Here's to solitary dining

Cab Cafe usually serves its coffee in a paper cup, even if you're dining in. Ask for a mug--the coffee tastes just the same and you save on paper and plastic stirrer. Photos by Babeth Lolarga

“Because we all need somebody to talk to, somebody that will listen, somebody that understands.” - a tweet from Inspirational Quotes

Often I find myself talking to whoever just happens to be reading this blog or past blog entries after he/she accidentally "hits" it in search of something else. Other times I share the day's content out there to friends and family who give a word or two of encouragement. 

Otherwise, I talk to myself most of, if not, all the time. I do the talking not too loudly though. Otherwise, my “frenemies’” suspicions about my eccentricity, a.k.a. weirdness, will be confirmed. And there are some people out there who delight in others’ pratfalls. It is not a kind world, unfortunately for the sensitive.

Where was I before the taho vendor’s cries interrupted my concentration? I’m supposed to make a strong pitch for the occasional meal enjoyed with oneself, not with some Other (be it partner, child, grandchild, parent, sibling or friend). I call it a form of decompressing so I don’t suffer from what divers call “bends” when resuming my routine and becoming a social being again.

Yesterday from late morning to apres-lunch, I was with kindred spirits or fellow cultural workers. One of them referred to ourselves as alipin ng sining (slaves to art and culture). I always bristle like a porcupine when I hear the word alipin. I like to correct the phrase, to think of ourselves as “art warriors in aid of peace.”

But even warriors need a rest day. No, it’s only Friday today, and there are two more writing deadlines to be met. These deadlines are largely self-imposed, but I want to meet them in the quickest, most efficient way possible. 

For me to do that, I must decompress first the way a diver must go up slowly from the depths of the ocean lest he/she suffer from the bends and get paralyzed. So after that meeting-cum-coverage-cum-interview-cum-shared meal, I headed home but stopped over at good ole reliable Cab Café on East Capitol Drive, Barangay Kapitolyo, Pasig. I was desperately in need of a caffeine fix to stay awake and finish a hanapbuhay article. The cake chiller was tempting, but I’m always careful about my sugar intake. 

There was a slice of cherry “cheesecake.” It had no cream cheese in it. Deceptive, right? Instead, the sumptuous red cherries that sported a come-hither look were sitting on a lump of yogurt, the yogurt sat grandly like a princess on a round savory biscuit. Think crown, think princess, think throne. 

Whoever in the kitchen-bakery thought of this must be congratulated. I’ve always had a taste for the sour (okay, here’s where you make jokes about my increasingly sour disposition).

Hurray for “decompression chambers”, those way stations between being a social being and being a completely solitary person once one returns home to face an empty Microsoft Word page, a throbbing cursor, a waiting angel (or devil) that one must wrestle down to keep the flow of words going and going without disappearing.

P.S. My bill didn't even exceed P200, and I got the drafting and writing done before midnight. Oy vey!

A working girl's meal

You just have to make sure you don't leave crumbs or spill anything. Photo by Babeth Lolarga

The house has been unusually quiet since yesterday noon when the girls (daughter, grandchild, family help) left for the lowlands. Quiet save for the afternoon rain which can pour with so much force, as though making up for the long drought.

In times like these, I can't ask what's for lunch or dinner or merienda. I have to fend for myself. Nine times out of 10 my partner prefers to prepare the coffee and fruit of the day (papaya). My role was simple at breakfast earlier: reheat the Teahouse's famed curry-flavored chicken empanada.

After he left for the office, it was too much of a bother to prepare lunch for one, although the rice cooker is there and there's stuff in the freezer and pantry. But who wants to eat alone in a dark dining room? Daylight has always been scarce in that part of the house.

Since I was too engrossed listening to Cecile Chaminade's piano music and arranging lessons for the school year, I just filled a bowl with whatever I could find: cashew nuts, crackers, meringue and watered-down orange pineapple juice.

Still alone, I had the same things to eat for my afternoon snack. My ass felt too heavy--I could've gone down to the kitchen to heat water for tea.

Solitude, being alone, not having someone to watch over me has its advantages. Sometimes.