Archive for May, 2011

The Original Foodie

The Original Foodie

Grimod de la Reynière – the original foodie – wrote a bunch of essays that, in today’s food blogging world, would make him a foodie.  After all, Grimod was an expert in:

For all intents and purposes, Grimod “blogged” way before we started going into openings of restaurants in malls clutching netbooks and iPads because we review food.  Or become part of a “food blogger” niche.

Of course, Grimod did not walk into restaurants for the sole purpose of taking pictures of food, as is the norm today.  It was the 1800′s: Grimod did not paint still life of bouillabaisse or made woodcuts of suckling pigs.  Grimod ate, analyzed, left, and ate again.  For all intents and purposes, Grimod was the Big Bad… Gourmand.

Don’t get me wrong: I like reading food blogs, I like foodies, and I think that it’s a sad state of blogging in the Philippines to think that such a happy topic is more prone to flak than, say, political blogging.  The bashing of a “member of the Yellow Horde” is nothing compared to the online flogging of a “gatecrasher” or a “free food blogger;” mostly because it affects social taste, and hits us pretty bad in the stomach.  Had Grimod lived today and blogged in the Philippines, he would have been so hated, reviled, and pretty much blacklisted by that omniscient bearer of invites and press kits, “PR.”

No, this is not a knock on “biases” or “reviews” or whatnot.  I just feel that in this age of the free and the sponsored meal that happens almost every day, there’s no review for the guy who sells lunches to the offices.  No McDonald’s meal has been reviewed.  There is no single compelling piece out there that will defend the giniling of a C. Palanca Jollyjeep from the fans of Monday lechon kawali over at a Valero Jollyjeep.  This is not just about the quality of the food we’re writing about, but the quality of writing.  The synonyms of “delicious” and “succulent” do not make the difference.  It’s easier to find things in a thesaurus than to find real, delicious food.  More than the marketing, it’s in the eating, and the expression of the eating.

I don’t question the love for food, but I do underscore the big difference between the gastronomic essay and the food review.  The former is an exposition, the latter is a laundry list.  The former is an exploration, the latter is a sell.  The foodie from the gourmand: the former loves food, the latter lives food.  I guess that’s what I’m looking for as a reader: not a Doreen Fernandez with an encyclopedic knowledge for food, but a Grimod who has a deep appreciation for food and expresses it well.  I tried, but somehow I really can’t do it.  I really don’t know how, but all I’m saying is that maybe the marketing can take the backseat when we’re writing about what matters: taste, texture, flavor, and the things about food that take more than a recommended adjective to describe.  One, as a friend says, that takes passion.

Before we start sticking telephoto lenses on steaks, or raving about how flaky the cream dory is on 20 or so fish restaurants, or scramble over invites to dinner to some foo-foo restaurant we could go to once or twice a year on, a word from Grimod:

Life is so brief that we should not glance either to far backwards or forwards… therefore study how to fix our happiness in our glass and in our plate.

Anyway here’s a picture of fried chicken and fries.

Crisp, almost cookie-like breading on the chicken.  The fries had an earthy note, I guess from the sweetness of the sugars in the starchy wedges and the crisp skin left on the potato.  The meat on the chicken remained juicy but the peppery crust on the skin was perfectly seasoned, with a lemony aftertaste.  Superb, delicious, great value at P170.

Of course, I’m not really a food blogger so that’s all I got.

May 23, 2011 1 comment Read More
RH

RH

There’s something revolting about the discussions of the RH Bill, if not that the subject for some is enough cause for revulsion.  It seems that the ticklish subject more than just ruffles feathers: it pisses people off.

I usually surmise that something as sensitive and personal as reproduction can – and should – elicit the most personal and emotional responses from people.  Whether it’s from the die-hard Catholics who see the bill as a violation of their faith to the die-hard supporters who see the Church as an obstacle to human freedom, there’s no stopping the jeering and the insulting from both sides of the fence.

What turns me off (but really, in the whole mess of things what I think does not matter) about the whole RH Bill brouhaha is the seeming lack of respect that each side has for the other.  The arguments from either side or from the sidelines don’t set the proper environment for debate.  The RH debate, as it stands, is disrespectful discussion; it’s one that doesn’t seek to enlighten, but to entice spite and to dwell – and dwell – on animosities and differences of opinion that can only be resolved through name-calling.

It doesn’t have value either to those who need RH education the most: the poor, the vulnerable, and those who would benefit the most from some avenue of population control in the Philippines.  If anything, it is they who should be at the center of these conversations and not at the sidelines, not merely as those who reap the consequences of the jeering and heckling sowed on Twitter.  The more we heckle, the more we turn this debate out of their reach and understanding.

I’m for the passage of the RH Bill myself, albeit on nuances that drive more towards the center than towards the extremes of “yes” or “no.”  I believe that having provisions for reproductive health in the Philippines provide people with the options necessary to make informed choices for themselves.  I am for birth control, but not for the forcible enforcement of it.  I am for condoms, but not for the public funding of it.  The classroom can more or less be a place for respectful agreements or disagreements on RH, where the premises of discussion are taught to open minds for them to make free and open choices.

I respect the religious position against the RH Bill, but that comes with the caveat that they respect my position enough not to condemn my living soul to some concept of Hell.  I respect civil society’s position for the RH Bill, but that comes with the caveat that I do not condone the interruption of something as deeply personal as a Mass.  I am for the RH Bill for so long as such a measure becomes an avenue for a more long-term project of the even and equitable distribution of resources, and bridge the gap of the rich and the poor.  It should not just a stopgap measure to address crowding and overpopulation.  RH is not just about condoms and religious belief, but should be framed in things like education, nutrition, and the empowerment of the public.

Indeed, I believe the RH Bill’s morality should be framed in that larger context: that reproductive health is a long-term project.  Reproductive health should not be a social sacrifice, much less a silver bullet, but an avenue to help society prioritize its needs.  Reproductive health should be part of a greater part of choices made available to everyone not just for managing our population against our resources, but of social justice.

RH should definitely be a choice in a free and just society, but that should not come with putting other non-debatable needs – like education, nutrition, and public healthcare – at the back seat with everything else.  The RH debates should go on, but with respect and prudence in the discussions.

May 17, 2011 1 comment Read More
For Every Mother

For Every Mother

This is for every mother this coming Mother’s Day.

You see her leave the house not to socialize or party, or to bask under the gleam of flash bulbs and spotlights.  You see her leaving the house for a trip to the grocery store or the market, haggling the cost of a kilo of pork, or ticking away non-essentials in a grocery list.  There won’t be new shoes or high heels for her feet today: that money went for new bedsheets or a stock of soap and shampoo.  She won’t get them free, most definitely, but she would get them on the best deal.  Not on the Groupon clone that she could spend hours on if she knew how, but the hours she spends in the store.  She basks under the gleam of her children’s smile.

Her look?  Nothing too fancy, nothing too stylish.  Her wardrobe is sparse, Spartan, utilitarian; the nicest clothes reserved for the wedding of her eldest, the graduation of her youngest.  Nothing too fancy either: probably the inexpensive ones from the department store or the rummage sale.  No thousand-peso jeans, no dress worth tens of thousands of pesos.  No splurges in the wardrobe, or the makeup department.  You never saw her put really expensive makeup on her face; she won’t have much use for that when she’s off to buy foundation for the eldest, or lipstick for the youngest.  Nothing too fancy, nothing too stylish.

Her most beautiful feature?  Her hands, most definitely.  The callouses, the rough palms, the very hands that do laundry, cleaning, cooking, and all sorts of things that come with motherhood.  The hands that feed children, discipline them, and teach them the right way that there is to life.  The same hands that wiped tears from eyes that see failing marks on class cards.  The same hands that comforted the shoulders of the weary, the tired, and even the brokenhearted.  Her hands are beauty, for in many ways, those hands have created life.

This is for every mother who wouldn’t have expensive make-up kits or thousand-peso dresses for Mother’s Day.  This is for every mother who saves for the daily grocery list, and not for the world’s most popular gadget.

This is for every mother whose comfort is sleep, perhaps even when awakened by the sounds of crying infants or the screams of pain for 20, or perhaps even 30 years.

This is for every mother who gave up on the caprices of the lives of ladies and took on motherhood, all out of the joy of comes with keeping life alive and well.

This is for every mother whose passion is in motherhood: that there is peace in the chaos of raising boys to be men, and girls to be women.

This is for every mother whose sanity is in family; where we men would often grow weak in the knees with just one diaper change to our credit, they do so and so many other things without fail.  And they do so out of love.

This is for every mother this coming Mother’s Day.  We, your sons, may find it so hard to say this just once, even on days dedicated to you, but we love you.

May 6, 2011 2 comments Read More
One Less Bad Guy in the World

One Less Bad Guy in the World

On May 2, much of the Twitterverse – and the free world – went abuzz and agog over the apparent death of Osama Bin Laden.  Save for the occasional reflexive online press releases on how social media had something to do with it, there was a somewhat glowing tinge of triumph, that the death of Osama meant a new dawn, a milestone, a very important moment that the “free world” (emphasis on the quotes) should celebrate.

There’s one less bad guy in the world, as the author Nicholas Sparks wrote on his Twitter account.  We can now be free from the clutches of a man who, in many ways, had the single most murderous and twisted interpretation and implementation of a sick and sadistic ideology that he can rightfully claim to be his own.  The war is over… or so we think.

There’s celebration in Washington, as there is co-celebration here in Manila.  It may “matter less” here, yet our familiarity with the pain and toll of terrorism should justify a reaction from these shores.  But there’s something unsettling about rejoicing about the death of enemies or even terrorists: not the earnest self-reflection that comes with the reality that Osama’s death isn’t “victory,” but a cold, hard reality of a protracted war.

Not that terrorists shouldn’t die in a War on Terror – this is, after all, a global purge against them – but it somehow reinforces the idea of “one man’s terrorist is another’s freedom fighter.”  There’s a sort of obvious juxtaposition: those who dance because Osama died do so at the expense of his supporters, who mourn for the death of an ideologue.  And the seeds of terrorism often grow from the nourishment brought on by emotions.

For all its military might, the United States can learn a lot from us here in the Philippines.  We’ve killed many terrorists of many different sorts in these islands: international terrorists, community terrorists, so-called terrorists.  Yet there was never a feeling of closure when a terrorist passes on, for terror – and the ideology that perpetuates terror – outlives guns, bombs, and terrorists.  Sure, there’s one less bad guy in the world, but that never meant having one less bad idea.

May 3, 2011 2 comments Read More