Long before Italian food became a staple in Manila’s dining scene, there was Cibo. Nestled in the sleek corners of Glorietta in the late 1990s, its modern interiors—bright orange and lime motifs, sleek steel chairs and countertops—invited shoppers and weary mall-goers to pause. For many, it was their first taste of Italian flavors beyond the ubiquitous spaghetti and meatballs. For my mother and me, it was more than just a restaurant—it was a ritual, a sanctuary amid the hum of the city.
In the golden light of late afternoons, Glorietta was a different world. The air hummed with conversations from coffee shops and department stores, the weight of shopping bags swinging from tired hands. It was in this whirlwind of city life that my mother and I found our quiet moment at Cibo. She, with her ever-present glass of te freddo (iced tea), and I, savoring the cool sweetness of te freddo pesca (peach iced tea), both sitting in companionable silence. Outside, the world bustled—office workers rushing home, aunties and madams weaving through the corridors of Rustan’s, the occasional familiar face passing by. But inside, within Cibo’s embrace, time stretched.
Cibo was our go-to place, the backdrop of so many small yet meaningful moments. It was such a favorite of ours that it became the last restaurant we dined at together. I remember that afternoon in Cibo Eastwood Mall in Quezon City—the same warm glow, the same comforting plates of pasta and dip, and of course, cold iced teas. By then, she was weaker, the illness already taking its toll, but for a brief moment, over our favorite dishes (penne al telefono and spinach dip), we were simply mother and son, sharing a meal.
Soon after, she was too frail to go out. Cancer took her not long after, but Cibo remains, and with it, our memories. Now, whenever I sit in a Cibo restaurant, I think of her—not just with sadness, but with the overwhelming warmth of the good times we shared.
The late Chef Margarita “Gaita” Forés, the visionary behind Cibo, who passed away on Feb. 11, leaves behind a legacy that spans decades. Her work in championing Italian cuisine in the Philippines—long before the rise of trattorias and wood-fired pizzas—shaped a generation of diners. But beyond the accolades, beyond the title of Asia’s Best Female Chef in 2016, her impact was deeply personal for many, myself included.
The food at Cibo was part of the experience, but so was the space itself. The creamy, indulgent warmth of penne al telefono, the velvety richness of spinach dip—dishes that felt simple yet sophisticated, nourishing yet indulgent.
As a journalist, I had the privilege of interviewing Chef Gaita a few times. My mother had already passed since then, but in her, I saw and felt the same motherly spirit that I once knew. There were moments, fleeting but strong, when I wanted to tell her about my mother, about how she created a space so beloved by us. But instead, I simply smiled, holding the memory close, knowing that in some unspoken way, she had already given me that gift.
As we mourn the loss of Chef Gaita, the memories she helped create remain. Her restaurants, her recipes, and the countless moments she facilitated live on. My heart goes out to her family, especially her son, Amado, who now carries the legacy of a woman who was more than a chef—she was a creator of moments, of rituals, of love served on a plate. Somewhere, a glass of iced tea is raised in silent gratitude, and an entire generation of diners, myself included, remembers the woman who taught us that good food was, above all, about love.
