I went into FLOW knowing very little about what to expect.
I’ve never been to Peru. I didn’t know chefs Kevin Uy and Gabriel “Gato” Ong, hadn’t tried their first menu, and had no real reference point for Peruvian food beyond what I’d picked up secondhand. So I sat down without much to hold onto—which turned out to be a good way to begin.
Peru Remembered, Localized, and Rebuilt
Uy and Ong opened FLOW at Makati’s Green Sun Hotel last December with a menu that moved between Peru and the Philippines. Their second menu goes deeper into the Peru Uy actually lived in: street carts, taverns, and the food his abuelas would cook at home.
This is what the abuelas would cook, and what you would find in street carts and taverns,” Uy says.
But this isn’t Peru reproduced ingredient for ingredient. It’s Peru remembered, then rebuilt with what’s growing and swimming here in the Philippines.
I recognize that instinct because it’s something I return to in my own kitchen. There’s discipline in working with what you have instead of forcing an idea of what a cuisine should be. Stay true to the memory, stay true to where you are, and let the cooking speak for itself.
A Refined Kitchen Rhythm
That seems to be what changed most between FLOW’s first and second menus.
Ong calls their opening a “trial by fire.” It gave them a foundation to become more technical and precise without making the food more complicated. Uy leads much of the creative direction through memory and experience; Ong brings those ideas into a kitchen that has to execute them consistently.
I saw that kitchen briefly. No wasted motion, no raised voices. Just a team that seemed to know what it was doing and where it needed to be. Maybe that’s what flow looks like in a working kitchen—not perfect smoothness, but knowing how to keep moving without losing your rhythm.
An Environment Built for Intentionality
The room helped put me in the right state of mind. The interiors had an almost Zen-like calm, softened by local accents and pools of focused light. There was something meditative about it. It quieted the mind and made it easier to let go of expectation. And that’s how I tasted the menu: open, without holding back, letting the experience take me where it would.
I especially loved the offbeat serving pieces, made by different artists and each with its own personality. Some were sculptural, some playful, some almost strange. They gave the meal a quirky, handmade character and hinted at the collaborative spirit behind FLOW.
Coastal Seafood and Nikkei Influences
Parihuela, inspired by Callao’s fish markets, brings blue swimmer crab into a concentrated seafood broth, with flatbread laced with aligue on the side. Long after the crab was gone, I was still using the bread to chase the last of the broth.
Then came something that genuinely threw me: an abalone tiradito in yellow habanero emulsion. Japanese in form yet completely at home on a Peruvian menu, it made Peru’s Nikkei tradition suddenly real to me. I knew about that connection. Tasting it was another thing.
Ceviche returns from FLOW’s first menu transformed, with local catch in leche de tigre sharpened with cacao juice. Something about it resonated with my Filipino roots, but the acidity was unfamiliar—brighter and more tart than what I’m used to.
Pondering Unfamiliar Horizons
When I taste food, I try to ask myself two things: Is this delicious to me? And is there something here I need to understand from a different perspective? Not everything unfamiliar needs to be resolved immediately. Sometimes you simply have to stay with it a little longer.
Chupe de Camaron, drawn from Arequipa’s home cooking, uses grilled ulang, a sauce made from its heads, cassava and smoked greens. It rewarded slowing down—the chew of cassava, the smoke underneath, the richness of the prawn arriving one after another.
Traditional Roots Meets Filipino Reinterpretation
Then came Pachamanca, FLOW’s take on the Andean underground cooking tradition. The roasted pigeon breast was beautifully cooked, though the marigold uchucuta left a bitterness I couldn’t quite make peace with.
I enjoyed the fermented black-rice and pigeon-pea cake beside it even more—essentially puto reimagined for this table. It was one of those bites that makes you go quiet before saying anything.
Sweet Closings Rooted in Nostalgia
Dessert brought things closer to home. Combinado, their take on arroz con leche, brings together jackfruit, adlai cooked in cashew butter and roasted cashews. The chew of the adlai and crunch of cashew gave it texture, while the jackfruit brought a familiarity I didn’t have to think about. Nothing felt forced.
The meal closed with Picarones: warm spiced kamote doughnuts with carabao-milk ice cream. I’d once seen the Peruvian original on Netflix. Suddenly, something I’d only imagined had shape, aroma and context.
A Collective Step Forward
Like any creative endeavor, you only move forward when you dare to do something new. And perhaps that’s what this second menu represents for FLOW—not an arrival, but another movement forward.
Sous chef Betina Carangan now owns the dessert program, while the rest of the team has been drawn further into developing the food. The restaurant’s evolution isn’t just happening on the plate; more people are becoming part of where it goes next.
FLOW isn’t just me or Gato,” Uy says. “FLOW is all of us.”
The more I thought about it, the more fitting the name became. Flow isn’t about arriving at some final version of yourself. It’s movement, change, constant reinvention. Finding who you are can be as elusive as it is illusory, because who you are is only a moment in a world that keeps evolving.
This second menu is FLOW as they are now. Where it takes them next is part of the journey.
Chef Tatung Sarthou is a cook who talks too much, writes a bit, and occasionally wins awards for both. He’s the man who started Simpol, where he tries to make sense of Filipino cooking—and life—one guisa at a time.
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