Tastes of Montreal

I’m slowly coming back to life, jetlag is not as overbearing, and I am sleeping through the night now. At work I’ve managed to get a grip on the emails waiting for an answer, and have completed some tasks that were waiting for me to get back.

Rifling through the papers I brought back, I realize I can’t find the menu from the last group dinner we had in Montreal. It was a lovely tasting menu from Europea, recommended by our hotel’s concierge. While the conversation tended to lean heavily on work matters, and some of our dinner companions were not welcome, the food was lovely and how I wish I could find the menu to rekindle some of the taste memories.

One aspect of fine dining that I never fail to appreciate is how much more you receive in terms of service and food than you initially need. You order a steak, but you also receive the amuse-bouche, and the palate cleanser and the petit-fours before you’re ready to return to the cold, harsh world. The service is attentive, and, within reason, accommodating. There is that sense of being coddled and protected, no matter how cold and wet it is outside.

Although the menu may be lost, I can pull out of my mental magic hat some of the more impressive moments of the meal: the foie gras that was pure velvet and cream on my tongue, not to mention warming to the blood; the goat cheese crumble, tart and nubbly, accompanied by that earthy walnut bread; the filet mignon of J’s, which was perfectly rare, and as tender to the cut of her fork as it was to the knife; the deer steak of T, an amazing learning experience of what game can be to someone who loves Bambi. And what is a tasting menu without the array of desserts: a cheesecake that wasn’t a cheesecake, the hint of lemon cutting the cloying richness, and an interesting sorbet full of layers and textures of fruit and ice.

On the more casual side, I did get to try three Montreal food groups: smoked meat, poutine, and bagels. I originally didn't appreciate the artisinal texture of the latter, as it is not the same as a New York bagel. But once I got to Sacramento and started sharing them, then a new way of looking at them emerged. The bagels remind me of the german pretzels I had in Munich last year, with a homey texture, a chewiness, and one friend commented that they taste different. So I'm not joining the New York vs Montreal bagel debate, if there is any, but I will enjoy them both.

Poutine was as I expected, gloppy. Fries smothered in gravy (listed as barbecue sauce) and cheese curds. Can there be anything less appetizing to hear than the word "curd"? Fresh cheese bits would be preferable. Poutine won't be on my must-try-again food groups, but it was a definite must-try at least once while in Montreal.

And finally, smoked meat. The phrase first made me think of a tough, slice of jerky, smoked over hickory chips and dried to a dark mass, good for long rides on a horse, following cattle. Don't know why that was what it evoked, but that's what I thought I'd be eating. Then I saw the real thing, and tasted it. It's pastrami! I thought, but softer, and definitely flavorful. The meat is marinated in herbs and spices, then cooked, either steamed or perhaps parboiled, before smoking it. It's tender, and lean cuts taste quite healthy (unless you're eating it with poutine). Good with a spicy mustard and dill pickles.

Katie's last day

Roseville, California. 86 degrees Fahrenheit. Sun blinding. Pool glittering.

I prefer an early morning swim in this weather. Nothing beyond 9 a.m., otherwise I'd need a sunblock of 100 spf.

This morning was reserved to watch Katie Couric's last day on the Today show. After over a month of tributes, the show took us through one more run through of KC's 15 years as the co-anchor of the premier morning show. My favorite moment was watching Tony Bennett sing The Way You Look Tonight and The Best is Yet to Come. I wonder if KC's cheeks hurt after having to smile the whole time, 3 hours of keeping a grin on your face must be painful. And can someone tell me what is eating Willard Scott? No wonder they pulled the plug on him. He was close to rude, especially to Al Roker.

The health issue is over, the sunlight is giving me back my strength, and not having to stress over anything is an added bonus. I was quite worried on Monday, not knowing if it was a simple illness or something worse. A test helped relieve me from one concern, but others must be pursued when I get home. A full health check.

There will be some weeks before I reconnect with someone at home. Time to see if new developments take us on a different path.

Wet, cold, bonjour from Montreal

It's cold, the streets are wet, my sandals are not doing my toes much good, and the sundresses I am wearing are sheer torture in this weather. Lucky I had brought some shawls, a few cardi's, and a quilted jacket. For the lower extremities, I have tights. But the whole wet and cold late spring wear is still not enough to stop this tropical girl from chilling out in a bad way. 10 degrees Celcius, with a wind chill factor of another minus 5, so it's cold. At times unbearably so.

Montreal has an underground maze, connecting all the hotels, including the one I'm staying in. But as it takes twice as long to get to the conference center or any of the major hotels where some of the sessions are taking place, it doesn't look like a favorable option when I need to get to work. Get soaked outside or be late inside? Quite a choice. Looks like taxis for me this week.

One of the best parts of attending this annual event is seeing friends I only get to meet once a year. JC is my roommate, so we are set for more bonding over chocolate and general gossip. Two of my favorite male buddies are here as well, both haven't changed that much, still as immature as the get go.

So far, we've had cocktails at a bistro made famous by Brando (Le Soubice), a creperie in the middle of the Vieux Montreal (probably too touristy for most, but it was a safe haven in the middle of a bad rain storm), and a Viet-Thai deli not too far from Place D'Armes. The only bagel I've had has been disappointing but will continue to hope for the best. And I have heard great things about the markets so I plan to try the Jean Talon and the Atwater (unsure of the actual name of this one but it's on the map) soon to buy cheese and other Quebec products.

Met up with R on Friday night. Probably not a good idea as nothing has panned out since we last saw each other. Looks like R doesn't want to communicate but I have left messages so it can't be said that I didn't try. C'est la vie indeed.

Friday looks the only day that I can visit the city a bit. I hope Julie gets time off to sit and chat. It's been years, and I think she has a baby. Will keep my fingers crossed that Carl and Weiya are around.

Brrr, must take a long hot shower and sleeeeep.

On the road again

Dear Diary,
I'm leaving on a jet plane, june 5 I'll be back again, oh blog, i love to gooooo....

Yes, am off to not-so-sunny Montreal tomorrow. Not yet packed, not quite organized, and anxious about avoiding certain people who I can't but really wish I could. Work! Pain in le derriere. Gotta practice my french!

Reminder to self: look for digital camera! get battery for said camera! delete pictures on memory disk!

Warm regards,
Moi

Subs

Last Sunday, Mother's Day to some, a day to waste for others, a bunch of thirtysomethings got together to be friends. We knew we had but a few hours of fleeting pleasure to be together and we didn't want to do anything serious. Frivolity was on the menu.

It's been sometime since we had had a Sunday lunch, our previous weekly binge fests had transformed into a once a month or impromptu text fest. That day, after fighting the winds of Caloy, we had the slightly damp look coming in from the rain. M, G, A and I were hanging out in bedroom, dillydallying over where to have lunch. We played a rerun of some oldy but goody tv classic, and spent more time procrastinating over what we wanted to eat. One hour later, we dragged ourselves back out into the greying light, and drove to Little Tokyo near Makati Cinema Square.

We had originally agreed to go to Kikofuji, where I had had a good lunch last Holy Week with J and J. But we probably should have called ahead, as Kikofuji was packed! Gills overflowing. The parking situation was our yellow light that we probably should have found someplace else. But we tried, and even had the support of a friend doing lunch there (thanks J!). To no avail though, so we had to go back out into the haze and find another outlet for our growing craving for Japanese food. Location wise, we were not at a loss for choice. If we had been on the cheap, there was Shinjuku or the grocery cafe around the corner. And next door were several similarly placed Japanese pleasure domes. So we went down the row and ended up in one of the other places, Seisoku (however, don't quote me, I must review the photos to get the name right). It was very empty, but unlike other empty restaurants, there wasn't a sense of despair and insecurity about its lack of custom. We also saw that they had a specialty - hand pulled noodles. I'm a sucker for artisinal hoohah.

With D joining us, we had enough stomachs to eat a cow. And the cow's four stomach's although I'm not that keen on internal organs. We ordered a range of dishes: grilled salmon, two kinds of noodle soup (using their touted hand pulled noodles), tonkatsu, a massive onigiri that reminded us of a cannon ball, agedashi tofu, mixed tempura, a boatful of sushi and sashimi, and lots of tea. We had a pleasant and relatively helpful waitress who did her best with our constant questions, and made sure we never ran out of anything. Kudos to Len. Food quality was a 7.5 to 8, and service was a high 8. Plus having the place to ourselves was a plus factor. We could enjoy the moment without dealing with other people's noise. If I had any gripes it would be that the serving of edamame left me wanting more. But it was enough to raise our expectations and not dampen our tastebuds. We didn't try any of the bathrooms so the review is incomplete. And in retrospect, while I didn't eat the tonkatsu, I was pleased to see that the pork fillet wasn't beaten thin as a sheet of paper and heavily coated with batter. There was a substantial piece of meat, thick enough and juicy enough. For the celebratory spectacle of the day, definitely the sparkler that came with the monster onigiri took the cake.

And after eating our fill, we all had dessert on our minds. Off we went to Razon's on Jupiter for sweet, custardy goodness. It was also gill-packed, but this time we stuck it out and got a table after 10 minutes of waiting. Much salacious talk ensued, perhaps all that food got our tongues wagging.

3 hours later, we were happy, fat, and ready to face our mothers.

Facing the end of something that was never real

How do you say goodbye? How do you end an affair? What words do you string together to make it easier for both parties involved? Does one put it baldly? Bluntly? Be cruel and cutting? Look down one's nose (hopefully with the right kind of curved beak suited for looking down on. A flat nose is just not apropos.) with a raised eyebrow? Point a finger at the door and say "begone"?

Then what do you do when the person you plan to cut dead writes you something that makes your knees feel like jelly? A simple sentence that stops you from ending it all, making you rethink whether it is time to cut it short. And then they tell you that your presence in their life is the only thing that makes them happy?

Taken with a modicum of salt, the idea of being a source of happiness is not enough to end the finality of the former decision. But it does delay the stay of execution. Maybe one more bite....

Losing my cockles

It was a beautiful morning, the sun slowly coming out of it's dark womb, the shadows of the mango tree hedging back, and the coolness gives way to a hint of warmth. I get up without incident, head downstairs to water the plants and enjoy the quiet of the morning.
By 6 I'm out of the door, fully prepared for the rest of the day. I get to the gym before the half hour, happy to avoid all the traffic and mess that will be building up in a bit. But that's where it hits me, it should have been so clear from the start that something was amiss. The tote bag was rather lite, but I didn't think anything of it until I was walking through the doors of the gym. I had forgotten my shoes at home! And I was wearing a skirt today. Gosh dang it and all the toned down swear words I could think of, it didn't quite look professional to be wearing trainers the entire day, plus it wasn't even my puma yoga shoes, but my ratty grey sneakers.
The only comfort I get from this is that the color of my trainers doesn't clash with my red and grey outfit. And as a friend told me this morning, I seem to be working it.

Another cloudy afternoon.. yesterday there was a bit of a rainstorm, and it looks to be the same. What a weird summer.

I had a semi-decent weekend, had to work so it wasn't quite as pleasant as all that. Plus my ego was damaged from a comment that someone texted to me. If it was from someone who mattered to me it would have been easier to take the criticism and it would have forced me to truly look at change. As it came from a relative stranger the major hurt comes from having someone make a judgement call before meeting me. Or maybe I had given the person too much of a leash to use against me. In any case, the hurt stayed on through the weekend. By Tuesday, a comforting comment by someone I shared the confidence with helped the healing process along and I was on my way to feeling normal again.

I am a puddle

Heat, this heat. Killing me. Brain cells dying. gah

I thought Puerto Princessa heat was just heat further south, therefore understandable. But the heat in Manila is just as bad, if not worse for being a few meters north and because I was on board a boat for a week and there was a breeze and I was not as hot as this foreffing'ssake.

Back to so-called civilization, hah. But I'm just suffering and feel the need to be bitter. Bitter about being back where the diving is at least 2 to 3 hours away by car, bitter that I missed out on seeing the hammerheads near the Malayan wreck and I'll need another year or two to go back to see those durn hammerheads. Post-dive blues. Woe is me.

On the upside a good friend is now married. Hope she married the right guy though. He should learn to smile.

And Friday, sweet Friday is not that far away.

Why does Citibank Visa think I need a credit increase? Aren't they making enough money off of me? Do they really need to tempt me with more debt? Yoiks.

A note before I go

Puerto Princessa, April 22, 2006. Weather - sunny, hot, too hot to stay outside.
We've arrived, waiting for the ship to cast off later tonight. A briefing at 6 will establish rules, regs, blah blah.
Am in room B4, Oceanic Explorer. I don't like the room much, prefer the rooms on the other side of the ship. This room is tiny, smells of gasoline (bought baking soda to absorb the smells), and I saw a roach. Bought Raid to kill roaches.
Doing email and blogging, too hot to go outside. May stop by Chowking for a halohalo before returning to the ship. Looking forward to the dives, although can't be certain that I can do all 19 dives. Will aim for a minimum of 4 dives a day though.
Received a heartfelt and passionate plea from S to meet in June. We'll see.
Won't have email for the next 5 days. Thank goodness. No cell coverage either. Must rely on my own resources and sleep. This will be a restful trip.

Will the second time be as charming?

I look at diving as one of my primary hobbies. I don't have too many vices, don't spend too much money on clothes and looking pretty. Diving is not cheap, and much of my savings gets siphoned off by paying for a trip or two. The equipment is an investment. I bought my suit, fins and other gear at the beginning and take care of them. I haven't had to replace any of them, although my short suit is languishing in the bathroom. I should sell it and use the money to pay for a trip!

One of the top ten dive sites in the country is Tubbataha. Better writers and photographers than I have written about the site/s, which is actually a set of dive sites located in the middle of the Sulu Sea. Among local and other international divers, Tubbataha is an ecological paradise, hard to reach, only dive-able for 4 months of the year. It has the blessings of many international environmental organizations, and part of the sustainable development there is covered by the WWF (not the wrestling silly-heads, but the group with the panda logo). Personally, my favorite part of the dives there is the presence of sharks and turtles.

The first Tubbataha trip I went on was in 2004. We had a small group of divers, many of them I met on the boat. We had a good divemaster who had amazing underwater vision, and could distinguish the smallest creatures and sight the big fish hundred of meters away. Our dives were punctuated by excitement over whale sharks, mantas, and lots of sharks and turtles. Each dive was unique, and it was a trip I will treasure for as long as my memory stays sharp. I can still visualize my first brush with the whale sharks, the first coming so close I could distinguish the pattern of her dappled coat and her soft eyes. The feeding manta that played by the boat for over half an hour, somersaulting till we grew dizzy watching it play. The school of barracudas parting like the Red Sea for the Israelites, closing back into their formation when we had passed. So many wonderful memories of that trip.

Tomorrow, I leave for another Tubbataha trip. Some of the fellow divers who were there in 2004 will be back. But most of the group are new to me. It will be a bigger group too. Less space to move around. I'll have a roommate this time. Won't be so easy to make a mess.

But whether this trip proves to be as memorable as 2004, I'm just happy to be going out of town. I need time away from the problems at the office, some new complications in my life, and family. I want to be where the most important part of the day is how many sharks were visible and preventing decompression sickness.

And should things go screwy, I am glad that a few of my important resolutions in life worked out this year. Good luck to me.

Holy popcorn batman!

I'm addicted, I admit it. They have made something I really like and would be happy to eat everyday. It would probably kill me if I did eat it everyday though. Holy Kettle Corn. Sweet but not caramel laden. Salty but not like eating a salt lick. Popped to perfection. Few, if any, of those annoying unpopped kernels that you get if you buy cinema popcorn.
I blame Carole, my friend who brought over three bags of the stuff to our group party in February. It was her contribution, but we had so much food that it was left unopened. She told me that it would stay fresh for a few more days. So in the post-party ennui, I opened a bag, and my stomach was hooked.
It doesn't help that there are outlets so near my office. I can go to the left of the building and there's a stand. To the right, there's another.
I buy the P60 bag, and eat it all in nearly a sitting. Sometimes two sittings. Then I lose my appetite for anything else. Would it be different if I were walking around and eating it?
It's supposedly healthy. But nothing that good can be a healthy snack. There's got to be a catch. Probably the only way it is a healthy option is if you eat three kernels.

Returning to old favorites with new faces

How many meals can you inhale over a weekend before it feels like any more calories would lead to a trip to the hospital emergency room? Not that eating is a bad thing, and some of my favorite bloggers fulfill my fantasy of a non-stop feast with some of their posts. But this last weekend does raise the bar on how much I ingested, and it was good food speaking to me, not some lowlife fast-food quest.

J, who's a restauranteur (although very low key and a somewhat reluctant one), started off the weekend by inviting me over for some of the cheese he swiped at a meeting. He said that it would be a simple meal, but I knew that his definition of simple and mine are polar opposites. He didn't disappoint. We had smyrna figs, walnuts, semolina cracked bread, olives and a good red wine to go with our cheese. Then he brought out the big guns, a chocolate fondue, made with 70% dark chocolate, along with a platter of fruit. Another friend followed bearing a trip of gelato samplers. We ate and ate, heading home happy at heart around 2 in the morning. I suspect my hangover wasn't too noticeable at the presentation I organized the next morning, but I could be wrong.

Saturday night, I had organized on behalf of a visiting friend of a friend, a dinner at Galileo Enoteca. After having had the pleasure of dining several times with friends including the famous Marketman lunch last November, GE has become a good place to drag visitors. It's so hidden and part of the fun is looking for it (although by now, I could get there blindfolded). Then they start to say how nice it is, and how they'd never figure it was there. Squeezing 10 when we originally reserved for 8 was also interesting. As usual, the reservation people there do seem to have a problem keeping details straight. I've had lost reservations, and last Saturday wasn't any different. They only had us down for 4, not 8 as I had requested. Conversation never slowed, must have been a good night for everyone, eating all the cheese and meat, pasta, and devouring every speck and lick of the dessert.

Sunday we had a day trip to Sonya's garden in Tagaytay, so I saved myself for a hearty and healthy lunch there, before spending a lazy afternoon being massaged. The evening found us on the balcony of Antonio's fully satisfied with the marvelous food, wine and ambience. It made us think of how to incorporate the place into a party next year. Ideas, ideas. Of course, when we were back at Sonya's, we may have amended the idea by considering having the event there instead, sharing a cottage with 20 of our favorite people.

T and L had not visited the other Antonio's franchise, so we stopped for drinks at Breakfast at Antonio to show the view to the visitors. A bit too much sugar detracted from the overall enjoyment of the view, the sun, the shakes. Was it ironic then that we should go off in search of the Ilog Maria Bee Farm, to buy honey and all the lovely products they make from honey and bee pollen? This was the third time we had planned to visit, so it was truly charmed. No one else was there and a moment of panic set in when we saw the Mondays closed sign. However, the store was very much open and we bought a good lot of things to try including the beeswax wood balm that I've been meaning to get. The idea of waxing my new sampaloc cutting blocks is making me feel very happy right now.

The last stop before returning to Manila was to try Manos Taverna, newly reviewed by Marketman and a few other bloggers. With few other customers out on the town on a Monday afternoon, we had to try as many of the dishes and found our favorites in the tsaziki and moussaka. The baklava was not as deadly as we had expected, but flavorful and nuanced with the clove and sprinkling of calamansi. It was perfect with my muddy and dark coffee.

We really couldn't eat anymore when we got back to Manila. We sat for hours talking, playing with the cats and just sliding towards laziness. What a lovely Monday!

Roach motels

Word of warning: if you hate cockroaches like I do, this post may be offensive to the eyes. Avert now!

I stayed overnight at a local condotel in Makati. I won't go into reasons for why I needed to stay there when I have a perfectly decent apartment. However, the day before I had been canvassing the condotel offerings in Makati and found that the Prince Plaza 2 was the cheapest of the lot, and they had a room available. I also know of the Prince Plaza through it's co-ownership by the ASB group which runs the BSA Suites and Asian Mansion. I can't say that all the ASB group hotels follow the same hygiene protocol, so this "review" only affects the Prince Plaza.

The rooms are sizeable, with enough room for three people to bunk, a small kitchenette and a refrigerator. Compared to the Somerset suites, the Prince Plaza is definitely downscale. The ceiling is starting to peel, the beddings look clean, but worn, and the bathroom could have used a new lick of caulking.

However, what truly grossed me out was the invasion of roaches. If you'd ever seen the movie "Joe's Apartment" you might get a sense of the number I saw of the tiny creepy crawlies I spied with my little eye when I turned on the bathroom light. Eeek. Double Eeek. I called Housekeeping and told them to bring the biggest can of Baygon. They fobbed me off. But as I didn't have time to look for another place to stay (and my visa had been charged already), I headed off to my appointment. Later that night, I had to use the bathroom. Holding my bladder in, I peeked into the bathroom, and saw a tiny speck moving around the toilet bowl. No, can't do this. But I need to pee!!!! Let's say it was roaches - 0, me - unimaginable carnage of bodies. But I really really had to pee.

I could have lasted the night had I not seen a few more of the specks out on the "dining table" whereupon sat some cups and saucers for a possible coffee break. Eck, no thanks, the specks were wandering higgledy-piggledy over the said tableware. Waiting in a corner for the sun to come out (ie not getting a wink of sleep) I left in time to get to the gym for a long hot shower (not before I shook all my things as vigorously as I could imagine, ready to stomp on any moving objects that landed on the floor).

If you got to this point and aren't feeling that sense of ants in your pants (or on your arm and back), then please, avoid PP2. Not unless you have fantasies of battling roach hordes.

Instead for the same price, book yourself a room at the new Hyatt in Manila. Probably not roach infested yet and, look, nice bay views!

Reunions

Over the last few weeks, I've had some pleasant reunions with people I haven't seen in some time. One friend Mark, left Manila last year, and came back on a business trip last month. It was lovely to catch up and we met his partner (Mark is truly in love, and glows to prove it) over dessert. Then a former schoolmate got in touch and we have had a few dinners again. Last weekend he joined our group on a day dive in Anilao. Probably the nicest reunited moment was seeing a former Alliance Francaise classmate of mine, strangely enough she hasn't moved and I just lost her contact numbers. So tomorrow we are having breakfast in Salcedo Market. I'm looking forward to hearing all her news, plus I hope she still bakes cookies!

Foresaking penguins for the sake of music and travel

A good friend lent me her DVD of March of the Penguins, a movie I've been dying to watch since it was released last year. I'd prefer to see it in an IMAX theatre, but a free viewing is better than nothing. She mentioned that the extra features were also worth a look-see. Last night was my planned Penguins night.

After getting home and having a quick ham and arugula sandwich for dinner, I turned the telly on, and got hooked on American Idol. Last night's show had the remaining contestants singing songs from the 1950's, and some of the songs are favorites of mine. But few of the contestants sang the songs with much panache. The one performance I fully enjoyed was Chris, the bald rocker dude, who sang I Walk the Line. It was the only rendition I fully enjoyed. Ace's whiny over the pop schtick ruined In the Still of the Night. I texted friends to ask why Ace is still around and all they could tell me is that he's got a nice smile.

Luckily the night's viewing improved when I found myself in the middle of the 4th episode of the Amazing Race. I'm glad the format has returned to the pairs, as I'm sure so many fellow race fans have mentioned. The hippies are a joy to watch, and although they get on my nerves, I'm glad Fran and Barry are still in it. I hope the nerds pick up the pace a little. I'm just annoyed that the jocks keep winning or staying at the top of the pack, and am disturbed by Lake/Michelle's improved standing. Haven't these people learned after 8 seasons that being ugly Americans doesn't help win the race? The mix of personalities does make the show more fun to watch, and you can't help but root for those you hate to mess up.

By the time I caught the first half of the race on another channel then the next episode of CSI followed by some decorating tips from Nate on Oprah, my penguin plans were long gone. Will it be tonight?

Thai tasting, a long night's slog

After weeks of trying to get a band of eaters together, I finally made it out to Som's on Algier St, near Rockwell. Recommended by a number of bloggers/divers/friends, I met up with two friends for a long night out of al fresco dining (complimentary diesel fumes).

Fine dining, Som's is not. It's a makeshift canteen the owners opened up in the front of their home. The neighborhood is residential, back of a long row of restaurants facing Rockwell Drive/Kalayaan Extension. According to one of my fellow eaters, the place has been around for years, as the owner/chef is a transplanted Thai chef, formerly of Sukothai restaurant, married to a Filipina (I wonder how many restaurants are set up in that same pattern: foreigner married to Pinay, opens up restaurant? I imagine a lot in this country.). Som's is the name of their child, but we weren't sure if we met the namesake that night.

We arrived before 7:30 and we were one of three tables occupying the raised sidewalk cum eating terrace. By 10 p.m., there were additional tables set up on the street and a good rate of takeout orders filled. On a Monday night too.

I had been told to order the curries and the ice tea. We also tried the tom yum, the phad thai, and one of the fried rice with shrimp and basil. Other dishes on the menu included a good number of noodle soups, chicken in oyster sauce, spring rolls, and fried tofu. The most expensive dish was P70, so you can eat a lot here and not spend a great deal.

Of our choices, the curries were a hit, I enjoyed both the green and the red, although I'll follow the tip to ask for it extra spicy next time. The Shrimp fried rice with basil was an odd combination of whole shrimp with basil in an onion slathered sauce with a scoop of white rice (not fried at all) and a fried egg on top. And the phad thai used egg noodles or some other rice noodle, not the flat noodles usually used for the dish. It was also strangely orange with not that much in terms of tofu/legumes/shrimp or peanuts. Not one of the better dishes.

I'd like to see more green vegetable choices, but knowing an inexpensive and tasty curry is available makes Soms a good place to return to. Note to self: wear pants or bring Off Lotion next time.

A book from the bin, 'bout baboons

National Bookstore in Cubao has a floor dedicated to their overflowing inventory. You scan through the bins and shelves and wonder why they decided to buy too many copies of How to Be A Cattle Rancher or Culture Shock for Dummies. Do they learn from their mistakes or figure that when it's time to cull these gems from their outlets, they'll find a special audience from those bookworms who visit Cubao.

I've gone there a few times, usually with a good friend who has a "To Be Read" list in the thousands of books. She combines the best of a bookaholic and a shopaholic. We get her updated tbr list every quarter to help her get through the list, as they tend to overtake her life a bit.

On my last visit, I came across a book called A Primate's Memoirs, by Robert Sapolsky. It lay on my bookshelf for a few weeks before I finally got around to reading it and within a few pages it has become a major part of my favorite reads of all time. I can see myself reading, laughing, and crying over Dr. Sapolsky's stories for years to come.

He writes of the nearly 20 years he spent in Kenya documenting the stress hormones of baboons. He shares his favorite stories about the baboons, detailing characteristics, quirks, social and anti-social behaviors. Every other chapter or so, he also shares his life with the tribes like the Masai, travelling around Eastern Africa, and his personal relationships with people who impact his life over those learning years. If Bill Bryson were a bio-psychologist and learned how to dart primates, then he'd be Dr. Sapolsky.

Laura Hillenbrand made me fall in love with race horses, especially Seabiscuit; now Robert Sapolsky has enamored my senses with his tales of living out in Africa with baboons. Books that get under your skin like that deserve to be on any favorite books list.

How to clean

Living solo is a lovely thing. Peace and quiet, no one to bug you about leaving dirty dishes in the sink, leaving personal messes all over the place, vacuuming ala Melanie Griffith in Working Girl (can't do it in stilettos though, the pain!). Or not cleaning for weeks if one can stand it.
However, I can't stand it for more than one week. Usually, my allergies (dust) tell me that it's time to get the broom, the duster, and the vacuum ready. Cleaning day is here!
Over the few months, I've picked up a few personal favorites in the cleaning arena. I like using Domex for general kitchen and bathroom surfaces. I like the multi-purpose nature of it all, grime, soot, muddy foottracks, mold, all flora and some er fauna that shouldn't be found in a modern day kitchen and bathroom, all attended to by one trusty bottle. Even when the floor isn't that dirty, but I just need to feel like the house is germ free, I get a bucket of water and cleanser ready for a 30 minute death to germy attack.
I also found a cheaper version to Swiffer, same idea with the flat duster with attacheable dust clothes. The dust clothes only cost P70 a pack from the NBC tent bazaar, unlike the more expensive version in supermarkets and hardware stores. As I stocked up last year, I'm not sure if the supplier still sells them for P70 a pack, so I guess I'd better plan to pay more for my next supply. I LOVE dustwipes, they pick up anything and the dust doesn't go flying around, especially up my nose where I start sneezing and wheezing. I use them to wipe the screens, window sills, doorknobs, all surfaces where dust will settle. I just wish Manila wasn't so dusty. I don't remember dusting this much in some parts of China.
And for all the other particles that just won't be dusted or washed out, I turn to the vacuum. Rather, my housemate's vacuum. Lucky for me, my housemate is rarely at home so I can feel like I'm living alone, but paying half what I'd be spending if I were living alone. His vacuum has lots of attachments and bits, which I rarely use. Give me the basic option which picks up all the nonsense that gets into the crevices and nooks. Even on a non-carpet floor, it's good to have a vacuum to suck out all the dustbunnies that grow in the dark.
A recent article I found in Real Simple magazine spoke about cleaning strategies like setting a timer so you feel motivated. My motivation's up my nose, when I can't breathe without sneezing, then I know it's time to turn into Charlady Warrior Princess.

Johari Window

Arena (known to self and others) intelligent

Blind Spot (known only to others) adaptable, bold, dependable, independent, knowledgeable, mature, self-assertive, sensible

Façade (known only to self) idealistic, quiet, shy, tense

Unknown (known to nobody) able, accepting, brave, calm, caring, cheerful, clever, complex, confident, dignified, energetic, extroverted, friendly, giving, happy, helpful, ingenious, introverted, kind, logical, loving, modest, nervous, observant, organised, patient, powerful, proud, reflective, relaxed, religious, responsive, searching, self-conscious, sentimental, silly, spontaneous, sympathetic, trustworthy, warm, wise, witty

Dominant Traits

100% of people think that Watergirl is knowledgeable
100% of people think that Watergirl is mature

All Percentages

able (0%) accepting (0%) adaptable (50%) bold (50%) brave (0%) calm (0%) caring (0%) cheerful (0%) clever (0%) complex (0%) confident (0%) dependable (50%) dignified (0%) energetic (0%) extroverted (0%) friendly (0%) giving (0%) happy (0%) helpful (0%) idealistic (0%) independent (50%) ingenious (0%) intelligent (50%) introverted (0%) kind (0%) knowledgeable (100%) logical (0%) loving (0%) mature (100%) modest (0%) nervous (0%) observant (0%) organised (0%) patient (0%) powerful (0%) proud (0%) quiet (0%) reflective (0%) relaxed (0%) religious (0%) responsive (0%) searching (0%) self-assertive (50%) self-conscious (0%) sensible (50%) sentimental (0%) shy (0%) silly (0%) spontaneous (0%) sympathetic (0%) tense (0%) trustworthy (0%) warm (0%) wise (0%) witty (0%)

Created by the Interactive Johari Window on 15.3.2006, using data from x respondents.
You can make your own Johari Window, or view watergirl's full data.

Student visa orientation in April and May

The press releases will be out soon, but I thought I'd scoop myself on this. My office will hold a US student visa orientation on April 1 and May 6, both Saturday mornings, for all and sundry. Speakers will be from the US Embassy's visa section, and we'll have homemade brownies and coffee.

Email me for details.

Office bonding for the month

At the start of the year, our organization's fearless leader decided that we would hold a monthly gift exchange, very much like an extended Secret Santa. We then came up with a list of the gift themes per month. As March heralds St. Patrick's Day, we chose green, but with a twist. I am now wracking my brain to figure out a gift, P50 or more, that is green + long! I've thought of scarves, ties, vegetables, but honestly, what I'd like is to find a gift I've stored away for recycling to pop up out of the blue, perfectly suited for the occasion.

I am a gift recycler. I dare anyone to say they are not. It started in 2000 when I began unloading all my 30 years of accumulated junk, selling off books, clothes, trivial things that take up space. Each year, when I receive gifts for birthdays and other events, I think of who I can pass it on to, as it's not going to be something I'd keep. I gave up a Palmpilot at one point. And I think the only thing I wouldn't give up is a free airplane ticket or something involved in travelling. Sometimes I feel like a middleman, sorting through gifts and deciding where one bit will end up, who it would suit, and making sure the gift doesn't go back to the same person (probably the hardest part. Always, ALWAYS, double check the first few pages of a book for inscriptions and love notes.).

I will spend the day checking for a requisite greenish/longish gift, then if all else fails, head to the stores for some leeks.

Browniesicecreambrowniesicecream ad nauseum plus musings

Did you ever have a day when you get sick of the smell of sugar? When you feel it's coming out of your pores, oozing out of every orifice?

That happens when you spend the day baking, and then eating what you've baked. In my case, it was making too many batches of brownies, testing the recipe until I found one I really liked, then doing another set for friends, and eating it with more chocolate and ice cream. Honestly, I was a walking sugar bomb by the day's end.

I won't scoop a fellow blogger on something she put me on track to last Saturday, but I got to try a new local ice cream maker and it was fab! Check out DessertFirst blog in the next few weeks to read all about the ice cream sensation.

Afterwards, I'll be on a no-sugar zone for a few weeks. Maybe a no carb zone. Oy.

Review: had dinner with friends at Behrouz over at Metrowalk. Prices were reasonable and the kebabs were decent. However, the owners need to update the restaurant innards (to use another blogger's favorite term). The walls need a new lick of paint, the seat upholstery needs to be overhauled, and the waitresses look slatternly. Even the menus look like they need to be dusted off for reprints. For the amount of food we had, and the price, we shouldn't have had to deal with the canteen atmosphere.

Am half-happy, half-bummed with the Oscars this year. I'm relieved that Ang Lee won the Best Director award. He should have won it for Crouching Tiger! I'm sad that Brokeback Mountain didn't win the best picture award, however, it was heavily hinted at the pre-show that something was in the works. It wasn't as big a surprise, I was far more taken aback when Roman Polanski won Best Director a few years ago.

Re-lent

Growing up, there were certain things I had to do during Lent: go to mass on Ash Wednesday to get my forehead marked with charcoal, give up something I liked (usually sweets or chocolates or food that made me happy) for 40 days, buy the palm to wave at the priest on Palm Sunday, trek around Manila to get our 14 churches pilgrimage on Maundy Thursday, try to sleep in on Good Friday because there wasn't anything good on tv anyway unless my mother strapped us in front of the tv to listen to the 7 Last Words, then look forward to ice cream cake on Easter Sunday. Year after year, that was my commitment to the faith, and it gave my life some form of structure and discipline which, I must admit, it sadly lacks these days.

Now, I am older, not necessarily wiser (more sarcastic though), and I have cast off religious convictions. No more Sunday masses, no more tithes, no more communion services. I don't find myself torn if I don't confess my sins to some anonymous male voice who tells me to say the Holy Mary 100 times for wanting to lobotomize my older brother when I grow up. The penalties for modern life don't seem too guilt-ridden these days, and I can breathe freely, except when on Edsa.

There will be as much sugar, meat and such over the next few weeks as I want or need. And when it gets too hot to even think about walking around churches, I will suffer inside with the aircondition on, reading about baboons (an amazing book I just picked up, reviews to come).

Faith is not about the structure and the frou-frou of palms, incense and atonement, it's about something that is planted and sown inside you by your parents, teachers, religious leaders, and the community. My seed withered away and I have not replanted it.

Memoirs of a wannabe (not) geisha

3 layers of robes, 6 belts, suffering-succotash my feet won't fit in those slippers, and 4 hours of trying not to take normal breaths. I haven't seen the movie with Zhang Ziyi (not Ziyi Zhang as those idiots in American entertainment tv call her), Michelle Yeoh, Gong Li et al; although the book was quite good and very entertaining. However, I can empathize, for Saturday afternoon, I had my brush with geisha-hood.

A group merienda at Kai was hosted by my food society in honor of the 50th anniversary of Japan-Philippines relations (a bit unassuming considering how much of an impact Japan has had on our history. And 50?! Who's bright idea was it to whitewash the real ties between our countries? But I digress.). A Japanese tea ceremony and a kaiseki menu was conjured up, and our generous Japanese contacts were kind enough to share tidbits of their culture with us (games, demonstrating the tea ceremony and telling us where to get little giveaways etc). One part of their generosity lay in lending us lovely kimonos, for the 5 committee members. A part of me wanted to ask the other committee members "When did the organizers ever have to dress up?" but I squelched my orneriness and went along with it.

To be frank, I was a bit worried. I'm not sylphlike. My bones are nothing like a china doll, and my feet are never going to be ready for a Cinderella glass slipper. My Chinese grandmother's peasant stock is in full bloom with me. But the other ladies on the committee said they'd already made arrangements with our clothes so nothing to be worried about. Ok.

I arrive early on Saturday, and am rushed into the dressing process by our kimono expert, who natters on with our primary Japanese host, in Japanese of course, about the kimono I should wear. I'm pretty sure they are bemoaning how I am to fit into any of the pieces, and during the course of my fitting, which takes longer than anyone else's, the running mental curse goes through me that I need to get back to my exercise regiment soon. The first robe I tried was a lovely purple piece but that proved to be a bit small. So I was given a dark blue with exotic orchids on them. After putting on the first layer of undergarments and then the robe, I was given my first taste of how hard it would be to breathe. The first belt was a thin rope to hold the skirt and top coat together - OUCH. I felt my stomach fat cells looking for new spaces to squeeze into. Then I tried on the kimono. It may look comfortable with it's gorgeous square sleeves and long flowing skirt, but believe me when I say that if you're not used to a corset and girdle, plus a backbrace all at the same time, then you won't find yourself too keen on the kimono. The belts, one on top of the other, pulling my gut, back and ribs together into one flat package. By the time the two teachers had me boxed up, I had a lovely golden green obi with these shimmery golden knots tied on the top and in the middle. I do love the box knot they use in the back, so elegant and puffy (and easy to destroy if you're not watching where you sit). It took me most of the 4 hours wearing it through the meal before I found a semi-comfortable breathing pattern (in my upper chest cavity rather than in my abdomen as my wont), plus I'd do a few plonks on the bullet-proof like obi when I got bored with proceedings. Maybe Japanese drummers should use the obi as a percussion instrument, it's got a nice thump to it.

I won't even go into the lows of trying to find a sandal that would fit. None of them did. So I ended up with my Happy Feet sandals instead. Heck it's got a wooden sole! And the flower pattern fit my robe. At least only one part of my body was feeling crushed.

Mindless of all my whining, I would highly encourage anyone who gets a chance to wear a kimono to do so. There's something about wearing a national costume of another culture that transforms you. I've worn chinese robes, American western wear, Thai and Vietnamese robes. Now I'll add the kimono to my list and look forward to another opportunity for international cultural advancement soon.

Me Movie Marathon

Last week I turned a year older, 36. And spent 5 days being lazy. Unlike years past, I didn't travel, didn't go to a museum or a play or an art show. Didn't buy new music or new shoes or new books (horrors). This year I saw movies, both on the big screen and in my jammies in front of the tv.
It began with Brokeback Mountain, birthday night premier. A flock of us went to Greenbelt for the show and didn't spend enough post-movie time chitchatting. I do find that I miss people who can spend a couple of hours talking about the movie after the film. My friends are nice and all, but they don't get involved in that scene, and I miss that kind of interaction. Even if they disliked the movie, I'd appreciate some comments afterwards rather than the yawns, discussion on who's riding home with whom, and plans for the next movie. Ah well.
Is there anything else to say about Brokeback? Reviews are out there ad nauseum, so go find it. Me? I liked it.
Thursday, I spent at home, close to 12 hours of cable watching. I truly felt braindead after, so kids, don't do this at home. What did I see: Day After Tomorrow, Harry Potter 4, caught part of Love Actually (they cut out all the good parts), and snippets of several really bad action films. And finally saw the first episode of the new season of CSI. Not bad but too many story lines. Had to watch it again on Sunday to catch some of the subplots. I knew Catherine had the hots for Warwick!!!
Friday - no movies, as we had the housewarming and belated birthday party. Going around getting things done, checking on the food, plants, equipment. Of course, last minute madness, what else is new. But the house is clean and smells of good things.
Saturday - late mornings, too lazy to go out and missed some appointments, nothing life threatening. I eventually rolled out in the late afternoon to meet up with friends for dinner and a movie. The original plan to watch Munich fell through due to timing, so we ended up in the hands of Pink Panther. My only reaction is I want my money back. Truly wretchingly bad. The few chuckle spots were not enough to counteract the flat story, B-class acting and insipid slapstick. Comedy is truly harder than drama.
Sunday - another late morning, but I have a new mattress to enjoy (finally! after months of suffering on that lumpy futon, my back is free to sleep comfortably), and headed out for another movie night with friends (same as above). This time, I had made prior arrangements and we got prime seats for Munich. A much stronger film than I expected to see, and violence galore. However, between Brokeback and Munich, I'm still rooting for the former at the Oscars. The story line was simpler, cleaner and less wobbly. Acting was equally strong among the predominantly male casts of both films. But given the political stance of Munich, it left me with a unsettled taste in my mouth; knowing what we know of the consequent actions in the Middle East, the movie could not allow for too many platitudes. But at one point I sincerely wanted some grievous action to take place against the protagonist. Just to end the movie!
Living in fantasy land is probably the last thing I want to do as I edge closer to middle age. But are the alternative options any better?

My First LP: Lasang Pinoy 7: Gising na! ALMUSAL!

My friend threw me this hypothetical and somewhat theoretical question: What would my first meal be in heaven (assuming of course certain religious affiliation and that I'd be awake and conscious and hungry when I got there. Plus do our souls need earthy food up there?)?

After much cogitating (or is it cogitation? More likely agitation of the brain.) I tossed out the lavish buffet, or the gourmet tasting menu. Instead, I chose comfort food, which to me means breakfast. Almusal, breakfast, is my comfort zone, where I see myself in pjs, tousled hair, a good book, and a looong morning ahead of me with no bothersome work or stress in sight. This would also take place in a white cottage, overlooking the ocean. After a few more zoned out drooling minutes, I chose the ff to be on my list for heavenly breakfast food:

1. Fried rice, heavy on the garlic, rock salt and that slightly burnt or perhaps better described as caramelized rice. You can't do fried rice without cooking it first, then letting it cool, overnight is best. So fried rice means patience or foresight, cooking enough quantities so that the next morning you can dump it into a hot wok filled with garlic, some butter and oil, but even better is the oil from pork adobo, which leads me to ....

2. Pork adobo. What did you expect, banana pancakes? I like mine of the oily but saucy variety, the kind where you know the cook had enough soy sauce and vinegar, bay leaves and peppercorns, plus a good cut of pork, stewed hours until the pork bits are nicely soft and melt in your mouth good. Again, adobo tastes better a day or two after it's been cooked, so this breakfast isn't going to happen without some heavy planning. Heaven should be the right place for it.

3. However, I realized that I'm more a fish person and what I sometimes crave for at breakfast and don't always get is a good sizeable serving of crispy dilis or dangit whichever is available. Where I go for my crispy dilis moments is Via Mare, where they have a breakfast plate of fried garlic rice, crispy dilis (and an small dish of spicy vinegar) and fried egg.

4. And who could forget the egg when it comes to breakfast. When eggs were created (probably in some heavenly or utopian environment) the egg maker must have looked at it and said "thou shalt be breakfast food" and so it was. It is the perfect food, lots of nutrition, and tasty when cooked right or with the proper accessories. Everyone has their way of eating a fried or soft-boiled or poached egg (my favorite ways of cooking an egg in order of preference). My way is a throwback to my childhood, two eggs, sunnyside up, with a runny yolk to cut into the rice, spreading its golden goodness into the garlicky, slightly salty and oily rice. That alone is worth the price of dying of clogged arteries. Add some tiny chillies for a zing on the tongue, with a splash of soysauce if the rice isn't salty enough.

To go with this medley, I'd choose two beverages: a freshly squeezed glass of orange juice, pulp please. Yes, it's not true blue pinoy, but OJ transcends national borders. And to make the meal complete, a large cup of grainy, dark, bold tsokolate ah/eh/i/o/u. Thick and viscous, leaves a trail down my palate, and enough remnants to make me hungry for more a few hours later.

That would be my heavenly meal. My almusal, and my earthly delight.

Fiber Friday

Losing weight is full of traps. Can't eat this, that, everything tastes like cardboard, costs money, count calories, steps, burn baby burn those fat cells. Honestly, the only people who lose 20 lbs in a month are those who can afford the cost of a two hour personal trainer per day, plus the time not to do anything else.

But as I'm not into losing weight just to drop the pounds but to get a grip on my health (diabetes lurking in the background), one aspect of the eating part of this process has been to increase my fiber intake. I try to have oatmeal three times a week, started adding flaxseed to my chocolate milk or in addition to my oatmeal, and now, took off with my dad's one month supply of psyllium to take before my meals. OR after! To push out whatever's stuck I hope.

I remember having a talk with a friend, she of the allergic to all and sundry eating temperaments and licensed nutritionist to boot. Her advise was to check the ratio of dietary fiber to carb notes on food nutritional tables. She said that the healthiest ratio was a 1:4 fiber-carb. So I look at my lunch today, a pack of chilli, with 9 fiber carbs to 30 total carbs. Pretty good ratio there. I should feel pretty full with just one serving. And hopefully it will taste ok.

Will add my review later. For now, off I go to the fiber feast.

Weekend musings

Friday night, post-family dinner in an overpacked chinese resto in greenhills, I met up with three total strangers to play poker. I've become a semi-fan of watching poker on tv. After thinking what a waste of time and it's so not a sport so why are they showing it on a sports channel, I've started to see the light of day. When the shows on that cable channel pop up while I'm huffing and puffing away on the treadmill or elliptical machine, I stay on it, and usually find myself 800 calories lighter (1.5 hours of watching tv does help burn the fat!). I don't get all the details yet (some of the flops and combinations or the high card still confuse me), but trying to figure out how people bet and whether or not they'll be put off by bluffers is far more interesting than watching stupid sitcoms.
I found my fellow poker buddies online. M posted on a bulletin board, and by chance I saw it, and offered myself up to a game. We played late into the night; two of the players were far more expert than the other two (I'm in the latter half). By night's end I had won a tidy sum, mostly from getting decent cards, and a few good bluffs. Still have to practice checking and betting though.
Saturday, long and hot day walking around Chinatown, trying to listen to Streetwalker Ivan's tour insights. I think I need to do the tour a few more times so that I can memorize where the food stops are. My favorites are still the authentic Northern Chinese dumplings, and I enjoyed the two airconditioned restaurants for sheer comfort. I'll have to go back to that stall that sold cold Taiwanese noodles and try to find that crispy baozi stall again too. And our last stop to buy fresh amoy lumpia was a refreshing end to the eating tour. Anyone who wants a culinary trek around our town's Chinese enclave, check out Ivan's Binondo tour.
Sunday, too tired and lazy to get out. I had a full day planned: CCP open house to catch the Bayanihan and Madrigals, then a short volunteer stint for PAWS at the Chinese New Year Dog show over at Eastwood. Instead, I wore my jammies, robe and watched cable and a couple of DVDs. Bah, one less day to do nothing.
Monday, it nearly turned into another Sunday, but was saved by my impromptu bathroom cleaning stint. Then caught the SAG awards before heading out to buy supplies. Of course instead of just stocking up on necessities, I ended up picking up some non-essentials (distinctly unhealthy non-essentials; the only bit that I chose not to buy was ice cream as it would have been a puddly mess by the time I finally got home). Walked around the bazaar, found few attractive tidbits among the rabble, and with a headache the size of Mars bearing down on my temples, headed home for some dark, cold quiet. It was a unpeacable end to a lethargic two days.

I heart pears, and other fruits too

Bought 12 pears yesterday. Ya pears, as they are labelled, or as I know them, chinese yellow pears. The pears my dad would bring just for me from Taiwan and China, because I was the only one amongst us who loved them more than the oranges and apples strewn around the house (not that we had dustbunnies of fruits, but we've just had years where nothing else was in the refrigerator. And yet, we're all overweight. Hmmm). I remember breaking a saucer after trying to halve a pear. Biting into my first Bartlett and feeling sadly disappointed (I like the crisp crunch of the Ya variety); but falling in love completely with the tart sweetness of the Anjou with it's aroma and grainy mouth feel. I've poached them in wine and in cider, yet a fresh, cold pear still takes the prize.
Other fruits that make me happy, dance for joy happy: white peaches (to die for in their peak, the aroma opens my salivary glands and I devour all I see in my path), bing and queen anne cherries (my favorite farmer's market find in the Northwest when I go to the US for summer), strawberries (wild sweet ones, and even the steroid mutants that don't look like fruit, more like Arnold Schwarzennegar-styled red pillows. Those I'd rather eat dipped in chocolate to avoid looking at all their muscles.), fresh blueberries, and sweet oranges. Lately, I've bought several Taiwan oranges in the Salcedo market and they've been wonderfully sweet. Eat them standing up watching traffic without the lights on, and you'd think you were anywhere but Manila.
That's not to say I avoid local fruits. Seasonally, I'm a sucker for the best mangos, duhats (with a sprinkling of salt to make them squishy), siniguelas (spelling? ditto on salt especially when not so ripe), lanzones, and our native bananas (who in their right mind wants to eat those cardboard clone bananas from some multi-national farm company without any flavor when we have so many good fruits around). Pineapples (with salt), papaya (with a squish of calamansi), and Calamansi of course. Dayap and Dalandan make our lives a whole lot better too.
Living in China, I found a plethora (love that word, Plethora, pllllethorrrra) of no-English-names fruit. A mutant orange that I finally found out was the kumquat (edible skin, not so edible innards, but just a nice combination of sweet and sour), some kind of berry with red spokes clustered around the seeds. Really good and haven't seen them anywhere else. And lychees, luckily they're known outside Asia too. But I found out that they raise too much heat in the body, that whole yin/yang thing. So I can only eat a few of those tasty morsels.
Huh, I just met someone who's never heard of papaya. Deprived soul!

Is it Friday yet? Is it? Is it?

Wandering down Ayala Avenue or nearabouts, I was musing on the movement of the days through the week. It's a good way to waste time while fruitlessly flagging down taxis in a drizzle (what's up with the weather? Rain? in January???). So, everyone agrees that Mondays are a drag on the psyche, Tuesdays and Wednesdays seem to be middle of the week days that are just there, plonked. By Thursday though, all thoughts flit to the weekend, and like the annoying child in a long car trip, we start thinking of ways to waste our weekends, harassing our ulcers with shindigs and preparations. Fellow procrastinators would also agree that by late Wednesday, all sorts of mini-anxiety attacks start to creep up over the petty things pushed off from Monday to Tuesday and now it's the end of Wednesday without anything to show for it.

5:33 and counting

While waiting for the end of the day, looking out the window panes and shirking from any thought of going out into the open while it's drizzling, reading through blogs about everything I can find, and avoiding edible temptation over by the office pantry, I realize that it's time to update this blog. Golly gee, 13 days since my last post or two. Time flies, it'll be christmas again before I realize it.

Financially speaking, January is the biggest bummer. I've get a debt load to sink the Titanic, yet I'm smiling through it. Will not allow MONEY pull me down. But I must rethink my plans. Hong Kong and Macau will probably be scuttled. An offer to join friends for an authentic Songkran trip to Chiang Mai will probably not work out either. And if the work trip to Montreal doesn't get sponsorship money, then I'm down to Mongolia. And I'm invested in Tubbataha, though I suppose if I had to, I'd probably step back from that just to save money for Mongolia.

I'm also going to depend on the family car a lot more, to save on transportation expenses. Fall back as cabs cost cash. And avoiding eating out is a good thing. The occasional food trip isn't a bad thing, simply a more concerted effort towards finding options. For example, a free day at the CCP this Sunday, a tip care of fellow blogger and streetwalker Carlos Celdran, will be a better day option than wasting time and brain cells in the mall or watching insipid films (Cheaper by the Dozen 2, or Underworld. Straight to dvd for both of you!).

But speaking of films, I was glad to see another post in the blogosphere that Brokeback Mountain will be opening soon. After some detective work, I've texted friends to join me in mid-February for a movie night. I'm looking forward to seeing the film. Would like to find the short story, but it's not on any of the published short story collections of Annie Proux available in local bookstores. If anyone has a copy, let me know.

Reaching through the virtual void, I've also made contact with fellow poker wannabees, and should have an actual poker night one day. Looking forward to that. Will probably loose my shirt. Am too cautious a gambler to make the bold moves needed to win big pots. Watching the game on cable, I find myself thinking how ruthless the winners are, something I'm not. I'd just enjoy meeting people, eating bad food, drinking some wine while losing all my money.

I have hazelnuts! From another blog, plans are afoot to make homemade Nutella. Wonder if that's a good saleable item? Nah, it's too easy to get the commercial version in the markets.

Cable is evil. I haven't opened any of my new books since the cable was installed. All I end up doing is turning on the tv and watching people do silly things. And thinking of all the unhealthy things I'd like to eat while watching the adolescent shenanigans. There does seem to be a correlation with the amount of time I don't get to spend cleaning to the hours lazying on the sofa watching telly. I'm turning into a slob! Vicious image indeed.

What I do for a living - 1

I've tried to keep this blog free from work related information since I'm surrounded by the stuff all the time. But in the interest of helping anyone out there who might need to access the information, I'm going to occasionally put up a notice or two about some US school related information.

The Fund for American Studies in partnership with the University of Hong Kong and Georgetown University created the Asia Institute for Political Economy in 2002, as a platform for academic and cross-cultural exchange. It aims to be the premier Asian political economy program, and directs a cohort of 60 scholars from all over the world on the issues affecting the region's dynamic structure. This year's program will be held from July 28 to August 19 in Hong Kong. The deadline for applications (online) is March 15, 2006. Visit www.tfasinternational.org for details, applications, and funding related matters.

The amazing Christmas and New Year Diet

6:20 a.m., January 10. I walk into the gym, half awake after rousing myself up from a deep sleep, dreaming of dried thigh (too strange to put in a semi-public forum like this, so believe me when I say it was one of the strangest dreams I've had in awhile, and I'm on the top weird dreamers of this century), too groggy to think beyond putting on my gym clothes and staggering downstairs to the waiting car.

I fiddle with the locker, not noticing the lock's not really locking in place, put on my monitor, but decide instead to do a last minute weigh-in before sweating out my built-up toxins. I fiddle with the scale, moving it between the marks. It's too heavy. Move it lower, still too heavy. Move it back two pounds lower and viola, a perfect balance. OMG, I lost weight! Wow. And it doesn't sink in until after lunch.

What a great way to keep going on the path of health. I just wish I didn't have to spend two hours exercising each day and avoiding all the good things in life: chocolate, ice cream, and more chocolate. And a big bowl of fried rice with taba ng talangka (crabfat).

End of the year resolutions (tick tick, tick, tick)

What do you do when you have nothing to do? You complete lists, wait till the last minute to finish a food diary for the weight management trainer who is expecting you at 12 (it's 11:30 a.m.), and read through blogs.

Today is the official last day of work. Other than a legal matter that has gotten my bloodpressure up, it's a quiet day of nothingness. A column of sunshine broke through the grey gloom of this unnaturally wet season this morning, making me hope that the day would prove as cheery as a summer's day. But the weather is playing bah humbugs with us, so it's back to sheet metal grey outside, threats of rain.

6 hours to go before freedom. I feel like a school kid waiting for the clock to strike before the start of the summer holidays. Why can't adults get summer holidays, two months off for every ten months of work? You can choose which two months to take off, most might choose the summer, but I'd travel between December and February. If I wanted heat, I'd head down to Australia or New Zealand, maybe South America. If I wanted winter, there's all of the northern hemisphere to choose from.

I resolve not to have any 2006 resolutions. Instead: travel plans! February - Macau and Hong Kong to see friends, a friend's new baby, and to eat good bacalau, and a dimsum breakfast like only Hong Kong can do. May - possibly Montreal, with an option to trip through Boston and Dartmouth, maybe a side trip to California. July - MONGOLIA!!!! I can see it now, roaring hooves, flying arrows, gurgling songs, yak butter.... Roaring hooves! Camels! Yurts!

Two domestic trips lined up: attend Myra's birthday in Zamboanga and then soon after do my second Tubbataha trip. Both in April.

2005 was a year full of friends. We had a new crop of people join the eating group. I finally got friends to start diving, and I moved house. School was both a positive, as I finally took the plunge back into an academic setting. But it hasn't proven to be the program I want to stay with.

Onward ho to 2006 (roaring hoov....)

Simbang Gabi

4 a.m. masses, churches are packed, and the only reason for going is to bring two new-to-Manila folks for something seasonally specific. Luckily both visitors were Catholic and also didn't mind standing for over an hour. We left the church, a little holier (ha!), and went outside to look over the available drink and food. But neither visitor felt in the mood for heavy starch, so all we took was the free salabat.

The church was one I had gone to as a child, rekindling memories of Sunday masses, walking home one January (I was 11, and the family were going to lunch for my brother's birthday. Everyone in one car thought I was in the other vehicle, so they left. I walked home, and they all came streaming back aghast I hadn't just waited in the church (what the heck was I going to do there?). My brother's never quite forgiven me for the ruined birthday lunch.), and sitting through sermons bored out of my mind. The altar is a bit more gilt than I remember, a friend told me they have renovated it recently. All that new rococo doesn't quite fit the stark modern lines of the ceiling. It looks out of place.

Instead of having our early morning repast after mass, we joined a friend's family for breakfast at Dulcinea. I had a filling chicken galantina breakfast, but later in the afternoon, I felt like more breakfast food, so had corned beef with atchara. Of course we had churros con chocolate, what is a visit to Dulcinea without Ch con Ch?

Water up my nose

A friend emailed me saying how he doesn't like snorkelling after he swallowed a mouthful of salt water. Guess he won't be intested in diving either. Don't know how many gulps of seawater I've ingested on dives these past 4 years. What more my dive instructors and dive masters who have to do this for a living!

I thought of his comment after getting some chlorinated water up my nozzle this morning. Early morning swim, felt a bit brisk today. But I did take in too much in one gulp at one point and spluttered to a finish. Gack! Honk! Snort! Thank goodness no one else was in the pool with me, or I'd have felt like some surfacing hippo shaking off the mud and messing around the shallows.

Duty calls. Books need sorting, boxes need to be shelved and I have to make my desk semi-presentable. bore.dom.

It's all water weight, or pms

Losing weight is hard to do. That should be a song title.

I've been on a 8 week weight management program that incorporates weekly meetings with a trainer focusing on food intake, regular exercise, and one-on-one contact that we all sometimes need to get our butts out the door. After 4 weeks, I've lost less than 2 lbs, gotten sick for close to an entire week, but did feel more motivated about going to the gym, even at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m. The extra challenge here is trying to avoid gaining weight over the holidays, with parties practically every day, if not every meal. One major positive aspect has been reviewing the food intake and feeling mildly shocked at how much chocolates and sweets I was eating. One chocolate here, a couple of cakes there, boy do those things add up. I never thought of myself as a major sweettooth, but may have to revise my assumption. Can't remove it all from the diet, and wouldn't want to, so I'm using my old training tips: behavior modification and harm reduction. Plus the trainer hasn't stopped me from having any sweets, she has suggested reducing it, so it's been easier for me to hold the line. What I'm having a harder time doing is reducing the rice and starch. I love rice, it's such a comfort food. Pasta and bread too! We'd have to eat such dull, spiceless food if there wasn't any rice. No sauces, no drippings, no gravy too. Life is too negative already to remove all the good things in life.

I was at Powerbooks for a quick walk through and found a signed first edition of Peter Robinson's STRANGE AFFAIR in the sales bin, P199.00 only. I'd read another of his books (A cold season? or something like that) some years back. His mysteries revolve around a team of police investigators up in Yorkshire, England. All I know about England, I learned from mysteries. Well, not exactly, lots of PGWodehouse in there too. And Monty Python. Yikes. Ok, so a bulk of what I know about the UK is from fiction, and some writers are better than others about describing the dells and the vales, alongside the seamy underbelly of London or whatever city they plonk their protagonists in. Right, so back to Mr. Robinson. As the book was released in 2005, I do think it's one of the better buys I've made recently, among the number of first editions I've picked up. Am I going to fall into the condition called Gentle Madness by Nicholas Basbane? Pulling together a personal library of hard bound firsts? Nay, I say! I like my frumpy, frowsy soft bounds with rubbed edges and frayed paper. It says that I read my books. To heck with future value. My friend who covers all her books and color coordinates them may say that I'm wasting good money, but as we disagree on many issues related to investment, and as she's into financial planning she's probably right, but I'm not and to heck with all those who keep nagging me to put up my nest egg!!!!!....

So I was very pleased with my purchase, and the book was a decent story told. The primary detective DCS Alan Banks loses a family member to Eastern European slave traders. There are moments of intimate tragedy, intensity that is sometimes lacking in some other writers.

A book critique: Citizen Girl

While waiting for a spinning class yesterday I popped into Fully Booked where a few books were on sale at the front of the store. As I forgot (consciously?) my book bag, I justified my purchase by saying to my stingy self "It's a sale" and got two books - Citizen Girl (E. Maclaughlin and N. Kraus, of Nanny Diaries fame) and Birds Without Wings (Louis de Berenieres' latest). I also picked up the latest Stopover edition as it had a number of articles related to diving, particularly in my favorite dive spot, Anilao.

I finished reading Citizen Girl by midnight, not because it was that compelling, although it was relatively short. If I were to compare it to the other forms of chicklit I've come across, I'd say it had some interesting sidenotes (morality in the face of commercialism, and maintaining one's integrity when dealing with issues affecting women's health and safety). However, I became increasingly annoyed at the endless plot twists, the unnecessary inclusion of the Bovary client and Los Angeles section (the book could have ended 50 pages earlier), then the new company which, I suppose, was the straw that broke Girl's back, but the twist was not very exciting anymore. I just wanted it to end. And so I sped read through the last ten pages.

I've collected all of LdB's books thus far, so I'm looking forward to reading his latest, even if the reviews weren't as good as Corelli's Mandolin. I miss his prose as well as Vikram Seth and Michael Ondaatje. I hope all three authors continue to write, reviewers bedamned.

Starve a cold? Feed a fever?

I am officially in a cold funk. I had a "sipon" (drippy nose) last friday, which disappeared Saturday, only to return full force on Sunday, and now on Monday I am forced to keep blowing, occasionally yawning as my right ear clogs up from the pressure. Urgh. I hate colds, hate being sick. I'd like to be sick if I were in some luxury spa, pampered by attendants feeding me stuff, fanning me, bringing me books, tea, a cookie or so, then off to the massages for a toxin-reducing session. Repeat. But no, I'm here at work, trying to figure out how to send a million emails while my head feels like a clogged drain.

Last night I made the mistake of staying on at the Greenhills Shopping Center after my hour at the gym. I went to Bizu for a late breakfast of eggs benedict (the waitress kept on saying "what? what?" when I said eggs benedict. I had to point it out on the menu before she understood. Good heavens, don't they teach their waitresses how to read the menu?), a large pot of tea, and then succumbed to getting three of the macaroons: chocolate (rating 8 out of 10), vanilla (5 out of 10), and rose (for color - a 9, taste a 7.5). I will definitely get more. After my meal, I looked for a cab, and kept looking. After one turn around the entire mall, with a few stops at possible taxi lines, I gave up and called in a taxi service, extra cost bedamned. If I go back, I'm going to have to make sure to bring my sneakers so I can just walk back. The aggravation would kill me if I let it. As it is my cold may be the result of my having inhaled too many fumes looking for a taxi.

Hooray! I've just found my stash of Vicks Vaporub. There's nothing like a dab of VV to get my sinuses flowing. I feel less stuffed up already.

Friday, bloody Friday

Wow, a second post in two days, that's a record for me. But I find myself with time on my hands (even though I have a lot of emailing to do) and a runny nose, good enough reasons to blog.
I got a phone call/Skype yesterday from friends in Moscow. Let me clarify that, a chinese guy, a lebanese girl, a bolivian fellow, and an american chick, hosted by a belarussian called me from Moscow. I like that. The corners of the world together in one spot. So I was meant to be with them, but one thing or another kept me from going. We planned to Skype and it worked. So I had this lovely call session from them and missed them a lot. Frank was just being his normal hyper self and kept interrupting (grr Frank, let a girl get a word edgewise), even when we had a sidenote talk about books on my reading shelf.
Last night, I accompanied Alen to the cocktail reception of the condominium developers with whom he's invested. So-so food, and we made fun of the poor lady doing the singing. She had a nice voice, but no charisma, no style. The organizers were one step up from those time-share salespeople I had the misfortune to deal with some years back. Ah well, made me rethink any plans of buying an apartment.
The apartments that I do want, but can't buy, although renting is a possibility are in Malate. Lovely spaces, with big windows and so much potential. Drool, drool, drool. sigh.
Right, can't get ahold of the mattress buyer that cousin C told me about, so I'm going to have to bite the bullet and get the mattress from SM. My back can't take anymore of the futon.

12 o'clock, time to get up

My boss has this annoying alarm clock that goes off a few minutes before noon, and while it probably wouldn't matter if she'd just turn the bloody thing off, she lets it run through for a minute. Meaning that people who are irritated by the sound have to smile and pretend it's not a problem. I am irritated by it, and I have to smile through it, while dreaming of taking a hammer to the pesky clock.

One of the books I'm midway through (along with 20 other books I've bought over the last few months and due to my move have been buried under all the other books I bought over the years, some I am re-reading again. Whew long run-on sentence.) is HOW TO BE IDLE, a very nice book about being lazy. Although the author does come up with some valid reasons not to be part of the mindless wheel of commerce, like some vapid rabbit, or white mouse, or maybe a guinea pig. All of the latter are not part of my "pet of the year" choices either. The first chapter of HOW TO is all about the alarm clock and how it's bad for our health. That being a slave to the clock is just a precursor to a heart attack. Yeah, totally agree! That's why it takes two alarms to get me up in the morning. Yoiks!

I signed up for an 8-week weight management program. Each Tuesday I meet with the trainer and go over my food intake, how much gym time I've put in, and my overall sense of wellbeing. One week into it and I'm sooooo craving bad foods. This is the first formal program where I have to monitor my food and stuff. The few weeks I met with a nutritionist don't count, nor the few months when I actively tried to do a regiment of weight training along with cardiovascular exercise. I'm even getting body fat (eeks) readings and measurements. Makes me grouchy just thinking about it. But persevere! Only 6 weeks and 4 days left. Plus I want to push my boundaries and show myself that I can get past my plateau. I've been at the same weight since college for pete's sake! My college clothes still fit me, which is a good thing since I'm not a big shop-a-holic. I just fix the holes that wear away into the general fabric. No really, I'm not that much of boston brahmin to hold onto college sweats for 10 years. But my clothes size has.not.changed. And that's a bad thing. So revving up my metabolism for 8 weeks will be a start. Then I'll take on my inner demons and actually get to do a marathon next year. I put it on this blog earlier, and I will see it through. And then I'll learn how to ride a bike without killing myself. Gosh. Maybe even get back behind the wheel of a car and drive around Manila without killing anyone or having a stroke from wanting to atomize all the jeepney drivers.

Now, off to my salad lunch. Where is that hammer?

Cashews and Durian chips

I had to stop by Market!Market and found that there's a whole new wing I hadn't seen before. There are signs for a new Korean market, and potted plants are on sale. A whole row of food carts are also up selling packaged chichiriya (snacks and other miscellaneous food products), sausages, peeled chestnuts, and assorted Asian edibles. One of the food carts sells Thai munchies, under the brand Aloi. What that means is a mystery to me, I should probably ask my Thai friends if that word means anything. Aloi has several outlets in different malls, usually near the movie theaters for those of us who don't think popcorn is the end all and be all of movie snacks. I'm particularly addicted to the durian chips (doesn't have the pungency of fresh durian, and may seemingly be healthier than potato chips...not) and their roasted bangkok cashews.

Nuts are great snacks. I'm a long time fan of boiled peanuts, roasted almonds (ooh, the ones in the States that are soy flavored are wonderful), macadamias, and nuts in chocolate are great. Cashews can be difficult to get, good ones, not the burnt to a mealy crisp or somewhat rancid tasting. So I've been happy with the quality, size and flavor of the Aloi cashews. The few times I buy them, they taste fresh, are of uniform size and color, and aren't heavily salted.

Aloi sells their nuts, candies and other items by the 100g, and they're not the cheapest, but at least I don't have too many surprises eating their stuff.

Thy name is procrastination

I have 5 major, urgent, must-do things to complete this week. They were all due last week or earlier. One includes paying a rather important bill. Hi, I'm a procrastinator.
It's been my weakest link since childhood, the ability to push the limits of my deadlines and pay by dates. Is it a vice? Or is there some latent underlying problem that creates this endless lateness? I hate it, I know it, I can do something about it, but it's there.
I even procrastinate writing in this blog, but at least it's not an urgent matter. The bills however, are another matter altogether.

Tuesdays, hot sweltering Tuesdays

What odes are there to Tuesdays? What songs? Mondays, Fridays and general weekends seem to have the corner on songs and emotions. The rest of the week don't qualify. Does anyone have a paean to Tuesdays?

It's also been much too hot lately, where are our typhoons? Minus the rain, typhoons are lovely, the winds sweep out all the smog and lowers the temperatures for a couple of days. Plus think of all the delightfully middle-class memories we have of typhoons - no class, no work, eating, playing cards, sleeping. For sheer desperation, pulling out the woolies that we only get to use in Baguio to warm up (mind you, putting the aircon on while there's a typhoon makes for that perfect San Francisco chill).

I have organized my books, and put them on a spreadsheet. From my struggles, I realized that I have books that go back, way back, to early adulthood, some to childhood. I have lost so much though, my Agatha Christie Penguin editions, my Jane Eyre, and where the heck is my complete Sherlock Holmes? Not to mention all the romantic trash I bought at the old Army and Navy Club on my weekly allowance.

From the list, I find that I have 40 PG Wodehouse, a stack of female Anglo-mystery writers (blame dame christie), and a column of fantasy (pratchett, gaiman, mckinley). I reminisced over my All Female Classics period, reminded of that year when I went through one female writer a week (Wharton, Eliot, Austen, the other Bronte's, Chopin, Cather) until I nearly ran out of writers and started picking up those I didn't like, mostly preachy books or plain depressing Victorian authors.

I found a new copy, recently re-published copy of The Art of Eating by MFK Fisher. I waffled over getting the copy, and spent a day deciding whether or not to get it, but as I also decided to swallow my lumps and buy the complete Calvin and Hobbes, I figured, why not go crazy and get both, plus a few more books in the long run. The bill was enough for me to get a free discount card at Fully Booked. I don't want to see my credit card bill!

Ode to shopping: A ladder, a bench, and thou

Night markets - Bangkok, Chiang Mai, Hong Kong. Where are Manila's night markets? Yes, we tout long night drinking spots and 24 hour McDonald delivery, but where can shoppers go at 11 p.m. to buy stuff in the middle of summer? I'd do more shopping if it were at night, it's cooler and interesting food finds are always more, well, interesting, late at night after finding a eureka tidbit.
At a recent embassy bazaar, I chose a long wooden bench and a Igorot/mountain province inspired ladder, paid for it and told the vendor I'd pick it up after two weeks. After a couple of days trying to contact the vendor with thoughts having been cheated of my money, the agreement was that I'd pick up my buys at their new outlets in Tiendesitas. A friend had emailed me about it, so I was ready to check out the new shopping haven in the city.
Tiendesitas is between Ortigas Avenue and J. Vargas Avenue, right behind Ortigas Center. I had seen it being built on the occasional venture out on C5, but paid it no mind. I'm too Makati-centric, and find it more convenient to do all my shopping here. But now that I live in New Manila, I've started exploring Cubao and now Ortigas.
What struck me going around Tiendesitas is the sheer gimmickry of the place, think theme shopping. Another friend said that it was built along the lines of Chatuchak in Bangkok, but I don't think this is anywhere near the scale of Chatuchak. I also hope they learn from the problems of their Bangkok brother since that market gives me a headache after an hour of wandering. Sizewise, Tiendesitas is only third of what you'd find in Chatuchak; the maze effect is missing, and perhaps when more vendors pack it in, there will be more of that joie de vivre, hustle and bustle, and pure sense of commerce. What Tiendesitas does bring to mind is a cleaner, more open Greenhills Shopping Center/Virra Mall layout. And when I spoke to a vendor, she told me that they are originally based in GSC, but find the business in the new location better (perhaps for the novelty than for anything else. Well, and the free parking).
Parking is, as I mentioned, free, but limited. If it turns into a Greenhills franchise, the space they have for parking will easily run out. It's not very accessible to public transport, perhaps to limit hoi polloi. One aspect I forgot to check out was the public bathrooms. For now, the green space is pleasant, and at 8:30 p.m., the breeze made it pleasant to stay out and wander around the open stores.
I picked up my bench, ladder, and was suckered into picking up two wooden trays. A 50% discount is too much for me to pass up, I have to admit to a weakness when the discount is larger than 30%. That makes the section of my brain controlled by primeval urges go "Buy! Buy! Buy!" I also couldn't resist a pomelo shake at one of the fruit vendors; my worry that it would be a saccharinely sweet concoction was all for naught, and trying to get all the pomelo bits was a nice alternative to canned juices. Give me pulp or give me a bargain.
My new finds are positioned (they fit) in their new home, giving some definition to my room. Now all I need is to find the space for the bookshelves I ordered.

Sharks! and Dylan Thomas

I'm off to Malapascua to visit the sharks, threshers, scientific name unknown to me, but perhaps I'll wiki it soon.
Please let the sun come out! Diving on cold, grey days is depressing.
I visited Torn and Frayed, read out loud the post on Dylan Thomas, "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" one of those poems which always sounds different when you read it aloud for yourself. And a poem I'd like read at my memorial service.

Childhood Food Memories Meme

Yikes, my first meme. Tagged by Stef of Stefoodie, and I didn't know until I read her post. Um thanks, I think. :)

Generally, childhood memories that come to mind are avoiding some horrible looking frogs on a cement ledge in the back of the school and getting all scratched up for my efforts, the many times I had to have minor knee surgery by my mom (she'd remove all the little stones and stuff I'd get when I would skin my knees), reading in bed which my mom said was bad for my eyes, but I did it anyway. And the cats, my never ending line of pusakals (stray cats). From the one mama cat that bit my cheek when I was 6 (and I imagined for weeks that I had a big gaping hole in my cheek), to my favorite tabby imaginatively named Orange who used to streak round my tiny room, to settle late at night on my face or near my neck. Poor thing died without me around as I was in college by then. Of course thinking of him prods my guilty conscience as I've just moved to a new place and I have had to leave my newest feline companion with my parents until 2007 (my current housemates are allergic to pets). Ok, enough with the somewhat negative and morbid nostalgic streak.

Food had a share of the better memories, particularly around the holiday seasons and birthdays. Birthdays for instance, always began with a bowl of misua (very thin egg noodles), with the meat and mushroom mixture in a separate bowl and the rich chicken broth in another. Then the condiments of fried garlic, thinly sliced green onions, peanuts and a boiled egg, all spread out around the table. The egg had to be colored red the night before for that extra touch of chinese authenticity. I don't know if it's true, but my parents would say that the misua represented long life. So we had to eat it on our birthdays or be banished from the family forever (maniacal laughter here). Erm, no that last bit is not true, but we would get into major doodoo if the egg was not red or if we tried to dash out of the house without eating the requisite bowl. Mind you, I loved misua and loved mixing the noodles and meat and broth, then add enough of the garnishings to feed a village. But some birthdays were on weekdays and school days which meant getting up at an ungodly hour just to gulp down the food.

Cake - where would birthdays be without cake? Hizon's in Manila was where we always got our chocolate cakes and it is always the arbiter for a classic chocolate cake. It was a moist, chocolatey cake, with enough of the dark chocolate icing to lick off later. Nowadays, we are inundated by great chocolate cakes all over the place, but no other bakeshop will have a place in my heart as Hizon's.

Speaking of cake, I remember that the best Easter cake we ever had was the humongous ice cream cakes Magnolia used to make. One Easter, after the mom-mandated fasting, no ice cream and no lusting after ice cream for three whole days, my dad brought in a big box and we beheld (or is it still behold?) this castle of a cake, pink and yellow, and just at the point of melting in the heat. Didn't take much for us to cut the cake and dig in. Don't think that cake had a chance to melt. And I don't know if Magnolia still makes ice cream cakes. The ones at Haagen Dazs are just way too pricey; would rather get a pint instead.

Sometime in my later childhood years, when I was allowed to get close to the knives and fires of the gas stove, it became a regular part of the repertoire to do homemade barbecue, and for some weird reason, we all wanted chicken barbecue. So I would take it upon myself to slave over the hot coals, basting the bbq-ed legs and wings and breasts for the parties. They were good and spicy but honestly, I don't know why I did it.

If we have to have a balance of the good and bad, I hereby admit that I abhor and still avoid like the plague ampalaya (bitter melon). I don't care if it is the miracle cure for the ages, I will never like the taste and it doesn't help that I have memories of my mom forcing me to eat it. Ditto on chicken liver sauteed in oyster sauce in chinese restaurants.

But back to the good memories, and as I wrote the last sentence, I can't post this without reminiscing over the Sunday meals after mass, when we'd head out to Ongpin and either eat at the original Smart Panciteria (oyster cake, steamed fish, those darn chicken livers, beef with kailan, and other seafood, plus a variety of soups and fried rice), or a dinky dive that served the best oyster cake and oyster soups, plus anywhere my dad felt like eating in the maze of Chinatown. I still get lost when I'm in the area, but the smells bring me back to the late 70's and early '80's, walking behind my dad, with my mom, sister and brother, dodging horse puckies on the road.

There are too many other memories flooding back right now (these memes are addictive), and if I find time to put them back onto blog paper, I'll catch up with my green mango/bagoong addiction, pan de sals with a myriad of fillings at the school cafeteria, and those never ending fruitcakes that took up space in the refrigerators.

I may have to do another blog soon as I can't think of who to tag. Give me a day or two.

What does it mean to me?

As a blog neophyte, I've been surfing blogland for a year, picking up insights on how other people structure their blogs, use the tools, write, and even make money through them. This blog isn't intended for anything serious, nor can I find one area to focus on. It's more a daily journal that I can post something I want to write about, although I find it hard to settle on any one topic even on the days I have an idea in mind. Over the next few months, I'll probably focus on a few things: diving, my new place, books, my struggle with languages (french and chinese), and maybe add a few photos of food when I figure out the intricacies of my camera. When I get to travel and if I remember to bring my camera, I'll put up some thoughts of the day or something relatively un-sublime.

Bound bookstore

I love books. I spend as much time reading as I do sleeping. Maybe more. But as a self-pronounced bookworm, the offshoot is where do I keep my books? Storage, maintenance, and cataloguing the collection takes time. I'm also a self-pronounced procrastinator, so I rarely spend enough time taking care of my collection, with the exceptional moments I see a big spider and I smush it with two books I know I don't really care for. Then I go through a cleaning frenzy to make sure there aren't any more spiders lurking between the covers and pages.

At one point last year, I went through a "minimalist" phase and got rid of a lot of old clothes, shoes, and books. Garage sales and donations absorbed more than 100 books, but I still had piles and piles to dispose of. Early this year, a used bookstore in Quezon City opened up, and now I have a place to send my displaced books. Bound is located on a side street off Tomas Morato; the easiest way to find it is to keep an eye out for Grappa's. I've consigned over P6000 worth of books with them, and I've been happy with the knowledge that someone is getting a chance to read the books I no longer want.

The first time I dropped off a "shipment" with Bound, I wandered around the area and crossed the street to a neighborhood bookstore. Inside, I found several of the titles I had just given up, all new copies, wrapped in plastic, and priced at retail value, whereas my castoffs were discounted by as much as 80%. Since then, I've continued to bring more sets of books over to Bound, perusing the stacks of books still for sale and looking at what people are seeking in the little list they have for orders or special requests.

Last night, I saw two books I have had my eye on at National and Powerbooks available at Bound. But as I'm on an austerity period (no shopping for books, except when absolutely bored with doing nothing while waiting for something to happen), I have passed on buying and am staying on the other side, the selling. Moving is not only tedious and stressful, it's expensive. I also have to prepare for a short dive trip out to Malapascua at the end of the month. All that money going out and I'm not doing anything to hold back the fiscal tide.

Missing islands

Thinking of Christmas travel, surrounded by the jingles in the mall, my friends and I imagine ourselves outside the hustle and bustle of Manila. We begin planning out where to go, and when, how to meet up after doing our family chores.
We hit upon Siargao, beaches, diving, surfing, and some nature tripping galore. Yesterday, I take the plan a step further by going to PAL's ticketing office in Makati. After some discussion on an upcoming trip to Cebu, I ask the helpful information desk rep what would be the fastest way to get to Siargao. Her reply:
"Where is that?"

After I tell her it's located in Mindanao, near Surigao, she says: "I don't know where that is."

The situation doesn't truly hit me until I turn away from her counter to stumble into the Mabuhay Miles waiting room, more in a daze and not having eaten breakfast that morning. She doesn't know? She works for PAL, a primary agent in the tourism infrastructure in this country, and she doesn't know where an up and coming tourist destination is. Couldn't she have said, "I will check it out for you" or "let me find someone who can help you with the routes" or something a little more practical.

I vent some of my pissed-off-at-the-state-of-affairs with the Mabuhay Miles person, who kindly gives me the complaint letter form plus the name of the General Manager (although that person will more likely hear from me about how the MM customer service phone number is perpetually busy, the emails I've sent are never answered, and I waited two hours yesterday to speak to the agent. Not eating breakfast is a bad thing for my temper. All the minor irritants get blown up into a massive storm-in-a-teacup.).

Yesterday afternoon I googled Siargao travel websites and found a few options for the upcoming trip, including bypassing PAL altogether. Asian Spirit flies to Surigao then a bus ride and ferry to Siargao. Or I could fly to Cebu and do a boat trip over.

Of course if my pocketbook begins to unravel by November, I'll be staying in the city, close the doors, turn off the lights and do a dvd marathon for the week between Christmas and New Years.