Mobile library

There's a lovely article online about reading and travelling. It seems so natural to read while on a journey, and I know I'm not alone in that respect. Go to any airport or dock and you'll see people reading while waiting for their departure. People will usually use books to avoid talking to pesky seatmates on flights as well (done that). And not even an ipod or a laptop takes the place of the quiet regard of a printed page during a trip.

But as the author of the article mentioned, sometimes you have to find the right book. I usually grab whatever is on the top of my to-read pile, and hope they get me through the trip. On long trips to the US, I always end up buying more books during the trip, lugging them home for the pleasure of going through them in my own bed. I've had great reading trips, punctuated by what I was reading, and horrible ones where I tried to bring homework with me and never got to read them (even if they took up too much luggage space and weight).

1. On a ten day trip through southwest China during Chinese New Year (February), I took my copy of A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth. Had never read his work before (not that he had a lot of books to his name at the time), but was beginning to dip into the slew of Indian writers making a name for themselves in the early 90's. Travelling solo, with a bulky backpack that occasionally made me feel like a over-laden camel, my book kept me company and saved me from boredom, not to mention very useful when killing insects (ew, yes, but truly a useful tool). I figured that I would read 100 pages per day. In the end, I finished the book earlier than expected because of the pace of the story, and how involved I got with the characters and historical interest (it was the first time I'd read of the instability that took place during the creation of Pakistan and India; plus I began to see how the Hindu and Muslim divisions caused so much chaos at the time, and continues till today). I ended up sharing that book with another friend, who, as luck would have it took it on his trip to Tibet. That book got a lot of mileage.

2. A few years back, my cousin encouraged me to join her on a two week trip to Bukidnon over the Christmas holidays. We would live simply in the village that her foundation helped develop and we'd live off the land. For the first three days we lived in a "dorm" of a house used by the NGO community workers, then moved to the farmhouse of one of the board of trustees. It stood in the middle of a vast field of cockfighting roosters (they would crow at 3 a.m., everyday. Took me three days to sleep properly and not wish murder on every scrawny rooster neck of theirs.). I took 10 mysteries with me, by various authors (I recall that a few of them were by Nancy Atherton); most of them were relatively short (300 pages), and borrowed from another avid reader friend. Biggest mistake was not realizing how quickly I'd go through them. By day 5 I had gone through the lot and was like a drug addict, withdrawal symptoms set in and I spent a lot of times walking through the rooster coops, counting how many had brown feathers, red feathers, black. Good thing we had two trips to Cagayan de Oro, where I bought cookbooks for our xmas and new year dinners; the distraction of figuring out what was viable for the holiday meals took at least 2 days off my boredom. I learned how to make pretty good leche flan, apple sauce, and the secrets to cooking tough chicken (post-cockfight).

3. Once I get into a book, I sometimes figure its not worth sleeping till I finish, like the time I was visiting friends in New Haven. S and G are always good people to visit since I can raid their book piles without impunity. Not having anything decent to read for a couple of days, I was a tad grumpy by the time I flew into the airport, so S gave me Anita Diamant's Red Tent. A good read, with less stereotypical characters than I had expected, and a historical, not to mention Biblical, perspective of women's life in that era. Stayed up all night to read it burning the midnight oil so to speak. At breakfast the next morning S just thrust the rest of her to be read pile in my arms so I could tell her what was worth reading (or tossing against the wall).

I agree with the author that beachside books, thrillers and the bestsellers can be a bit boring and hard to stomach on a trip. I try different genres on trips. My recent interest in scientific non-fiction writing means I have read books about neuropsychology and physics during long haul flights (not as boring as you'd imagine), and I don't always recommend bringing travellogues, as they sometimes make me wish I was flying somewhere else. I sometimes think that a good book that you've enjoyed once before might make for the best travel book; you know the story, but the writing was good before and it probably will keep your fancy for another go. I've re-read many a PGWodehouse on flights. I know I'll arrive in a sunnier mood.

As for my list of desert island books: definitely old War & Peace, Persuasion by Jane Austin (or Pride and Prejudice, but Persuasion is one of my all time faves), one of the Blandings books by PGW, and a book about surviving on a desert island!

Farewell Fire Dog

In hindsight there was a lot of foreshadowing: hot air balloons lit up by their internal fires, a parent saying we'll go out with a bang, the fact that the year ending and the year beginning are both fire elements, fire season beginning according to a daily report. But who ever expects a calamity to take place?

I was on my way out of town, when the call came in. Friday afternoon, after a long day at a school event, most of the employees had gone home. One of the trustees calls me with the news that a fire broke out within the grounds. After getting in touch with several co-employees and a couple of managers, I find out that the fire had started in a side office of the left wing, and the fire trucks were containing the blaze. I return to Manila and head back, tired, but driven by a rush of adrenaline. Two rooms are gutted, and our main auditorium is under water, but luckily most of the school is untouched. Structurally, the building seems to be sound, although we won't know the full extent until after the engineers come in next week.

No one was hurt, the guards who managed to save a good deal of our equipment were checked for smoke inhalation and released from the hospital the same night. They are to be commended for their quick thinking.

This is the second capital damage to the school in the last 8 months: Milenyo damaged the playground, now this. My superstitious side tells me we need to appease the angry spirits.

Beyond a rose

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
by E. E. Cummings
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience,your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look will easily unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully, mysteriously)her first rose or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the color of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

Sunday, sunday

To celebrate her 31st birthday, we had lunch with Anne at M Cafe. Instead of the ala carte brunch menu, they now offer a brunch buffet for P750++ per person including a choice of coffee, orange juice, champagne, or a mimosa. We all opted for the latter, downing that back before picking our way through the different stations. Oysters and japanese sushi at the table nearest us, followed by cheese and grilled vegetables, soft boiled eggs and asparagus, a slice of prime rib or lamb, plus a peking duck area near the eggs station (omelettes, eggs benedict or scrambled), the pancakes/waffle grill, hot foods like bacon and ham or longganisa, bangus, fried rice, risotto and pasta plates, paella. Wait, don't forget the desserts and fruit display! An overall good value in pleasant settings. I prefer it to the noise of Circles.

M Cafe
G/F, Ayala Museum
Greenbelt 4

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I hope The History Boys gets extended for another week, it should be required viewing by educators around the country. What is the proper way to teach children how to learn? how to investigate? how to enjoy our past within the context of our future? How do our moral structures serve us vis a vis our humanity? What is history if not random acts, noticed, acted on, blown out of proportion, and usually ruled by one gender over the other? Snobbery, class structure, innocence lost, angelic voices, religion, immorality, politics, and of course learning, are all discussed or handled throughout the film.

Ballooning

I watched the teams fill up the balloons with air, and then heat it up with the hot flames. They filled up, took shape, and flew away. Human weight, however, is the anti-thesis of what the balloon teams seem to do. We eat, put food into our mouths, chew, swallow, it is digested and liquefied, nutrients are absorbed, then passed through our colons and eventually the waste is released. No air is pumped into our stomachs, no matches lit down our throats. Our corporeal masses grow when we put in food, especially when we don’t use up any of the energy. I think the balloons have a better deal.

Last Saturday, we didn’t live on aerial acrobatics alone. Other than our craving for coffee after the first lift off at 8 a.m., we also wanted something substantial. Blogger Anton of Our Awesome Planet had the group scheduled for breakfast at the Veterans of Foreign Wars Post (VFW) Canteen, where we dined on SUBSTANTIAL American “diner” food: pancakes, eggs benedict, ham, biscuits and gravy. I think a few folks wanted to try their famous “shit on a shingle”, a piece of bread smothered in sausage and gravy. I prefer the biscuits and gravy over SOAS, or the meatloaf (all meat! With homemade mashed potatoes!). But I went ahead with my full order of eggs benedict, yolk perfectly runny, the sauce oozing with butter. Our group paid an average of P200 for our meals with coffee. Service was spotty, but the place was busy with our group of 20 to 30 pax.

After the balloon popping and paragliders, we went on a separate excursion from the main group and headed to Bohemia, a new restaurant on MacArthur Highway, corner of Fields Avenue. A had suggested trying it out on the recommendation of a Czech friend of his. Plus we knew that A has this long standing interest in Eastern European culture/history/beer. We’re easy, just feed us.

Bohemia is run by Frank Krejci, an American/Czech chef with an interesting past. There’s a write-up about him on the wall of the outer garden area, where you can read about his long and winding career path, from musician to nurse to opening up several European style bistros around Florida, and now, the Philippines. Frank was kind enough to chat with our group, especially when A tested his rusty Polish/Czech on Frank to order a beer or two and other drinks. We learned how he set up his own smoke room for kielbasas and sausages, bakes the bread (try out the rye! It’s close to divine, spread with the cheese reminiscent of the Bavarian obatza I had in Munich last year); I was expecting him to say he makes his own cheese and grows all the vegetables, but that was not to be. But there’s a wonderful artisinal nature of his food that is perfect for those who want to eat homemade cooking infused with love. In our group, we all wanted to try the pirogis, the potato pancakes, the kielbasa, and potato dumplings. We also got to taste the hearty potato soup (notice a theme?), the weiner schnitzels, pork loin, sauerkraut, and the beer (of course!). Heavy, carby, and definitely made us sit a bit lower in our chairs, like slugs. Sleepy slugs, happy from all the good food. To perk us up, Frank gave us a shot glass of the Czech liquer: Bekeróvka, a clove infused drink that made us all sit up straighter. It was a highlight of the day. Warm, a shot of sunset.

VFW
Directions: from the Main gate of Clark Airbase, take a left on Friendship Avenue, drive under 1 km down the road till you pass Oasis Hotel, and look out for an abandoned 3 story building. You should see the sign for Blue Boar Inn, turn right on that street and you'll see VFW in front of you. Parking is behind the abandoned building.

Bohemia
Mabanta Arcade, Balibago, Angeles City
045-323-5778
www.bohemia-ac.com

Prank minds

My sister and I were standing by the main lobby door of a Manila hotel and we noticed that there was a table with three lists and gift-wrapped presents. We assumed that each list referred to the three weddings going on inside, and that the gifts were stacked by the guests of the appropriate wedding.

My sister and I feed on each other’s naughty side. We started talking about how odd that the lists and presents were on display at the front of the hotel. Not much privacy for the recipients, what? I contemplated (out loud with her urging of course) what would happen if a rather brisk wind (Typhoon Tan) blew the lists astray, and upon recovery, were misplaced. Would the bride feel the misfortune of getting Landmark bought plastic cutlery versus the Oneida silver tongs she had registered for at Rustans? How would the security explain it? Let me point out that while my sister and I were plotting, there was no one watching over the table. We could easily have messed around with those lists.

My brother-in-law joined the fray and suggested that we could also mosey up to the tables, and add certain names to the list of gift givers; oh, say Henry Sy, Lance Gokongwei, and Lucio Tan. That would definitely raise a tizzy, wondering where the missing gift had gone to.

Thank goodness our parents had gone home, they'd have been very disapproving of our grown up misbehaviour.

Night glow

Part 4

After a short post-lunch nap, we returned to the airfield for the final hurrah, the Night Glow. Again, as newbies, we were not sure what to expect. We had this impression that the balloons would do a return flight at night, landing like opera divas back on the field, fighting for prime space, then turn on some go-go lights in a trance like display. A far more prosaic ending awaited us.

We got back to find the audience area packed with revelers, smart enough to bring portable chairs or blankets to relax on. We stood with others not as organized, shifting from foot to foot, looking around, people watching, wondering why we had not brought insect repellent (really good idea to bring sunblock during the day, wet wipes, and insect repellent if you plan to do this show next year. Bring a portable chair if you don’t want to stand all day long.) – thank goodness for bats, who flew out from their batcaves to nibble on the tasty bugs annoying us. They probably gorged themselves silly, tasting human blood via the mozzies who had sucked on our arms, necks and faces when they got a chance. The food cycle in motion.

The field was relatively empty, the sky was spotted with a number of kites flown by young and old. We looked up waiting for the balloons to show. The announcer then boomed out that we were going to have a last minute display from the parachuters of the navy (I think it was the navy!), 11 of them jumped from a plane at around 6000 feet, gliding in, solo and in pairs. That kept our mind and eyes off the field and when we started paying attention, the balloons were there, deflated and unrolled. What were they doing, we wondered. It all became clear when they started inflating them again and we realized they were not going to fly off but remain tethered to the field, during the Night Glow show. After another half hour of waiting, the balloons stood stark on display, the announcer called out the start of the show, and disco music started playing. They turned on the braziers to light up the balloons, synchronized to the beat of the music. The show got better as the night grew darker. For 15 minutes, it was a lightly pleasant way of being a child again.

Surprisingly, the drive home was not as congested as we had expected and we returned to Manila very sleepy, but very content. I may not go back to the festival next year, but it’s a perfectly good experience, especially for kids and flying enthusiasts. One aspect that the organizers and the local tourism bureau should work out is encouraging the Angeles City retail stores and restaurants to take part in the program. We found that several of the stores and restaurants didn’t have a clue about the festival, and the restaurants were finding themselves packed without preparation for a larger crowd. There are so many ways to make it work, and give the city a boost. Angeles is a city of diversity and varying reputations, this should be one reason to go and experience its hospitality.

Balloon popping contests and death spirals, oh my!

Part 3

During the day, I took my gringo friends around the base. One fellow, A, had been an airforce intelligence officer, while C’s grandfather had been a pilot stationed at Clark in the 60’s. We did a bit of duty free shopping, which was bittersweet as the large Nutella bottles we had planned to buy by the crate load were not available at Puregold. Durn it.

As we went around the Clark Expo, A pointed out that the conical antennae like structures encircling the exhibit center were just that, antennaes. He asked if the Expo had been built on the “old antennae farm”, which made C, T, and I wonder if he meant ant farm or was it an air force term. Anyway, we learned a bit of military/engineering trivia about such things as we drove around the perimeter while A taught us arcane stuff about antennae’s. Good thing we all had a couple of cups of coffee by then!

Between show and meals, and the bit of shopping and ogling antennaes, we came up with grand scenarios of what we would do with all this space at Clark if we were masters of the universe. T suggested turning it into a major university, A and I suggested holding an annual marathon; T wanted to create a recreational park with pools and a spa; I suggested an East German-style athletic camp (A added that they’d have to include the steroids). We thought that the Expo would be the perfect place for evangelicals to hold their loud, noisy, congress-esssessss, since they need the space, and we’d prefer not to hear them. That was right before we found out there were these antennae there and, hey, maybe if those things still work, we can send out sonic beams to trap them all in there…

We also caught a few more shows at the airfield. We went back for the balloon popping contest and a couple of the paraglider exhibits. The former was interesting to watch, pilots from the airforce/navy, and exhibition pilots from the US and Korea (I think he said Korea) would fly their Cessnas or Piper Cub planes across the field to try and pop one yellow balloon. They’d radio in “now! Now!” and the balloon would be released at the far side of the field, they’d maneuver around trying to pop it with their propellers, but other than one pilot who popped 3 of the 5 balloons, the others were lucky if they got one. One poor fellow never quite got the hang of it and went home with his tail between his legs. Nary a balloon for him. Hopefully this was just a bad day. The announcer kept mentioning the tricky wind conditions that made it harder for the pilots to catch up with the balloons, but it’s pretty tough to see the balloon (yellow) in the air, and catch it just right in the center of their propellers. We all imagined the kind of training you have to do just to get one; we suspect the winner has his son running around with a balloon while he tries to burst it with propellers.

The other aerial show we caught was the paraglider exhibits, two to three paragliders strapped to large electric fan like motors glided around on parachutes (the technical terms so elude me, you just have to imagine it), turning tricks like death spirals (sideway turns), and generally catching the thermal waves. Would have been more fun to watch if they could use trapezes and have a companion attempt a death defying leap, I think!

Up, up and away, in my beautiful, my beautiful ballooon

Part 2

“Where do they pee?”

A common question that we all had while watching the teams set up the balloons and gondolas, thinking that if you had to go while flying around in that thing, there wasn’t much room for privacy, nor for squatting (at least for the female flyers). We began imagining scenarios, team mates giving each other support, helping out with the gymnastics of purging the system. Jelly bags? What about those on the ground?

Eventually, we were informed that the teams only fly for an hour or two at most, set the balloons down on a field somewhere far, far away, far enough that our illusions about flying across the world on one of those balloons would not be shattered by seeing them crash down across the way, spending the rest of the day eating, dilly dallying and waiting for the evening show.

Most of the balloons were inflating rather quickly, but a few notable ones had problems lifting off the ground. The square shaped Whiskas (cat food) balloon took at least 30 minutes to get into its box form, then another 15 minutes of watching two men come close to being incinerated by the flames of the hot air blower to finally gain lift. Perhaps it was also the shape that made it the “bully” on the field, it would lean sideways bopping its neighbors on the side. Another wisecrack among my groupmates was first started after we translated the German blurb on the Whiskas balloon that said "Cats would buy it."; with what we wondered? Cat coins? Cats dressing up to go to the grocers to get their box of cat food, then dragging it home, only to find the box had torn along the way, leaving a trail of cat kibble all down the sidewalk.

Another problem balloon was the “lead” balloon, a rather sad spectacle, noticeably older, ragged around the edges. This was sponsored by UPS (one of the major sponsors, who according to our more expert advisers courier the balloons and equipment for free), which had its canvas logo taped on to the main balloon. The announcer on the loudspeaker said that this balloon should lead the pack on a “hare and hound” chase through the fields. What kind of hare was this? It could barely get itself off the ground! It listed so often, and eventually, collapsed (not enough air? Bad pun, sorry), then was dragged away.

There were a few funky balloons, other than the square shaped cat box (which we named the litter box), there was a balloon with shades, a lovely pucci colored balloon (no amoeba swirls, just a 60’s inspired rout of purple, green, and pink), and the Festo blimp that had a motorized control gondola, so they could swish in and out of the other balloons, wave at spectators below, glide up and down through the field. One of the Japanese balloons had an odd amoeba/ghost cartoon logo on it, sort of like two happy cells about to break apart, holding flowers. So Japanese.

On the ground, inflated but not quite ready to lift, the row of 20+ balloons reminded many of us of a beach spectacle, soft, pillowy mammaries on display. We were all female who mentioned this. Did I mention that we had not had any coffee or breakfast at this point?

Eventually, one balloon was off the ground then another, and by 8 a.m., the whole scene (minus the forementioned UPS straggler) was dotted by balloons in the sky, reminiscent of a film scene, or a magical wallpaper where the balloons float in the blue sky like lanterns in a fairy tale. It was a lovely, spiritual moment.

A weekend in parts

Heading into my birthday week, I didn’t suspect that I’d be having a full-on, busy weekend. Plans included going to the balloon festival, brunch and a movie. None of it took much time to prepare, nor did I have to spend a lot of money on any of it. Perhaps that is what made the whole experience more pleasurable, just relaxing and being in the moment per event.

Part One: God-awful wakeup calls

Friday afternoon, I knew I was going to wake up at a really early hour on Saturday, with that in mind, I wanted to go home early, sleep, then wake up at 2 am to prepare. Fate had a different plan for me. Traffic was bad, and had to detour back to Makati to wait it out. Feeling pissy from this change of plans, I went to the spa and just plonked down money for a 2 hour massage, but no matter how good it felt to just relax and have someone work out all the kinks in my back, by the time I got home late in the evening, I felt like I would never get my energy levels back. My alarm rang at 2 and I groaned, who was the genius who thought of doing this?? Ok, no blame, I agreed to this adventure. But my body wasn’t in the mood. It wanted sleep.

We headed out into the dark, cold (yes, it does get nippy in Manila) night. The convoy to Clark Airbase for the 11^th Hot Air Balloon Festival first came together at the Shell station along the North Luzon Expressway. The air there didn’t smell of diesel or petroleum goods. It smelled of porcine manure. Or manure period. For all I know it was a chicken farm nearby. Stinky, and made me want to gag.

The trail finally took off and we arrived at the airfield, to face emptiness on the designated hot air field. Some of those who had gone to previous festivals years past said that was odd. By 4 am, several of the teams are usually on the field, setting up for an early departure. We were setting up tripods and our sleepy butts on the monobloc chairs we swiped from the stands nearby at 5:30 and there was nary a balloon in sight. One balloon basket/gondola was on the ground, so we figured we were at the right place. Tick tock, watching the sun rise from behind Mr. Arayat was pleasant, and the cool breeze made us want really strong coffee.

Then one, two, 4 at a time, the suv’s came out of the hangers and the balloons were unrolled on the field. Teams walked out, looking a bit bleary, hair’s messed up, and probably less excited about doing another flight after two other days of the same thing. The festival is a four day event, and these teams do at least two flights a day.

The anticipation on the audience side is building up, and our fantasies take flight as the balloons expand and fill up with air.

(end of Part 1)

Upgrades

For dinner one night, I had a hankering for Ineng's bbq. I went to Market!Market for a supermarket shopping trip, ostensibly to buy cat litter and trash bags, but also got some prepared salads and a few other items, ok a whole cart load! But I digress. I picked up a couple of the bbq sticks and suffered through the hour long ride home. I'd have devoured them right there in the car, the smell was intoxicating! Even now, as I write this, my salivary glands are going into overdrive just thinking of that combination of salty sweetness it gives off fresh from the grill.

I made it home, bbq intact. I pulled out two fronds of fresh rosemary from my Lipa loot, and chopped some fresh parsley to top the rice. I removed the grilled pork from its skewer, and poured some apple cider vinegar, chopped rosemary, and garlic together. Plopped it into the turbo broiler for 12 minutes and served it with parsley infused rice and steamed vegetables. Delicious.

On another recent evening, a couple of leftover sourcream donuts had a facelift with a scoop of Haagen Dazs coffee ice cream and a light drizzle of mangosteen preserves. The tastes and textures were perfect, the toasted, crumbly cake with the cold, sweetness of the ice cream, topped with a slightly tart highlight. Guests enjoyed the dessert, I enjoyed pulling it together from what I had in store.

Au pif

Every week I learn a couple of new french words, c/o the website "French Word-A-Day"; the writer shares new words in the context of her life as well as what's happening with her family. For today's post, the word of the day was "chandelle" or candle, as she talked about the Day of the Crepe, a festival that marks the removal of the christmas nativity scenes ("santons"). The writer's husband set up a crepe party/buffet, pre-cooking crepes while she prepared the fillings like nutella, cinnamon, butter and sugar, and savouries like ham and cheese. What caught my attention the most of that article was the term "au pif" in reference to how her husband works the recipe for the crepes, through guesswork or "by the nose". That's how I cook and bake. I know my sister and other baking friends would disagree that baking should be done by the nose, and I have had past disasters from winging a recipe.

One memorable mess was a batch of lemon cupcakes that I made from scratch. My sister and I had made several batches, and I knew the measurements pretty well. So I had no qualms about doing the recipe solo, and the first batch came out just fine. The second batch, however, was a different case altogether. They came out flat and hard! How? Why? I was flummoxed (and tired from the heat of a hot stove/oven). When my sister came home I blubbered "there's something wrong with the cupcakes!" She broke it down into each part, much like a CSI agent would, tracking back the cause of the crime through the recipe and what I had done. We soon realized that I had used melted butter, not softened butter, plus I had overbeaten the batter. Bummer. It was sometime before I got back on the baking track again!

These days, I try to follow the recipes as laid out in the books or however they are shared. And I'm aware that some recipes are easier to tweak than others. For example, I was encouraged by the simple banana bread recipe on Gypsysoul's site last December to try a few loaves (it got out of hand over the holidays and I made enough to feed a barrio). Seeing that it used margarine, I decided to try using butter instead, and after a couple of tests, I have felt comfortable about reducing the sugar content, or not sticking to exact measurements when it comes to the nuts, flour. I'm also aware that the eggs may be US sized grade AA, so adjust accordingly.

Cooking seems less stressful in that sense. More au pif for sure. I always feel like taking out a witch's hat when I brew something new. I'll toss in a broth, some meat, vegetables, try out a new seasoning, or see how two leftovers would taste if cooked together. Very food science lab, minus Alton Brown and his quirky side kicks.

As a few other friends also know, I don't have a working kitchen; no oven, not a lot of pans, pots, a few knives, and some bare essentials. So a lot of what I tinker with has to work within the restrictions of my paraphernelia. And whether I want to try it at all, ultimately. Because the biggest excuse I have to overcome is "who is going to clean it all up afterwards?"

Divorce

After more than 10 years of marriage, one my best friends is getting her second divorce. What happened to her and W? So far, all I know is that she's going through the divorce proceedings, and I only found out because of one of those emails where you fill out survey like questions ("Coke or Pepsi?"). Her answer to "Any news to share?" was I'm getting a divorce again.

Her first wedding was the first marriage in our immediate batch of HS friends. Two of us attended the frosty winter affair, and we wished the happy couple well after a lovely ceremony in an Italian style villa and a boat trip around Lake Michigan. 4 years later, while she was doing her MBA in Boston, I received word that she was divorcing hubby #1. Shocked and dismayed. Saddened. I liked him, thought he'd be good for her. Yin to her yang.

A couple of years later, she was remarried, to a tall strapping mid-westerner, who also seemed like a good match. They had great chemistry and strong communication skills. Through the years, the news from them was mostly good, new jobs, dealing with family concerns. No kids, which was something they both wanted.

Now, this. Another dissolution. I don't know the basis yet, but it seems tragic that someone who I've known since I was 9 has had to deal with two failed marriages. I know she'll be fine, she's got a great support system. I just believe in happily ever after, and this doesn't help maintain that fairy tale!

Weight no more

3 lbs lost in 2 weeks. Yay me. No exercise though, all portion control related.

Joined 5 other colleagues here at work for a local version of Biggest Loser. So far, one of our teachers lost 14 lbs thanks to SBD. The rest of us are trucking along on a mixture of "healthy eating" and irregular exercise. Final weigh-in is at the end of April.

Food society dinner last Monday held at 9501, the executive dining lounge of ABS-CBN, under the helm of Myrna Segismundo. A 7 course vegetarian meal, accompanied by a rosé, coffee and liquers. My favorites were the fennel and apple salad with a vanilla bean infused vinaigrette, the spinach and cress cannolis (spelling?) with a dollop of truffle oil, and the gorgonzola and grape tarte. Desserts included shoofly pie made of spiced nuts and molasses. Surprisingly filling, even with the smaller portions, but a true range of complex flavors. Hats off to the marvelous team at 9501.

Food dilemma

Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma was named one of the best books of 2006. Finding a copy so soon after publication in our literary backwater is a test of patience. I have reserved copies in A Different Bookstore and Fully Booked (along with ten other books, some of them I'm just waiting till they get to paperback since I don't need to spend, need vs want, but that's another long segue).

The book delves into man's relationship with food, and how the process of simplification and chemical synthesis has changed how people eat. From the reviews and summary, I see this as this year's Fast Food Nation, a book that will change your view of eating a burger forever.

Mr. Pollan recently wrote an article for the New York Times, which shortens the need to buy his book, or concurrently makes me really want to get my hands on it. Here are a few tidbits from the article:

"Scientists operating with the best of intentions, using the best tools at their disposal, have taught us to look at food in a way that has diminished our pleasure in eating it while doing little or nothing to improve our health. Perhaps what we need now is a broader, less reductive view of what food is, one that is at once more ecological and cultural. What would happen, for example, if we were to start thinking about food as less of a thing and more of a relationship?"

"...the typical real food has more trouble competing under the rules of nutritionism, if only because something like a banana or an avocado can’t easily change its nutritional stripes (though rest assured the genetic engineers are hard at work on the problem). So far, at least, you can’t put oat bran in a banana. So depending on the reigning nutritional orthodoxy, the avocado might be either a high-fat food to be avoided (Old Think) or a food high in monounsaturated fat to be embraced (New Think). The fate of each whole food rises and falls with every change in the nutritional weather, while the processed foods are simply reformulated. That’s why when the Atkins mania hit the food industry, bread and pasta were given a quick redesign (dialing back the carbs; boosting the protein), while the poor unreconstructed potatoes and carrots were left out in the cold.

"Of course it’s also a lot easier to slap a health claim on a box of sugary cereal than on a potato or carrot, with the perverse result that the most healthful foods in the supermarket sit there quietly in the produce section, silent as stroke victims, while a few aisles over, the Cocoa Puffs and Lucky Charms are screaming about their newfound whole-grain goodness."

"Simplification has occurred at the level of species diversity, too. The astounding variety of foods on offer in the modern supermarket obscures the fact that the actual number of species in the modern diet is shrinking. For reasons of economics, the food industry prefers to tease its myriad processed offerings from a tiny group of plant species, corn and soybeans chief among them. Today, a mere four crops account for two-thirds of the calories humans eat. When you consider that humankind has historically consumed some 80,000 edible species, and that 3,000 of these have been in widespread use, this represents a radical simplification of the food web. Why should this matter? Because humans are omnivores, requiring somewhere between 50 and 100 different chemical compounds and elements to be healthy. It’s hard to believe that we can get everything we need from a diet consisting largely of processed corn, soybeans, wheat and rice."

And here are his dictums for a healthier life:

"1. Eat food. Don’t eat anything your great-great-grandmother wouldn’t recognize as food. There are a great many foodlike items in the supermarket your ancestors wouldn’t recognize as food (Go-Gurt? Breakfast-cereal bars? Nondairy creamer?); stay away from these.

"2. Avoid food products bearing health claims. They’re apt to be heavily processed, and the claims are often dubious at best. Don’t forget that margarine, one of the first industrial foods to claim that it was more healthful than the traditional food it replaced, turned out to give people heart attacks. Don’t take the silence of the yams as a sign that they have nothing valuable to say about health.

"3. Especially avoid food products containing ingredients that are a) unfamiliar, b) unpronounceable c) more than five in number — or that contain high-fructose corn syrup.None of these characteristics are necessarily harmful in and of themselves, but all of them are reliable markers for foods that have been highly processed.

"4. Get out of the supermarket whenever possible. You won’t find any high-fructose corn syrup at the farmer’s market; you also won’t find food harvested long ago and far away. What you will find are fresh whole foods picked at the peak of nutritional quality. Precisely the kind of food your great-great-grandmother would have recognized as food.

"5. Pay more, eat less. ...those of us who can afford to eat well should. Paying more for food well grown in good soils — whether certified organic or not — will contribute not only to your health (by reducing exposure to pesticides) but also to the health of others who might not themselves be able to afford that sort of food: the people who grow it and the people who live downstream, and downwind, of the farms where it is grown.

“Eat less” is the most unwelcome advice of all, but in fact the scientific case for eating a lot less than we currently do is compelling. “Calorie restriction” has repeatedly been shown to slow aging in animals, and many researchers believe it offers the single strongest link between diet and cancer prevention. Food abundance is a problem, but culture has helped here, too, by promoting the idea of moderation. Once one of the longest-lived people on earth, the Okinawans practiced a principle they called “Hara Hachi Bu”: eat until you are 80 percent full. To make the “eat less” message a bit more palatable, consider that quality may have a bearing on quantity: I don’t know about you, but the better the quality of the food I eat, the less of it I need to feel satisfied. All tomatoes are not created equal.

"6. Eat mostly plants, especially leaves. Scientists may disagree on what’s so good about plants — the antioxidants? Fiber? Omega-3s? — but they do agree that they’re probably really good for you and certainly can’t hurt. Also, by eating a plant-based diet, you’ll be consuming far fewer calories, since plant foods (except seeds) are typically less “energy dense” than the other things you might eat. Vegetarians are healthier than carnivores, but near vegetarians (“flexitarians”) are as healthy as vegetarians. Thomas Jefferson was on to something when he advised treating meat more as a flavoring than a food.

"7. Eat more like the French. Or the Japanese. Or the Italians. Or the Greeks. Confounding factors aside, people who eat according to the rules of a traditional food culture are generally healthier than we are. Any traditional diet will do: if it weren’t a healthy diet, the people who follow it wouldn’t still be around. True, food cultures are embedded in societies and economies and ecologies, and some of them travel better than others: Inuit not so well as Italian. In borrowing from a food culture, pay attention to how a culture eats, as well as to what it eats. In the case of the French paradox, it may not be the dietary nutrients that keep the French healthy (lots of saturated fat and alcohol?!) so much as the dietary habits: small portions, no seconds or snacking, communal meals — and the serious pleasure taken in eating. (Worrying about diet can’t possibly be good for you.) Let culture be your guide, not science.

"8. Cook. And if you can, plant a garden. To take part in the intricate and endlessly interesting processes of providing for our sustenance is the surest way to escape the culture of fast food and the values implicit in it: that food should be cheap and easy; that food is fuel and not communion. The culture of the kitchen, as embodied in those enduring traditions we call cuisines, contains more wisdom about diet and health than you are apt to find in any nutrition journal or journalism. Plus, the food you grow yourself contributes to your health long before you sit down to eat it. So you might want to think about putting down this article now and picking up a spatula or hoe.

"9. Eat like an omnivore. Try to add new species, not just new foods, to your diet. The greater the diversity of species you eat, the more likely you are to cover all your nutritional bases. That of course is an argument from nutritionism, but there is a better one, one that takes a broader view of “health.” Biodiversity in the diet means less monoculture in the fields. What does that have to do with your health? Everything. The vast monocultures that now feed us require tremendous amounts of chemical fertilizers and pesticides to keep from collapsing. Diversifying those fields will mean fewer chemicals, healthier soils, healthier plants and animals and, in turn, healthier people. It’s all connected, which is another way of saying that your health isn’t bordered by your body and that what’s good for the soil is probably good for you, too."

QE 1/2

3 of the best actress/supporting actress nods this year are linked by royal blood.

* Judy Dench played Queen Elizabeth 1 (and won a best supporting oscar) and Queen Victoria (nomination)

* Helen Mirren has been nominated for best actress for portraying Queen Elizabeth 2. She's won an Emmy and a Golden Globe for her role as QE1 in the mini-series Elizabeth

* Cate Blanchett was nominated (she wuz robbed by Gwynnie in her pink prom dress!) for playing QE1 (same year that Judi Dench won for playing an older version of the Queen)

My friend M and I have an annual bet on who will win at the Oscars. If the movie she picks wins, I will take her to dinner at an Italian restaurant. If I win, she takes me to dinner at a Middle Eastern restaurant. The hardest part is sometimes matching the restaurant to an element in the movie choice.

Reading in January

Finished reading:
Thieflord by Cornelia Funke
The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai
Twilight by Stephanie Meyer
The Black Dahlia by James Ellroy

Still reading:
To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf
The Good German by Joseph Kanon
Year at the Races by Jane Smiley (started Dec 2006)

Just started:
Death and Judgement by Donna Leon

Twilight took less than two evening reads to get through, a fast paced book, while I end up falling asleep while reading the Good German (could have used a better editor in my view). I dip into Lighthouse on and off to allow her poetic prose to sink in better. Good thing VW writes thin books.
I enjoyed passages of Inheritance of Loss, not as weighty or emotionally draining as A Fine Balance or A Suitable Boy. Indian writers have the best of both worlds: their strong literary history, and the angst of their colonial past which still flavors their contemporary literature.

Lunchroom chatter

Settling in at a new job, one of the big changes is finding a time and place to have one's lunch, plus meeting new colleagues over a meal is one way of getting to know them better. Will they be nice and let you sit with them? Will they be interesting conversationalists? Will they be the Calvin to your Susie and make you want to call Ms. Wormwood to complain of gross behaviour?

So far, my new lunchmates have been very amiable, well-read, and I look forward to sitting in the lounge, sharing food with them. It's a variable crowd but a few of us tend to have lunch at a certain time. There's an earlier lunch crowd that talks mostly about their charges (elementary kids) and what cute/annoying/frustrating things they've said that day. Another group are all trying to get pregnant, or likewise deal with impending pregnancies. Those that tend to eat a little later in the lunch break are a mixed bunch. Married, single, straight, gay. And we've covered a lot of different topics. Movies and tv shows, history, science, educational theory, sex ed (an upcoming topic later in the year for the students), language.

Recently, one rather interesting discussion revolved around books for older kids. One of the teachers has an ongoing reading session and they've delved into sci-fi and fantasy novels. The other teachers began listing all their favorites of the genre, and I got a few recommendations. The first that I'll be trying out is Twilight by Stephanie Meyer. And the other is Here Lie Dragons (author's name eludes me).

One suggestion I threw out to the group which elicited an interesting range of responses was the Phillip Pullman Golden Compass trilogy. One teacher likewise enjoyed the books, the other two hadn't read it yet. When we explained that there was a strong anti-religious bent to the book, one teacher immediately said that she'd never encourage her own sons to read it, while the other teacher asked for more details. The former's response was quite striking since I hadn't expected such a conservative reaction from her. Note to self, never raise religion when recommending a book.

Healthy Options, Shangrila Plaza

Last Friday, I stopped at the Shangrila Plaza, just to spend a few hours away from traffic and see what's new in the shops. While I had plans to check out the sales for a new pair of pants, I ended up beguiled by the new set up of Healthy Options in the mall. They've added freezer space and expanded their selection of frozen vegetables and microwaveable meals. It didn't take me too long to choose what I wanted, EDAMAME! I love them, like green peanuts, and so healthy (a half cup has 4 grams of fiber, high in protein, and low in calories). The store has several options: half a kilo of shelled soy beans, half a kilo of unshelled soy beans, and several varieties mixed with vegetables. I took a bag of the shelled and unshelled. The bags cost P212 each, a little more than what you'd pay in Japanese groceries where a half kilo of edamame costs P160.

Along with the soy beans, I picked up a bag of ground flax seed, tahini, and a bar of Dagoba organic dark chocolate. The store is still under renovation, so expect a larger stage for healthy food products soon.

Sunday all askew

Since I saw the notice on a group email, I had planned to go watch "Cavite" at the Filipino Indie movie festival at Robinson's Galleria today (Sunday, 1:30 p.m). My friend E also wanted to go watch it, so we met up for lunch bright and early and waited for the time to line up at the box office. We were met with disappointment. No Cavite, as the organizers changed the line up (Big Time was showing in its place). According to the revised schedule, Cavite would be shown on Jan 30 (Tuesday) at 11 a.m. Bummer. The only things I take leave from work are the Oscars and an extended holiday overseas. This is the second time I had planned to see the film and was waylaid by fate.

This left E and I with too much time on our hands, so we headed into Makati. E showed me the Palmpilot he wants to get and I promised to check if my old (but never used) palm is still in storage somewhere. He could probably use that instead of buying a brand new model. I then did the first of 3 bookstore stops of the day, as well as having a consolation slice of cake with hot chocolate.

One of the bookstores not only induced me to buy a book, but I also ran into someone who rattled my sense of composure. Some people in one's past do that. I nearly didn't want to acknowledge seeing him, but in the end, I chose to chat awhile. Knowing it could raise a whole volley of dietary lectures, I didn't tell him that I was carrying frozen edamame (the man thinks soy is bad for the health). He looked good though. And even now, as I type this in, I need to shake myself of that sense of recent history. As he said "Manila is such a small town," so true, so true.

Keeping watch

Friends have left for a new overseas post, and until they are settled, I'm taking care of their pets, two tabbies. Brought them home last Wednesday and true to feline form, they've gone into hiding, one under the shoe rack, the other tries to fit into any furniture big enough to cover him (he's way too heavy). My cat has been sniffing at them and their furniture (cat beds, carriers, bowls, and other accoutrements), but anytime she attempts to get close, they start hissing at each other. Not a good state of affairs. But normal. They'll only be at my place for a month, so I hope to get them off to their new country of residence by early March.

One of yesterday's popular online photos was the picture of 20 lb cat, grey american shorthair tabby, who truly looked ginormous and unhealthy. He had been found stuck in the petdoor of a neighbor, he is suspected of having eaten other kibbles of the pets around the neighborhood. I've recently met other cat owners who also have obese kitties. While they look cute and cuddly, I fear for their health. Cats are meant to be sleek, well oiled machines so to speak. When they take on too much weight, they look clumsy and incapable of their acrobatic feats. So Tigger is going to be on a one month diet while he's with me, probably self-enforced until he realizes he can eat 3 bowls (his, his sister's, and my cat's) in a day. I just hope his sister doesn't will herself into an anorexic mode because of her short term seperation from her owners.

Ode to Ananas

Oh banana, you come so yellow, green, mottled with specks
You are chipped, dipped, whipped, or mushed
How sweet you are made into a snack
Slathered with pj or nutella or cheese
Eaten with adobo and rice
Or menudo!

I baked you, snack on your chips
But I like you best raw, stripped of your yellow sleeve.
May you live long and prosper. Nanu nanu

Sinbad

For lunch, I met up with friends in a small ... dinnerette. How do you describe a place that is not quite a hole in the wall, not quite a bistro, that services a primarily business clientele in the Salcedo Village area for lunch, while the dinner crowd tends towards those avoiding traffic and the neighborhood "ethnics"?

Sinbad is that kind of place. Serves Middle eastern/indian ethnic food, has enough space for 25 to 30 people (the latter would be quite snug), and decorated with that relatively kitschy interior (a knockoff heiroglyphic wall hanging, alongside Bollywood music) sensibility. An upscale canteen perhaps is the best short description for it. And it serves the frugal hordes well, with waiters providing decent service (no mess ups with the drinks and food delivery, plus they took our comments re: the baba ghanoush in good stead). I caught sight of a female chef in the kitchen, and a Sikh eating heartily, while another Middle Eastern couple were sampling the small dishes of hummus and fatoush.

Our group of four had two kebabs (beef and lamb), a chicken tandoori set, and a madras beef stew, and the order of baba (made fresh, but too much lemon tarted it up.). Sinbad uses Australian cuts of beef and lamb; I found the lamb to be decent, not as tender as I normally prefer, but it was a decent kebab. E ordered the chicken and rated it well, saying the chicken breast was tender. C chose the beef stew, and liked the "unspicyness" of it. Hmmmm, oh well.

We all spent an average of P160 for food (no one was in the mood to add drinks, so tack on another P40 for drinks). A nice little lunch neighborhood place for those in the Salcedo area.

Sinbad is along San Agustin St, near the corner of Valero and Rufino/Herrera.

RIP

Momofuku Anda, inventor of instant noodles, died at the age of 96 last Friday. Mr. Anda's invention changed the landscape of college students' diets, not to mention new graduates who couldn't afford to pay their rent, or even feed themselves properly.

I gave up on instant noodles in 1995, the memory is quite distinct. I was on a train in China, and the smell of the oil they use in the instant noodle mix hung heavily over the inside compartment. Nausea. Never ate another instant noodle pack again.

I'm just a soul whose intentions are good, ... please don't let me be misunderstood

Am listening to Nina Simone sing this song (title of the post), and it reflects some emotions I had over the weekend. Dealing with friends or family, one has to navigate some emotional landmines, and sometimes the best road to take is to avoid butting heads when a problem comes up. It might be a form of Asian non-confrontational manners; or it could be laziness. Shouldn't we sit someone down when they're being hypocrites? Take friend A, who was hosting a party for friends of ours. He specified that he only wanted core groupmates, and no new faces. Earlier in the week we reviewed the list and set it at 14 friends. On Thursday he texts in the final list, slipping in the name of someone completely new. I take this matter up with A, and he defends himself by saying that he didn't know how the fellow heard about the party, and that he'd just tell him that that dinner was cancelled. Given that the new guy was A's friend, who else would have invited him? If it was going to be a free for all, and just invite anyone, then A was taking advantage of his own rules for someone he considered a friend, not one of our core mates. He probably got annoyed at me for this, but I seriously wanted to take him to task for being so two-faced. Instead, I didn't raise it any further once the fellow was dropped from the guest list. But this is not the first time A has taken liberties, and usually with his own rules, paradigms. He plays the diva, but demands our understanding when he's being temperamental. I've lost patience in the past. But have never forced him to face his own duplicity. I sometimes wonder if I'm not doing him a disservice by staying silent.

Another friend B, has also been vexing of late. I've asked to meet him a few times to pass on his Christmas present. But he keeps coming up with excuses, and I've decided not to raise the issue anymore. I noticed that everytime I try to provide a gift (birthday, xmas) he finds excuses not to accept it. As he's one of the few people I tried to find an appropriate gift for, I find his rebuffs insulting, and raises the question of whether I want to spend time with someone like that. I value friendship a great deal. But if someone isn't keen, it's easy enough to take a hint and avoid further interaction.

Perhaps these are the reasons I have a crick in my neck. Physical manifestation of emotional stress. Or I just need better pillows.

2006 in restaurants

Over a bowl of beef noodle soup at Pho Hoa last night, I started jotting down as many of the restaurants I had visited in 2006. There's no particular order, but simply the ones I remember. The list may change as I work my grey cells further to recall what I did during the year.

In the Philippines:
Caruso along N. Garcia
Grappas (GB3 and N. Garcia)
Soms (Rockwell branch)
Gumbo (MOA)
Antonio's
Breakfast at Antonio's
Antonio's Grill (the one along the ridge road, although I can't be sure of the name of the restaurant)
Lemuria (Horseshoe Village, QC)
Kai (GB2)
Uva (GB2)
Swagat
Hue (GB3)
La Vigne (Yakal St)
Chef Laudico's Urdaneta Home/restaurant
Lolo Mao's (Podium)
Terry's (Podium, Pasong Tamo Ext)
Cantinetti (Pasong Tamo Ext)
Galileo Enoteca (Mandaluyong)
Gourdo's (Fort Bonifacio)
Trio (Fort Bonifacio)
Little Asia (Promenade, Greenhills)
Bizu (GB3 and Promenade)
Kikofuji (and a neighboring japanese noodle restaurant in Little Tokyo)
Amici (Pasay Road)
Cava (Makati Avenue)
Schwartzwalder (Makati Avenue)
Old Spaghetti House (Valero St)
Tsukuya (I have to double check that this is the name of the restaurant, but it's near the Paseo Center along Valero St, Salcedo Village)
Cafe Juanita (Bgy Kapitolyo)
Mati (Rockwell)
Bohdi (Ortigas Avenue)
Fez (Serendra)
Hap Chan (Makati Ave, Market Market)
Guava (Serendra)
Sala (Malate)
Lumiere (Makati Avenue)
Max Brenner (GB3)
People's Palace (GB3)
Kusina Salud (Quezon Province, in the height of rambutan season)
Manos (the greek taverna in Tagaytay, name could be wrong, but it's not hard to find)
* add to the list, innumerable visits to UCC, Pancake House, Cibo's, Mandarin Deli (in Cubao), Coffee Bean, Starbucks, McDonalds, Shakeys, Yellow Cab, Jollibee, innumerable chicken inasal places, Pho Hoa/Bac, Max, Aristocrat, Gram's Diner, Sugarhouse, Pazzo, Cafe Mediterranean, Mexicali, Hen Lin, all the food outlets in RCBC, Brother's Burger, North Park, Gloria Maris (which has become my family's Sunday hangout for some unknown reason - I suspect it's my sister's kids who force the issue), Dulcinea, the cafe in Powerbooks, the Press cafe at Fully Booked Rockwell, Figaros, Via Mare, Deli France, ....

Around the country, I've gone to restaurants in Cebu, Batangas, Puerto Princessa. Unfortunately, I can't remember most of the names! In PP, we always go to a favorite Vietnamese canteen, and another garden restaurant (Ka Louie!) where the food goes well with the friendly service and lovely interiors. In Cebu, friends took us to a great (and cheap) grill where we ate tons of food freshly grilled to our specifications. A lot of new restaurants in Cebu opened up recently, but the only ones I've gone to are the Thai restaurants. Along Batangas, it's been bulalo places and franchises of places you'd find in Manila, as well as road side cafes/canteens, plus dinners at friends' homes.

In N. America, I was in Montreal, Quebec, and San Francisco/Sacramento this year. I distinctly remember the dinner at Europea (Montreal), and I had good Vietnamese food with friends there, bistros in the city where we ate c/o sponsors of the conference. I'm trying to find the name of the diner near the hotel we stayed in that had great smoked meat sandwiches. And the famous Montreal bagels in the old Jewish quarter. We only had time for a quick lunch in Quebec, so the restaurant's name eludes me. While in SF and Sac, I was going for comfort food (Olivetti's, Bittersweet, a nice garden/cafe in Sac), and home cooked meals by my wonderful bro-in-law who makes the best smoked salmon! That reminds me how we went all the way to the only Pinoy canteen near Roseville to buy crispy pata for Greg. Wasn't that crispy, but his golf buddies were wowed by the sight. Trina also brought me to her favorite breakfast place near the airport, around the Burlington district. Those were amazing pancakes.

Right before the end of the year, I was in HK, where S and I took new-to-Asia friend A out for Hong Kong dimsum (City Hall), a dai pai dong in Sheung Wan, vegetarian food at the temple in Lantau, the Peak Lookout restaurant, a dessert hole in the wall near Carnarvon (TST), and of course home cooked risotto, bottles of champagne, a box of chocolate covered potato chips, and panetonne.

In retrospect, that was way too much money spent eating out in 2006!

Reading list

The last time I set myself a reading task for a new year's resolution was in 1999, when I read through as many female American or British writers as I could find. Most of them were 19th century writers; I went through the entire oeuvre of Austen, Wharton, two of the Bronte sisters, Gaskell, Woolf, Eliot, Mansfield, Plath, and a host of Victorian writers who I can't remember anymore. There were dips into fairy tales and children's tales, to ease my brain fever (especially after Wharton, who could depress anyone with a short story), and a few folks I did choose to skip (I didn't read Frankenstein for instance). Poetry was hit and miss. Find myself relating to more male poets anyway, with the cleaner prose and the sometimes subtle messages.
Since then, I haven't given myself any literary tasks to overcome. I did purchase the new War and Peace translation with the intent of doing a chapter by chapter comparison with the older translations. Thus far, I've been reading a chapter every other week and it's taking forever. Enjoyable leisure.

Instead of making it a chore to read, what I know I should try to do is list down the books I have read and make some general points of what I enjoyed. Take note of a couple of quotes, what I think of the plot etc.

Am currently reading: The Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf, The Inheritance of Loss by K. Desai, The Good German by Joseph Kanon, The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion, To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf, and The Princess Academy by Shannon Hale. I also have waiting in line the first three books by Cornelia Funke. Which I had planned to give away to kids, but got to read them before dispensing!

The last book I read for 2006 was The Death of Achilles by Boris Akunin, a translation of a mystery by a contemporary Russian author. Charming piece, russian books are only as difficult as trying to track down who the characters are, as their names do tend to change depending on who is attending to them.

First test of patience

Primary gift to self was an mp3 player and a laptop. However, the Taiwan earthquake forces me to wait till after they've fixed the cable connection laid down along the Pacific fault lines, in order to download the necessary software; can't set up the mp3 player without the software, and the connection to that is wobbly at best these days. It may take a few more weeks before the connection works out, and even then I'd have to wait it out till I can get the best connection to my home account, as I'll be forced to get a DSL line if the wifi and cable folks can't get their act together. As much as I'd like to avoid getting a landline in my townhouse, it looks like I may have to since the cable folks aren't doing anything to help me get broadband, while the wifi connection is rather weak.

This isn't like in the old days when all you needed was a battery to get things going. The more complicated a toy is, the more likely it will be that it needs a few odds and ends to get it started and working properly.

hny

too much fireworks fake dvds no exercise friends family up in baguio lots of cheese wow chocolate puddings and truffles slow internet taiwan indonesia thailand hit hard by earthquakes floods airline crash bombs new toys work sigh dogs not in for a good year in the pig year patience more patience no barking less sweets less sugar less white food all we need is love investments savings lie low work hard resolutions not to self destruct all i have is my health less debt in the new year thank goodness go see a doctor have a healthcheck soon make better decisions concerning health read more spend less on frivolous pursuits be good to the cat don't worry about the messy days weeks months get rid of stuff minimize think listen breathe.

With whom I will spend my weekend

An email I received today made me smile. Sent by my best friend S, it detailed to a T how she planned to leave the key to her place when I arrive on Friday. Typical of S, it has bullet points, and contigency plans galore. I felt like I was receiving an encrypted code to the biggest military secret!

Likewise, S has also planned out the few days I'll be staying with her: dinner, the ballet, Christmas dinner. Those also came in a second list. Such obsessive detailed emails are not so suprising from her, since I've known her to be like that since the time we lived together in China. I don't know if it's just her Germanic upbringing that makes her like that or if she is just the kind of person who feels unable to live without order. Luckily, I'm not averse to small portions of letting her take care of everything, so long as she doesn't start parcelling out an allowance I should be fine.

S and I won't be spending Xmas alone, we have a guest, A flying in from Texas. S and A were housemates in Texas when S was an exchange student back in high school. S calls A her American sister, while I'm her Filipino sister. I didn't get to meet A during S's wedding last year in Germany, but I've heard a lot about her, and vice versa. We're looking forward to getting to know each other over the few days I'll be with the two of them. It will also be A's first trip to Asia, she'll be travelling through China for a few days between stops at S's place. I'm sure we'll spend enough time preparing her for her trip that she'll be like those kids heading off to summer camp looking like the michelin man, prepared for all contigencies, and bid farewell by teary eyed parents, handkerchief's fluttering adieu. We have maps! guidebooks! words to keep her safe from chinese toilets! menus! antibacterial wipes! bad tummy pills! more maps! A bandaid?

Tis the season for sticky fingers

A little over a month ago, I saw a link on the New York Times Online to a recipe for No-knead Bread, an article by Mark Bittman who writes the Minimalist column for the Times. He featured the recipe made famous by Jim Lahey, a breadmaker in New York City; Sullivan St. Bakery makes great boules of bread, crusty loaves ready for a pairing with a slather of butter and a sprinkling of sea salt. Mr. Lahey said that this recipe is so easy, even a 6 year old can make great bread.

After reading the recipe a few times, I decided to try making my own bread. I've made fruit breads before, the no-yeast needed kind, but never a plain loaf of bread. Other bloggers, Joey and Lori, have chronicled their own experiments with bread making in the past; they've acknowledged how restful making bread can be, not to mention the delight in having your own loaf of bread, made by your own hands. Since my right arm is affected by carpal tunnel syndrome, I've avoided too much pressure on my wrist for months, and the no-knead aspect of the Sullivan recipe seemed just right for me. In lieu of kneading, the dough rests for a minimum of 12 hours, preferably 18 hours.

Before I began, I read a lot of the other bloggers writing about their attempts at the bread; most of them were in N. America and Europe. Many of them were successful, several had failed at getting the right kind of flour or using too much water. And the latter was what I was most worried about (ok, second most worried about after what pot to use, see below). I'm not much of a food scientist, but other bloggers have commented that the humidity in the tropics makes a lot of the Martha Stewartesque cooking/baking projects less than ideal. It's also dang hot to be baking, and my kitchen doesn't have airconditioning. So I knew that I had to adjust the water in the recipe.

The basic recipe calls for the ff to be mixed and then left alone for 18 hours: 3 cups flour (all purpose or bread. I used Gold Medal All purpose flour.), yeast, 1 1/4 teaspoon of salt, and 1 5/8 cups of water. Several of the bloggers who've tested the recipe said that the amount of water was too much, and that the video showed Mr. Sullivan scooping in flour without tamping it down the scoop, which would make it 3 heaping cups of flour, changing the ratio of flour to water from the actual recipe. Well give the guy a break folks, he's been making the bread for ages, so he doesn't have to be exact any longer! I planned to try one attempt sticking to the recipe as written, then planned another using less water.

Sure enough the first attempt was too wet, and nearly impossible to work with. My kitchen probably goes up to 28-29 degrees celcius during the day, while the estimated room temperature in the recipe states to leave the dough in a warm, draftless room of about 70 degrees Fahrenheit. Sorry I'm not about to recalculate that here, but needless to say, my kitchen is way warmer than the average N.American/European one. The humidity soaked in by the dough made the blob look like a wet oatmeal mixture. I added more flour on the workspace, and added more flour to the dough, but by the time I went through all that, the proofing for another 2 hours and then the baking time of 50 minutes, the bread was looking a bit too flat, and had a burnt top alongside a not-quite-cooked interior. Attempt 1: failure.

Attempt 2 had less water and a different yeast. The first time, I only had a packet of active yeast, the red star brand I think. And I dumped the packet's contents in, without measuring. Not a good idea. This time around, I made sure I only had 1/4 teaspoon of the bubble makers, and used the instant yeast as indicated in the recipe. 1.5 cups of water, same flour and salt combination. The dough looked a lot better, after 18 hours it actually looked like dough, not a wet rag imitating dough on a bad day. I folded it over to create a seam, let it rest for 15 minutes and then another fold onto a kitchen towel dusted with flour for the last rise for 2 hours. Plopped it into the pot and 50 minutes later (30 covered, 20 uncovered), I had bread! A perfect crust, and the bottom was cooked this time. Am pleased as punch, and happily filled with freshly made bread this morning. Made with my hands and the luxury of time.

The biggest concern I had making this was the issue with the cooking implements. I don't have an oven, and make do with a turbo broiler. Not too bad when I need to bake brownies, but this was bread. I did more online research and thought it would work. But while reading the bread recipe and other bloggers comments, I was starting to worry a bit more since I didn't have a Le Creuset enamel covered pot, or anything that would fit what was within the parameters stated by the recipe. Then another troll down online recipes gave me a eureka moment. One blogger said that she or he used a crockpot bowl. So I dug out the old crockpot, found a ceramic plate that would withstand the heat - instant enamel pot with lid.

I'll be tinkering a bit with the recipe to see if I can add some olive oil without damaging the texture of the dough. And maybe some walnuts. I heart walnut bread.

12/19 addendum: a third attempt last night was sort of successful. A much longer resting period (24 hours) resulted in a light sourdough flavor, but the crockpot needs to be pre-heated for more than 25 minutes, as the bottoms tend to take forever to cook! I've had nice crusts, with a chewiness to the bread that's perfect for hearty meals.

Ho ho ho with a jelly belly and snowy white hair

It's really useful for schools to have a principal/headmaster who looks like Santa. It's double duty. During the holidays, dress him up in a red suit, add a bit more facial hair, and viola! Off he trots to greet parents and kids, plus have him parade later for the staff party.

I read that people who dress up as Santa's in malls and other events have one of the highest levels of stress. They have to deal with recalcitrant kids, annoying parents, long lines, sitting, kids sitting on them, kids whizzing on them, crying, puking, screaming at them, pulling on the beard. Is it any wonder that another image of those part time Santas is them walking into their neighborhood bar after a day's work, drowning their sorrows? Bad Santa indeed.

The craziest request I ever sent to Santa was a pony when I was 5.

Memory

Friend M is preparing for the office xmas party, they have planned a 10 minute version of Cats. As I talked to her about it, I remembered listening to the soundtrack of the London cast's version way way back. Songs flooded back to mind, and I could recall some lyrics. My favorite part is not Memory, but the Naming of the Cats. And as the entire play is based on Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats and other poems by TS Eliot, I did a Google search and came across the poems online. Here are my favorite bits:

THE NAMING OF CATS
The naming of cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
..."
and the last stanza goes

"But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover -
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name."

I sincerely believe this, just try to call a cat and see if they'll listen to you. Honestly. Like banging your head against a brick wall....

Sorry.

So, along the lines of the research, I found that Memory is not in the list of Eliot's poems from
OLD POSSUM..., but taken from "Rhapsody on a Windy Night" and "Preludes":

(snippets)
"8Every street lamp that I pass

9Beats like a fatalistic drum,

10And through the spaces of the dark

11Midnight shakes the memory

12As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

13Half-past one,

14The street lamp sputtered,

15The street lamp muttered,

50"Regard the moon,

51La lune ne garde aucune rancune,

52She winks a feeble eye,

53She smiles into corners.

54She smoothes the hair of the grass.

55The moon has lost her memory.

56A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,

57Her hand twists a paper rose,

58That smells of dust and old Cologne,

59She is alone

60With all the old nocturnal smells

61That cross and cross across her brain."

62The reminiscence comes

63Of sunless dry geraniums

64And dust in crevices,

65Smells of chestnuts in the streets,

66And female smells in shuttered rooms,

67And cigarettes in corridors

68And cocktail smells in bars."

- Rhapsody on a Windy Night


I

1The winter evening settles down

2With smell of steaks in passageways.

3Six o'clock.

4The burnt-out ends of smoky days.

5And now a gusty shower wraps

6The grimy scraps

7Of withered leaves about your feet

8And newspapers from vacant lots;

9The showers beat

10On broken blinds and chimney-pots,

11And at the corner of the street

12A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.

13And then the lighting of the lamps.

II

14The morning comes to consciousness

15Of faint stale smells of beer

16From the sawdust-trampled street

17With all its muddy feet that press

18To early coffee-stands.

19With the other masquerades

20That time resumes,

21One thinks of all the hands

22That are raising dingy shades

23In a thousand furnished rooms.

III

24You tossed a blanket from the bed,

25You lay upon your back, and waited;

26You dozed, and watched the night revealing

27The thousand sordid images

28Of which your soul was constituted;

29They flickered against the ceiling.

30And when all the world came back

31And the light crept up between the shutters

32And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,

33You had such a vision of the street

34As the street hardly understands;

35Sitting along the bed's edge, where

36You curled the papers from your hair,

37Or clasped the yellow soles of feet

38In the palms of both soiled hands.

IV

39His soul stretched tight across the skies

40That fade behind a city block,

41Or trampled by insistent feet

42At four and five and six o'clock;

43And short square fingers stuffing pipes,

44And evening newspapers, and eyes

45Assured of certain certainties,

46The conscience of a blackened street

47Impatient to assume the world.

48I am moved by fancies that are curled

49Around these images, and cling:

50The notion of some infinitely gentle

51Infinitely suffering thing.

52Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;

53The worlds revolve like ancient women

54Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
- PRELUDES


Cats and Phantom... don't make my personal list of favorite musicals of all time, but Cats has an advantage over Phantom - I like cats (chortle), and the songs are poetic. Phantom has always come off as a B-rated gothic horror to me. And don't bring up Sarah Brightman, yoiks.

Meowowowow

Health watch Dec 11

Short note to self - get rid of the cakes in the fridge and be at the gym at least 4x this week. Last 5 days have been awful: eating, drinking, not exercising, going to bed at 3 a.m. Didn't help that it rained yesterday. No excuse of course. Am probably 5 lbs heavier today. Oh well. Nutritionist will be grouchy when she sees my log.

Weekend of Tchaikovsky

An invite from A found me sitting surrounded by children at the Aliw Theater last Thursday, watching the Nutcracker for the first time in Manila (I saw it in Hong Kong and in New York several years ago). The Ballet Manila troupe did a good job, Lisa Macuja was as elegant as ever. I saw two flubs that made me wonder if she planned to fire her male dancers but figured it's hard enough to find male dancers around here that she probably will just flog them for good measure. Both times it was near accidents for her, but she has enough poise in her pinky finger to get through them, cheeks frozen in her smile.

If I had a billion US dollars, I'd definitely give Ballet Manila some of the money, primarily to help their set designers with the backdrops. There was a lopsided chandelier, teetering on the edge of falling over the dancers, and the tie-dyed curtains (made to look like, snow? icedrops? something odd and pastel) didn't make me think xmas and wintery at all. The dancers also need new costumes, although the snowdrop tutus looked very pretty and elegant. Of course professional development would be a major investment. Get those ballerinas professionalized so that they don't have to do this part time. Let's finance the Opera company as well. Sigh. So many projects, not enough dough to go around.

The next night, I met up with friends V and C at the main CCP hall for a christmas concert. I didn't know that resident musical director Castillo was not going to conduct. This year, former musical director Ruggieri was back at the baton. I usually see him conducting at the Pen xmas concert, so there was a bit of disappointment since Castillo's more modern, a bit of a renegade. However, I sat and enjoyed the atmosphere, surrounded by Leandro Locsin's modern floating architecture, and the luxury of good music. The first half was taken from several of Tchaikovsky's operas and ballets, Eugene Onegin and the Sleeping Beauty suite (I could hear several people singing along). The second half was filled with christmas carols and a strangely out of place Filipino song that was played like we were in a '70's disco lounge. I zoned out and mentally ticked off my chores for the weekend.

The final Tchaikovsky note came last night, watching the BBC documentary on up and coming violinist Niccola Bennedetti (spelling?). At 18, she's got the chops, the virtuoso, and is smouldering and sexy. She makes listening and attending violin concertos far more visually appealing. However, she is still a musician. One of the pieces she rehearsed and performed during the docu was a Tchaikovsky concerto, one of his harder pieces. I believe she recorded it for one of her albums.

I have the urge to go and play the 1812 ... boom!

Many faces on the highway

Since Milenyo, the billboards along EDSA have become the rallying cry of politics, urban developers and general noise makers. Take them down, keep them up, ugly warts of advertising, necessary marketing strategy, etc, etc. One billboard, near the Guadalupe intersection is remarkable for it's size and for some of the ads they've had up there.

The last three ads have definitely spiced up my morning ride. The first one that really made me wonder about the state of education in this country was the Myra E ad with Dawn Zulueta espousing some moisturizer. The logo was grammatically mangled and had a prepositional phrase that drove me insane each time I glanced upon it. Can't even remember what it was, must have repressed it from my memory.

The second was the Manny Pacquio ad, sponsored by Nike. Set up right before his third fight with Morales, it had Pacman in a victory pose (perhaps foreshadowing or hedging their bets); but what made it a bit questionable in taste was the distinct bloody look of the ad. Ok, so boxing is a blood sport, but it looked like he was awash with blood - his own or that of his opponent. My friend M said if they had used Morales it would have been cuter since he's got a nicer face. Er, I don't think the idea was to make it look cute anyway.

Now, the Belo ad. Several of her clients and the doctor herself stand in a photo spread taken from the Vanity Fair spreads. Dressed to the nines, espousing holiday cheer, their faces looking polished, primped, bodies tight. Yet, it's one of the saddest, glummest holiday ads I've ever seen. Not one of them looks particularly happy or in the holiday mood. They're all pouting. Ara Mina is dressed to look like she's going to her senior prom (another pink dress that doesn't cut it). Albert Martinez is sickly orange. But the topper for me is the strangely alien looking Pops Fernandez, reclining on the chaise. I didn't recognize her and it only dawned on me who she was this morning after seeing the ad several times. She's changed, not for the better. And she reminds me of the alien on the cartoon "American Dad". Her eyes have either become closer together or something about the angle of the photo seen from below that makes them look cross-eyed. One of her least attractive photos. And she, too, doesn't dare crack a smile. Oh, yes, I forgot, they all probably took their Botox shots the day of the shoot.

Hey, MMDA, when are the billboards coming down????

In lieu of decor

Moving to my new place last year, I chose not to decorate during the holidays. I maintain the same attitude this year. No tree, tinsel, lights, fake reindeer and snow will clutter up my domain. I have enough clutter (plus a cat who is liable to chew on the lights and leave me sans furry companion, but a very bad odor that'll stick to the walls if I know my destiny).

What makes the season for me is Christmas music. Carols, the christmas concerts, even hearing the occasional Jingle Bells inside the mall, awakens the spirit inside me. I'm attending two concerts at the CCP and the Peninsula. Both will be full of classical carols, western and filipino. Two years ago, I remember attending the CCP/Philippine Philharmonic concert, and have gone to two Peninsula concerts in the same number of years. The former can be very freewheeling, especially if the conductor decides to broaden our horizons to new sources of Christmas songs. He threw in S. American carols the last time. While the Peninsula is a tried and true formula. Traditional carols, mostly western, with a couple of Filipino songs, a modern piece, then the Hallelujah Chorus at the end to top it off. The tree glitters in the background, the smell of nutmeg and butter and richness all around. I usually have to get to the Pen around 3 p.m for a decent table along the mezzanine, as all the tables in the lobby are packed. By then, I'm full of seasonal joy and goodwill, and a definite pushover when faced with my nephew and nieces' puppy dog looks for something for their proverbial stockings.

This year, I have an escape plan....

Books of the same feather

I'm reading THE RIGHT ATTITUDE TO RAIN: An Isabel Dalhousie Novel by Alexander McCall Smith, the third in the series on the life of a fortysomething single philosopher and editor of the Ethical Times. Unlike his other series on Mme. Ramotswe, which are termed mysteries, but tend to be gentle fables with a hint of a dead body now and then, the Isabel Dalhousie books are wordier, abstract, and border on the didactic. There was one "murder" at the beginning of the series, but the last book (FRIENDS, LOVERS, CHOCOLATE) and this one tends to philosophical and romantic constructs. What I enjoy about these two is the development of Isabel's emotional connection with Jamie, the younger man and former boyfriend of Isabel's niece, Cat. Isabel sees the 14 year age difference as a major obstacle, offering Jamie a gentle, dignified friendship, with a large dose of philosophy (that is her job after all). In Attitude to Rain, Jamie's feelings towards Isabel progress in a direction romantics would approve of, although it does lead to ethically or is it morally? questionable actions on the part of the two.

However, McCall Smith doesn't divert too much between the Isabel Dalhousie books and those of his more famous Mme. Ramotswe mysteries (also known as the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series). Both have female protagonists, more or less in charge of their own lives and with a general sense of fiscal independence. They're both analytical women, single, but with a past bad relationship (Precious Ramotswe was abused by her husband, and in one volume is revisited by her ex; Isabel recalls on occasion her relationship with an emotionally abusive partner). There are subordinate characters, usually female as well. And the male objects of affection are gentlemen, with their own emotional baggage, but nothing to deter the female leads from another lease on life. The author also seems to find that women in their forties a lot more interesting than younger ages. And is it just a coincidence that both roles have fond memories of their fathers, Precious more so than Isabel?

Both series are enjoyable without being too mentally taxing. I can imagine a growth in interest in visiting Botswana and Scotland by his fans, seeking signs of inspiration for the characters.

The Prestige has nothing on our bees

When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. What do you do when a swarm of bees builds a hive?

At 1 p.m. today, and it would have to be a Monday, one of the managers pointed out that there was a beehive along the overhang of our school driveway. With little ones running around, we cordoned off the area, not that the barriers stopped the inquisitive minds from standing within ten feet of the hive and the bees. A few more pilyo kids (brats?) gave us all instructions on how to remove the hive, attack the queen, reduce it to dust. We gravely told them that we are leaving the extermination to the experts.

Around 3, as I was walking down the hall, I noticed that the hive was looking a tad ratty. Frayed at the edge of the dome, and looking like it was holding on for dear life. My initial thought was that the rain had disintegrated the bits, but couldn't for the life of me figure out why the other bees weren't protecting the hive. As I stood there to watch, it slowly unravelled. Little by little, the edges disappeared until the entire hive was gone. Poof! I'd never seen anything like it before and it was a magical moment.

The guards tracked some of the bees to the backyard and the exterminators were directed there later. But for a few hours, we had our own honey pot that magically appeared and disappeared.