the not-so-secret recipe of the ultra-delicious toasted flaked beef con crispy potato tots

Also known as Corned Beef with Potatoes.

The maid is currently out of town (wow, maid na ngayon ang nag o-out of town), and I've been assigned as the reluctant chef of the house. Having been an apprentice of Rachel Rae for two years (that was before post grad school, 30 minutes every late afternoon), I consider myself a savant of delish food to go.

Procedure:

First, get those potatoes and wash them. I used Joy dishwasing liquid but my aunt said that was unhealthy, so I just soaked them in water for a few hours (lost track of time--I was reading Gaiman).

Second, cut them into tiny bits. Don't peel 'em. My aunt scolded me for not peeling them. I told her, matter of factly, that nutrients are stored in the skin of legumes and to remove it would be a waste. She bit it. Whew. Because really, I just forgot.

Third, fry 'em in butter till they turn crispy. Amount of butter--depends on how much you love your life. How long to fry--about two commercial breaks. If you didn't peel your potatoes, maybe it'll be a good idea to make them extra crispy. Think Safeguard commercial, except that the soap is really a potato. 99.9% of germs.. Then, set aside.

Fourth, open your corned beef can. Be careful. And choose Purefoods. For once let's agree with and not question Kris Aquino. But don't choose the chunky ones that look like pet food unless you want to emphathize with Brownie, or Bruno, for that matter.

Fifth, put in garlic in your pan like there's no tomorrow. You're eating at home and to hell with hellish breath. Fry, again till they turn a bit crispy.

Sixth, put in your corned beef. Don't add water. Ugh. You want a toasty effect on your dish. It is not a stew. If you think it's cooked (I leave this to your judgment because I personally can't tell when beef crosses the thin red line between being "rare" and being "done"), rejoice. You're about to finish.

Finally, put in the crispy potatoes. Sautee a bit. Then shout "I am the Iron Chef!" in a husky voice. Woof, woof. That seals the cooking procedure.

There. Thanks to the glory of canned food, you can have a gourmet dish in less than 30 minutes.
Don't ask me though what's inside those beef flakes, or if they really are beef. We are not privy to such secrets. This is one of the rare times that we should concede and think that ignorance is bliss.

If you've tried it and didn't like it, call 911-1111.

si blueboy at si yellow 4...

Two superhero names, one not-so-super day.

Kanina sa kantina, puno. Nalilito na nga si ate sa mga sineserve niya kaya nung nag order ako ng melon shake, sinulat nya: "1 large melon shake--Blueboy." I-dedeliver daw.

Hindi dumating ung melon shake. Marahil dahil naka-VIOLET ako.

---

Isang conversation noong undergrad:

Ikaw, para kang si Yellow 4

Ha?! Yung sa Bioman? Yung naka indian outfit, at namamana..yung tumbling nang tumbling kahit walang kalaban?

Oo, dahil lagi kang namamatay. Pero makalipas ang isang episode, biglang buhay na ulit.

He was right. I guess. I've lost more than once, only to stand up and fight again. Pano naman kasi, bioman ata to. Pano na lang ung Bio Revolver, Bio Team Kick, at ang Bio Electron Wave kung mawawala ako?

look ma, he can use a knife and fork!

There's this really buff guy reminiscent of the bouncers in Ascend (who scared me to death) who ordered a cheese-topped empanada and hot coffee. Good combination. Then he religiously cut his empanada using his knife and fork. The arm positions were perfect and the strokes, superb. I could almost see the perfectly sized morsels cleanly put aside on the plate. Neither too think nor too thin. And he wiped his mouth before he sipped his coffee! Wow. I don't see that much these days. Miss Minchin would have been proud.

I felt like an eight-year old in a zoo, dazzled by a wii-playing Panda.

Spank. I suddenly chastised myself. I was born in the 21st century, I thought. Literally, anything IS possible.

Makes one amused, but proud and hopeful at the same time. *grin*

a typical saturday?!

Lunch at SR Thai with Edward. 11 years ago we first ate here. Pleasantly, it hasn't lost its taste.

Banapple merienda c/o Joy. The best cakes in the world. (fyi, they have an army of fairy cooks operating a cake factory past those cherry red kitchen doors! I've seen them!) Advanced happy birthday.

Eastwood videoke c/o Chris. Belated happy birthday. Everyone's notes seem to have improved... save for Nikko's. Ehe. Peace.

Fazoli's c/o of Block T1. God, how we've all changed, and not changed, the past 2 and a half years.

Mom & Tina's dinner. A cozy, heartwarming meal attended by searing conversations. Serious exchanges one second, and libelous remarks the next. God, I miss college and Oscar.

(Costume party in Cubao X, cancelled due to shortage of wizards' robes and, um, the boy who couldn't decide)

Malate with newfound friends. Smoke, beer, and pheromones--the perfect cocktail, anyone?

A busy, busy, busy Saturday. This is so different from my usual weekend spent with coffee and a pile of work, but nevertheless as fun... ahem. Ahem. *choke*

a child scribbles

I remember the cheesy line quite well. It was in a French movie. A musical of sorts. Have you ever loved for love's own sake?

Now let me rephrase. Have you ever written for writing's own sake?

Interestingly, I find it hard to say yes. Because as far as I'm concerned, I've written for all sorts of reasons. Vengeance is somewhere near the top of my list. Good grades is probably at the peak. To make people fall in love, or fall out of love, is also somewhere at the summit. Occasionally, I write to save my ass from some trouble I've brewed (i.e. excuse letters, medical certificates, ahem, ahem). But rarely, almost never, just for writing itself.

Maybe that is what I have to redo. To write as a child writes--to never worry of spilled ink, of hidden meanings, of superficial purposes, of what word to write next, of whom to please and, more importantly, of whom to irritate. To write with complete freedom. To write for writing's own sake. And to hell with everything else.

one phone call

Library. Hey. Are you sleeping? She patted me on the shoulder.

No. Not really. I dabbed my eyes and forced a smile.

The guys are waiting by the parking. Movie. Tara.

Thanks. I can't. Pointed to the pile of papers before me. Need to do these. But really, I just wanted to lie in bed and hug my pillows and sleep for a day.. and forget. Everything.

Don't worry. Things will get better. I promise you.

Thanks. Forced smile.

____________________________________

Going home. So you're going to Cagayan? When are you coming back?

That's the third time you've asked me that. Do you have a problem of sorts?

Forced smile. No. Not really. The phone rings. I speak. But all the more I sulk. The problem was just getting bigger. I wanted to go home. Fast. To that bed. Fast. To Wonderland..

_____________________________________

Home. Opened the door. I'm home.

You're early.

Yeah.

Bad day?

You have no idea. That was an understatement: It's a fucked up day.

_____________________________________

In bed. I was about to sleep. To fade away for hours and hours where I won't get hurt, where I won't be rejected.

Should I call? I didn't want to. I wanted to. I didn't want to. Next thing I knew, it was your voice I was hearing. I haven't heard it for eons. We talked.

_____________________________________

Sala. Your eyes are soo red. You overslept!

Slight chuckle. Nope. I didn't have to. Later, I will sleep. Smiling.

something wrong

Morato. I walked Kix to the jeepney station around midnight. We almost knew every brick on the pavement as we've always been there since the first time we sessioned three years ago. We trod along the familiar avenue, and like in the first time, I marvelled at how the place was so cozy and safe. Bright lights. Well-dressed people. Fine restos.

But something caught my eye on the sidestreets. A family sprawled on the sidewalk, sleeping. Shirts sooted, hair in disarray, frames shouting for warmth against the cold of the night.

I suddenly remembered how manic I felt after watching Sex and the City in Gateway. For some reason, I couldn't reconcile basking in the glamour of New York one second, and sighing at the dirt and grime of Cubao the next.

The problem is, once you've seen and felt the problem, there isn't any turning back. The nagging discomfort of knowing that something is wrong is a sword that will forever hang over our heads.

But the bigger problem is--what are we to do?

desecration

My haven has been infiltrated. My sacred place. My special nook. The only place in this city I go to when I need my peace and quiet. My headquarters where I schemed and studied for the best glories, and fuckups, of my postgrad school life. It is being robbed from me by a... by a pesky bitch who has brought her own army.

If there's such a thing as a bitch pest control agency, I would have called them days ago. But life isn't that easy and things will have to be settled civilly. Bummer. It will then just be a matter of tolerating each other's stenches. And he who tolerates best wins.

The war for this minute, but sentiment-charged, territory is on.

And like a boy who's being bullied for his lollipop, I will stand my ground.

cold turkey

The sem is over and I feel displaced and incomplete. I feel like my dirty old usb without its cap. Lacking. Naked. Ugly.

Maybe that's why I'll be going to cbtl later to help a friend with her take home exam. Secretly, I want to ground myself with a routine I've been so accustomed to. Pitiful. I know. Who in the world wants to do acads stuff over the break? But somehow I can't do without my reviewer. At least not just now. I'm still having cold turkey.

That's why I better hit the beach soon or just sweat off this drug called school--for now.

Because in less than two weeks, school will start again. Hopefully by then, I'll be normal enough to stand my next 6-month dose.

p.s. Oh I forgot. I've to write a paper for November. Haha. So much for my two-week rehab.

someone's getting married

I just heard from the grapevine that a couple from our batch (well, at least for our course) in college is getting married next year. As far as we know, they're the first in our year to do so.

Rumor has it that the guy proposed while the couple was on board a helicopter, a few kilometers from the ground. How's that for high expectations.

I feel genuinely happy for them. We've known them as a couple since freshman year (that was roughly six years ago!), and I think it's high time for them to take the relationship to the next step. Personally, I have my qualms about marriage in this country. It is too restricted, formalized and iron-clad. At least in this country, it is only for those who are pretty sure about what they are getting into.

But as for this couple, I have no doubt whatsoever. Plus, I can't wait to see the cute babies-to-be.

that fairytale kiss

I remember the conversation. It was amidst incoherent conversation, discordant laughs and the stench of beer. What is your fairytale kiss? Everyone is asked. Everyone's answer I now forget, save for mine, and the resultant jeers of my drunken reply.

I said I want to kiss the person I love in a library. I guess that shows how nerdy I've been all my life. But hey. I can't deny it. The library is a special place for me. Sacred, even. It's the only place where things can make sense, if one has the temerity to, well, browse through all of the shelves. A certain lightness is evoked by the thought of being surrounded by the greatest written ideas of man. And it is natural, I think, to share that special place with the person you think is special enough to share your life with. Haha. Cheesy. But hey, the question, after all, asked for a fairytale kiss.

But the thing is, I've been rejected once before. In a library. And like the child who suddenly discovers that Santa Claus is just his dad plus a pillow tummy, I sigh. Adulthood is creeping up. There are no tooth fairies. No wizards. No happily ever after in this goddamn boring world.

Maybe my friends were right. Maybe I was naive in choosing my fairytale kiss, and more so, in actually trying it out. I hear their alcohol-induced raucous all over again. But this time, I join in the laughter.

For now I nurse the bruise my inner child has sustained. But hopefully, tomorrow, I'll learn how to check under my pillow for magic coins. Again.

school spirit

It bothered me as I sat in the Araneta Coliseum last Sunday that I bisected the maroon and blue sections of the stadium. No, I didn't mean it physically, because the two schools were, and have always been, supportive of each other. As one Babbler coined it, we were all children of Katipunan.

I meant it figuratively. I always said I had a genuine dual allegiance. An Atenean for more than a decade, and a Scholar ng Bayan the past three years, I used to think that I love the two schools equally.

But as the cheers (and jeers) went on, I couldn't understand a single maroon chant. As for the blue ones, I knew I could utter them in my sleep. I couldn't join the Ateneo cheers (vigorously) as I was clad in a maroon shirt and was sandwiched by two die-hard marooners. It would have felt awkward to do so.

But I felt awkward inside already, so maybe I shouldn't have cared. Looking back, maybe I should have shouted my heart out for Ateneo the way I did for UP. Love, as my mom used to say when we were young, need not be expressed in the same way to everyone. She didn't ever to go one of my PTAs, but she was almost always present at my brother's because I didnt have any problems at school. But she always brought me to art classes and to my weekly doctor's appointment. These she never did for my brother because he was neither interested in art nor sick when we were kids. She loved the two of us, equally but not identically.

I believe it's the same thing for the two schools to which I owe my life. I love them both, equally, but not identically. Love, nonetheless.

alone

I skipped class for the nth time. My reason. The usual. I overslept.

And so i go to my haven, the only place I can think in when my mind's filled with guilt and, well, unhappy thoughts. There, i slouched on my favorite seat with my hands embracing a warm mug of mochanated coffee. I was alone. Just me and my mug, which, in about five minutes, started to burn my palm.

I went there to unstash my guilt, I thought. And thus far, i was being effective. The blankness of my mind was an antiseptic for the loneliness and stress that was me the past few weeks. The pains slowly went away. A horrible recit the day before, a petty fight that ended in unshed tears, backlogs in work and school, the final goodbye of a college friend which i turned a deaf ear on, his laugh I will never hear again.

In that place, there was no pain nor happiness. There was just that mug which burned my palms and I.

Global Warming: a factual myth

Last week I went to a UP Centennial Lecture (cool, I’ve never been in a lecture where all UP campuses get to interact after the talks—through videophone!) on global warming. Dr. Perry Ong’s thesis was simple but unnerving: yes there is global warming, but it’s not all our fault, so quit feeling guilty and act on the real problem.

Indeed, our penchant for guilt has led us to put all the blame on global warming on ourselves. We’ve forgotten that volcanic eruptions and cow farts can actually cause more atmospheric damage than the sum of all Chinese in the world.

What we should do? Of course, laxity is out of the question. Global warming is still a fact. Rushing around in paranoia, as Al Gore’s campaign may initially cause, is more so out of the question.

We should conduct more focused studies on the other causes of global warming, and from there, design a collective human action to counter the totality of causes of global warming.

As they say in philosophy, when you take a thing apart to study each part, you must put everything back to study the whole, otherwise, you’ll just waste your time. We’ve blamed ourselves enough. Now it’s time to see the bigger picture and act accordingly.

There’ll be another UP Centennial Lecture next Wednesday, 2 pm at UP NISMED. It’ll be on Education. I hope to see you there.

there’s something about those executives

written October 9, 2007

This afternoon, I remembered why it was that a few years ago, I was enthralled with the management field. Big numbers, huge offices, expensive shoes, kickass sports cars, and more importantly, that mysterious air.

I filled in for a business meeting for my previous employer, and surprisingly, I found myself sitting in front of the client company’s President, Vice-President, Corporate Adviser, Chief Financial Analyst, and HR Head. I was awestruck. They were what I wanted to be at some point in my life…

Well, the shoes weren’t that expensive-looking. And the cars were out of view. The offices and numbers were pretty obvious, but the air… it was so strong. Making business decisions in split-seconds, asking simple but very important questions, and pointing out sides of the case I wasn’t able to think were there at all. All that flair, all that genius, and all the power of those men and women... shet! Those are things they’re enjoying (mostly) because of their hard work. I can just imagine the sleepless nights, the liters of coffee and the books read.

Thinking back, I guess that was the real reason why I fell in love with that field. I wanted to be as hard working as the great people of that field. The shoes, the cars and the ultra-powerful, unlimited plastic card are really just cherries on the parfait. I bet Gucci and Porsche would look ten times better if I know I worked f_cking hard for them.

The presentation didn’t end up as hoped (the deal is still pending). But those higher ups have reminded me of something important, making the ordeal well worth it.

hoy, salamat a..

Alam ko nababasa mo na to, kaya hayaan mong pasalamatan kita. Kahapon, nung umulan, hinubad mo ung jacket mo para pagsilungan natin. Sabi ko bale wala yun kasi ililigo din natin ang panandaliang dampi ng ulan. Pero sa totoo lang, masaya kong katabi ka sa ilalim ng jacket mong isang linggo mo nang di pinalabhan.

Pati nung hinila kita papuntang admin building para tapusin ko yung interview assignment ko. Hindi mo naman kailangan gawin yun pero sumama ka pa rin. Umupo ka lang dun at nagmukhang magsasaka sa bandana mo. Di ka nabore, at nagtanung-tanong ka din sa kausap ko. Ginawa mong masaya ang isang boring na trabaho.

At nung natulog tayo nung isang hapong umuulan sa bundok, nalaman mong giniginaw ako, kaya paggising ko, ibinalot mo sa akin ang kumot na pilit mong inaagaw pag tulog ka. Maya-maya, inakap mo na ko nang husto. Ang sarap ng tulog ko nun.

Baka kasi isipin mo, hindi ko napapansin ang maliliit na bagay. Hindi. Naaalala, ko lahat yun. :)

p.s. pag tinukso mo kong ang cheesy-cheesy ko...lagot ka sa kin. ;p

The importance of a name

I remember one lazy afternoon while studying in Coffee Bean, my friend suddenly remembered he had to make a testimonial for an upcoming election. Those were the longest five short sentences of my life. It took us 2 hours of deciding on diction, punctuation, construction and length. All we wanted to say was Vote for our friend, but we just had to think long and hard before we said it in a different way.

I asked him, why not put in a quote, or a funny joke, or just be terse. We were, after all, studying, and two hours of sidework for a 5-sentence testimonial spelled wasted time in all caps.

I can't, my name is on the line, he said.

Name. The same was the gist in Celeste's (Mylene Dizon) short scene with Ploning (JudyAnne Santos) in the movie "Ploning" where the former contemplated the secret to immortality. She said it could be found in a name shared with the people she loves. And it can't be in the common form. Manong guard, manong driver, and ate fishball, these are all hollow and connotes dispensability. If you do want to be remembered, if you do want to live forever, you invest in a name. Look at Bush, Marcos, and GMA. We don't simply call them presidents. We use their names that they have, for good or bad, invested heavily on.

The same goes for my friend. He isn't just another officer. He has a mark to take care of, and that mark is carried on by his name.

And the same goes for all of us. We have to protect the names we build for ourselves, lest the world or even just the people we care for, forget about us.

Visual Delight

Overall, "Ploning" is a simple feel-good setting and sceneries movie. If you want to be visually delighted, maybe this movie is for you.

My movie companion observed that the screenplay was overdone. I think he was right. There were quips and quotes here, there and everywhere. Too many cooks just spoiled the broth.

As for Judy Anne, well, you gotta give it to her. She did portray Ploning with the necessary loveability and mystery the character deserved. She was a bit overdressed all throughout though, but you just can't help but pardon her for it. Ploning is, after all, a visual piece.

good food, but...

Last night was Nang Tet's despedida, and like any regular Pinoy despedida, it was marked with food. Lots of 'em.

We ate in La Mesa Grille, a fine (and cheaper, I think) escape from the now monotonous Dencio's or Gerry's Grille. As my Ninang is a food savant, and she shows off her tummy to prove it, we left her the honors of doing the orders.

hito flakes and scallops

mixed grilled seafood

I particularly liked the grilled hito and scallops. The flakiness of the earlier dish makes you forget of the image of a mustached fish, or the established fact that catfish dishes are particularly oily. Part of the trick, I think, stems from the unusual tamarind-bagoong sauce. As for the scallops, I liked them because they reminded me of my best friend who, 10 years ago, taught me how to eat those things.

As I was downing the food, I suddenly remembered the report I made for work earlier that day. It was something about the present food crisis and how my school should be hosting a forum about it as soon as possible. Food crisis, it seemed like just a bad dream we'd wake up from tomorrow.

But it is established reality. And we know we have to do something about it. But does it mean we should forego special family dinners such as this? This is similar to the impromptu question I got for my orals for my social theology class on whether buying a Porsche, given the social conditions of our country, was a social sin.

I said there has to be a way to have the two together. Self-pleasure and social responsibility need not necessarily conflict. You can buy the Porsche but still contribute to the poor in other, non-monetary ways. Education is cliche but it is still the best alternative.

As for my dinner with my Tita, I shoved away the momentary nuances of guilt. I won't be seeing her again for months and I might as well enjoy the feast. But at the back of my mind, I noted that I should make better the report I made earlier that day. Funnily, I suddenly remembered the face of my social theology teacher, smiling in what seemed like an approval.

a starry deal

(written a few months back)

Last Friday, I spent the night at a coastal resort owned by the family of the infamous Paris. I spent my night lingering in the beach area with some overpriced red wine and free peanuts in my hands. The sky was just so dark that the stars on it sparkled extra brightly. I thought I was in a dream, or in a movie. Things were too beautiful to be true.

Then I remembered the article I read the other day. Some super-duper nova (apparently one of the biggest stars in the universe) exploded with extreme intensity that no black hole formed. A king star died without leaving a trace. And so I looked at them, shining balls of hydrogen watching over our puny little planet, observing our puny lives. We die all right. But they do, too. Not so high and mighty now, huh, I thought.

We live in the mortal plane, all of us. The white sand beneath my feet, the pungent wine in my hand, me, and the giant stars above. Someday, at the right times, we’d all say our final goodbyes. It’s a scary thought, knowing that in the end no presently living star will be left to tell our story to the future creatures of distant galaxies. No one, except He who schemes all things. It sends me shivers, peeping through God’s vastness and seeing nothing concrete. But it’s also comforting. If the giant stars above us are all in God’s plan, then so are us. So are us.

“We are in this together,” I told the North Star above me. “So let’s make a deal. You shine your best, and I’ll live my best.” For a moment, I thought I saw the star blink.

walking through mist

(written 17 Oct 07)

Me: Is that rain or fog?
Cid: That’s both.

Paolo, Cid, Ron, Jen and I spent the afternoon in Choco Kiss talking about anything and everything (e.g. Sandman, racing, Shake Rattle and Roll, etc). Outside the rain poured for hours, bringing with it, interestingly, fog. Paolo was leaving for the States on Friday. The lunch was our pabaon feast for him. He said sternly that we weren’t saying “goodbyes”, only “see you laters.” In five months, he promised he'd return.

On the way home I decided to drop by the church. It was slightly drizzling and the air was so clean. Amazingly, the church was covered in fog. I remembered a foreign legend I’ve read before of people who enter into mists and find themselves in a new world. Time passes by rather slowly in that new world, the terrains are magically different and the people are smaller but older than they seem. Avalon. It would be a perfect place to wait in. They say a day in that world is equivalent to weeks in the real world.

After a while, the mists subsided. Five months is not a long time, after all. My friend will be back soon.

**And five months after, he did come back to us.