Secrets of The Heart

Haha. Yes, dear reader. I was once a trying-hard pseudo-novelist. No, not the Leo Tolstoy type of wannabe. Not even the JD Salinger or Sue Monk Kidd type. I was leaning more toward a different genre: Popular romance. No, not Harlequin, for crying out loud. More like… Sweet Dreams… or Love Stories.

Girlfriends of the 90s, remember these titles? “More Than Friends.” “Hot Summer Nights.” “Sharing Sam.” There was also that cutesy yarn about a ménage-à-trois that smacked of a well-meaning "re-telling" of Sabrina, which I think is just one of the most fab movies ever.

I don’t remember any of the titles from the Sweet Dreams line, but man, they were some good reads! Aside from going on three-hour phone marathons with girlfriends, getting brainwashed round-the-clock on MTV, and occasionally browsing through the encyclopedia set in the living room (coz these were pre-Internet times), this was my pastime. Reading was my childhood thing. This was what I would rush home for twice a week (my average reading rate then) after a quick browse through the school library. This was my almost-undoing, my late-night partying, my underage drinking. It should be quite obvious now, I had no life. (Probably still don’t.) But you can hardly call me a nerd at this point, as reading rom novels isn’t exactly the same thing as trying to finish “A Brief History of Time” by Stephen Hawking (which I have yet to read, btw) during summer break.

So getting back to the almost-novel, the eventual conclusion of a lifetime of gorging on books… As you might have inferred, the characters were based on people I knew back in school. Okay, so it was my crew versus some other group. Although for the life of me, I now can’t figure out who RY and CA were supposed to be.

Get a load of this: the popular but biatchy versus the only-sorta-popular but not quite as biatchy. Har har. Plus, dig this: the heroine doesn’t know who to pick--the cute longtime friend that she bumped into again after so long? Or his bestfriend, the popular hunk who saw her first (in a romantic sense) AND who’s actually really super nice? Haha! Toxic formula for a runaway bestseller, I know. Well, common sense –smarts did kick in after a few chapters and this wannabe writer realized she just had to pull the plug on this secret project that’s now not so secret anymore.

Hahaha. I still can’t get over the whole thing, though. It was a major kick digging this up from my prehistoric files. Cracks me up like anything I’ve ever seen.

“Secrets of The Heart?”
“Montpelier Mammoths Cheering Squad?”
“James Madison High’s Star Circle?”
My. “It’s All Coming Back To Me Now.”

Ha-friggin’-ha. Them dorkdom days of old. God, how I miss the times.

Someday

Sometimes,
even when it seems you might be in the throes of despair,
the truth is,
you're not.

Coz really,
you're too pooped to muster the appropriate emotions.
To feel.
To want.
More than you already do.
To pine for that which is forever within your reach, only to find you're still never quite there.

And you think about the sudden change in mood.
You wonder about everything.
Actually, you don't wonder--you suspect.
And what you suspect you throw right back in the garage of your mind.
Coz whatever it is, it doesn't matter anyway.

And while you can still chew on things and act like the taste doesn't make you hurl,
you're gonna give.
Oh yes you are.
Just like that song--one day.
Someday.
Soon.

The Value of The UP Experience

Received an email from our Lasallian head honcho late last week that was circulated among the UP alums in the office. As it is the centennial celebration of UP this year, I think posting the contents of said email would be the proper thing to do. Plus, being in senti mode, I just can't resist. What can I say, I heart UP.

First published 6 June 2008
The Manila Standard Today
INTEGRATIONS
Maya Baltazar Herrera
Voyage

There are no children here

This week, I went to a meeting at the UP School of Economics and I came away with renewed belief in the value of the UP experience.

If you speak to anyone from UP – student, professor, alumnus - you will get no Latin slogans or apologies about how the school teaches values in spite of its outward materialism. This is not a student population that thinks about basketball games or memorizes school songs. This is not a school that chooses one statement to drill into the minds of its students.

This is not, of course, to say that UP does not care about values. It is that UP, in its own inimitable way, believes that values cannot be force-fed. The statue of the naked man that guards the entrance to the campus in Diliman best represents UP’s approach to all education and the respect for students that is the center of its educational philosophy. All who come to this university, regardless of origin, bring themselves naked, carrying nothing but their thirst; like the proverbial empty teacup, making an offering of self, waiting to be filled.

Adults

For many students from private schools, the first lesson that is learned here is that this is a school for adult education. There are no children here, and that is why no parents are allowed either at freshman orientation or during enlistment.

The spirit of the oblation lies not in a mother or a father offering up his child to the world, it is that of the newly adult, freely offering of his self.

I remember quite vividly that moment that drove home how different the UP education continues to be. It was my daughter’s first semester in university and she had invited a group of her high school friends to our house. One of them asked a classmate whether she had gotten her parents permission form approved for that weekend’s outreach activity. From the UP population around the table came the mock horrified responses of: “Permission? ” and “Outreach?”

I thought about it and realized that all of these students were, in fact, legally adults. I thought it interesting that only the UP students appeared to appreciate this fact.

Even more interesting was the “outreach” comment. I think back to my own university years and the last three years that my daughter has been in UP and am certain there is no lack of civic activity. There are medical missions, house building projects, tree planting, community work and barrio work and so on. I realize now that the reaction was not to the activity as much as it was to the use of the word.

One of the most important differences of the UP campus from all the other campuses my children considered going to is that this campus has no walls. Many parents fear this. They are afraid their precious children will not be protected from the ills of society in a campus that is so open to the rest of the world.

But UP is open to the world in more ways than just not having the physical walls.

Community

Being in UP means much more than being a student. This campus is enmeshed in a community. This community is made up not only of the transient population of students who go home each night. It includes the many, many students who lay their heads on dorm pillows each night, enduring time away from families in the firm belief that this campus will bring them closer to their dreams. This community includes the families of faculty and employees who live on campus. It also includes the many people who work not for the University, but nevertheless work on campus. This community includes the lady who remembers the brand of cigarette you smoke and automatically hands it to you in the morning. It includes the gentleman who remembers you like pepper on your egg sandwich or the one who knows you will dip your fish balls into two of his sauces, who patiently waits for you to eat your three
sticks before being paid. It includes the woman who saw all her children through college by selling peanuts every day on campus.

To a UP student, the daily heartbeat of the school is never far away from the realities of the country. The word outreach suggests that civic activity is something outside of the normal, something you do once in a while. It must be immensely difficult to think of community as a thing apart when your campus experience brings you face to face with all of the world’s realities every day.

Character

All of this probably explains that unmistakable sense of self that you will find from students who come from this campus.

Here is a campus where all have the same opportunities to learn. But, also, here is a campus that will give all the same opportunities to fail. There are no guidance counselors who will chase after you because you have been skipping classes. The attitude this university takes is that you must take the initiative – for learning, for seeking help, for realizing you need help.

That is not to say that no help exists. But it is help that is not forced upon you.

This is a university rich in both introspection and conversation. On this campus, the student is constantly exposed to people – faculty, administrators, community members, other students – who care deeply and passionately about the world. The conversations are almost never purely cerebral. A single graph can provoke comments about government policy and its effects on people.

As a result, UP is home to a student population that looks at the world and cares. It is easy to see pictures of protesting students and dismiss it as radicalism. But there are few campuses in this country where students go beyond a passing curiosity about what is happening in the world beyond their own lives. There are even fewer universities where students not only care but also actually believe they have a responsibility to make a difference – not in some hazy future – today.

And that, I believe, is what truly forges character. Character is not molded by speeches or long classes in ethics or theology. Character grows from within. It begins by being handed the keys to your own self and being told you are in charge; you now have power over yourself and your own actions – and with that power, you take on responsibilities.

Each student in this university goes through his own unique voyage of discovery. On his voyage, as he decides what he cares about, what he will fight for and what he will sacrifice, he crafts his own personal values.

That is what education is truly about.


Maya Herrera is the managing director of Solutions Incorporated and also in the faculty of the Asian Institute of Management teaching finance, risk management, corporate valuation, leadership and human resources management. She writes the column Integrations for The Manila Standard Today.

Movie Madness

Early 2000s. Long gone are the days when my buddies and I would head over to the movies at SM North Edsa for a brief respite from life. Back then I would hem and haw and whine about the ticket price, which would set us back Php65-80 per movie. I wasn't always this unnecessarily disagreeable, though. For me it was simply recoil reflex. Compared to the cost of admission to a movie theater back in Zamboanga City, which I think ran in the neighborhood of 50 bucks at the time, it was easy to see how considerably extravagant going to the movies here in Manila could be.

July 25, 2008. I start to feel the teensiet bit nauseated upon checking out the showing attractions at sureseats.com. Lej wanted something 8-ish, so that's that. Upon further internal hemming and hawing, I mentally throw my hands up in the air in defeat. I realize I feel a little oppressed. All I can say is, The Dark Knight had better be worth it then.

Epic Final: I Love You More Today Than Yesterday

6 July 2008, Wimbledon. I should have seen this. I really should have. I don't know why I didn't. But I do know now why people say regret comes only in the end.

As such, I can only relive the high drama through prose.

Sublime Spaniard stretches the imagination

Dispatches: A Post-Wimbledon Dialogue

The Death of Wanting

This is sportswriting-cum-commentating at its most poetic. Nothing ensnares and enraptures as much as a beautifully spun yarn about a battle of mythic proportions (which actually took place just this weekend and is now entrenched in the annals of sports history).

Nothing.. Except maybe seeing the action play out in real life. Or, okay, on low-fi cable TV, as the case would have been.

Well, anyway. All hail Rafa, all hail The Fed! Long live the quintessential kings of tennis!


Photo courtesy of tennis.com

Kooky Money Talk

Pretty exciting start of the week. Got a little something-something in the works, which got me thinking about priorities all of a sudden. But the future seems so... "blooming," so to speak. The leg up Teppers gave today was just what I needed. You the best, Teppie!

Flashbacking to the present, work's got me walking around the dizzying confines of the office like I was auditioning for a part in the sequel to 28 Days Later. On the brighter side of things, we had an informal lunchtime learning session with some folks from Philam Life (an AIG company) today. They showed us some pretty neat slides that I would have requested a copy for, if only the main speaker wasn't an actual client of mine. Basically, the major takeaway there was, I had better get my @ss off the computer chair and cook me up a plan to get my hands on a couple thousand big ones. Seriously.

And nuh-uh, I ain't talking about them pesoseses here. I'm talking about the real ka-ching, baby. The greenback. Mucho dinero from the land that produced the top two richest men in the world, on top of other filthy rich dude-nerds. The capital U-S-D. But then you interrupt, "What you talking about? The Euro--it's king right now, or is gonna be anyway. Compared to the once-mighty Joe Americano, it's the one to beat. It's gonna be everywhere, P. Diddy and posse even wrote a song about it. Too bad about the whole subprime debacle, which got the ball rolling on the downgrading of the dollar. Now they have to contend with the current energy crisis, just coz they rely so much on oil and everything. And by the way, shouldn't this rant-post be penned instead by an American, not some greenback-hungry Filipino blogger who probably doesn't even know what the value of the Euro is....?"

(Okay, here's where I go schizo on y'all.)

I then respond, "Actually, it's 1.58 to the dollar, and 70.98 to the peso.. I mental-telepathed just now with Benny Bernanke, you know, the Fed guy."
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.
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Daymmm, don't you just hate it when you realize that you got even poorer. Last time I checked, the Php was around 67 to the Euro...

So anyway. Before my MPD whisks me away to la-la land once again, allow me to get back to what I meant to say before I lost it--the point of my need to get my hands on two thousand buckaroos. The point of my semi-tirade refracted off from an imagined split personality (that's a double split already--haha, pleonasm!). The point being--well, relative poverty, really. At which point you ask, "What does the current phenomenon of energy disenfranchisement in the US have to do with your poverty?"

Elementary, dear imaginary reader who I will, for the purpose of this exercise in virtual inanity, christen in my mind Watson... Everything. The answer is everything.

Okay, maybe not every-little-thing kind of everything. But being the biggest gas guzzler in town with a consumption rate of 25% of the world's total oil, while just "merely" producing about 10% of the whole lot, is almost exactly the point. I'm sorry to hear about the state of economic unrest that's going on over there, but the rest of the world is suffering, too. As a citizen of the rest of the world, I'm suffering, too. From inertia, from opportunity wastage. (And yeah, sometimes from hunger and oppression and all those other things, too.) Now is the time to grab the bull by the horns, people. Hurry, while it's still in siesta mode. Now's the best time to get in on the action. By that I mean buy stuff. By stuff I mean stocks, mutual funds, bonds, you know, stuff. Not shoes, not handbags, not iPhones, not whatever. With the US market being down in the dumps, so to speak (no offense to my dear American readers), it's the best time to buy up since prices are so low.

Skeptical? Look, what do I know. I'm just a fan of the process, I'm not even amateur-level. We all only have to take our cue from Warren Buffett, who now heads the ranks of the ultra-exclusive Forbes ultimate hitlist. (Former Number 1 Bill G. is retired now and just a couple or so billions poorer than WB.) The Oracle of Omaha is on a jurassic roll, gobbling up companies left and right. You now see it makes perfect sense. The Tao of Warren Buffett is in overdrive.

To be specific, what I really have dollar signs in my eyes for (inspired by thoughts of endless dalliances in snow-capped settings, a la Tim Ferriss in his book, The 4-Hour Workweek) is the dollar bond fund (PDBF) that's one of the investment products being offered by Philam. For a minimum initial investment of two grand, you get to engage in high-stakes (as high as you wanna go) gambling, sans the Judeo-Christian guilt. To quote the investment objective:

To provide investors with a hedging mechanism against the peso exchange rate value with returns (ka-ching, baby!) and inflows derived out of diversified investments in dollar-dominated fixed-income instruments.

Okay, so I forget the thing is actually a bond, which means there's less risk involved than if you play to win in the equity ball game. Well anyhow, we gotta start bouncing off with baby steps. We can't just expect to go play with the big boys in the courts without training and practice.

Now I have yet to seriously digest the figures that are swimming en masse before my eyes, but I will get to that at a time when I'm more lucid. Notwithstanding the value proposition of the company versus what we can expect from others in the market, I think what's important here is that we recognize that for those of us who dare, the future is actually staring at us in the face, poking at the side of our nose even. I've had this thought germinating in my head for some time now and it's reassuring to me to hear a professional validate the plausibility of an idea that almost a year ago was alien to me.

Of course, at the risk of looking like an @ss for not walking the talk, I have to share that all this money talk doesn't mean I can readily take the plunge as I'm advocating we all should. I would if I could. And quite obviously, "should" is spelled differently from "could." See the difference? It's a whole world of it that you see. But of course, I can only speak for myself. If you have two grand (loosely translated to about Php90K), then you're in business.

My memory's pretty fuzzy right now, but I was actually supposed to blog about Mom, how she's coming over and cooling her heels in Manila for a couple of days and stuff. I was even searching the PC for a nifty picture of her to post in here. Alas, the greenback monster reared its ugly head and I just had to blog all the way up to here to convince y'all, basically anyone who should feel so inclined, to contribute in the alleviation of poverty. Help ease the burden of mankind. Donate US$2,000 to this overly excitable blogger. C'mon now, it's all for a worthy cause..... =P

Peace, mah peoples!

GG

Like I always say, babies are God's gift to the world.

Marat Trounces Novak in Wimby 2008!

Rather than taking the 8:30pm flight home right after the match, Marat Safin, love of my life, handed Novak Djokovic his walking papers in round two at Wimbledon, shocking the World Number 3--and the world--with a 6-4, 7-6 (3), 6-2 victory.


I don't usually repost entire posts in this here blog, but Jessica Zafra couldn't have said it better when she wrote about Novak's non-upsetting upset by Super Safin.

Holy Eastern European swearwords, Marat Safin just mowed down number three seed Novak Djokovic in the second round at Wimbledon, 6-4, 7-6(3), 6-2! HAHAHAHAHAHA! alternating with tears. Yes Marat is mental and we love him. His pre-Wimbledon tune-up was mountain-climbing in the Himalayas. Yes he may lose in the next rounds to some guy ranked 400. No, we’re never going to change my cat Saffy Safin’s name no matter how bonkers her papy gets!

The old guy (28) and former number one looks across the net at the young guy (21) who’s gunning for number one and thinks, “So this is the hot guy on the tour.” And the young guy freezes. What Marat can do when his head is screwed on right, but never mind that.

No doubt about it, baby's bringing sexyback, yeah-uh. Although one can only wonder how long the party will last...

If you have Windows Media Player (dunno if this can be done with other players), you can click on the link below to see how it went down...

http://mfile.akamai.com/25457/wmv/wimbledonxp.download.akamai.com/25457/wimbledon/streaming/2008/shortclips/free_highlights_nb_10448968_25062008_500.wmv


Photo courtesy of wimbledon.org

Of Modern-Day Dungeons and Dragons

So. NoKor's getting its act together. Finally. It's interesting to see that in this lifetime, our generation can still hope to bear witness to miracles taking place in worlds we've only heard about in stories of old.

Of course, it's still nowhere near as perfect as the proper exercise of freedom should be. But it's certainly something to look out for. Maybe unicorns do exist after all. We know dragons and dungeons do. They're all over the free world, even.

Anyway. To provide comic relief, let me share this site that I stumbled on a long, long time ago. Funny stuff.


***

On a separate note, it looks like I might just have to keep this blog alive for a little longer. Just coz.

Fete De La Musique 2008!

Waaaahhhh! This just in c/o Alliance Francaise. To think I narrowly missed this! It's a good thing I still manage to check my other yahoomail, the one that's heaving under the weight of some 15,000 subscription emails.


Tara troops, we're storming MOA tomorrow before dark. For some reason that escapes me to this day, I haven't had the chance to attend the Fete since 2005... Boy, that one was really something. That was probably the best concert (multiple pa!) that I've ever gone to. I need more moments like that.

Take a peek at how other countries are rocking it out this weekend. Coolness, they even have it as far as Kathmandu!

A demain!

Extravagance, Madness and Poetry in Modern Ballet

It was (or is to be) a good run while it lasted, even though I hardly made good on my promise to live and breathe the essence of eau de French Spring in Manila this year.

So before the curtain closes, Alliance Francaise and the Embassy of France leave us with one last hurrah... which I'm sure will leave us with oohs and aahs.. (Hehe, I just had to make it rhyme).

Je vous presente...

La Bossa Fataka
by Cie Hervieu-Montalvo
June 22, 2008 (Sunday) at 8:00 pm
Main Theater, Nicanor Abelardo Hall
Cultural Center of the Philippines, Pasay City


Last chance, folks. As of an hour ago, only a few balcony seats are still available. Get your tickets before they get sold out!

*Bises*
La Varbaridad

Signing Off

This is it. Tonight's the night. I'm totally closing shop for an indefinite period. For real now! Last chance, folks. For what, you ask? Wala lang, I just felt like saying...

Okay, maybe I'll limit viewing access instead. Just coz. I'm thinking this Friday should be a good time to do it, for real.

Alrighty then. Adios amigos!

Rationalizing Wanderlust

The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.

-- St. Augustine

Although certainly not exclusively the domain of bespectacled lovers of the written word, traveling is not an easy hobby to pursue. For those who live in the real world, where oil prices are currently inching toward the $200 per barrel mark and so on and so forth, it takes a certain level of financial confidence to be able to indulge your wanderlust and go where the wind may take you. Not to mention, a lot of VL credits, and also a certain amount of chutzpah to convince the head honchos that, yes, you are a very important cog in that well-oiled machine that you helped grease up and that although your time-out might bring about the ruin of the company as they know it, chances are they’ll endure in your absence, and so they need to let you go as you please--or else...

My last trip, albeit a little more "short and sweet" than I would normally care for (it's just a paradox), was certainly an eye-opener. When I saw the never-ending expanse of good ole Mother Nature in all her verdant glory, I felt something deep inside me being quenched, like a ripple swelling from inside out, saturating the weary soul. And it felt goodah!

I may have been a bit flippant in the past about serial traveling, but I realize that traveling can only do you good. No duh. But seriously now. Notwithstanding the present economic pickle we're all in that demands a little more effort from each of us in terms of conscious consumerist deliberation, if you should find yourself at a crossroads of sorts and faced with the question, “To go or not to go?” there’s only one way to rationalize it:

If you can, go.

Like them Nike ads say, just do it. End of story. And if you do your homework right, it’s gonna be well worth it. Satisfaction guaranteed.

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.

-- Mark Twain

I like to be prepared for the future, thank you very much.

Something to help you with homework...

Available in Powerbooks branches everywhere. Grab a copy if you can. You can’t help but fall in love even more with the Philippines after seeing what’s inside.

Hiatus Schmiatus

I was gonna post something about this meal that I had the other night but I think this is more critical.

I'm going away. No, not away-away. Just around the corner. And not me. Just my blog, anyway.

Need to disappear for a bit. Hopefully two months is a safe enough target. If you've bookmarked my site (arigato gozaimasu!), you can still check this space. I think. Otherwise, well, maybe I'll see you when I see you. Or rather, you'll see me when you see me. Not me, but my blog anyway. Whatev.

Anyhow, toodles. Wish me luck.

Peace.

French Spring in Manila 2008

Ooh la la! It's French Spring once again!

(Yep, this post is so long overdue.)

The two words (French and Spring) that can make me break out into song with matching spring-chicken dance moves:

Vive le temp
Vive le temp
Vive le temp de primavera!

(the above rephrased lyrics are originally sung to the tune of "Jingle Bells"--seriously!)

All right, so that may not be the most French thing to do. What can I say, I'm just the teensiest bit obsessed. I'm thinking instead of catching the show below so I might learn a few tricks to help me along this long-drawn-out process of acculturization to the French Aesthetic. (That is, if learning through osmosis actually works.)


Seriously, I think this is the shiznit. I really wanna go. I wanna see all the films they're showing at Shangri-La Plaza next month. I don't wanna catch them on bootleg DVD. I wanna see how the French get jiggy with it. I understand now that I shouldn't have missed out on last year's Pockemon Crew hiphop extravaganza. How I could have been totally ignorant prior to this time of the photography and culinary art exhibits that have been taking place all over the metro throughout the past couple of months is beyond me.

Indeed it is a terrible shame. Much as I hate being paradoxical all within the span of the same post, it saddens me to no end. How I used to take so many things, such as time and love, for granted. How I could have ever let a potentially beautiful moment slip through my now-rheumatic fingers. How I could never be, instead of letting be. So I'd like to make up for all the transgressions against who else but myself, for the sake of art, for the sake of self-liberation. For the sake of life... For the sake of love. (Naka naman!)
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(Oops, I just remembered--I might just be on hiatus on June 7th. Meaning, no Afro-French dance showdown for me. Maybe I'll go see this instead...)

Flipping for FlapJacks

It’s probably a mistake to be writing this review and alternately staring at the pictures below right around dinnertime. It probably doesn’t help either that right this moment I’m stuck at home, trying to resist the urge to haul my carbohydrated behind away from the computer, slip into decent Makati-lite threads, and grab a cab to get me to Greenbelt for another taste of FlapJack’s delicate pancakes. Yep, it doesn’t help me at all that I’m writing this right now.


After weeks of steering clear of the lure of exciting dining places, I finally gave in. With the passing of the long-overdue CamSur trip, I could let my hair down again and indulge all my gastronomic hankering for what’s left of the summer. Last week Soms and I thought of checking out the newest star on the glimmering Greenbelt dining promenade. Since the theme of the resto was good breakfast meals all day long (as in the tradition of old-fashioned pancake houses in the States but with a fancy schmancy twist), I had earlier thought of making it an early morning rendezvous. But then I realized that it would just cramp my style, me being a nightcrawler and all.

So then we went after working hours, well past dinnertime actually, and tried our hardest not to bite off more than we could chew. I decided on the Double Blueberry pancakes since they had such a pretty picture printed on the menu. Meanwhile, Soms was torn between the Beef Salpicao and some other dish that had a side serving of pancakes. Good thing he saw the light and realized that too many pancakes at 10pm was indeed too many pancakes.

The service was quite impeccable for the low-key kind of place that it was; the dining couch was cushy enough to make small talk over the rumbling of our tummies more manageable (dinnertime was long overdue, after all); and the best thing--we didn’t have to wait too long for our food. It came and went, but not without major effort from our part to try to not to inhale the whole table all in one big huff. The Double Blueberry, we were informed, was the house’s best-selling pancake. It was named so because apart from the generous dollop of blueberry sauce sloshed on top, you could see a smattering of blueberry chunks inside when you slice through the heap. Good thing we had the pancakes while they were still warm. I wouldn't say it was anything like in the cartooney M&M ads, but for sure it was a melt-in-your-mouth experience. The folks over at the other pancake house parked along G4 had better watch out; this newcomer’s got instant converts in the house!


From one “eggs-traordinary” dish to another (yeah, I know it's a terrible pun), we were equally enraptured by the house’s take on the Spanish-sounding local dish Salpicao. Nestled on the side with rice and scrambled eggs, I thought it looked like something that might have been served to the food-loving friars during the Spanish era, simply because it looked so good. Although when the guys at FlapJacks brought out this handsome-looking plate, it wasn’t the looks that got our motor running. Rather it was the heady aroma of eau d’huile de boeuf (yes, I just came up with that), that telling thing that results in one’s mental salivating mechanism to go on overdrive. Just now I realize we had too much animal protein that night, and I thought the eggs were a bit average for my liking, but the bovine was divine. The tastiness of the beef offset the characteristic blandness of the eggs, leading the overall flavor to converge at the point of contact with the meat. In the end, all’s well that converges well.

Soms was so impressed with the meal that he declared the place to be the new Heaven ‘n Eggs (in fact, for a certain favor, he actually said that I owe him FlapJacks flapjacks!). I would, on the other hand, say it’s a tough one to call. Maybe after we sample the Triple Chocolate Chip Pancake (yummm!) plus something else to keep us on our toes, then I’ll be able to say that it indeed is the premier pancake place to be. Right now.

FlapJacks
Ground Level, Greenbelt 2
Ayala Center, Makati City

Bicol Express

It is in the compelling zest of high adventure and of victory, and in creative action, that man finds his supreme joys.

- Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Open Up Your Mind and The Sky is Yours

Doncha just love the summertime?



I've actually downloaded the acoustic version of the song eons ago, which I so love. But with this new, Hawaiian-ish rendition, I find that I just can't stop clicking on insta-reply. Plus, the vid's pretty neat, too. Might just be in the running for my all-time summery fave. Then again, that's just probably coz I don't get to watch a lot of late-night MTV these days.

I'm Yours is the first single from Jason Mraz's new album, We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things, available wherever, whenever. After May 13, 2008, that is.

Cherishing My Chirashidon

Nope, that isn’t wagyu steak you’re looking at. Life would be too good if it was.

Of course, that doesn’t mean this dish doesn’t kick butt in the “good living” department. Despite its cartoonlike good looks, this Japanese import packs a protein-heavy punch, sans that sagging feeling in the tummy. (Not to mention the wallet.) If you look closely, you’ll see slices of tuna and salmon sashimi, kani, ebi, plus some tamago for a little dairy goodness. If you take out the rice in this dish (yes, you gotta have your carbs still), that’s 99% protein for you already.

As a tuna/salmon fan, the mere mention of the sashimi duet in the menu description was enough to compel me to forgo my usual order of Philadelphia Rolls. While the kani was pretty flavorful, I couldn’t tell how good the sashimi was coz I got to the resto pretty late and had taken my sweet time taking photos of the dish that I didn’t realize the place was closing up in a bit. In my haste to wolf down my meal so the resto people wouldn’t think I’m holding up the place and bring out the Yakuza on my click-happy arse, I accidentally put too much wasabi in my sawsawan. Yeah, you guessed it, my mind imploded. I saw stars, haha. That was some pretty good wasabi. I had to slow down a bit and resist from drenching my sashimi in the soy sauce mixture, but being a true-blue Pinoy, I just couldn’t let a good sawsawan go to waste.

The –don appended in the name of the dish of course denotes the presence of rice in this bowl. I have to admit my curiosity was piqued even more when I spotted the words “vinegared rice” on the menu description. I wondered how that would turn out. As I guessed, the rice was a little sweeter than usual. And a little more moist, of course, as Japanese rice usually is. It was quite filling, although I have to add a caveat that this might be a preference and proportion issue with me. Rice fans might find this a bit wanting but to be sure, anything that has the heads-up “healthy!” plastered next to its name in a menu means that the dish is gonna be stingy in the carbo-loading.

So the dish had some other surprise that I can’t name. There’s a fruit in there, that yellow little thing. I’m sure it’s nothing super exotic; I’m just a total ditz when it comes to fruits. The only things I eat are bananas and mangoes. Anyway, the yellow fruit was a surprise coz it provided an acidic contrast to the sweet meatiness of the fish. Upon first bite, I thought I would be disappointed coz the photo on the menu looked like it had mango in it. But it was a fitting component of the Chirashidon, somewhat serving as a side dish unto its own. Darn, if the store wasn’t closing up I would have asked the waiter. As it is, the investigation into the matter of the mysterious fruit will have to wait until my next visit.

On the whole, I think this is what exciting, healthy eats should be like: heavy on the goodies (protein, vitamins, what-have-you) while staying true to the flavor of the main ingredients. Put in some head-bangin’ wasabi and you got yourself a keeper. Next time, I’m trying their wasabi ice cream for that ober-da-bakod wallop.

Chirashidon (Php165)
Sushi-Ya

Gossip Girl and the Non-Episode of the Year

S,

Wherefore art thou? I need you. It's almost that time of the year.

I'm floundering in the ravages of time, battling this sea of uncertainty that I know will come at least 25 more times in the coming years. I need anchoring. I need to come up for air. I need music. I need to play the piano. I need Debussy. I need Neruda. I need chismis. I need a chiropractor. I need a Philadelphia Roll. I need swimming lessons. I need a good night's sleep.

I need something illegal in my system. I need a shoe addiction. I need a chain-smoking paragon of depravity. I need cheesecake from Bizu. I need foie gras stuffed with truffles. I need a friggin' Parisian sidewalk cafe. I need action. I need adventure. I need my own cable station. I need another credit card. I need a Roman holiday. I need a ride to take me to Bicol and back next month. I need deliverance.

I need to friggin' get out of this place.

xoxo...
V

(P.S. OT ka ulit this Sabado.)