Once on Mount Banahaw

Some years back, The Rustic Bistro was a tiny shed utilized as a storage area for tools and a shelter for animals and farmers. 

It happened on a full moon night. T’was the harvest season of bitter gourds. A night watchman heard scurrying on the concrete pathway. Thinking it was a thief out to make a quick buck on the bitter gourds, the watchman readily picked his flashlight and scuttled out, following the sound of footsteps. 

Soon as he reached the Balete tree nearest to The Bistro, the watchman discerned a faint, gruff voice. Eager to catch the thief in the act of stealing, he hunched by the Balete, ready to pounce. As he forcibly hushed his breathing, he became aware of an intensifying sound so close to him: of hair-raising grunts he couldn’t make out. 

Straining his ears while forcing his heart from pumping too much blood to his temples, it dawned on him: the grunts were of a pig oinking. Fearful of drawing attention to his presence, the watchman refused to use his flashlight. Instead, he peered into the thickness of the plantation with the aid of the moon’s illumination. Yet, there was no pig in sight. 

Just as quickly, the watchman felt a vibration above his head. The oinking started to reverberate in his ears, oscillating from a bizarre boom to a faint whisper. 

The simultaneous eerie oinking and rustling of leaves forced him to look up the Balete. 

Bathed in the glow of the full moon, a white pig eyeballed the watchman. He, in turn, gawked….for what he felt like an eternity. He knew he was gawking; who wouldn’t? An ivory-white pig perched on a branch of the Balete, staring back at him! No sound, no movement, no space. Just a white pig and a human suspended in time, outstaring each other. 

A semblance of sanity came back to the watchman: he wanted to ascertain what he was seeing. Instinctively, he aimed his flashlight at the white pig. Alas, nothing stared back. Dropping all previous plans of inconspicuousness, he beamed his torch at all directions, searching for the white pig. 

Nothing. 

It felt like a dream. The watchman couldn’t wrap his mind around what just transpired. As he walked back to the shed, he chuckled. “Nothing could be more supernatural than that”, he whispered to himself. 

And so it goes: The Rustic Bistro commemorates that mystical moment with the white pig balanced on a Balete tree. Our White Pig on Balete is a cocktail worthy of sipping: a tally of thick and creamy coconut milk, divine Carribean rum, tangy pineapples and the goodness of bananas. 

Sipping on a glass of White Pig on Balete cocktail is a quest: that nothing is foolish, nor is it dull. Everything that transpires, even on a supernatural scale, is a gentle reminder of the countryside’s greatness. Slow down, ease up and venture into the bucolic life.