There are moments when you arrive at lunch and immediately understand you are not really there for lunch. Instead, you’re in for a cultural experience in the form of hospitality. Somewhere, in a climate-controlled office far from anything that has ever fermented, someone has decided that what your Friday afternoon requires is “premium tequila with cultural depth.” One can only assume they were very pleased with themselves.

So it was in Parañaque, at Solaire’s open Pool Bar & Grill where Loca Loka made its Philippine debut under a sunset so theatrically orange it looked mildly suspicious, as if it had been retouched in post.

The name — Loca Loka. The first part, “Loca,” is Spanish for “crazy,” and the latter, “Loka,” is Sanskrit for “world,” and it is somehow entirely designed to suggest your drink has been on a spiritual gap year.

Inside, the guests and the professionally curious gathered like the usual suspects that they are. Everyone clutching glasses, donning sunglasses, phones and the faint hope that lunch might accidentally become enlightening.

First came the tasting menu, because nothing says “casual afternoon” like a choreographed runway walk of alcohol and food behaving as though they have mutual opinions.

Loca Loka’s Blanco was paired with salmon crudo consisting of, of course, salmon, along with dayap granita topped with cashew foam. A dish that sounds like it was written by a committee trying to agree on minimalism. The tequila, to its credit, refused to be impressed. It was light, brisk and citrus-led, cutting through the dish like a very polite interruption.

Then the Reposado came in with beef agnolotti which consists of egg yolk, burrata and smoked meat. This was richer, more indulgent territory. The tequila softened accordingly, warming into itself, doing that reassuring thing good spirits do when they decide not to compete but to collaborate.

The Añejo followed with braised lamb shoulder, mint jus, pommes purée. Deep, slow, slightly brooding. The tequila here moved with layers, truly serious with darkened edges, like a dinner guest who has read the room and chosen to say less.

Dessert, naturally, arrived to restore order with Earl Grey panna cotta, muscovado crumble, milk ice cream. Sweet, composed, and domestic in the way only desserts pretending to be sophisticated can manage.

“Authentic tequila begins in the field, not the boardroom,” said Willy Bañuelos Ramírez, third-generation master distiller, delivering what sounded like a gentle rebuke to the entire modern drinks industry. 

“At Loca Loka, we respect the agave’s natural complexity and refuse to take shortcuts — no additives, no artificial color, and no glycerin for mouthfeel.”

One admires the certainty. One also suspects the agave would quite like a day off.

The “100 or Nothing” philosophy was also invoked, a phrase so absolute it briefly suggests the bottle might refuse to be poured unless the lighting is emotionally appropriate.

By sundown, the music had properly asserted itself by the pool, as cocktails began to circulate with increasing confidence and decreasing restraint. Guests, dressed in crisp linen and a kind of self-aware polish, looked as though they had been assembled, not invited, each one placed with art-house precision for maximum aesthetic effect. Oh, and there were also tarot readings offering reassurance that yes, your life decisions are fine, probably.