Pacquiao-bashing

The other day, I overheard Erik Morales trash-talk Manny Pacquiao on the news. In an interview with Dyan Castillejo, Morales remarked that Pacquiao had an "agly voice," and even tried imitating Pacquiao's singing. (In a segue, Manny retorts with a,"Hey, Muralis, can you play guitar? Like this?")

I must admit that in their two previous fights, I wasn't such a rabid Pacquiao fan because Morales was muy guapo. However, after this remark, I now want Manny to knock him out in their next match in no more than 4 rounds!

I mean, yes, Pacquiao's voice is "agly," but the comment was a below-the-belt hit, especially for the millions of Filipinos who bought his CD. And for the millions of fans like me who make an event out of a Pacquiao-Anybody bout.



September 11, 2005. I'm beside myself with happiness after watching the Pacquiao-Velazquez non-title bout. I was almost afraid to watch, for fear that Pacquiao would again have either a glove or sock malfunction.

My sister dropped by for a visit, bearing gifts of suckling pig and fried noodles from Luk Yuen. She also brought machang which I haven't had a bite of in years. I think the last time I had one, in Binondo, was when my mom was still alive. I'm not really fond of leviathan pockets of sticky food packed with strange-looking ingredients, but I helped myself to it if only to remind me of my mom's penchant for unappealing Chinese food.

The tub of ice cream I bought last night was the perfect complement to the sans rival we had. When you're watching a boxing match on a weekend, you are absolutely allowed to gorge on anything. My dad and I would pass as poster children for UNICEF, anyway, given our gaunt frames, but my sister – well, she was riding on our disabilities. Oh, okay, she's excused, because it was her treat.

Sometime during the third round, my brother emerged from his room and loudly announced that he just heard on the radio, which was covering the fight in real time, that Pacquiao would bring Velazquez to his knees in the sixth.

It was the first time ever I entertained thoughts of parricide.

After about ten seconds, he even tried to redeem himself by saying that that didn't mean the bout was over.

To cut the long story short (or to skip the part where we bury my brother in the backyard), Manny Pacquiao impressively eschewed the use of an interpreter this time. When asked how he gauged his opponent, he confidently replied, "He have a power. But I know I am the champion." And when asked if he would still ask for a rematch with Morales, he blurted, "Absolutely!" surprising even the commentators (not because he wanted a rematch, but because he actually used a 4-syllable English word).



After a few minutes, PGMA appeared on TV with her funny fixed grin. Ever wondered how she could actually recite an entire speech without her lips touching?

Best forest mushroom soup

I discovered Cafe by the Ruins in Baguio (Shuntug Street, near the City Hall) when my friend Carlo and his director-friend Floy made me tag along with them for their power breakfast. This was sometime during the late '80s and I had already been in the city for about half a year. However, my eating haunts were limited to Benedict's, Barrio Fiesta, Sizzling Plate, Star Cafe, and Chicken House on Session Road; Rose Bowl on Harrison; and Manila Cafe, where we had unlimited credit. This appetizing clear broth has about four types of mushrooms, crunchy watercress, and soup extracted from a real chicken simmered for hours – not like those awful chockful-o'-MSG broth-cube soups that sadly pass for resturant fare. It also has a pleasant herb-and-butter flavor which could only be described as dreamy.


Unfortunately, they've revised their menu since; most of the dishes have lately not been up to par; and the long wait for seats isn't worth it anymore. This is why I've been desperately trying to make my own version for years.

Backpacking the Philippines

Rave about Thailand all you want, but the Philippines is still the best destination for backpackers. First of all, it's cheap to move around the country, and I've known Germans who have seen more places than I have during their 2-month stay here. Second, where else can you grab a bottle of one of the best beers in the world at less than fifty cents? Third, almost everyone here understands English, and I mean everyone, even the magkakariton (mendicants who collect recyclable trash with their pushcarts). If he can't understand you, he'll be able to text someone on his cellphone and ask.


The only thing to keep in mind when visiting is that there really are places to avoid, such as provinces in the south where peacetime occurs only a few days each year, and a few dingy places in Manila. Even Divisoria, the penny-pincher's shopping haven, can be safe if you know where to hide your wallet and if you can hire Batista to watch your back for a day.

I really feel so sorry for one-time tourists who speak ill of the country just because their bags were stolen at the airport or they were sweet-talked by a purty young thing at Ermita into spending all their money. Well, hello...? There aren't bad countries, I suppose, just dorky tourists.

The countryside should be your best bet if you want to really go on a Philippine adventure. Great beaches, inexpensive and scrumptious food, and hospitable people who would go out of their way just to make you feel at home. (But how on earth would you be able to relax if your host sleeps on a straw mat while he asks you to sleep in the master's bedroom?)

Best cold cuts platter

Call me old school, but I'm partial to 456 Restaurant because of its accessibility (it's open 24/7; you just need to steer clear of drinkers who fall off their chairs occasionally) and because the quality has been consistent, although the price hasn't. As soon as I enter the city, my tummy aches that for that seaweeds/century egg/white chicken/asado combo. Don't forget the chili sauce.

Best Steak

I have to admit that everytime I visit Manila, I get a hankering for steaks. It's just that Angus doesn't get flown to other parts of the country so we have to be where it's available. We ordered ribeye at Highlands Restaurant in the Mall of Asia and were not disappointed. True, it would cost you an arm and a leg, but so would a frozen slab of Angus at Rustan's. Besides, I can't perfect "medium well" when I cook my own steak at home. The dish comes with a side of corn and buttered veggies plus a baked potato, but I suggest that you hold the gravy if you want to savor the unadulterated taste of the juiciest steak in town.

Best Sisig

Unrivalled for decades, the sisig along the railroad tracks in Angeles, Pampanga (about 55 km from the NLEX tollgate) is still on top of the list. There's no single stall that could be called the best, because when there's an overflow at Aling Lucing's, the servings at the other stalls are just as great. Sisig is cooked in three steps: boiled, char-grilled, and finally sauteed. Angeles sisig isn't crunchy like those served in Manila watering holes; it's soft, juicy, and mind-numbingly cholesterolicious.

Best Bulalo

I'm not sure if these are still existent, but I've savored the most mouth-watering bulalo dishes in Cebu. Their version has quartered corn cobs, leeks, and real bone marrow inside the huge bone of the beef shank. The beef literally falls off the bone in its tenderness, but the marrow stays intact, so they serve the dish with popsicle sticks for scooping the marrow out. A friendly reminder – if you need fish sauce with calamansi to flavor your bulalo, don't ask for patis (fish sauce), because they'll give you soy sauce ("patis" is toyo in Cebuano). Instead, ask for "rufina" with a lowercase r. Bulalo (known as pochero in these parts) is savored at one of the stalls near Fuente Osmena, or a variation of it - the sizzling bulalo steak, at the old Abuhan Restaurant. Its presentation is more appealing than the gaudy way it's served in most restaurants in Batangas and Tagaytay.

Best dessert-to-go

Choosing from Dumaguete's sans rival, Pampanga's tibok-tibok, and Camiguin's pastel, I'm casting my vote for the latter – a yema-filled pastry that can be bought at the Vjandep bakeshop in Catarman, Camiguin Island. It's not as sinfully mouth-watering as Lord Stowe's egg tarts in Macau, but the local version is satisfying in its simplicity. It's also not as sweet as you'd expect Pinoy desserts to be, which was a relief. The small sizes are easy to pop into your mouth while hiking on the island with friends.

Best bouillabaise

We had quite a wonderful surprise with the seafood bouillabaise at Lab-as Restaurant in Dumaguete City, Negros Oriental. Owned by the Fuentes family, we serendipitously stumbled on this restaurant while asking about dive tours for Apo Island. Sandra managed the travel agency while her brother Sande owned the pizza place and music bar. These establishments were located side by side at the northern tip of Rizal Boulevard (pretty similar to Roxas Boulevard's Baywalk, sans the smog). They had two varieties: the tomato-based soup and the coconut milk-based bouillabaise. On our first visit, we tried the former – a rich red broth of mussels, scallops, shrimp, fish, squid, crab, and mushrooms. It was a meal in itself, actually, and we needn't have ordered the fat crabs. It was part tangy, part spicy, and the freshness of its seafood ingredients was just fabulous. I can't remember the last time I tasted shrimps as crunchy or scallops as robust. By the way, "lab-as" is Visayan for "fresh".

Super Friends

(Originally posted March 18, 2005, on the occasion of our batch's 18th Anniversary): One hot and humid summer afternoon, we filed out of the bus and planted our feet on the driest, most infertile Philippine soil known to man. For someone who spent all her life in Manila, this place seemed like Alcatraz…more so when we were told that we could only leave the place every six weeks. I was mortified, but there was comfort in numbers. Some of my batchmates even hailed from the remotest of islands, so who was I to complain?

And then the dreadful moment came: It was time to give out room and dorm assignments. Growing up, I hated having to share a room with my sister---now I had to bunk up with a total stranger! Oh please, don’t assign me with an axe-murderer-slash-Tourette’s syndrome-patient roommate…

I don’t know how many days since that dropoff when my bosom friends and I gravitated towards each other, but it was kismet and we bonded through the months as if we came from one and the same womb (by different fathers, of course, seeing as how we physically couldn’t pass for siblings).

The cord that tied us together was the obligation to cook for the group. Either because of being born with silver spoons in our mouths or simply being cretins about anything involving kitchenware, we had to learn the hard way: flaking 2 kilos of talangka to prepare nape-throbbing aligui, cooking a bottomless pot of sweet and sour sauce (because of having to adjust the taste, what was originally intended as a saucerful turned into a big tureen of red pasty liquid just about fit for a Friday the 13th movie set), dividing 10 two-inch pieces of sardines amongst ourselves because there was nothing else to eat after the marathon blackouts…

After sometime, it was comforting to know that there were friends to come home to after five hours of talking to spaced-out students; our dinner conversation ranged from angst-ridden (“I refuse to entertain visitors after working hours!!!”) to insane (CT’s “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all---“) to sarcastic (“Let’s wait a bit for that ‘klonk’ sound from the doorknob…”) to suspicious (“Where’s KMS and LP?”). Of course, there were attempts to be cultured, by having the occasional wine and cheese stolen from our mothers’ pantries, but it was very difficult to keep a tony lifestyle when the vendors don’t even sell celery at the market.

Camp became second home, or first, to some of us who, after a few months, decided to forego the Manila sojourns in favor of trips to Neighborhood 10 or weekends at the twin sin cities of Angeles and Gapo. Even the work itself became just a diversion from the “main concern” which was nurturing the friendships that were unintentionally forged there.

My friends of recent past envy me in that I was able to have a phase which I could look back to and with profound but genuine nostalgia say that those were the best months of my life. We had surprise birthday parties, drinking under the stars, authentic Asian cuisine capped with iced latte (way before it became fashionable in Manila), biking up and down the rolling terrain, swimming till the stars came out. Three of our friends play guitar and we would sing like wounded NPAs to our heart’s content. Entertainment would be turning up our 80’s hifi to full volume and slam-dancing to Pat Benatar, Power Station, U2 and The Pretenders. When feeling mushy, we listened to Sergio Mendes, Stevie Wonder and Donald Fagen. Heck, we even performed once with a 4-piece orchestra: flute, keyboard, guitar, and percussion, to the tune of “Morning Has Broken.” We had no TVs nor VHS players but we were happy. Better to watch a play in the Rec Hall or a gratuitous Lisa Macuja ballet presentation at the PASS Gym.

Looking back, I couldn’t for the life of me imagine how we could do those things over again, at least not at our age now. Climbing a flagpole to steal the U.S. flag, scaling the water tank, holding drinking sessions on top of the dorm’s roof, eating unhygienically-prepared bhan-mhi, singing in the storm with upturned umbrellas, running in a panic to escape water-throwing refugees during Tet, waving bras at other drivers along the Bagac Road, playing mini-olympics at Montemar, downing Red Horse like there was no tomorrow. It was brazen youth that did it, all the while relishing the thought that in that part of the world, we had our little paradise, a place where we can be ourselves, and friends whom we loved more than we did our own sisters.

After camp, we physically drifted apart; there were even one-year stretches when we didn’t know of each other’s whereabouts, but neither distance nor time would take away what good things we once shared.

I don’t know about my quasi-siblings, but I wax sentimental whenever I hear “Somewhere Out There,” preferably the chipmunks version. Or hear “Like A Lover” on the radio. Or play Pictionary. At times I don’t even want to look at our old photographs, knowing that that place looks nowhere near what it once did. I’d opt to just remember those scenes in my mind, and play them back, preferably on a dark, stormy night…with a bottle of cheap burgundy and purloined cheese.

Da Kimchi Code

Recently my husband initiated an unofficial kimchi-preparation contest among his officemates. In this GFP* where we live, you'd have to slap yourself hard at least twice whenever you get cravings for hard-to-find food such as kimchi. To get our fix, we have to wait until our next trip to Baguio (Wood Nymph, SM Baguio, PHP50) or Manila (a Korean convenience store somewhere in Burgos, PHP75). The last batch we bought in Makati was very disappointing – it was way too sour and got more sour, as if getting more and more fermented, each day.

We chanced upon a kimchi-making tutorial on TV and decided that we should make our own. This appetizer has been getting a buzz lately since BBC reported that in Seoul, 11 out of 13 chickens infected with the H5N1 virus started recovering after being given an extract of this amazingly tasty dish that smells like hell.

Thus, to date, there are already 5 registered contenders. Since I'm not too hot about rubbing chili all over a Napa cabbage, I think I'll just assume the taster's role.

*Godforsaken place

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