Ardor for Arbour
We write this in leave-taking. By the time this essay sees print, Arbour — the restaurant along Hibbard Avenue near Bantayan which had delighted the most discriminating food lovers in Dumaguete since its establishment at the height of the pandemic — would have closed, leaving behind its namesake now gracing the restaurant at Silver Reef Resort in Dauin. In a sense, Arbour will still be with us. But that mint green enclave of culinary goodness in Bantayan will be much-missed.
But we caught one of its last services for Valentines Day, so in a sense, this is also a love letter of sorts to chef Jan Schlimme and wife Jen, whom we first met in Dumaguete at the height of the pandemic — in October 2021, to be exact. They were vacationing in Bacolod from restaurant work in Hong Kong when the lockdown happened, and as the tolls of the pandemic turned into a long certainty, both answered a call to do food consulting for Casablanca Restaurant in Dumaguete. It was supposed to be a short stay: just revamp the Casablanca menu to suit pandemic realities, and then go back to Bacolod or elsewhere. But as with the usual, the Schlimmes found themselves “na-dagit” in Dumaguete, and in December of 2021, they found themselves establishing Arbour, what they envisioned to be a modern European restaurant nestled in Dumaguete.
We’ve loved Arbour’s fares since its beginnings, but this Valentine dinner proved to be something else.
One might expect bombast suited for couples celebrating love on love day itself — but what we liked about our Valentine dinner at Arbour was its restraint. There is a quiet artistry to restraint. In the culinary world, where excess is often mistaken for excellence, true mastery lies in knowing when to hold back. Arbour, helmed by the deft hands of head chef Jan Schlimme, understands this. In a city like Dumaguete — where the abundance of imported goods tempts restaurants into over-reliance on the exotic — Arbour does something radical: it trusts its ingredients, it allows them to shine on the plate. Here, the stars of the meal are not the truffle oils or the aged cheeses, but the produce, fresh and immediate, speaking in flavors unmasked by pretense. Arbour makes the flavor of their ingredients their main star attraction, and rather than to mask the basic components, their adept use of seasoning enhances the flavors of each element, pushed to their limit by the addition of just enough salt and pepper.
The journey begins with a plate that feels like the memory of an afternoon garden. The roasted beetroot salad, vibrant in its deep magenta, is an ode to the earth’s sweetness. The beets and carrots, slow-roasted until their sugars bloom, find a sharp foil in the herbed goat cheese, its tang cutting through like a breeze. There is a kind of poetry in this contrast — take note of the soft caramelization of root vegetables against the assertive creaminess of cheese. The dill fronds and lettuce greens lend their crispness, a whisper of freshness that lifts the dish from the soil into the air. It is, in many ways, a microcosm of Arbour itself: simplicity rendered with precision, a dish that knows exactly what it wants to be.
Then there is the salmon, pan-seared to that elusive point where the skin crackles but the flesh still yields at the touch of a fork. It comes with creamed potatoes, a comforting counterweight, and cucumbers that sing in cool, clean notes. What is remarkable is how the dish avoids the heaviness often associated with cream and oil. The balance is meticulous — enough seasoning to coax out the natural flavors, never enough to overshadow them. Here, every element has a role to play, and each one performs it to perfection.
The braised beef cheek arrives next, steeped in a red wine sauce that speaks of slow afternoons and patient craftsmanship. The meat falls apart at the suggestion of a spoon, its richness cut by the gentle char of green onion. Julienne carrots, bound in a delicate green ribbon, add a touch of visual poetry. There is nostalgia here — the unshakable warmth of beef and potatoes, a partnership as old as time. Yet, there is also refinement: the subtle elevation of flavor, the understanding that indulgence need not be overwhelming. A slice of bread would have been a welcome addition, something to sop up every last drop of sauce, but even without it, the dish stands whole, assured.
The meal closes with a flourish: a vanilla crème, lush and thick, paired with fresh strawberries, a bright compote, and a dark, silken ganache. It is an elegant echo of childhood indulgence — the trio of vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate familiar yet new. Again, richness versus freshness ebb and flow throughout eating this dish: a spoonful of the vanilla crème and chocolate ganache in one bite then fresh strawberries and mint in the other. The strawberry compote adds a touch of acidity and sweetness. An added element of a salted biscuit crumb would have brought this dessert into new heights, but as is it closes the meal succinctly. Arbour understands when to stop. And that is its magic.
We will miss Arbour as it existed in Bantayan since 2021. European food borne in the tropics has its unique obstacles to overcome. Despite the abundance of suppliers in Dumaguete for processed food like cured meats, cheeses, and dairy products, Arbour never relies on these ingredients as trump cards to make good dishes. We’ve found that these ingredients, in Jan Schlimme’s hands, are supporting characters to the real highlight, which is the fresh produce.
Thank you for three years of good food, Arbour.
[Written with Renz Torres for “Culinary Cuts” for Dumaguete MetroPost, 16 February 2025 issue]
