Time Is Flavor: A Conversation with Chef Alvin Ong from the Philippines
Bread has its own language. It speaks through time, temperature, patience, and failure. It cannot be rushed, and it never lies. For Chef Alvin Ong, from the Philippines, bread is a quiet teacher. One that mirrors how we grow, stumble, wait, and return again to the process.
DHOUGH | Worldwide Magazine of Dough and People
From a childhood memory of making puto in the kitchen to discovering sourdough through a book written for a very different climate, Chef Alvin’s journey is shaped by observation and humility. His story is about to dough, to time, and to where you are in life.
In this conversation with Dhough Magazine, Chef Alvin shares how bread found him, how mistakes became lessons, and why patience remains the most important ingredient of all.
Hi Chef Alvin! Can you tell us a little bit about yourself and how you first got into baking? Was there a particular moment or memory that made you fall in love with working with dough?
Hi, I’m Chef Alvin Ong, the owner of Levain Commissary, a food solutions business that provides convenient food items, breads, and pastries to cafés and restaurants in Manila and nearby provinces.
My first encounter with bread dough happened during culinary school. I still remember following the recipe so religiously that the dough became overly hydrated, and my chef instructor had to fix it for me. At that time, it really felt like a love-hate relationship.
The real connection came in 2019, when I started making sourdough at home. It began with curiosity and passion after reading Bread by Eric Kayser. I had already fallen in love with his bakery here in Manila, so when I saw his book on sale, I immediately grabbed it. That was when I learned about sourdough starters and decided to make my own.
How did your journey in the bakery world start to take shape after that?
Learning about sourdough opened a whole new perspective for me. What fascinated me most was how alive the process felt. I remember being puzzled when my starter turned sloppy and smelled sour much faster than what the book described. In France, “room temperature” meant something very different from Philippine room temperature. That’s when I began to understand that bread isn’t universal, you have to respond to your environment.
Do you remember your earliest memory in the kitchen, even before baking became serious for you?
Yes. One of my earliest memories goes back to when I was in grade 6. Our helper at home taught me how to make puto, a local rice cake. It was simple, but it stayed with me. That moment of learning something with your hands, it leaves an impression.
Was there a type of bread that first pulled you in?
I’ve always loved artisanal breads because of their depth of flavor and texture. Making a sourdough starter really became my main interest. Watching how it changes, how it reacts, it made me realize how sensitive bread is to time, temperature, and care.
Baking isn’t always smooth. Was there a mistake or a “happy accident” that taught you something important?
Definitely. One of the most valuable lessons I learned is that everything starts with ingredients. Know your source. Read labels. With sourdough, you only have two ingredients. There’s really no room to mess it up. Using traceable ingredients makes a big difference in the final result.
Was there a moment when you felt truly proud of your work?
During the pandemic lockdown, we held a bread sale. One customer came by and told me she had tried sourdough from many different places, but ours was still different, that’s why she came back. That moment stayed with me.
How does working with dough connect with the way you see life?
Dough reflects where we are in our journey, both personally and professionally. It teaches patience. We learn how to wait, how to observe, and how to value time. Time is flavor. And no two days are ever the same.
If you could speak to your younger self, what would you tell him?
I would say that making bread isn’t boring or overly structural like many people think. It’s science. Learn the ingredients. Learn the process. Everything comes down to time and patience.
It takes time and patience to make really good bread, it’s biochemistry at work. We get to where we are by doing the same thing every day, and doing it well. Bread rises, collapses, and rises again to become its best version. Every failure has a stronger comeback. Learn, relearn, and redo, each time a little wiser.
If you could only make one bread for the rest of your life, what would it be?
It would be our long-fermented, bubbly focaccia. I learned it from a humble bakery in London called Dusty Knuckle. The process takes a very long time, but it’s one of the best breads I’ve ever had, crunchy, chewy, soft, and versatile enough to be enjoyed on its own or as part of a sandwich.
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