Losing Amici

Here lies a true Italian friend,
sadly resurrected as a fast food joint.
Please pray for the repose of his soul.

(Note: I wrote this post almost a month ago but I got busy and completely forgot about it until I received text messages from two friends about the opening of a new Amici branch in Tomas Morato. Suddenly, the feeling I had the night I last dined at Amici came back once again.)

Tonight I dined at Amici, which up to a couple of years ago, was Makati's best kept secret. Having tried most of the stuff on the menu, I ordered the Italian Sausage, but not before I got a nod from my Salesian publisher, Fr. Armand.

I've had many lovely meals at Amici since I joined CodeRED magazine in the summer of 2004. A Salesian Missions publication, CodeRED is housed in the same compound, and so Amici is the default choice for meetings, socials and other activities. Captivated by its rustic and unpretentious charm, authentic Italian flavors and incredible value, I brought many of my friends over, who brought many of their friends, who brought even more of their friends. For my family, it became a favorite for small and large gatherings. Through the years, Amici became popular via word of mouth, delicious and inviting. To me, Amici was personified by the sungit-yet-gracious Fr. Colombo, who once sent cold slices of dragonfruit to our table, on the house.

But since last year, changes have been happening to my friend. First, Fr. Colombo became too sick to manage both the press and the restaurant and had to go back home to Italy. Next, the Salesians realized that running a restaurant was not in the core competence of the congregation, and decided to sell the franchise to professionals who knew the business well.

And so my friend continued to change. But I was happy for my suki gelato lady, who now wears a corporate outfit daily, having been promoted to supervisor. "Maganda dito, ma'm," she said, when I chika-ed her last year . "Tinuturuan nila kami ng tamang pagpatakbo ng business at saka customer service. Very professional. At saka, parang pareho pa rin ang management namin kasi nagsisimba kami araw-araw. Opus Dei kasi ang boss namin." I was genuinely happy for her.

The changes went on. Guards were employed in the front entrance, as well as to manage the parking at the back. Free parking was arranged with the mall across the street. Fluorescent lights were added to brighten up the area. New tiles were laid on the floor. The pasta counter was shut down. A new ordering and payment system was put in place. Indoor and outdoor signs were installed. Operating hours were extended. Delivery was offered. And, as a final symbol of cutting old ties, the words 'di Don Bosco' was dropped from its name.

But not all changes were good for my friend. The prices shot up. The servings became smaller. The menu became shorter. The al dente pasta lost its bite. The Carbonara has been pulled out, the original recipe being re-evaluated. The Vongole has been replaced by the Pescatore, and will no longer be available with white wine. A few other old favorites were missing.

But perhaps the saddest casualty in tonight's Amici episode is my Italian Sausage – two sorry little pieces soaked in oil yet incredibly dry inside. They were served with another sorry square of potato hash the size of my old camera's memory card. Dinner was excruciating. I found happiness in a cold, leftover Red Ribbon empanada instead.

And that's how I lost Amici.