A Seat at the Table: Our First Night at Kasama
Getting into Kasama isn’t luck — it’s persistence. My wife had quietly entered us onto the waitlist, chasing any opening from cancellations. The timezone gap between Central and Pacific cost us two responses we never caught in time. The third one landed. October 31, 2024. We were in.
It was our first tasting menu. Ever. And not just any tasting menu — Kasama, the Michelin-starred restaurant tied directly to our Filipino roots and to a city we call home.
Walking in, I didn’t quite know what to expect. Fine dining was new territory. But what struck me first wasn’t the food — it was the room. A genuine mix of cultures and backgrounds, all gathered to experience one of the most dignified representations of Filipino cuisine in the world. As Filipinos ourselves, that sight alone carried weight. We knew these dishes in their home-style form — the versions cooked in family kitchens, the ones that don’t need explanation. Watching them reimagined with this level of artistry was something else. A kind of pride that’s hard to put into words.
Kasama’s profile grew alongside The Bear, and we embrace that. Whatever brings more eyes to Filipino food — to Chicago — we’re grateful for it. But for us, it always came back to something simpler: the fact that fine dining, Filipino food, and Michelin stars now belong in the same sentence.
We were seated in front of the open kitchen, which turned out to be everything. I had my Leica Q2 with me — it goes where I go, especially somewhere like this. At some point during the evening, Chef Tim Flores noticed it sitting on our table. He came over to say hello. I didn’t recognize him at first — he was dressed in a full cowboy outfit (Halloween, as it turned out) — and we ended up falling into an easy conversation about photography, about the Q line specifically. He mentioned he shoots with a Q3 and loves it. Just two people talking about cameras, one of whom happened to be the chef behind one of the most celebrated restaurants in the country.
That kind of moment doesn’t happen by design.
Out of respect for the space, I asked our server if I could photograph the kitchen — quietly, without getting in the way. They were gracious about it and cued me in when the timing was right. What I got were real behind-the-scenes frames: the team working with precision, the quiet orchestration of every plate. Tim Flores and Genie Kwon were both on the floor that evening, overseeing everything — though given the holiday, neither was actively on the line. I wanted a proper portrait of them both but couldn’t bring myself to pull them away. Some moments you let live as memory instead.
The food was exceptional. But that’s almost beside the point of what the night became. It was a date night that turned into an unexpected photography session. A homecoming of sorts. A reminder that our culture has a seat at the highest table — and that sometimes the chef will come over, in a cowboy hat, and talk to you about cameras.
