There is a particular block on Adriatico Street where the dim sum places have closed for the night, the karaokes have lowered the volume, and the only restaurant still pouring soju at four in the morning is the one with the neon pig over the entrance. <strong>Zhubajie Premium</st
Zhubajie is the pig demon from Journey to the West. The chain that bears his name serves Korean pork. The joke writes itself; the kitchen takes itself seriously.
There is a particular block on Adriatico Street where the dim sum places have closed for the night, the karaokes have lowered the volume, and the only restaurant still pouring soju at four in the morning is the one with the neon pig over the entrance. Zhubajie Premium opens at five in the afternoon and serves until six the following morning, every day of the week, and the math of this — the thirteen-hour window of warm bone-broth and grilled pork belly between sunset and dawn — is the single most important fact about the chain.
The name carries a small joke. Zhubajie (猪八戒, Korean: 쭈빠찌에) is the pig demon from Journey to the West, the 16th-century Chinese epic — Sun Wukong's lecherous, glutinous, comic-relief travelling companion who was, before his demotion to mortal flesh, a celestial marshal in the Jade Emperor's court. The chain is unapologetic about the borrowing. The neon signage above the booth reads 猪八戒 in Chinese characters. The menu is in Hangul. The 24-hour pork stew the chain is famous for owes its lineage to a Korean recipe family. The fusion is the brand.
The first Zhubajie opened in 2020. Within three years it had two Manila branches, a steady following among in-bound Korean tourists, and a regular trade among the city's Filipino-Korean community — the cross-cultural niche the chain was, frankly, designed for. The Malate branch (the one Patikim is reporting on) opened in 2024 in a corner property at the foot of Adriatico Street; the second branch is in Pasay, near the airport hotels. Both branches keep the same six-hour graveyard window, the same red-lantern interior, and the same proprietary stew base.
"Voices from diners who slid into the cobalt booth and figured out the rhythm of the stew."— Patikim Editorial · Field Notes · 2026
Voices from diners who slid into the cobalt booth and figured out the rhythm of the stew.
"The praise that recurs is the praise of <em>depth</em>. Zhubajie is not where you go for the most theatrical Korean cooking in Manila — the city already has Sky Garden and the Bonifacio Global City branches of Sariwon for that."
"It is where you go because the gamjatang has been simmered the proper way, because the banchan range is generous and rotated, because the pork-belly cuts come with the white onion and the perilla leaves that the home kitchens in Seoul would expect you to know what to do with. It is a chain that earns trust."
"The criticisms — when they come — are about exactly what you would expect of a Korean chain calibrated for a Manila palette. The chili register is, by Seoul standards, modest; the spice-lovers will find the dishes mild compared to authentic Korean spice levels, and will want to order the spicy banchan tray to compensate. The VIP rooms are private but flagging down staff for refills is harder there than at the open booths. The happy-hour set meals (11 a.m.–1 p.m.) include unli"
"Zhubajie is the pig demon from Journey to the West. The chain that bears his name serves Korean pork. The joke writes itself; the kitchen takes itself seriously."
The name carries a small joke. Zhubajie (猪八戒, Korean: 쭈빠찌에) is the pig demon from Journey to the West, the 16th-century Chinese epic — Sun Wukong's lecherous, glutinous, comic-relief travelling companion who was, before his demotion to mortal flesh, a celestial marshal in the Jade Emperor's court. The chain is unapologetic about the borrowing. The neon signage above the booth reads 猪八戒 in Chinese characters. The menu is in Hangul. The 24-hour pork stew the chain is famous for owes its lineage to a Korean recipe family. The fusion is the brand.
A streetscape of imaginary 1985 Seoul, painted into a Manila corner property — brick walls, a 미니슈퍼 façade, vintage cinema posters, two frog mascots, and a soju-bottle wall that runs the length of the
A Chinese Name on a Korean Menu · field photograph
A Chinese Name on a Korean Menu · field photograph
Branches, hours, and the small notes that turn the first late-night booth into the regular Saturday.
A few notes from the field. The graveyard kitchen is the chain's quietest masterpiece — the gamjatang served at 3 a.m. is, by report, identical to the one served at 7 p.m., which is harder to do than it sounds. Order the set for four if your party is two; the leftovers reheat for breakfast and the bone-broth becomes the next morning's soup base. The happy-hour windows on weekday lunches are the value play if you do not want to drink. The Wednesday-Thursday 1+1 soju is the value play if you do.
And: the two frog mascots are the photograph. Do not leave without taking it. The chain's marketing department has, in our limited polling, never once denied a customer the request.
— Reported on a Saturday in May 2026 by the Patikim editorial desk. The gamjatang, in case you were wondering, was finished at 3:40 a.m. —
— Reported on a Saturday in May 2026 by the Patikim editorial desk. The gamjatang, in case you were wondering, was finished at 3:40 a.m. —
The Malate branch additionally has a row of private VIP dining rooms upstairs — sleek modern interiors with woven pendant lights, Manila Bay views, and table-for-six sit-downs that book for birthdays and the Korean-corporate-account dinners
