Food
The sun shines behind gray haze. The second floor window reflects the gathering clouds. From an angle, you can still see the piece of cardboard in the corner. In black marker, it reads: The space is for rent. A nail salon and a steakhouse have replaced the empty watering hole along Katipunan Avenue.
Her last memory is of a gathering. Like many other ones before, there was live music. There came a flurry of familiar faces. And there she was: Darling old Cannan Bistro bordering on exhaustion on the 5th of July. Still, for a night, she kept running. If anything, it was good music, fun company and a steady supply of booze that kept her alive.
But by then, she was dusty. She smelled of sautéed onions and rice bowls inside, and of cigarette smoke on the second floor landing. This staircase once welcomed so many home. It is now plastered over in pastel and floral. A lone drop falls from the sky.
It starts to drizzle.
One last call for alcohol
It was Cannan’s last night. Knowing this, Higad Productions, a concert production group, promptly scheduled a final toast to a place they liked to call—for lack of a better or more terrible pun—The Promised Land. Aptly named Closing Time, loyal regulars returned to this small bistro, where they reveled for one last night of music and friends—a fitting send-off for a home away from home.
Over 80 people crowded the small space that night. Theirs are the last of many memories etched on the walls.
Those who attended Cannan’s farewell gig lost count of how many toasts were made during the set. Nobody ran out of things to say. The bistro was abuzz with the illusion of old times.
“I remember this one time, I was having a really bad week and I decided to hit up an old friend to catch up and talk about our problems,” shares Rico Cruz*. “We met up at Cannan one afternoon, and after the second round of beer, we just started making out right there in the middle of the room.”
The bistro was synonymous to open mic nights, the best rice meals one hundred pesos could ever buy (maybe), catching up over another round of beer with friends, good times, bad times and random memories.
“I went to Cannan when it was empty once and watched Meteor Garden with the waiters,” Izo Lopez (BFA CW ‘14)remembers with a laugh.
Take me home
Cannan Bistro, named after the Ibanag word for food, first opened along Katipunan Avenue back in September of 2009. At the time, it was just the expansion of a highly successful food stall business. It didn’t take long, however, for it to catch on. Soon, Cannan became a regular watering hole for many.
“Cannan was our regular Friday night,” shares AJ Elicaño (BFA CW/AB IS ‘14). “Rituals aren’t just a thing you do; they’re the home you build around the things you do and the people you grow to love as you do them.”
“I think Cannan has always been this safe place where everyone can go and just be, you know?” says communication supersenior Vicky Marquez. She recounts her memories of the place with difficulty. There are too many—even the noteworthy ones. Her thoughts go back to the rice bowls.
They tasted like home, really. Home being a place for people to stare out large windows, watch cars stuck in traffic and people walk by, all while snacking on whatever flavor of rice they were feeling that day.
“It was never really a place to get wasted—or maybe that’s just me,” Marquez adds. “Pleasantly drunk in the dimmed lights with the good food and the great company.”
Some other beginning’s end
Due to rising rent and maintenance costs, however, the bistro just couldn’t keep up. On the heels of the equally iconic drinking spot Cantina’s sudden disappearance, this marks the close of yet another Katipunan landmark.
“Nalulugi na kasi (We were losing money already),” says the mysterious Cannan employee we’ve all just come to know as Kuya Mohawk. More than just keeping up with costs, however, he comments on how owner Get Bote wouldn’t have been able to keep it going anyway.
“Buti nga na nagtagal pa, kahit paano. Kahit marami naman tao dito araw-araw, lugi pa rin. Wala na rin kasing magbabantay. May mga ibang trabaho ang mga kamag-anak ni Sir Get, kaya hindi maaasikaso (It’s a good thing we lasted as long as we did, actually. But even if a lot of people came in everyday, we were still losing money. No one was to take over, either. Sir Get’s family members all have their own jobs. They wouldn’t be able to take care of the bistro).”
When asked about Cannan’s future, it seems to many there isn’t much hope for it coming back. “Ito na talaga (This is really it),” said Kuya Mohawk. “Ewan. Baka magbukas ulit kami. ‘Kaliwa’ naman (I don’t know. Maybe we’ll open again. Call it ‘Kaliwa,’ this time around),” he joked.
“I came for the convenience,” Elicaño explains. “I stayed for the people, the cheap beer and the okay food. But I fell in love with the community. Perhaps we’ll find a new bar to take its place eventually and the cycle will begin anew. But for now, we content ourselves with remembering.”
When asked what’s next for the bistro, there is no reply.
“I’ve been wondering where I’m gonna get my cheap rice meals and cold beer now,” says Carlos Tabunda, a creative writing junior.
“I’ll start looking [again] after the mourning period,” Elicaño says.
A faded sign still hangs on the façade of the Katipunan building. The thin red letters on black serve as a reminder to former patrons, good friends and passersby of what once was.
