Merienda.
Too bad there wasn’t much of ate Lulu’s molo this afternoon, Silverh would have liked it. I saved a loaf of parsley garlic bread for him so at least I know he’ll enjoy that.
Unexpected from an Expectant
Yesterday afternoon, we went out to take an unsanitary trip to Manong’s Isawan. Magnanimously ate 10 isaw baboy… I imagine my mom (and dad) would throw a fit if they knew about it. A few germs wouldn’t hurt. Though a very vivid memory of a lacerated throat comes to mind.
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STORY BREAK!
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In my second semester as a college freshman, I acquired an acute respiratory illness, making it extremely difficult to swallow. Obviously I could not eat anything solid. I survived by eating unsalted soft-boiled eggs (the salt made my throat wounds sting) and drinking water. How did I get sick this way? One word. Fishballs.
I used to be not used to eating in street food stalls at all. I was not threatened by them, but I was not used to them. My dad often warned my brother and I against eating street food (by street food, it meant anything served outside the conventional “clean” restaurant), and never ever gave in to our finger-pointing of caramel-colored gulaman, deep yellow or red or green sa-malamig, nor fishballs, scramble, dirty ice cream, … Our only joy was eating taho from the manong magtataho on Saturday mornings.
Primary and Secondary School ended, and at the onset of my life in the University of the Philippines, I was greeted by the street food I’ve been banned from all my childhood days. No, I did not indulge like a crazed maniac, deprived of the Filipino staples of everyday. I did not have the craving for any at all.
It interested me one time, and I don’t even remember how it happened that I ate a stick of 10 fishballs (5 pesos worth). It came naturally in one of the chit-chat sessions with classmates.
But I do remember being attacked by a strange fever, paired with a burning sensation in my throat. I could not get up from the top of the double-deck bed Marla (a bestfriend and college roommate) and I shared. I remembered being unable to go home on my own, and Marla nursed me coz of my fever. Suspicious of my throat discomfort, Grace(also a high school friend and college roommate) and Marla looked down my throat and told me I was bleeding there… they could see lots of white spots and traces of blood. That’s when I panicked (and they did too) and told my parents about it.
My family came over (yes, my brother came too), and drove me to the Emergency Room of Makati Medical Center .We saw people being brought in who looked obviously sick. I was there sitting stupidly, feeling the torment inside me. When the doctor was finally able to attend to me, I was prescribed with medicine that cost 100 peso per pill. I had to take at least one a day. For a month. I felt sorry for being such a burden that time to my parents.
I wasn’t able to go to school for a month and, for the first time in my life, I flunked an exam (face down on the floor, bruised and beaten!) with a horrendous 20% equivalent. I had to work big time to make up for it, and ended up getting a 74% in the final grade. Not so bad. Though I lost the energy to aim for excellent grades that moment on.
It was so weird to get sick like that. I guess it was a case of misfortune. That time, the food stalls in UP weren’t scrutinized as they are today. Just very recently, a study by the Microbiology Program has proven that these food stalls were safe to eat in as long as you do not dip your food in the sauces used by everyone. Notice how all the stalls have separate vials enabling you to pour the sauces on your food instead? So, moral of the story: Don’t dip, pour.
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Yesterday evening we went out for Japanese with Dr. M. The sashimi was great! It has only been my second time to eat at Saisaki’s. I grew up most of my summer holidays spent at my uncle’s place in Paranaque, and he always cooked food for himself since he seemed to have never learned to eat Filipino food. Oh, he’s a full-blooded Nippon-jin (Japanese) by the way. My eldes
t fraternal first-cousin was his daughter, and they seemed to favor my brother and I among our cousins, and we often sat with their family at his table when they were dining. I often picked the sashimi from the sushi, I don’t remember liking sushi very much. But in afternoons when the house was quiet (Pinoy siesta) I recall sneaking in his drawers to snitch some seaweed sheets, and I’d be munching on the black stuff ’til dinnertime!
I forgot how Japanese food gave me the illusion of not eating too much cholesterol. Well, I guess it is less fattening to eat Japanese, but I ate so damn much! At some point I’m bound to have had as much fat intake as any normal meal!
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So it goes.
F.R.I.E.N.D.S.
Monica: Do you really think just that you’re sorry that’s the best reason to get married?
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I wonder how it’s like, walking around, living your life, with the knowledge of life growing in your belly? And no you pilosopos, I do not mean the lactobacilli shirota strain nor the amoeba thingies.