Solaire Resort — with its chandeliers, its fine restaurants and hushed, reverent waiters who glide rather than walk, its menus written in the kind of calligraphy that suggests you should have a post-grad in gastronomy to pronounce the dishes — can make you think to yourself: I don’t belong here.

But, somehow, you do.

It’s the resort and casino property’s 12th anniversary, and the air is thick with celebration, with meals that exist so that we may eat like kings without the inconvenience of ruling a country.

Bloomberry, through its subsidiaries, Sureste Properties, Inc. and Bloomberry Resorts and Hotels, Inc., owns and operates Solaire Resort Entertainment City. Over the years, it has carved a solid niche as Manila’s premium/luxury hotel and gaming resort — a hub of world-class entertainment, premium dining and luxury shopping.

Put simply, Solaire on its 12th anniversary is setting the tables and illuminating them with Michelin stars, flying in the world’s best to serve flavors that cross borders but never lose their way.

Indulgence in every bite

The weekend at Waterside started as a meal and ended as a revelation.

Cooking was chef Sun Kim, who had taken Singapore by storm with his two-Michelin-starred Meta — Korean at heart, global in ambition and executed with the precision of a diamond thief.

The six-course tasting menu spoke many languages, dancing between East and West, and occasionally throwing in a well-timed dramatic pause.

The amuse-bouche (Sashimi of tuna with cuttlefish, seaweed, yuzu, myoga) arrived as a forkful of fortune: brief, delicate and artfully arranged that touching it was vandalism.

It reminded us that, while happiness is fleeting, a perfect bite lingers at least until the next course.

Indulgence, plated, came in second: Hokkaido scallop, perched on rice and swathed in aged soy sauce.

With it, the quiet confirmation: degustation is really about slowing down, tasting with intent and honoring the labor of unseen hands you’ll never meet.

The chawanmushi involved a reduction, an infusion and an ingredient I had to pretend to recognize to avoid embarrassment (spanner crab? Seafood broth? Chili oil?)

All I knew was that there’s no way it was mere food. It was an elaborate plot to ruin my ability to enjoy mediocre soup ever again.

There were times I’d pause mid-bite and close my eyes for a second — not out of pretension, but because my palate needed a moment to process what happened.

At some point while savoring the Jeju abalone porridge, I stopped trying to describe the flavors and just surrendered to them.

It is a very elegant concession when you cease asking what you are eating and just accept that it is exquisite, expensive and entirely beyond your comprehension.

Then the legendary Miyazaki grilled wagyu beef finally materialized in two mythic morsels and I half-expected to be escorted out for not owning a yacht.

One bite and I briefly considered faking a phone call to my investment banker.

If Solaire has mastered one thing in 12 years, it’s making indulgence feel like a necessity. And necessity is convincing yourself that Miyazaki wagyu is a basic human right.

It deserved a standing ovation — or at least, an encore: Corn, caramel, popcorn and ice cream. Sweet, decadent and the closest thing to a round of applause.

By the end of the meal, I wasn’t sure if I had dined or if I had just willingly participated in a very expensive hallucination.

Life tastes good

Michelin-starred dining is like that. It expands your understanding of what’s possible on a plate.

Can you appreciate the artistry, or will you ask for a second bread basket?

It’s where you should eat with tiny forks for a single micro-green that holds more status than your entire career.

Where even the salt has a pedigree and the water, a résumé.

Where the butter has a backstory, and the menu reads “Impossible to afford twice.”

Would you do it again? Of course. But next time, you’re bringing crackers for emotional support.

Often, it is a test of patience and restraint — qualities I do not have, which is why I would sometimes spend half the meal wondering if they’d notice if I licked the plate.

Not in Solaire, where, to appreciate a proper degustation, you must abandon the idea of “fullness.”

It’s not about how much you eat, but about leaving the table utterly, helplessly satisfied.

At Solaire, luxury is a gentle, delicious conspiracy to convince you that life should always taste this good and that the world exists solely to delight you.

At 12, it has mastered its greatest trick: Making you think you belong here.

It hasn’t just aged well — it’s aged like a whisky in the hands of a master, a glass I’d raise any evening.