Thank You
Nothing I write here happens alone. This page is where I say so — to the people who made it possible, and to the people who make it worth doing.
Home
Karen, my wife. We are incompatibly compatible — alike in many ways, unalike in as many others, each of us a leader in our own way and in our own world, and somehow it works, and works well.
She is a general pathologist, the doctor other doctors consult, and her work helps decide the course of treatment. She believes firmly that healthcare should be for the people who need it, not the people who can afford it.
I have given her three rings: an engagement ring, a wedding ring, and suffering. She puts up with me, to say the least. She is beautiful, intelligent and capable, and she does not seem to age. Ask our friends. We never stopped dating — not when we married, not when the boys came along, not now — and every trip the two of us take alone turns into another honeymoon. She plans every one of them, and her sense of adventure has taken me to places that were never on my list. She supports me further than most people would imagine supporting anyone.
My parents, who raised me on an older set of instructions — feed the hungry, give the thirsty something to drink, take in the stranger — and on the understanding that you never wait for someone to be any of the three. There was always room for one more and always enough food, and nobody ever made a thing of it. They also took me out to eat everything, everywhere, long before I understood that it was an education. Whatever foundation I cook and write from, they laid it.
My parents-in-law, who come by regularly to swap out fruit that has gone past its best, and who, before the boys could drive, were the ones collecting them from school and taking them to whatever was on that week. It is always the small things, and they are always doing them.
My aunt and uncle — my father's sister and her husband — who stood as our principal sponsors (khè-bú and khè-pē) when Karen and I married, and who have always been more than an aunt and uncle to me. They consistently show up to support the causes that I do.
Auntie Cynth, who came to us before Jonathan was born, so he has never known a home without her. She was here through Karen's medical training, and through the year a hiring freeze in BC sent Karen to Lethbridge and this family ran across two provinces. She still lives with us, and whatever sanity this house has, she is largely the reason for it. The trips Karen and I take happen because she is here.
For my sons, Joshua and Jonathan; my nieces, Kristen and Katriel; my nephews, Nicholas and Nyles; my numerous godchildren; close kin and misua chhin alike; and the young people like them who, like me at their age, don't really know where our family came from.
The family tree Aunt Jessica and Aunt Marifee, on my father's side, helped me trace back five generations, with my children as the fifth. Misua chhin (麵線親) is what we call the kin out at the far end of that thread — named for the long thin noodle, which is what the connection looks like once you draw it. The heritage pieces on this site, about Hokkien food and custom and what it means to be Chinese-Filipino, are especially for you, so that where we come from is written down somewhere you can find it.
The People Who Keep Me Going
Mijune Pak, food personality on Food Network and resident judge on Top Chef Canada — but first Follow Me Foodie, the blog that was her own way into this world and my inspiration for the whole thing. I was a reader long before I was a writer, and long before any of the rest of it.
Peter Chan, a pediatric dentist, who shared so many of my early dining adventures and took the WSET wine course alongside me. His kids are young and our dinners are rarer for now, but I'm keeping his seat warm and looking forward to the adventures still ahead.
Angus An, chef, restaurateur and consultant, who has been cooking in this city for as long as I have been eating seriously in it. I have learned something at the tables of his many restaurants nearly every time.
Wilberto Tong, with whom I have worked across several ventures, and who gave me the flexibility and the time to write while the rest of it was going on.
Carrie Lee, who has led marketing teams for most of her career and told me to write again for longer than I was willing to listen, and who still guides me through Hong Kong and beyond — in person when I am there, by recommendation when I am not.
Raymond Wu, with whom most of this got talked through on long late nights, over a drink and whatever we were eating at that hour. He asked the right questions at the right time, and made starting again feel like a smaller thing than I had been treating it as.
Aaron Bhawan, my colleague at Property Copilot, who kept asking when I was going to start writing again until I ran out of excuses. He also pointed me toward the tools this site runs on, and away from the ones I would have defaulted to.
Alison Lin, whose pre-interview for a piece her company, Bravo, was working on turned into an afternoon as my sounding board. Answering her questions reminded me how much I still had to say.
Raff Wong, Chief Creative Director of Mophead, and one of the very few people I trust with my hair. He cuts and styles it whenever I'm in Vancouver. So if it's looking long or messy, I've probably been away too long.
Michael Tran, Level 5 Master Trainer at Plus One Fitness Club, who trains me both in person and virtually, and makes sure I can keep enjoying life the way I do.
Katherine Tung, my wife's best friend, who travelled with us for many years. People assumed she was the third wheel. In truth, it was probably me. Then came Alex Dar Santos, and on a trip the four of us took to Dubrovnik in 2018, he proposed to her. They travel with us as a pair now, so nobody has to be the third wheel anymore.
Michael and Melody Sison, our travel companions, with whom we set off on a big trip roughly every other year — Australia, Africa and Europe so far. Many of the stories on this site happened with them at the table.
My mother and my late grandmother, A-má, who taught me to cook Hokkien, the food of our family. Most of the rest I taught myself: Cantonese and other regional Chinese cuisines, Filipino, Japanese, Spanish, French and Italian. Which really means I owe something to every cook who ever let me watch.
Jin and Mina Kim, the sisters who taught me the art of Korean cooking. They also taught me to take what I learn on YouTube with a grain of salt: it is usually a lot easier than the videos make it look.
Paul Wang Jr. and his friends, who took me through Austin and Lockhart in a single day — seven barbecue joints, eating at every one and talking to the pitmasters between them, the late John Mueller among them — a legend of that world, and generous with his time on a day he had no reason to be. That day is where my beef brisket comes from. It is a long process, and the people I cook it for seem to think it is worth it.
Kristi Linneboe, Wine Director at Banda Volpi, who told me what to drink before I had studied any of it and opened up the wine world for me. I have never met anyone with more passion for it — early on, as a sommelier, she spent time picking and making wine alongside local producers, purely to be better at what she did on the floor.
Mariko Tajiri, a sake and wine professional, who taught my WSET Sake Level 1 course but was my friend and sake advisor long before that. I'd photograph a sake list somewhere in Japan, send it to her, and she'd tell me what to drink.
DJ Kearney, a wine consultant who teaches sommeliers, and my WSET Wine & Spirits Level 2 instructor. Her other students were training for the trade; I was there for a plainer reason — I like to drink, and I wanted to enjoy it more. She taught me how.
Kevin Brownlee, Product Development Manager at Cactus Club Cafe, whom I met when AnnaLena first opened and he was running the bar, a few months before he won the 2015 Grey Goose Pour Masters. His cocktails are creative and inspired, and most of what I know about the subject I learned from him.
Stephen Tan, Senior Pastor at Grace Christian Church of the Philippines. My parents treat him as their fourth son, which makes him something like a brother to me. He keeps me grounded, hears me out, and has helped me make sense of more of life than he probably realizes.
Antonio Romero Casado and my family at ARC Ibérico Imports. Somewhere along the way I became part of the family. I am their self-appointed Jamón Ambassador, lending a hand whenever the team needs one. This is where I learned that making room for enjoyment is not the reward for the work — it is part of doing it properly. After all these years, they would think I should speak Spanish by now.
Two Sides of the Pacific
Manila and Vancouver are the two ends of it, but the map has always been wider than that. These are the people on each side who make it feel like home.
Wallace and Sheryl Panlilio, some of my strongest supporters since before Karen and I even met, cheering me on from the Philippines the whole time.
Jasper and Shera Tiu, serious about food and more serious still about wine, and both of them good cooks, who keep finding me places worth going to.
James and Aileen Lai, who find the new places, kitchens and bars alike, before I have heard of them, and who know the kind of evening I am after without my having to describe it — and now and then they ignore that entirely and take me somewhere I would never have chosen.
Sherry Che, who hands me reality checks whether or not I think I need one — never to win a point, only because she wants me to be a better person for it.
Karen Ung (my sister-in-law, not my wife; yes, they share a name), Yaeko Oka and Ann Sit, who know my style well enough to tell me when I've got it wrong — and who will come shopping to make sure I don't.
Oliver Luo, who I met playing Pokémon Go, of all things. Every couple of weeks, when we can manage it, we set aside a long night for me to mentor him — though he has no idea how much I learn from him in the same sitting.
Causes and Communities
Rae Kung, CEO of the Chinese Restaurant Awards, where I've gone from Taste Advisor to COO. She calls me big brother, but I've learned so much more from her. Over several years, she reignited my passion for Chinese cuisine, and through it, for Chinese culture. Getting to recognize the chefs and restaurateurs who keep those traditions alive, wherever in the world they cook, is the best education I could ask for.
My fellow board members at Liver Canada, who get on with each other and get things done — which anyone who has sat on a board knows is not the usual combination. And the staff, who make just as much of the difference in the stretches between meetings, when the board is nowhere to be seen.
And the readers of Premeditated Gluttony, who kept asking, years after the last post, when I was going to start again. I never kept a list, and I can't name you all, but you know who you are. This is for you, too.
And to everyone who works in hospitality: the cooks and servers, bartenders and sommeliers, hosts and dishwashers, the front desks and housekeepers of every hotel that has put me up, and the crews behind the events I have been lucky to sit at. In every city I've written about and many I haven't. You're the difference between a room and a welcome, a meal and an evening. I know how hard the work is, which is exactly why I've never been tempted to open a restaurant myself.
Liver Canada
For more than fifty years, Liver Canada has worked from one conviction: that liver disease deserves the same urgency, research and public understanding as any other illness. I believe that too, and it's why I give my time here. I've seen what that work makes possible, from research that changes the standard of care to a living donor giving his brother a second chance at life. In the interest of saying it plainly: I serve on the board as Vice President, BC Region, and as chair of the 2026 LIVERight Gala.
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