Out of Print
Mano Lotho Is in His Feelings
by Audrey Carpio with Jonty Cruz
Photos by Ralph Mendoza
As beloved as Lagrima has been these last couple of years, it hasn’t always been a fairy tale for its owner, Mano Lotho. The restaurateur shares how he’s coped during the pandemic and how the local F&B industry is failing its staff.
Getting straight As is incidentally tied to his first taco experience, and so that is where his story begins. After bringing home a stellar report card in the first three months of living in the U.S., Mano’s father let him pick where they would have merienda. He still remembers what he ordered that day—two number 7s (a set of three crunchy tacos) and an apple juice at Taco Bell.
Several years later and a lifetime’s worth of sampling the immigrant cuisines of L.A., Mano returned to the Philippines and started making a name for himself as a PR pro in the fashion industry, most notably working for the luxury retailer Homme et Femme. He and Daryl Chang, former Preview Girl extraordinaire, cut some of the most formidable fashion figures in town, a power couple known for their flair, wit, and deep knowledge of ramen. The two perfected a highly coordinated style of international travel that incorporated shopping and dining on a detailed Google MyMap. Can you say #couplegoals?
Then they discovered La Lucha, a taqueria in Cebu helmed by an actual Mexican, a man from Oaxaca. Mano fell in love with the food and perhaps got a little too infatuated with the idea of bringing authentic, tastes-like-home tacos to Manila, which at the time was awash with very decent, but not exactly Mexican-run, taco shops.
“Early on, it felt like we needed the credence that a ‘Mexican in the kitchen’ would add to the story. It’s like how Jolibee is authentic,” Mano says, “because there’s a bee at the door.” After wooing La Lucha’s Jorge Barita for three years, they opened Lagrima in Legazpi Village, Makati in 2016. The 24-seater, done in minimalist concrete, quickly became the muy caliente neighborhood joint. A divergence in vision led the two partners to uncouple not long after, leaving Mano in a bit of a hole.
“We had zero recipes. Sales were at an all-time low, we lost a bunch of our team, expenses kept coming in. There wasn’t really any time to think about what to do next, we just needed to survive,” he says. He dealt with the problems one at a time, until they had a semblance of the menu back, leaning on the wisdom of his chef idols: “It’s like having a W.W.J.D. bracelet at every turn, but asking Rene Redzepi, Wesley Avila, Gabriella Camara, Gonzalo Guzman, or Roy Choi instead of Jesus.”
The pandemic held back the Lothos’ plans to open their second iteration of Lagrima in San Juan, but by December 2021, the place was finally unveiled—a larger, more stylized concrete box, with covid-friendly outdoor seating that is illuminated at night by the structure’s glowing façade. Lagrima’s legion of devoted fans, plus new ones from the area, made their so-called soft-soft-soft opening rather explosive.
“We’re easily at version 40 of everything. Learning, experimenting, tasting, adjusting. That’s just become how Lagrima works now,” Mano says of their nearly-six-year adventure in making tacos to cry for. Their refreshed menu features more vegan-friendly offerings alongside their earliest hits. Pickup and delivery, a mainstay from the pandemic era, is still available at a location in Makati. The only things that haven’t changed are the brand’s social media—so on point its toes are bleeding—and the obvious heart Mano pours into this cantina and the food that it serves, no matter if it is Mexican by way of a Filipino via California. Good food is good food.
The following has been edited for publication.
Mano with some of Lagrima’s best-sellers: (From Left to Right) Avocado Tostada, Horchata, Carne Asada Tacos, Jamaica, Crunchy Shrimp Tacos.Out of Print: How would you describe the L.A. food scene when you were growing up there?
Mano Lotho: It was very pre-internet. If you watched the movie mid90s that was my childhood. For the food scene? The things I remember a lot of were Filipino restaurants in the L.A. vicinity. On the flip side, my dad loved to eat and there were these corporate banker lunches that he dragged us along. I remember he took us to this fancy sushi place near Dodger Stadium and it was like $20 for a California maki. It was the first time I saw an actual Japanese person cutting fish in front of me. It was so cool to see that, you know? Before those kinds of things were available on Netflix or YouTube. There was just a lot of exposure to different things growing up.
When you were comparing your childhood to mid90s and the food scene you grew up in, it seems that it was less pretentious then.
That was the vibe I think. Whenever you’d hear about something, it was through word of mouth. You would know the stories of those restaurants before you’d even eat there. You got educated.
You’ve mentioned how you leaned on your culinary idols when you were struggling to keep Lagrima alive. What lessons did you learn from them?
Me and Daryl were just talking about this last night actually. So when you look at like a Roy Choi personality and seeing what about what he does stands out the most, for me it’s how he's brought so many other people up. It's something you don't really see in local businesses. If you look at the F&B scene here, it's paid by the blood and sweat of the service crews and they're kind of just brushed aside, you know? And I don't want to do that.
During the pandemic, people would ask me why I still had a service charge and I’d tell them that service charge can take your 25k salary to 34 or 36. That allows our staff to feed their kids or their brother who doesn’t have a job. And that's what I meant by following my idols. If you knew the verbal abuse everybody in the staff takes, the stress it takes to work at a restaurant, you would want them to receive that much money. I just want to copy these people and their good examples of how things can be done.
Mano Lotho: It was very pre-internet. If you watched the movie mid90s that was my childhood. For the food scene? The things I remember a lot of were Filipino restaurants in the L.A. vicinity. On the flip side, my dad loved to eat and there were these corporate banker lunches that he dragged us along. I remember he took us to this fancy sushi place near Dodger Stadium and it was like $20 for a California maki. It was the first time I saw an actual Japanese person cutting fish in front of me. It was so cool to see that, you know? Before those kinds of things were available on Netflix or YouTube. There was just a lot of exposure to different things growing up.
When you were comparing your childhood to mid90s and the food scene you grew up in, it seems that it was less pretentious then.
That was the vibe I think. Whenever you’d hear about something, it was through word of mouth. You would know the stories of those restaurants before you’d even eat there. You got educated.
You’ve mentioned how you leaned on your culinary idols when you were struggling to keep Lagrima alive. What lessons did you learn from them?
Me and Daryl were just talking about this last night actually. So when you look at like a Roy Choi personality and seeing what about what he does stands out the most, for me it’s how he's brought so many other people up. It's something you don't really see in local businesses. If you look at the F&B scene here, it's paid by the blood and sweat of the service crews and they're kind of just brushed aside, you know? And I don't want to do that.
During the pandemic, people would ask me why I still had a service charge and I’d tell them that service charge can take your 25k salary to 34 or 36. That allows our staff to feed their kids or their brother who doesn’t have a job. And that's what I meant by following my idols. If you knew the verbal abuse everybody in the staff takes, the stress it takes to work at a restaurant, you would want them to receive that much money. I just want to copy these people and their good examples of how things can be done.
“If you look at the F&B scene here, it's paid by the blood and sweat of the service crews and they're kind of just brushed aside, you know? And I don't want to do that.”
Did you mostly hear of horror stories about the state of the F&B industry during the pandemic or were there more inspiring ones?
More often than not, I heard cases where people were cast aside. You see people opening new branches during the pandemic and then you hear that some of their bakers haven't even been paid for two weeks.
I'm curious about your experience with online customers. Could you take me through that roller coaster?
You know, [photographer] Joseph Pascual told me I should tweet about some of the nice ones too. So now if I make a note, I do see there's more nice customers. Like an eight-to-one ratio. But there’s always this one person out of eight that’s just terrible.
And I mean, we’re only human, so even if it’s four or eight nice people, you still remember the one who wasn’t.
Yeah, I remember them and remember their fucking address. [Laughs] It’s been so weird also. Me and Daryl were talking about how this pandemic either made you a better person or made you even worse. I feel some people read that book The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck and just took it the wrong way.
A peak behind the counter: Mano jokes that Lagrima is in version 40. He’s been on a constant process of trial and error to capture the flavors of his childhood in L.A.
Was it like a test of patience for you?
At certain points I thought yes, our menu is a little confusing for first timers. So I'm also to blame. But yes, it was a test of patience also.
[Restaurants] do expose whatever your nature is. Even here at our restaurant, when I'm not here, so many bad things happen to our service staff from some customers. It’s not just online
How did you cope?
I don't know how I coped to be honest. I'm sure there's a price for it. Like I gained 20 pounds during the pandemic. I'm sure stress eating was a part of it. When I need to check out mentally, sometimes this burger and these cheese fries is my way of checking out, you know?
I think that's why I also kept working as a marketing consultant. I think that was my escape from the whole F&B clusterfuck. It’s nice to look at Excel sheets again for a change.
You opened Lagrima the same year you got married. More than four years into both, what’s been more challenging, running a restaurant or making a marriage work?
To be fair, both have their unique set of tempers. It does feel though that both run smoother the better I get at managing people.
Confronting expectations, getting across what you really mean, and also understanding how that’s a two-way street.
Four years in and at XX years old, the biggest thing I’ve learned is how much of that conversation has to be had with yourself.
It’s as if there are two people in me that need to have a talk. However good or bad that’s going has the biggest impact on who I am to Daryl and who I am to the team.
At certain points I thought yes, our menu is a little confusing for first timers. So I'm also to blame. But yes, it was a test of patience also.
[Restaurants] do expose whatever your nature is. Even here at our restaurant, when I'm not here, so many bad things happen to our service staff from some customers. It’s not just online
How did you cope?
I don't know how I coped to be honest. I'm sure there's a price for it. Like I gained 20 pounds during the pandemic. I'm sure stress eating was a part of it. When I need to check out mentally, sometimes this burger and these cheese fries is my way of checking out, you know?
I think that's why I also kept working as a marketing consultant. I think that was my escape from the whole F&B clusterfuck. It’s nice to look at Excel sheets again for a change.
You opened Lagrima the same year you got married. More than four years into both, what’s been more challenging, running a restaurant or making a marriage work?
To be fair, both have their unique set of tempers. It does feel though that both run smoother the better I get at managing people.
Confronting expectations, getting across what you really mean, and also understanding how that’s a two-way street.
Four years in and at XX years old, the biggest thing I’ve learned is how much of that conversation has to be had with yourself.
It’s as if there are two people in me that need to have a talk. However good or bad that’s going has the biggest impact on who I am to Daryl and who I am to the team.
“I don't know how I coped to be honest. I'm sure there's a price for it.”
What’s one unexpected thing that you miss most about pre-pandemic life?
My old daily routine. It feels like such a luxury now in the light of things. I used to wake up and head over to the commissary. After a quick check on things, there’s usually enough time to catch my parents next door for coffee. Then it’s off to the pool, all before lunch. Nowadays, I wake up at around 10, open the laptop and check for orders.
Is there anything you miss about your first branch in Legazpi Village?
Legazpi is such a walkable place, with parks and pockets of open spaces that somehow lends a chiller, more free spirited vibe to the regulars. I feel like it’s a little bit more business oriented here in San Juan, you know? Like I’m always being measured. But don’t get me wrong, I’ve also met some pretty amazing new regulars, cool San Juan kids and families that bring a whole new vibe.
When it comes to operating a restaurant, is the idea of surviving just dealing with one problem after the next or do you still have this goal in mind you’re working towards?
You know, at some point in the pandemic, I was joking around wanting to sell Lagrima. And then somebody actually contacted me about it. And we did the whole process, we got the valuations, etc. And I don’t… I didn’t work four years just to sell it for this much. And I thought, you know what, I’m lucky that my wife's my partner here, her best friend's a partner here, and my uncle is a partner here and they've never once during the pandemic asked if there was any dividends. So I told them that I think our new goal is to expand. I know we're back to just one branch but we'll try to get to at least three or four as soon as possible once the finances can do it. I feel the brand is worth so much more than this X amount.
It seems like you became more confident after that whole process, or at the very least, it made you more aware of what you had to do.
I was telling Daryl that the whole process was kind of sobering, but at the same time, we know we’re worth so much more. It's stupid to even consider selling your business for this much, because we put so much of our blood and sweat.
My old daily routine. It feels like such a luxury now in the light of things. I used to wake up and head over to the commissary. After a quick check on things, there’s usually enough time to catch my parents next door for coffee. Then it’s off to the pool, all before lunch. Nowadays, I wake up at around 10, open the laptop and check for orders.
Is there anything you miss about your first branch in Legazpi Village?
Legazpi is such a walkable place, with parks and pockets of open spaces that somehow lends a chiller, more free spirited vibe to the regulars. I feel like it’s a little bit more business oriented here in San Juan, you know? Like I’m always being measured. But don’t get me wrong, I’ve also met some pretty amazing new regulars, cool San Juan kids and families that bring a whole new vibe.
When it comes to operating a restaurant, is the idea of surviving just dealing with one problem after the next or do you still have this goal in mind you’re working towards?
You know, at some point in the pandemic, I was joking around wanting to sell Lagrima. And then somebody actually contacted me about it. And we did the whole process, we got the valuations, etc. And I don’t… I didn’t work four years just to sell it for this much. And I thought, you know what, I’m lucky that my wife's my partner here, her best friend's a partner here, and my uncle is a partner here and they've never once during the pandemic asked if there was any dividends. So I told them that I think our new goal is to expand. I know we're back to just one branch but we'll try to get to at least three or four as soon as possible once the finances can do it. I feel the brand is worth so much more than this X amount.
It seems like you became more confident after that whole process, or at the very least, it made you more aware of what you had to do.
I was telling Daryl that the whole process was kind of sobering, but at the same time, we know we’re worth so much more. It's stupid to even consider selling your business for this much, because we put so much of our blood and sweat.
You also referred to yourself as an “untrained Filipino cook who sells tacos.” I’m pretty sure the Mexicans who make tacos out of food trucks in L.A. did not go to cooking school either, but started their business out of necessity, and a desire to feed people. You started Lagrima out of your love for Mexican street food, but since the pandemic, you have been doing whatever you need to do to keep the business alive, keep your staff employed etc while still staying true to your purpose of serving genuinely good food. Has your vision for the restaurant changed?
Definitely. A lot of it stems from having to rethink what is essential, what is important, and what is Lagrima. I’ve mulled this over, a lot. At the end of the day, I think it’s important to stay true to what got us here. Be good people, serve good food. All conceptual bias and vision aside, I trust in that, regardless of what our future has in store.
It seems like you have a clearer idea now than you had then.
Yeah, even though it's so uncertain. But okay, I don't have plans past the elections.
Yeah, I think it’s fair to say that this whole election is one big existential crisis.
Like if things don't turn out so well, maybe I’d just really want to sell this and move to Portugal, you know? [Laughs]
Is there anything you’d do over?
I learned we shouldn't have done that much press when we started. We were in every magazine but with the load of people we were dying every night. But by the end of that initial wave, suwerte na kami if we could fill up the tables on a Friday. Too much too soon, I really felt at that time that this isn't it. This is so far from what we wanted to do.
But if I were to reset back to Mano of 2014, I don't think I would have done anything else. I don't think I would have been equipped to know otherwise. Initially, we wanted to do it because I knew food. But I'm not a trained chef. I'm not Josh Boutwood or JP Anglo, you know what I mean?
What do you mean by you knew food?
Like we ate in enough places and cooked enough. I fucked around food for so long, so I feel like I knew the flavor profile we wanted, but I knew that that shit wasn’t enough. And when the consultant left, he didn’t leave us anything. No recipes. So it was really that period of okay, let's really put our money where our mouth is and rebuild everything. And I feel like it came out even better.
We tweaked it a little bit to really be more about that memory of how things tasted when I was a kid in L.A. And I checked with my dad, I checked with my siblings, and for me, it was really getting back to that taste memory. Because it's so much more nourishing to eat something that brings you back to that time.
Could you talk about that idea of taste memory more?
It’s so lame but it’s like if the Saisaki buffet can taste the same as it did in 1994, then I’d remember our family being so complete and so together, when my sister was still alive and we were waiting in the buffet line just talking about how many plates are we going to eat? How many plates are you going to put down?
Our time in the U.S., as hard as it was, felt so happy in a way. When we'd be complete in the U.S., it felt happier. We’d all go to a laundromat on Colorado Street at 9 p.m. on a school night. Antok na kami while folding laundry but we were all together and it was just so happy.
You said that you knew food but did it change in any way when your original consultant left? What did you learn about food when you were left to your own devices?
It's really trial and error. So much of it was touch and go. It’s mostly that and relearning. We’re always revising things. Really learning how to run a restaurant. Learning how to make things last longer.
I don't know if lucky is the right word but it's great to hear that you were able to figure things out for a good period of time. You hear about a lot of F&B restaurants who only have like six months to figure it out and if they can’t, then that’s the end of it.
We were very close to that.
Early on?
Yeah, early on. We were in a big hole financially. We were in the red and it was only until my sister came on board to sort out the finances when things started to change. There were so many stories but once we fixed the major problems, we realized we were doing good.
It’s super risky to do this and I realized we’ve been as lucky as we’ve been hardworking. I know so many people who didn't get that chance [to figure things out]. They worked so hard and then the money ran out before they could figure things out.
When push came to shove, who was gonna wake up at six in the morning to make the carnitas? Who’s going to go to Guadalupe market to figure out where to get buche at 5:30 a.m.? It’s you.︎
Definitely. A lot of it stems from having to rethink what is essential, what is important, and what is Lagrima. I’ve mulled this over, a lot. At the end of the day, I think it’s important to stay true to what got us here. Be good people, serve good food. All conceptual bias and vision aside, I trust in that, regardless of what our future has in store.
It seems like you have a clearer idea now than you had then.
Yeah, even though it's so uncertain. But okay, I don't have plans past the elections.
Yeah, I think it’s fair to say that this whole election is one big existential crisis.
Like if things don't turn out so well, maybe I’d just really want to sell this and move to Portugal, you know? [Laughs]
Is there anything you’d do over?
I learned we shouldn't have done that much press when we started. We were in every magazine but with the load of people we were dying every night. But by the end of that initial wave, suwerte na kami if we could fill up the tables on a Friday. Too much too soon, I really felt at that time that this isn't it. This is so far from what we wanted to do.
But if I were to reset back to Mano of 2014, I don't think I would have done anything else. I don't think I would have been equipped to know otherwise. Initially, we wanted to do it because I knew food. But I'm not a trained chef. I'm not Josh Boutwood or JP Anglo, you know what I mean?
What do you mean by you knew food?
Like we ate in enough places and cooked enough. I fucked around food for so long, so I feel like I knew the flavor profile we wanted, but I knew that that shit wasn’t enough. And when the consultant left, he didn’t leave us anything. No recipes. So it was really that period of okay, let's really put our money where our mouth is and rebuild everything. And I feel like it came out even better.
We tweaked it a little bit to really be more about that memory of how things tasted when I was a kid in L.A. And I checked with my dad, I checked with my siblings, and for me, it was really getting back to that taste memory. Because it's so much more nourishing to eat something that brings you back to that time.
Could you talk about that idea of taste memory more?
It’s so lame but it’s like if the Saisaki buffet can taste the same as it did in 1994, then I’d remember our family being so complete and so together, when my sister was still alive and we were waiting in the buffet line just talking about how many plates are we going to eat? How many plates are you going to put down?
Our time in the U.S., as hard as it was, felt so happy in a way. When we'd be complete in the U.S., it felt happier. We’d all go to a laundromat on Colorado Street at 9 p.m. on a school night. Antok na kami while folding laundry but we were all together and it was just so happy.
You said that you knew food but did it change in any way when your original consultant left? What did you learn about food when you were left to your own devices?
It's really trial and error. So much of it was touch and go. It’s mostly that and relearning. We’re always revising things. Really learning how to run a restaurant. Learning how to make things last longer.
I don't know if lucky is the right word but it's great to hear that you were able to figure things out for a good period of time. You hear about a lot of F&B restaurants who only have like six months to figure it out and if they can’t, then that’s the end of it.
We were very close to that.
Early on?
Yeah, early on. We were in a big hole financially. We were in the red and it was only until my sister came on board to sort out the finances when things started to change. There were so many stories but once we fixed the major problems, we realized we were doing good.
It’s super risky to do this and I realized we’ve been as lucky as we’ve been hardworking. I know so many people who didn't get that chance [to figure things out]. They worked so hard and then the money ran out before they could figure things out.
When push came to shove, who was gonna wake up at six in the morning to make the carnitas? Who’s going to go to Guadalupe market to figure out where to get buche at 5:30 a.m.? It’s you.︎
Audrey Carpio is a freelance writer.