Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

My Mom's Cookbook

Have you noticed that people rarely feel neutral about their mom's cooking? Your mom is/was either the best cook ever OR she was sweetly and hilariously awful. I'm sure it comes as little surprise to anyone out there that I place my own mom squarely in the first category; I've written as much before. Her pesky and evil multiple sclerosis prevents her from cooking now, but of course I still go to her for advice and whatnot. PLUS I filched her copy of Recipes of the Philippines, compiled and edited by Enriqueta David-Perez and published in 1970 (the 16th printing).

How groovy is this cover? Take note of the bakelite faux wood handles on the carving set! The creepy twisty candle! Those random dried flowers! And let's not forget the pineapple wedges stuck to the ham via a toothpicked, pimento-stuffed olive. But don't be fooled by the cover, for many jewels are hidden in these pages, including my mom's handwritten notes, yellowed recipes clipped from newspapers, and what I think is a recipe for cucinta written on the back of a page from her 1974 check register (on October 19th of that year, if you must know, she spent $2.00 on books).

The book proper is equally entertaining. There are little charcoal folk drawings—people in traditional dress, a pair of tsinelas, cooking vessels, and of course a rider atop a caribou; color photographs; black and white photographs; and some fun text. In the intro, David-Perez warns that the book is not a complete collection of Philippine dishes, but one with general appeal "that give a good glimpse of the Filipino heart."


Here are a few more quotes that amuse or baffle me:

"After adding vinegar to a cooking dish, do not stir until mixture has boiled." - But what happens if you mix it before it boils? Tell me! Tell me!

"A Filipino thinks nothing of starving himself or getting into debt to be a perfect host." - This gave me pause, but then I realized: she's right.

"Bread and butter has taken the pace of the kakanin in many modern homes. But in many a heart lingers the nostalgia for something at one with the long ago." - Um, I would like to be at one with the long ago. The long ago of my 30th birthday, let's say.

Here's to nostalgia. *raises glass of Crystal Light*




Monday, June 28, 2010

Doing Food Penance

I am trying with all my Nesting Ground Mistress might to correct the terribly wrong nutritional turn our lives have taken. It's been weeks now since I became utterly overwhelmed and gave up on any attempt to bring at least SOME healthy food to the ballpark. Good-bye to fruits and carrots, and whassup to nachos, burgers, fries, polish sausage, etc. etc. ad nauseum. It's mortifying, really, to think of all the badness we've consumed. I didn't want to shock our systems by swinging too wildly back into the direction of a healthy diet, though, and so began easing our return to the world of proper living with a little Joe's Special tonight. Ground beef, yes, but with forty thousand pounds of spinach. Some potatoes on the side, yes, but roasted rather than fried. I hope this works or, frankly, WE ARE GONNA DIE.

In other news, I recently attended the 40th birthday party of my very sweet friend, J. at a shmancy locale in lovely Woodside. Let us discuss the appetizers. Why? Because they made me so happy I wanted to...sing. There were gougeres super-fresh from the oven; crunchy crostini with that super-milky mozzarella and tomatoes; demitasse cups of sweet corn chowder; prawns with some sort of spicy sauce, etc. I was so over-zealous (perhaps it was because of my near-constant diet of "snack shack" food) that by the time our actual dinner was served I was seriously regretting having Spanx-ed myself into my dress. My kingdom for a muumuu! Or at least something A-line.

Elsewhere in food...maybe things are not as gastronomically dire as I think. The other night (but when was it? Two weeks ago? Three? Everything is a huge softball blur...) I finally made the Slanted Door's Chicken in Caramel Sauce. I have a problem, though, with the name of this dish. Chicken in Caramel Sauce? Simply having brown sugar as an ingredient does not necessitate the use of caramel as descriptor, especially when the resulting dish tastes nothing like caramel. So, that's confusing. What's not confusing is the fact that it's so good and easy, and that the sauce over rice will make you dance a little dance, and that it's as satisfying as adobo in like a fraction of the time. I am a kind and thoughtful Nesting Ground Mistress, so I am cut and pasting the recipe here. If nobody currently loves you, you should make this, and then everyone will:

Chicken in Caramel Sauce

Serves 4 to 6

The inspiration for this dish that Charles Phan serves at his Slanted Door restaurant in San Francisco came from a street cart in Vietnam. It's a good example of the great food that is served from street stands throughout that country.

1/2 cup dark brown sugar
1/4 cup water
1/4 cup Asian fish sauce (see Note)
3 tablespoons rice vinegar
1 teaspoon minced garlic
1 teaspoon dark or regular soy sauce
1 teaspoon slivered ginger
1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
2 small Thai chiles (fresh or dried), broken in half
1tablespoon canola oil
1 shallot, sliced
1 3/4 pounds skinless, boneless dark-meat chicken, cut into bite-size pieces
1/4 pound skinless, boneless white-meat chicken, cut into bite-size pieces
Steamed white rice
Cilantro sprigs for garnish

Instructions: Combine the brown sugar, water, fish sauce, vinegar, garlic, soy sauce, ginger, pepper and chiles in a small bowl. Mix well, and set aside.

Heat the oil in a large pot over high heat. Add the shallot and saute until brown, about 3 to 5 minutes. Add the chicken and saute until it is slightly browned, about 5 minutes.

Add the sauce mixture and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium and cook, stirring occasionally, until the sauce has reduced by half, about 12 to 20 minutes depending on the pot size. Serve over rice and garnish with cilantro.

via the San Francisco Chronicle


Farewell.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Soup & Sentences & Stories

The upside of having your desk in the kitchen is that you can blog while making a pot of soup. Which is exactly what I'm doing now. Judging from the past few days, it seems that Winter is on the wane, and so I wanted to make this Caldo Verde one more time. The first time was very good (especially on the second day), but this time around I'm making Nesting Ground Mistress adjustments: more chorizo! more linguica! more garlic! slice the kale thinner! It's so simple to do that I doubted the legitimacy of the recipe, which I found while perusing the San Francisco Chronicle. A quick Google search later, though, it seems that it is, indeed, basically the real deal. And so I have no qualms about passing it on to you. Here's a tiny picture of the finished product:


Doesn't that just look like the best mess ever?! And here's a link to the recipe. Make some, and then invite your parents over for dinner, and then you will be my Nesting Ground Twin!

***

Here are some blog post sentences that I've found quite moving today, actually:

From Weez: But I can rely on you to fill in the blanks, and if you do not know the specifics, you’ll think of something that made you feel whatever it is you recognize, and you think you will know me, and that I would understand you. Maybe that’s why I write, and why you might read - for an illusory if not actual accidental communion.

And from Tony: There’s something very endearing about 70 year old (or older) men wearing Members Only jackets.

So here's to Weez and Tony and their blogs in general. And, more specifically, to actual accidental communions and Members Only jackets.

***

I've been writing a little bit lately. I'm working on a series of short-shorts that all include a line from a story I wrote years ago, "As a Filipino, it's my responsibility to be a good dancer." I'm doing this because it's endlessly amusing to me.

Also I'm fumbling through writing an essay about my father and his whistling. Whistles all the time, that guy. Has whistled for as long as I can remember. I'm not a very good writer of essays; I lack the ability to relax into my topic. Too self-conscious, too much thinking, fear, whatever. But I'm trying. I like these short craft essays over at Brevity. Helpful.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Flipping The Bird

I have to flip my turkey now. It's not a simple task, you know, to flip a 17.29 lb. turkey on its side after it's been roasting for 45 minutes, but that's what I'm supposed to do. I've flipped it one wing-side up already, where it's been roasting for 20 minutes, and now I need to flip it the other wing-side up. After 20 minutes, I flip it one last time: breast up. I'm using wads of paper towel to keep from burning my delicate Nesting Ground Mistress skin.

{pause}

Well, that was fun. It took me several minutes to wrangle a firm grip, and then just as my flip was almost executed, the V-rack collapsed. So then I placed the turkey rather awkwardly on top of the collapsed rack, pulled out a large pan, moved the turkey onto it, then proceeded to fix the V-rack. One of the supporting bars had become unhinged (much as I have in the last few hours), and I couldn't use my bare hands to fix it, so I made do with some tongs and brief touches with my fingers. Success! Then I finally flipped the bird (hahahahaha!!), shoved it back into the oven with a satisfied grunt, and shut the door. I have to admit, it's getting a lovely all-over tan. The final flip will be another adventure, I'm sure, but I'll spare you.

As for the rest of the early evening menu, I have relied heavily on the holiday cookie issue of Sunset Magazine. I have Gratin of cauliflower with gruyere, Yukon Gold mashed potatoes with buttermilk and roasted garlic, Italian sausage and chard stuffing, and Green beans with a citrus vinaigrette. And I'm making some pumpkin soup, using a recipe from my sister-in-law that has served me well lo these past many years. And pies! But we got those from Heidi's Pies, so they don't count.

I am thankful for many things. But I am also sleepy.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

The Intrepid Traveler

One of the highlights of our trip was the day we escaped the heat of the city and headed up, up, up to Tagaytay, specifically to Tagaytay Highlands. My uncle was one of the architects for this project, and I think it gave him full access to everything. At least I think that's what happened since we...had full access to everything. There were a dizzying number of options: badminton, anyone? Bowling? Golf, spa, basketball, skating, tennis, squash...go-kart racing?! The kids were in charge, though, so the day's agenda became: fruit shakes, lunch at the Chinese restaurant, horseback riding, a visit to the zoo, and swimming.

I should make a correction: Vida was in charge. For whatever reason, she decided that this would be the day she would take life by the throat, look it in the eye, and say, "Hello. I'm going to LIVE you now." First, to honor her Lolo who was at home in San Mateo, she ate a fish eye. Here is the eye, being prepared by my Uncle Pudjo:


Here is Vida holding the eye on the spoon.


Here she is eating the eye.


Here she is saying, "Hmmm. Not bad."


Next, while her sisters showed a certain amount of trepidation in regards to mounting a horse, Vida basically jumped in the saddle and took off. Good thing she was accompanied by a groom, or who knows where she would have ended up?


At the zoo, she asked to hold some of the birds. Her sisters? Her sisters were all, "Um, no thanks." We could barely convince them to stand near Vida in this picture:


And, finally, in clear violation of stated pool rules, she decided she would cannonball into the water. When the lifeguard took her to task, she just flashed a smile and held up her hands as if to say, "How could I not?"



Vida does not take after me. But I'm thinking maybe I should take after her.

Monday, April 27, 2009

What's In A Name?

There are only so many places to eat on Boracay, and we quickly found a very good one that suited all our palates. For me: crispy tadyang (I was obsessed with this dish throughout our trip; in fact, you should just call me Crispy Tadyang from now on), grilled prawns, etc. For the kids: ribs! For the spousal unit: chicken, calamari, etc. An establishment with a knack for unifying disparate tastes could only be called one thing:


We ended up eating there three times in all, and each time our waiter was this sweet kid named Walter. Risa, Vida, and Lea basically ate him up with a spoon; he was a particular favorite of Lea's. Everything was Walter this, Walter that, thank you Walter, Walter's so nice, let's go eat at Obama Grill so we can say hello to Walter, Walter, Walter!

During our last meal there, Walter happened to catch a glimpse of the SU's driver license. This inspired Walter to show us his official Obama Grill identification card. Much to my horror, it didn't state his name as Walter. The dozens of times we had addressed him as such ran like a slideshow through my head. I squinted at the card, hoping I'd simply read it wrong. No such luck. His name was not Walter; it was Voltaire.

"Voltaire?" I asked. "Voltaire as in the...French writer?"

"No Ma'am," he said. "When my mother was six months pregnant with me, she was—ano—electrocuted. So...volt. Voltaire."

Would you practically have DIED just then? Because I almost just about died.

Oh, Voltaire.

As a culinary aside, I must ask: is there anything finer than being served dishes of vinegar, soy sauce, red chiles, and calamansi alongside your steamed rice? No, I think there is not.

Just in case you missed them on Facebook, here is a public link to our Boracay pictures.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Eat, Drink, Merry

I am sitting here in my trainwreck of a kitchen, simultaneously cleaning up from last night's festivities and making a shopping list for the next two days. Yesterday was all about crab. My dad schooled the girls on crab anatomy:


And then, much to the delight of everyone under the age of 9, he insisted that two of the crabs participate in a foot race prior to their demise:


Let's hope he has no such plans for tomorrow's prime rib roast. Speaking of which, I am off to Pape Meat Co. to pick it up! I have mentally prepared myself for being jostled around by people who, for reasons unknown, strongly believe that they should be served first. But never mind them! They are but specks in my sea of happiness!

I'll meet you back here after all the merrymaking! And here are a few more exclamation marks: !!!!

Monday, November 24, 2008

Friday Night Happy

I would like to take this blogging opportunity to ignite jealousy in the hearts and minds of all you lovely people. How will I do this, you ask? I will do this by describing my Friday night date with the spousal unit.

I took the train into the city, walked out the station doors, and spotted said spousal unit patiently awaiting my arrival in his car which was, per usual, parked in a spot that willfully ignores all rules and regulations. I was able to wing my way across the 6-lane wide street before the police arrived, however, and we proceeded safely on our way to what I thought was going to be The Slanted Door, but which turned out to be A 16, which is located in the Marina, which is an oddly—how to put it nicely?—bland part of the city, which I habitually avoid due to the...blandness. But A 16 was a revelation.

Parking was, of course, a challenge, so I hopped out of the car to finagle a table (that rhymes!). Normally, I don't do well with this. I am always being smirked at and told that the wait will be 145 hours, but by some miracle of the Date Night Gods, I was promised two seats at the chef's counter. Ten minutes later, a frazzled and pissed off woman walked in and said with much drama, "I am here to cancel my 6:30 reservation, IF YOU CAN BELIEVE THAT. Instead of sitting down and enjoying a delicious dinner, I have to go home because the babysitter didn't show up." She then left in a haze of misery and dejection.

The spousal unit walked in as she walked out, so I turned to the hostess. "Can we have her table?" I asked, referring to Drama Lady.

Of course we could.

We then ordered the mozarella burrata which looked, frankly, like curdled milk surrounded by a glistening pool of olive oil. But then I put a little on my crostini and my eyes nearly rolled back in my head. Hard to describe. It was like eating fresh air and sunshine. Because I am Filipino and cannot pass up braised meat to save my life, I then had the beef short ribs alla genovese and a side of roasted polenta. I can't remember what the spousal unit had (seafood of a kind, I think) because I was far too engrossed in my own culinary choices.

Happiness, happiness.

And then! And then we went to see the majestic Toni Morrison in conversation with the less majestic Michael Krasny. Maybe it's because she is a Pulitzer Prize winner and a Nobel Prize for Literature winner and has, therefore, no reason to be anything but herself, but still.


She was remarkably real and had a way of talking about literature in a way that makes it not so precious. When Krasny noted that she has two sons and asked her, then, to "locate" (gag) her interest in the mother/daughter relationship, she paused for a moment and said, "Well. I am a daughter." It was kind of an "Oh, snap!" moment, and I felt bad for Krasny and for anyone who has ever asked a stupid question, ever. Then she practically giggled when someone wanted to know if Beloved was in some sense a conversation with Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway. And then someone asked if another of her novels was a response to Faulkner's Absalom, Absalom!. She threw up her hands and said, "Sound good! I'll take it!" After the laughing died down, she gave her real answer to both of those questions, which was, "Um, no."

Happiness, happiness.

And then! And then we came home and watched more of the first season of Mad Men. Oh, Don Draper. You're such a bad, bad boy.


You're so jealous right now.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Playing With Your Food

At lunch today, my eyes skipped over the too-fancy sandwich selection and the overly involved vegetarian lasagne, and landed with delight on the "Kids Melt." It was billed as muenster on a sourdough baguette which sounded, frankly, like a little piece of heaven. Here is what arrived at my table:



Did your Nesting Ground Mistress...

a) laugh so hard that Diet Coke spewed out of her nose

b) say, "Oh, there's been a mistake. I ordered the overly involved vegetarian lasagne"

or

c) ask for a bib and a sippy cup

I'll never tell. As an aside, I will share with you that I have violent feelings regarding olives, so I flung those things off immediately after I took the picture. Also, I did not eat the cabbage.

In other amusing food news, a few weeks ago Lea asked if she could have some of the 40 million tomatoes growing in the backyard. "Okay," we shrugged. She selected only green ones, and then sequestered herself in her room for awhile. Later, she unveiled this:


After she negotiated fifteen minutes with her father, it was agreed that she would bring the tomato family to the kitchen within one day's time. Five days later, Risa ratted her out, "Dad! Dad! Lea still has the tomatoes! She! Still! Has! Them!"

Lea has a habit of raiseing her eyebrows and pushing her tongue against the inside of her cheek when she's found out. On that day, she withstood the taunts and goading from her older sisters, and set about silently correcting her mistakes. Still, I think it was a long and humiliating march down the hallway for her and her contraband tomatoes.

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Summer Reading, In Detail

I'm more than halfway through Michael Chabon's The Yiddish Policemen's Union, and even though it's a genre I can't really get with (actually, it's a mix of several, some of which appeal to me and some of which don't: wisecracking detective story, crime story, and family drama, plus handfuls of cultural displacement, sorta fantasy, and hints of Jewish history thrown in), I am rapt. It should be noted that due to my appreciation of another of Mr. Chabon's novels, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, and his full-throttle endorsement of one Barack Obama, I was predisposed to respond in this way. Plus...

...The Yiddish Policemen's Union boasts several Filipino characters. I find this fascinating. And not just maids or drivers, either (though there are those). There is, for example, Benito Taganes:

The hidden master of the Filipino-style Chinese donut is Benito Taganes, proprietor and king of the bubbling vats at Mabuhay. Mabuhay, dark, cramped, invisible from the street, stays open all night long. It drains the bars and cafes after hours, concentrates the wicked and the guilty alongs its chipped Formica counter, and thrums with the gossip of criminals, policemen, shtarkers, and shlemiels, whores and night owls. With the fat applauding in the fryers, the exhaust fans roaring, and the boom box blasting the heartsick kundimans of Benito's Manila childhood.


And:

He is a squat, thick man with skin the color of the milky tea he serves, his cheeks pitted like a pair of dark moons. Though his hair is black, he's past seventy. As a young man he was the flyweight champion of Luzon, and with his thick fingers and the tattoed salamis of his forearms he gets take for a tough customer, which serves the needs of his business. His big caramel eyes betray him, so he keeps them hooded and downcast.


It goes on like this for six pages, this portrait of Benito Taganes. I feel like I know the guy. The Filipino-style Chinese donut referred to here is called a "shtekeleh," which I'm going to assume is one of the thousands of invented words in the book (did I leave out the whole he-also-made-up-a-language thing when I was praising the author?). I found a Pinoy blogger who says it's a bicho-bicho, and he posted an intimidatingly lengthy recipe here. Here's Chabon's description of the donut:

A panatela of fried dough not quite sweet, not quite salty, rolled in sugar, crisp-skinned, tender inside, and honeycombed with air pockets. You sink it in your paper cup of milky tea and close your eyes, and for ten fat seconds, you seem to glimpse the possibility of finer things.


Really good book.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Secret

A few days after Thanksgiving, while standing in line at Trader Joe's, my wandering eyes landed on a 4-oz bar of Toblerone. Into my basket it went. I hid the bar in one of the kitchen cabinets, and once every week or two, I break off one of the triangle-shaped pieces and eat it in five small creamy, yet slightly crunchy, yet slightly chewy, bites. Today, though, I've had three pieces. I don't know what, exactly, that reveals about the kind of day I'm having, but there you have it. Viva La Toblerone!

Sunday, December 23, 2007

Think-A-Bettuh-Danz-Now

I've been feeling bad about leaving such a negative post up on the 'ol blog, especially since my malaise actually lifted a few days ago. By then, though, I'd left so many seasonal to-do's undone, that I was in quite the bind (imagine your Nesting Ground Mistress bound with ribbon, gagged with a wad of wrapping paper, pine needles scattered in her hair). But in a burst of energy fueled by Diet Pepsi (what? it was on SALE), fear, and warped determination, I have successfully caught up on everything from sending out those last few cards, to making my twice yearly pilgrimage to Pape Meat Co. to secure a prime rib roast (originally, I had wanted a crown roast of pork, but when I was in on Friday, they told me it was impossible. Then late last night, Mr. Pape himself called and triumphantly announced he would have it for me on Monday. "Oh Mr. Pape," said I. "I was in today and picked up prime rib." Ever jovial, he said, "Next time, then! Next time I promise!")

Happiness and/or approximations of happiness:

1) Tom Jones/Art of Noise cover of Prince's "Kiss." (Oh, shush now. You love it)



2) When reading collides. While reading a review of two physically gigantic books of essays/book reviews by Edmund Wilson, I discover that his essay, "The Wound and the Bow," refers to Sophocles's play about the nasty, festering wound on Philoctetes foot, and—can you believe it?—I just finished reading the play. I'm lying! I have NOT just read the play, but there is a section in Arnold Weinstein's A Scream Goes Through the House that discusses it, and I DID just read that. So, well, that counts a little.

3) The sound you heard in the move theatre during the pomegranate scene in "The Kite Runner" was my heart being ripped in two, strewn on the floor, and left for dead. Okay, this doesn't actually count as "happiness," but it does count as "being able to feel." And that's as good a definition of happiness as any other, I suppose.

4) Karito Kids for my girls! None of the nagging guilt produced by purchasing the increasingly creepy American Girls, and possibly—just possibly—some redeeming value. Now I'll just keeping my fingers crossed that 1) the dolls are not somehow laced with the date-rape drug or 2) manufactured using child labor or 3) chock full of lead. *Scream*

5) The Collected Stories by Grace Paley.

6) Old Port Lobster Shack in Redwood City. How many times must I tell you this before you go? So what if they refer to their appetizers as "shacketizers?" So what if they couldn't stop there and decided to call their shrimp cocktail a "shacktail?" Do not let these piddly details deter you.

7) Ichiban-kan for stocking stuffers!

8) Leftover beef chow fun from a deli on Clement St.

9) My brother is here at Nesting Ground (you may remember that he now resides in Madison-Freaking-Wisconsin)! He is wearing a pair of boots that are making me cross-eyed with jealousy. I'll take a picture later.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Pot Roast & The Good Filipino Girls

It's clearly time for cold-weather food: stews, roasts, soups, all that good stuff. The other night, for example, I made pot roast. Now, listen carefully because this is where the genius-ness comes in. I didn't have any beef stock, nor did I have any desire to throw the kids into the car and head to the market because, as you all know by now, any 15-minute errand instantly turns into (at least!) a 40-minute errand whenever children are added to the equation (the only exception I know of is filling up with gas, and that's because nobody gets out of the car except for me). And since the pot roast was going to take 3.5 hours to cook, I didn't have 40 minutes to squander.

Are you with me?

So instead of beef stock, I used 2 cups of water and a liberal sprinkling of Maggi (don't even LOOK at the sodium content; just don't do it). The result was astounding, truly. Stop laughing at me.

Okay, now despite the fact that my pot roast included big, soft, and velvety potato cubes, I still made rice. Why? Because I'm Filipino. Go ahead, turn to the closest Filipino and ask if I'm making this up. I am not.

I served the kids a nice scoop of rice with their pot roast, but soon noticed that they weren't eating it. "Why aren't you eating your rice?"

"We're eating potatoes."

"But I don't care if there are potatoes; Filipinos EAT RICE."

"But..."

"No 'but, but!' What kind of Filipino girls are you? I've made rice for you since you were babies with the express intention of making sure that you'd eat it for the rest of your lives."

"Who made that rule?"

"What rule?"

"About Filipino girls and rice?"

"It's not a rule, it just IS."

At this point, I went outside to great the SU, who was arriving home late from a meeting. I was wearing a flowing green caftan, silver heels, liquid eyeliner, and my hair piled up on top of my head just like Elizabeth Taylor in...just kidding! When we came inside, the girls were seated nicely and grinning.

"Look! We ate our rice!"

Good Filipino girls.

Thursday, August 02, 2007

Excerpt(s) from the Family Forum

I must share these gems from a recent thread on our family forum. They feature my cousin Luj (perhaps you will remember him as the one who wrote a song for me entitled, "You're Forty and I'm Not"); my father who is, as has been noted several times here on Nesting Ground, a free-roaming lunatic; and two quips from one uncle and one of my brothers. The title of the thread is simply...

DAING


Luj: So I just got back from Oxnard—spent a few days of vacation there—and my Mom made me Daing (dried fish) a couple of mornings for breakfast. I love it. I truly love it. It's super gnarly, but I love it. Anyway, she sent me home with several frozen bags of it.

So I got home last night, woke up this morning, and decided to pull out some of my camping gear so I can cook it in the far corner of my backyard where no one can witness the aroma.

Well, less than an hour ago, there I was cooking away and I swear, a swarm of flies and yellowjackets like I've never seen started hovering around me. Also, I went back into my house and although I'm cooking it about 30 yards from my back door, I can smell it from the front of the house when I went to check my mail! I finished cooking it and brought it in, but now my house smells like it!

I have unleashed something I don't know that I can properly do battle with! Anyway, I guess I better eat it now (my rice is ready).

I actually went on the internet looking for any information on Daing and I found something that started with an amusing story...check it out...

Being filipino is not easy.

* * *

Luj: Just a follow up post...

I finished my meal and realize I did a couple of DUMB things

1. I ate while at my computer. Now my keyboard and mouse smell like fish. I also had an instance when I kind of broke off a piece of the fish and it sort of went all over the place. Now there are hidden pieces of daing hiding somewhere. This is going to be a challenge to fix. I may have to buy a new keyboard and mouse.

2. I probably should've worn something I wasn't interested wearing for the rest of the day. I also probably should've waited to shower. I have to shower and change now.

3. I washed the daing pan with other dishes. Now the other dishes smell like fish. Shoot. Mind you, I used a pan I normally only use for camping, so that's going back out in the garage with my camping gear. However, there were a couple of plates and tupperware that I washed with the tainted pan, and now they reek. I don't know what to do. My Mom told me yesterday that when I cooked this stuff, I should probably clean it all with lemon. That is probably what I'm going to have to do.

4. Just an observation, but my paper cup full of Peet's coffee smells like Daing. Ah screw it, my whole world smell like Daing right now. My usually unfriendly cat has all of a sudden taken a liking to me. Sigh.

Thursday, July 26, 2007. Day of the Daing. The Invasion Has Begun.

* * *

[In the following, please note Dad's "logic" in paragraph 2]

My Dad: You have tasted the food of the Pilipino Gods! Your Mom served that at your B'day party and it was the single convincing reason that I drove that far! She promised Tina would catch the fish and that she would BBQ it. The dried and smoked kind elevates the stuff to incredible levels.

I eat mine with finely chopped/diced tomatoes, onions, cucumber, and cilantro seasoned lightly with patis (salt is bad for my blood pressure). I do three super large eggs over easy, two cups of rice, and I am in heaven!

There are many other fishes available at Ranch 99 or Seafood City. Some are from China and some from Vietnam or Thailand. I try them all and found my favorite to be Shisamo.

Shisamo is from Japan and some sushi bars serve it. It is a tiny fish (about 4 inches) served charcoal grilled and each tiny fish is filled with roe! That's right! Fish eggs. Pudjo and I once ate $50 worth at a sushi bar! Buying it at Ranch 99 is cheaper. $1.99 for 5 pcs in a package but buy a minimum of 2 packages or you'll be sorry.

Charcoal or gas grilling is the only way to cook this stuff. It seems the smoke covers the aroma and carries it away. I will grill about a dozen pieces at a time, wrap it in tin foil and store in the fridge. I then heat up what I want in the toaster oven (wrapped in tin foil- on LOW) and I end up with minimal aroma. Frying definitely produces the most aroma and sometimes I do that just to drive Soosi crazy (last time she called a cab and went to a movie)!.

Good eating!

* * *

Luj: I think that's going to be my morning project for tomorrow. I have to clean out my garage, so while I'm doing that, I can bbq the daing. I have a bunch of it, so I might as well. I also have lots of tomatoes, so I can make that as well. Uncle Norman, I hope you're right about the smell being lessened when you bbq! I wanted to ask my parents about it in more detail, but they friggin' went to Vegas.

* * *

CookieDuster: I thought I smelled fish the other day!

* * *

My Dad: Y'know those seasoning packets that make instant adobo, sinigang, etc.? You know, the ones you dissolve in a cup of water and add your fish and stuff and "Voila!" sinigang!

I was thinking (uh, oh) what if I made gravy instead of soup? Like use a lot less water, maybe some wine, some corn starch to thicken it and butter to make it richer and then use it as a gravy? Would that work you think? Have you tried it?

Oh heck, I'll just go ahead and try it! Hey Soosi, I need a saucepan! Speaking of what works, did that bbq thing work for your dried fish, Luj?

* * *

My Brother: Dad...butter in the sinigang mix? Danger Will Robinson, Danger.

* * *



Believe it or not, this thread goes on. In fact, it will probably go on for several more days. All of which makes me think...it really is time for a family reunion.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Extreme(ly) Cake

Does anyone else watch that "Ace of Cakes" show? The one with the EXTREME bakery in Maryland? You can tell it's EXTREME because everyone is so hipster. Pink bangs! Piercings! Tattoos! Blow torches and chainsaws! Right now one of the cakemakers (is she Filipina?! She might be...) is emotionally distraught—she is crying; she cannot speak—because it is midnight, she has been working non-stop for 15 hours, and her "Fear the Turtle! Maryland Tarapin" cake, which is destined for a graduation party, keeps falling apart. It's so hilariously sad, this situation. In the lexicon, it is referred to as a "caketastrophe."

The thing is that none of these cakes is edible. Well, they're edible, but they must not taste very good because they're composed almost entirely of fondant which, if you ask me, looks just like Play-Doh. Anyways, also in this episode, the bakery owner is rehearsing with his band in the rehearsal space behind the bakery, and because they rock so terribly hard, everything in the bakery starts shaking, there are cakes falling over, coffee spilling, glass breaking. Because it's so EXTREME, you know!?

Now they're about to make a Taj Mahal cake! While simultaneously making a cake in the shape (or should I say "fondant in the shape...) of a basket filled with a hamburger, fries, and onion rings! This one is for the 90th birthday of the proprietor of what was once Maryland's premier deli! Oh, wait! They just said they made the hamburger, fries, and onion rings out of rice krispies. WHAT? How did I miss that? I don't understand.

Oh, yes, baby! Back to the Taj Mahal! They're even doing the reflecting pool. This is crazy, this cake! I have to go! Leave me alone!

Monday, June 18, 2007

Strawberry Shortcake La-La-La

I don't know what the heck that title means, but I'm going with it.

Okay, so one of the things I love about Summer is that I can make a leisurely breakfast for the kids, as opposed to screaming Eat something! Grab a yogurt! Put Grape Nuts! And you can put some chocolate chips, too! Hurry up! We're gonna be late! Or, okay, you can have toast! But put peanut butter on it! Don't forget to drink milk! And an apple! Eat an apple! Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! from my bedroom while I get dressed.

Today, on this first official day of summer vacation, I made strawberry shortcakes. Strawberry shortcakes are, arguably, a dessert. But why? Why must that be? A biscuit is breakfast food. Strawberries can be breakfast food. Why are they not breakfast food when served together?

Big questions, those.

And now, if you'll allow me, I will take you on an unbelievably exciting pictorial tour of my strawberry shortcake process. Here are the biscuit ingredients in the mixing bowl:


Told you it was exciting. Here, now, is the biscuit dough spooned out onto the baking pan:


Here are the lovely, but lonely strawberries awaiting their handsome biscuits:


Here are the handsome biscuits fresh from the oven:


And here are the lovely strawberries and handsome biscuits, together at last:


I think maybe I will make this again soon. Like...tomorrow.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Love Note to My Sconehenge English Muffins

Dearest Sconehenge English Muffins,

I will never forget the moment my eyes befell you, sitting haughty and above-it-all on the display table at Draeger's. How I lovingly lifted you from your resting spot. How I spoke to you these words: Oooh, English muffins, I must have you! Why, you ask? Why do I love you so? Because you stand—nay, rise—an unbelievable two inches (I just measured you; this is fact). Because when split apart, you are dense and slightly crumbly. Because when dotted lightly with butter and placed in the toaster, your edges get crispy, but your body remains delightful in its squishiness. Because you sated my hunger completely, selflessly, and with unprecedented culinary aplomb.

I remain, now and forever, your servant in all I do,

Veronica

And now, oh faithful Nesting Ground readers, behold:

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

The Post That Happens When It's 9:00 PM and I've Already Watched All My Netflix Stuff

I became fixated on using the word "susurrous" in the final paragraph of a story I'm writing, but when I read it out loud I tripped on my tongue.

The second time I read it out loud, I couldn't stop thinking of Dr. Seuss.

On my third try, I sounded inebriated.

On my fourth, I realized that "susurrous" isn't really my kind of word.

And so I switched to "thrum," which is much more Ver-friendly.

I've been working on the one paragraph for a few weeks now, and I'm only now noticing that I've never used these particular words in a story before: the aforementioned "thrum," but then also, "shards," "chess," "lover," and—I think—"blood."

***

Trip to Ranch 99 resulting in happiness in the form of...

1 box Philippine mangoes
2 packs Orientex pork lumpia
1 large bottle Maggi
1 bottle peanut oil in which to fry Orientex pork lumpia
2 packs fat ol' snap peas
2 pineapples

***

I spent part of this afternoon paper screening 10 applicants to fill the position of Principal at R & V's school, and I am in stupified awe over some of the things that showed up in Statements of Qualifications and Letters of Recommendation. Such as...

"I really do like people." To which I say, "Wha?!"

and

"She spends endless amounts of time thinking of ways to improve student achievement." To which I say, "Um, so do I. That doesn't mean I can be a freaking school principal.

***

Many thanks to Sunny for providing me with ten minutes of wholesome Internet fun via The Face Transformer. Like Sunny, my transformation into a white person was sooooo disturbing. More disturbing, even, than when I morphed into an ape. I should also mention that I do not make a pleasant-looking West Asian. The comic book versions were much easier to deal with. Allow me to present...

Modigliani Ver:



Mucha Ver:



Manga Ver:


***

I'm going to eat some ice cream now. Vanilla sprinkled with granola and chocolate chips and chunks of the aforementioned mango and pineapple.

You're so jealous.

Monday, May 07, 2007

Lunch At the Nest

Foodstuffs:

For Lea: grilled cheese (do this and thank me later: sprinkle some cheese on the exterior, too, to create a crunchy cheesy crust), orange juice with sparkling water, and grapes.

For me: last night's leftover Joe's Special (is this something that everyone makes? or is this strictly a San Franicisco thing? I am too lazy to Google) over rice with a side of Lay's thick-cut sea salt potato chips, and Diet Coke over ice.

Happiness.

Post-lunch activities:

Lea: cutting out tin foil stars and gluing them to black construction paper. She thinks this will function as a "night light" in her room. When she says "room," it still sounds like "womb," which strikes me as not only accurate, but also sad. Because by this time next year, she will no longer be talking like this.

Me: thinking on the very kind e-mail received from Craig Perez of Achiote Press. He wrote to thank me for attending the recent reading, and then said he'd found his way to Nesting Ground and deduced that I'm a writer of sorts, and would I consider submitting to Achiote Seeds? And I said, oh pity I am but a lowly fiction writer, but if you ever do a poetry/fiction mash-up, I will be first in line to submit. And then, as a sort of see-what-I-mean, I closed my e-mail with a little thing I do sometimes, this little thing being taking a line of poetry and using it as a springboard for a fiction vignette. And then Craig wrote back to say, hey, I really liked that, would you contribute a bunch of those for the Winter '07 issue? And I said, hey, sounds like fun, but let's make it tentative in case you don't like what I send you, I'd hate to box you in, etc. etc. So this is where we stand now. But suddenly I'm thinking what if poets don't like that I do this? It's one thing to do it in the privacy of my own writing practice, but another to do it in the public space of a journal even if their line would, but of course, be celebrated as theirs.

So I began to wonder why I started doing this sort of thing in the first place, and I realized it was because prior to starting my blog and being so warmly welcomed by a group of poets, I hadn't read much poetry. The reason: I am actually quite a lazy reader. By this I mean that if I cannot locate a fairly obvious personal access point to printed matter, I will not read it.

[pause to make a pot of adobo]

But, funny thing, once I began to inhabit a virtual world filled with such nice and lovely poets, I was no longer willing to give up so easily. And, I have to admit, it's tough going at times. So this whole thing that I do—this taking of one line—somehow helps me find my way into a poem when I otherwise cannot. So sometimes it is that. But sometimes it is just that I like to see what effect the poet's word choice—because they are so precise, the poets, aren't they? they are x-acto blades; I am butter knife—will have on my own.

So, anyways, I think I will definitely move ahead with this project for Achiote Seeds. Which means I'll be e-mailing poets to ask their permission.

Feeling sheepish 'bout that.

Sunday, February 04, 2007

Try As We Might, It's Impossible to Exhaust This Topic

Last week the girls and I were enjoying lunch with my parents at Tribu Grill, the newish Filipino restaurant on the border of Millbrae and San Bruno (check out Corinne's review—complete with pictures!—here), when we were accosted by two people at two different times demanding to know if my daughters were Filipino and why they were not signed up for the Little Miss Something Something pageant at the Something Something Fiesta. Sayang, sayang, they clucked. They're so preeeety.

Oh, sweet irony.

And there was my poor mother being all gracious and whatnot while I scowled and tried to keep from screaming something like, "Do you not read my blog?! Do you not know that beauty pageants are a Nesting Ground pet peeve and that you should not pester the Nesting Ground Mistress with such nonsense, especially when the Nesting Ground Mistress is partaking in some really good deep-friend bangus? What is wrong with you?! Beg mercy from the Nesting Ground Mistress! Beg mercy and away with you, away!"

But instead I said, "They're too busy reading to participate in a beauty pageant." And then I proffered up a pained and insincere smile. Unable to form a suitable response, the female accoster mumbled something I didn't understand and walked away. I'm not sure why, but I actually felt sort of sorry for the second misguided person—a man this time— who showed up about ten minutes later. Maybe because he was fairly old and had tattooed eyebrows and eyeliner. Make of this what you will. With him, I performed the same smile and just said, "Oh, that's nice of you to say. Thank you."

As I'm sure you recall (*sarcasm*) from this post, though, I do wax nostalgic about objectification of the sepia-toned sort. So I suppose it's fitting that I was looking for something this morning and, instead, found my maternal lola's official "Rizal Queen" candidate photo, circa 1930:


Also fitting that it was this time last year that Gladys and Joanne were just about to unleash the Beauty & Power conference...