place where people could gather, where they’re not intimidated. Everyone could be themselves, more laid back,” he says. “The louder, the more chaotic it is, the better for us.”
The first floor — the bar area named Yagangyang — looks like something straight out of a dream: dim interiors brightened in certain spots by neon lights; a wall covered in Filipino comic book pages; and a restroom with sand-textured walls decorated with paint-bucket caps.
First order of business, naturally, was to sample the food. First to land on the table was shakshouka, but with a twist: instead of the usual egg poached in tomato sauce, it contains ground pork. And it is paired with wonton chips instead of bread.
Next on the agenda: drinks. Oshima, a sake-based cocktail, offered a bit of zing with its unusual swipe of wasabi. It’s Erik’s personal favorite. My colleague, Ivan, ordered Cuaron Paloma, a mezcal-based cocktail with grapefruit soda and balut salt —sour and salty dancing on your palate.
When asked to describe Rekdi, Erik is almost reluctant to reduce it to a single label, saying, “I like to think of Rekdi as an izakaya, a bistro, a tapas bar. At ano ang equivalent nyan sa Pilipinas? It’s a carinderia.” (And what’s the equivalent of that in the Philippines? It’s a carinderia.)

But more than a concept, what Eric’s after is a certain feeling. Erik wants Rekdi to be a place where one feels that the food is comforting and accessible, but still driven by a genuine level of craft.
“The place is memorable, ganun siya (that’s what it is). It’s a standalone restaurant,” Erik adds. “I’m not thinking of doing a chain.”
Like any other business, Rekdi faced its own set of hurdles. A new venture, almost always, is never easy at the start.
Erik initially planned on opening Rekdi at the Fort Strip in Bonifacio Global City, Taguig, with a completely different menu. The area, however, was demolished in favor of property development.
Adelina Leung, Rekdi’s co-owner, eventually found an old apartment along Pagulayan Street in Poblacion, Makati, which now houses the restaurant.
What followed were months of chaos that Eric compares to the first season of The Bear, a hit TV series he counts himself a fan of.
Opening night — a birthday party for one of their partners — arrived before they were truly ready. The circuit breaker blew. The exhaust broke. The air conditioning failed. “Sobrang init! Ayun ‘yung Episode 1 ng The Bear, ‘di ba?” (It was so hot! That was Episode 1 of The Bear, right?)
By Episode 2, there was a gas leak. But Erik pushed through, the same way he pushes through a film shoot. “You will never see the end of things — you just need to jump in and do it.”
As the evening progressed, guests were ushered to the second floor to order starters.
The place felt strangely familiar. Ivan described it as “bahay ng lola ng classmate mo.” (the house of your classmate’s grandmother) There were trinkets and items you would commonly find in old houses: plastic glass holders, bare concrete walls, old furniture. It was also akin to an art exhibit, with pieces displayed across its walls and ceilings.

Ivan and I ordered three starters. First was the Grilled Korean Daikon Apple Pear Sinigang, topped with crispy pork fat. Next was the Grilled Potato Pandesyosya served with chicken oil and salt. This pan de sal starter made from potato starch with burnt edges is a quiet nod to where Erik hails from: Bacolod.
Erik feels that his upbringing doesn’t get nearly enough credit in conversations about Philippine cuisine. “I really feel that Negros — Bacolod in particular — is a bit underrated,” he says.
While Pampanga and Cebu dominate culinary conversations and Iloilo represents the Visayas, Bacolod quietly holds its own — shaped by deep Filipino-Spanish influences and defined by a standard that Erik has carried into Rekdi.
Of all the starters we ordered, the Thai-style Scotch Kwek-kwek dipped in vinegar with onions made quite the impression. Kwek-kwek — deep-fried hard-boiled quail eggs coated in a bright orange batter — is so straightforward that you wouldn’t expect anything beyond. But since Rekdi’s version is done scotch-style, a delightful surprise filling infused with spices and cilantro —Thai flavors you’d commonly experience on the streets of Bangkok — awaits in the middle.
“My favorite talaga is inihaw (My real favorite is grilled food),” Erik says. In saying this, he does not refer to inasal, or sweet Filipino barbecue, or yakitori with tare — just the clean, uncomplicated taste of something cooked over charcoal with salt and pepper.
“It’s just hard to find ‘yung parang comforting na lasang-lasang uling na inihaw (It’s just hard to find that comforting, unadulterated charcoal-grilled flavor),” adds Erik. Rekdi is, in many ways, his answer to that search. The grilled offerings are elevated through thoughtfully crafted sauces and meticulous plating inspired by his love of French cooking, without compromising the primal comfort at the heart of each dish.

The Grilled Chicken Thigh, which came with pineapple-cashew chili crunch, shrimp bisque, and crispy alamang, was highly recommended. So was the Honey Ginger Miso Blue Marlin served with carrot-squash-kamote rosti okoy, curried carrot-squash purée, and everything bagel seasoning. Butter Fried Rice topped with salted fish, mushrooms, and crumbled uga complemented both dishes.
The restaurant’s bestseller — and my personal favorite — is the Rekdi BBQ: a combination of grilled pork and beef belly topped with an anchovy, mushroom, and caper crumble, served over kansi onion soup and finished with torched fontal cheese.

Erik says this particular item is his one deliberate tribute to Filipino barbecue on a menu that otherwise follows the language of pure inihaw.
Talking to Erik about food eventually leads you somewhere deeper: into how he thinks about craft itself. He draws a line between how he evaluates a film and how he evaluates a meal.
A painting explained entirely through its backstory doesn’t move him.
“You cannot sway me to like a particular piece of painting just by the story of it alone,” he says. “Same with food. The concept shouldn’t be over and beyond the taste and the enjoyment of the dish.”

As our interview with Erik drew to a close, Ivan and I asked him one final question: Which three people would he most want to serve at Rekdi? His answer spoke volumes.
First is Chef Bruce Ricketts of Iai Manila – someone whose food he genuinely admires. Second is actress and celebrity chef Judy Ann Santos, and third, Buy Bust actress Anne Curtis and her husband, food documentarist Erwan Heussaff.
The people he wants seated at his table aren’t critics or influencers, but those whose taste he genuinely respects. Erik is a reflection of that ideal: no gimmicks, no feigned narrative, no need for applause; just a director who knew exactly what he wanted, built it anyway, and had the conviction to let the food speak for itself.
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