My (almost) perfect adobo

My lansag buto adobo, all chicken drumsticks

Chili garlic sauce I never could get the dish right. Maybe because I don't measure the amount of soy sauce and vinegar I put in. Yesterday I thawed the chicken drumsticks from the freezer, then put in equal amounts soy and cane vinegar, minced garlic and chopped black pepper. For good measure, I added a dash of Worcestershire sauce. Still I refrained from using a measuring cup or spoon for them. I left the drumsticks to bathe in that marinade for 45 minutes before firing up the stove. I let the whole thing in the pot simmer slowly for another 45 minutes while I read the chapter on adobo in that sumptuous, must-have-on-your-kitchen-shelf book Memories of Philippine Kitchen by Amy Besa and Romeo Dorotan. (We got our signed copy from them when we visited and lunched at their New York restaurant in the late 2000s.) I waited for the sauce to render, but since the man of the house Rolly was famished from a day's work in the garden and the house, I set out to serve the adobo with steaming rice. Midway while setting the table, I forgot to boil two eggs as extenders. I've always felt boiled eggs and adobo go well together, not potatoes and adobo. I brought out the chili garlic sauce with a punch made for us by photographer friend Ev Espiritu, and lunch was ready. Or "reydi" as Rolly would say it. Others would pair their adobo with some mango chutney, but Ev's sauce gave the whole thing its needed kick. I hope you all have a good Tuesday with good food to energize your creative endeavors!

Vaxxed and vexed

Except for some drowsiness as side effect, the first jab we had of Sinovac went smoothly. We spent a total of less than an hour at the SM Baguio parking lot for the procedure. There were just a few people in the area. It was a totally different scenario yesterday. We were advised by the Baguio LGU to report at 12 noon and to be prompt. We were there at 12:01, the delay caused by the crowd at the entrance-exit doors. The area where the seniors were assigned to was crowded--monobloc chairs were barely one foot apart. I wondered why there were young-looking adults beside us. One turned out to be on dialysis. The Trip to Jerusalem arrangement took past an hour before I got my turn to have my oxygen and other vital signs checked. I was half fuming inside because of the lengthy wait so my blood pressure shot up to 160/89. Later, it turned out our area was reserved for extreme seniors, those with walking canes and wheelchairs, but sturdy seniors were mixed with our group. The strong ones were led to another area of the lot. A mix-up in communication, but it caused irritation and delays again. From where I sat, I saw that there was only one person administering the injection, and he was alternating between those having their first jabs and those having their second. I looked at Rolly Fernandez and tried to read his eyes. He wore double masks under a face shield so he seemed hard to fathom. Later, he told me that if he had been shooed away from his seat, he would've told the security guard that he was my caregiver, and I needed his physical presence and support in case I might lose my footing and stumble. Sweet! In fairness, as they would say, the volunteers, registered nurses and doctors were all pleasant and even-tempered in the face of irritated seniors. We finally had our lunch at half past two. And boyoboy were we ravenous! I tore through my grilled chicken and gulped down spoonfuls of chicken macaroni salad. When we got home, we climbed the stairs to our bedroom and without undressing lay down to rest. Too much in a day. As Rolly said of the big crowd (almost the size of what you'd see at a college convocation assembly or commencement rites in pre-COVID times), "Queues are signs of inefficiency."

Every day is Tatay's day

With our grandchild Kai. Tatay is how everybody in our household calls him. If they could speak human language, our two dogs would call him that, too. He is our bank and banker, teacher, gardener, cleaner, librarian, curator of objets d'art, occasional cook, marketing and grocery man, dishwasher, dog walker, disc jockey, crying post, steady rock, etc. No wonder he can get irascible sometimes when books are not in their proper spot on the shelf or when our beds are still unmade when the sun is already high. On Sundays, he is our champorado guy, mixing the tablea chocolate with malagkit until the dish reaches the proper consistency. Then he follows this up by frying dilis or tuyo. He calls us down for breakfast. I am joyful and grateful to have a husband and father like Rolly Fernandez in our home. Happy Tatay's Day from your girls Babeth, Kimi, Ida and Kai

A foodie couple

We finally met up with our endocrinologist who interpreted the results of our blood chem. Rolly Fernandez received summa cum laude honors for managing his blood sugar well unlike me who was just given a passing grade. The doctor remarked, " It's obvious that you eat the same food. Both your uric acid is elevated." We blamed it on the rich fabada we dined on the night before. But the doctor said it wasn't beans that were rich in purine. It was the assorted meats--ham, sausages, bacon--that went into the Spanish style pork and beans. To pat ourselves on the back for our good results, we decided to try the unlimited merienda offered by Mario's on Upper Session Road. We started with Misua with Meatballs and Spinach and made our way around the plate for the Tinapa and Togue Rolls, Puto and Dinuguan, Sotanghon Guisado, Cheese Pimiento Sandwich, Banana Cue and Buko Pandan Salad. We cleaned up our plates and readied ourselves for a second serving of the same without the sandwich which we found too sweet. The merienda costs P299 a person without our senior discount. A good deal!

Drawing blood

Rolly and I fasted for eight to nine hours last night in preparation for our bi-annual blood works (ideally, it should be quarterly, but with the pandemic still on an uncontrolled scale, we minimize our leaving the house). I told the medical technologist attending to us that it is hard to find a presenting vein on either of my arms. After three tries, she asked if I didn't mind if she drew blood from the back of my left hand which I closed into a fist. I nodded my permission and did not flinch when the needle went in.

Strawberry soda on the foreground

Tinapang bangus with egg and red rice

Spicy bangus with fried egg on a separate platito

Interiors of Cafe By The Ruins In my mind was where Rolly and I would eat a hearty breakfast after our procedure. I ticked off eateries that were open at past 7 a.m. He was determined we would eat at Cafe By The Ruins on Chuntug Street. We were the first customers. Somehow recognizing us, the waiter waved us in and didn't oblige us anymore to fill out the contact tracing forms. We grieved over the removal of the beef tapa from the menu. I think the meat comes all the way from Mt. Data. Or did I imagine that? Next best choice was the bangus--he chose the tinapang bangus with sunny side up egg while I had the spicy bangus with a well-done fried egg. Siempre, may strawberry soda rin for me, a lover of strawberries. Midway through our meal, dine-in guests, a group of tourists, we supposed, strode in in their holiday shorts and casual get-up. They numbered 12 in all, and I fretted on my seat about social distancing. But this protocol was observed. While I sipped my coffee, he slipped out of the cafe and went to the public market nearby to buy our food supply: his favorite calf's liver for steak and hasa-hasa for paksiw. When we were on our way home, Rolly and I compared our bangus. I said mine wasn't spicy enough. It would have required me biting into the red and green chilies to taste the sting. He said his bangus lacked a smoky favor, but he cleaned up his plate, leaving only the skin of the fish. A good day to celebrate the nation's wobbly independence!

Postcards from the edge

I'm not much of a traveler. Blame it on my heavy butt and weak knee joints. During the rare times I joined family on a trip abroad (the last was to California for my daughter's wedding in November 2019), what I looked forward to was buying postcards and dropping them in the many mailboxes that still dot the streets of America. These photos, taken by my sister Gigi Lolarga in Solvang, captured me at work on a short stack of postcards in a restaurant where we stopped for breakfast en route to San Francisco. In the second picture, I'm outside the bakery that sold a lot of Danish pastries. I bought a big, fat bear's claw to tide me over during the long bus trip. I believe that we should help keep the postal offices all over the world alive. Sure, FB Messenger, a Zoom meeting or email (the last is even getting passe) may be faster and more efficient (no paper trail). There are some things that are better expressed in a letter or postcard than an FB comment. So here's to my FB friends who're also my pen pals: Arlene Esperida, Aida CF Santos, Joji Ravina-Lourence, Alma Cruz Miclat, Olive Tripon, Men Sta Ana, Isabela Varga, Precious Leano, Machiko Susi, Junic D Lolarga.

Signed, sealed, delivered I'm yours

We started ordering books online and purchasing them after the lockdown last year. Rolly's and my initial orders were from Shopee, but when the five or so books arrived, we felt dismayed when we saw they suffered from water and soil damage. I immediately wrote to the publisher to air our complaint. Promptly, they sent replacements in good condition.

Two weeks ago, I decided to up the ante by trying out the online store of Fully Booked where I found a single hardbound copy left of Anthony Bourdain's World Travel (on top of the bestseller list in Singapore, but that's Sg for you), Aimee Nezhukumatathil (give me a few weeks to learn how to pronounce and say her last name correctly) and her World of Wonders: In Praise of Fireflies, Whale Sharks, and Other Astonishments and Patrick deWitt's French Exit. I opened an account with the store, provided my basic details, particularly shipping address. I took a long, hot shower, addressing God and asking Him to affirm my decision to put my hard-earned pension money in new books. I told friend Gou de Jesus of my bathroom conversation with the Almighty, and she laughed and said it's not as if I was buying lipstick and makeup. And even if it was, it was still my money. Anyway, after five days of anticipation, an LBC delivery man handed the package. So excited was I to rip open the plastic bag that I suffered a paper cut as I was turning the pages of a new book. Shallow lang naman. Hmm, I think I have a conflicted relationship with money. But yesterday, after a hearty comida china, I whispered to Rolly, "Aren't we going to drop by Mt Cloud Bookshop?" He had offhandedly mentioned the previous day that he wanted to look at what's up on their Filipiniana shelves. So off we went, getting our temperatures checked at the shop entrance and filling up the forms for contact tracing. The price to pay in order to browse inside a physical space.

I always like looking at the secondhand hardcovers near the entrance. I suspect most of those books come from the library of filmmaker-art buff Perez Butch like the Bruce Chatwin title I happened upon. Chatwin is one of the best, if not the best, travel writers in the world. Gou will attest to that. I was drawn to the cover of Loot and Other Stories by Nobel laureate for literature Nadine Gordimer. It was a painting by Georgia O'Keeffe. It's not that I can afford to spend all day in the book alcove of our home like a lady of leisure. I have official writing, editing and transcribing duties to do, not to mention researching historical images for a picture book. Then there's the laundry and the cooking chores that are the bane in the life of every full-time homemaker. But these books balance those other things off. They give me something pleasant to turn to when the quotidian is close to suffocating me.

A throwback

On the eve of her 91st birthday, I remember this woman who teased me at a Greenbelt shop years ago. She picked up a lamb--cordero--and said, "Babeth, why don't you buy this for me?" Greenbelt being Greenbelt, the price was beyond my budget so I did the next best thing. Capture the moment in a picture. Wherever you are, Gilda Cordero Fernando, frolicking with angels and cherubs and streaking among the stars and comets, I want you to know that you will be my forever Gemini icon of a writer, the one who communicates well in a language laced with wit and lightness, even if the subject is as serious as death. I have told you that before. I don't mind saying it again.