I AM kind of OCD when it comes to cooking, very particular as most cooks are--although I cooked, as well, almost on random, in calamity areas and evacuation centers. Whatever are available, I work around them--quick and sure. But if I have a choice, I'd prefer that I get the feel and vibe of the kitchen first--before I set out to cook, like a meditating monk a-front the wok... The kitchen is like the performance stage. I gotta do it right. If I fail, no problem--I'll do it again. I don't confine myself with set recipes, I always improvise—I want to keep on introducing new flavor mixes and/or ingredients-interface. That is the challenge of cooking, like how writing and art ignite the fire within—always come up with some magic.
GRILLING is cool. I associate it with backyard hangout--family, friends, neighbors, community. It's kinda weird to be grilling alone, feeding just yourself. I imagine giant grilling beds and lots of stories randomly thrown around... Cooking or dinners blossom and nurtured at the tiniest but most significant unit of human activity—family. Then it evolves into community connectedness, and expands—it grows into global oneness. Food (or eating together) is probably the least debatable module of friendship offering; it is easily modified, adjusted, altered, interfaced, improved to suit a specific group's collective liking or individual preference.
COOKING is an endearing gesture of connectedness, a sublime intimacy that is anchored to a strong feeling of family. It connects me to my family oceans away. But these days, cooking and dining at home—with mom, dad, sons, daughters, and pets present—has almost become a forgotten facet of family bliss… Everybody has an important task to finish, or an electronic bauble to play with… So I cook. I cook for friends like I am cooking for the spirits of my past—both excited and enthralled what sort of culinary magic I’d come up with for dinnertime.
IT IS always a painstaking endeavor to venture beyond cultural comfort zones. Language is a major barrier, nuances and reflex convey mixed signals, music or arts may deliver contradictory, unpleasant messages when these happen to touch sensitive tribal mores and stuff… Literature is the same. I tried to shake hands with my poems but it’s always a hit and miss situation. However, the only human gift that has more chances at bridging communication gaps and filling cultural vacuums is FOOD. Everybody eats…
COOKING is one of three activities that I detest someone peering over my shoulder. The other two: Writing and reading. Outside distraction and unsolicited (or solicited) comments are only allowed after the fact.
SOME people's affinity with food these days, sad to say--has evolved into something similar to religious fanaticism. Like religion, food should not be imposed on people; but unlike religion, food is a basic human need. We can exist without religion, but without food—we die. The survivors of Hiroshima, for example—learned to find ways to “de-poison” fish, raise animals, and farm land that were ruined by the atomic bombing in 1945. Without the buffalo hide and meat, the Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw etc who were removed from their land in the Trail of Tears of 1831 wouldn't have survived punishing winters. Alaska and Antarctica wouldn't have been inhabited by humans if hunting animals for food is called murder. Majority of peoples of the world subsist on meat and seafood because these are basic necessities for them to live and function within their family, community and society... It is disrespectful and insensitive to judge these “carnivorous” people inhuman just because they eat meat.
Yet the way most non-meat/non-organic eaters castigate those not their kind is almost tantamount to a fanatic who hollers in our face: “If you don't follow god almighty, you will burn in the fires of twinkies! My child, save your soul!” Holyguacamole! How many people tell me, “Why do you eat that disgusting Waffle House pork chop? That ramen noodles? Dirt! That meat you just bought at Ingles is poison!” I usually shrug that arrogance off by saying, “I am Wolverine Junior Jr! I am strong, I am invisible, I am a man of strength and kickass claws because I eat pig ears and chicken feet! If you believe I am dying because I also love Sonic banana split and Bojangles dark meat, then leave me alone... Let me exercise my right to kill myself with joy. Now, please hand me my PBR.”
A PAELLA STORY. My grandma (re)cooked leftover paella for her dogs—while we, boys, played basketball in the driveway. When grandma (“Lola Luz”) excused herself to the bathroom, we ran inside because we smelled some paella. We attacked the (re)cooked paellas, meant for the dogs, which pissed the dogs off—and chased us down the driveway to the street. Lesson: Don't eat babedawg food, especially paella dog food.
I WAS born in a country that is battered by killer typhoons 5 or 6 months a year, at a time when military dictatorship menacingly poked at my young journalism. How to deal with all these? Laugh. Laugh so hard it makes your empty stomach full... Filipinos got this weird kick about laughing at everything, including their own tragedies. So I don't really know what is “negativity” because I was born in a world that was dark and cold and dangerous—hence I appreciate a mere instance of sunlight caressing a lonely lump of grass... I get angry and then laugh, I hear “bad” news—I make fun of it. Done. Time to cook and eat. And thank my God.
PATRICK McDonald opened the first McDonald's—called “The Airdrome” and later "McDonald's Bar-B-Q"--in Monrovia, California in 1937. Then in 1954, Ray Kroc, a seller of Multi-mixer milkshake machines, learned that Patrick was using eight of his machines so he sought the dude out—and then offered to franchise the restaurant throughout the country. Well, rest is history... Since I was born and grew up in a country where all kinds of edible stuff is called FOOD and we eat them, we just curse the food chain and then thank God for the chow. Simplified living, I guess... Meantime, I gotta tell you—I love McDonald's McWraps, especially the mushroom wrap and the new veggie/chicken wrap. Protests, anyone?
CHOPPED! I am a fan of the Food Network show, “Chopped.” It pits four chefs against each other; the challenge is to take a mystery basket of ingredients and turn them into a dish that is judged on their creativity, presentation, and taste with minimal time to plan and execute. I dig such a challenge, that's the way I'd like to cook—when I don't know what's inside the fridge or cupboard and just work something out. Growing up in a country that is clobbered by paralyzing typhoons almost 6 months a year, people got used to improvising on whatever are available. That's the only Food Network show that I like. Since the original “Iron Chef” was cut, and reformatted—I lost interest. I don't like cooking that employs a whole lot of gadgets (that I find unnecessary). Besides, most of the judges seem to put more premium on artistic presentation than taste, as though art alone will feed people. Most shows seem to teach cooking in restaurants than cooking at home, for family.
I SAW this Travel Channel show about food artists and/or scientists, sort of—who, for example, liquify a broccoli then mix venison paste then served alongside grated wheat bread that is soaked on Smirnoff. Or sliced apples fermented (or preserved) in a tank of vinaigrette and calamansi, then rolled on flour and cornmeal, then frozen—then wrapped around bacon that looked like cabbage. I don't know... You might know what I'm talking about. Hah! Why do food, cooking or eating have to be that complex? I'd like to eat and chew the real deal not some mutated chow from the lab.
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