Monday, October 17, 2005

Just call me lazy....

i know, i know, i haven't written in FOREVER. but i will. i promise. i will.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

Word

"The key is to get to know people and trust them to be who they are. Instead, we trust people to be who we want them to be- and when they're not, we cry."

Sunday, September 11, 2005

lazy summer mango dayz...

i'm still thinking about SpamJam. all my spam-related memories are tied up in the years that came after my family moved to hawai'i. i honestly cannot recall having spam in any form before turning nine, which is how old i was when we left california. funny how food can bring back charming childhood memories...

...bags n bags of carrots and celery...when i was little, i'd ask my mom what she wanted to be when she grew up. she would always reply, "a mom. the best mom...in the whole wide world". to her that meant lots of hugs, lots of love, and lots of healthy food directed my way. every week she'd buy a bag full of carrots and a bundle of celery, then she'd cut them up into sticks and store them in a huge tupperware of lemon water to prevent them from turning brown. every school day, i'd find in my orange muppets lunch pail, a sandwich, usually tuna or deviled ham, some fruit, 15 cents for milk, and a ziploc baggy full of carrots and celery. i was cool with the carrots and celery on monday and tuesday. by wednesday, i'd make my friend kim eat half, in exchange for my eating her daily bag of cherry tomatoes (obviously her mom was vying for best mom in the whole wide world title as well). by thursday, i was done. there was no way i could force myself to eat another stick, not even if you'd paid me. but rather than throwing it away at school, like any sensible deviant nerd would have done, i'd take the ziploc baggie full of veggies home, and chuck it under my bed. satisfied with my solution, this went on for WEEKS. until one day, my mom decided to vacuum under my bed and she found a graveyard of brownish greenish liquefied goopy gunge. thus, note to reader: food rots when not refridgerated. don't store it under your bed.

...corned beef and spaghetti-o's...my mom, being the best mom in the whole wide world, was always home every night to cook dinner for me. dinners, naturally, were healthy affairs, complete with a starch, heaping servings of veggies, and some kind of protein, always all made from scratch. my dad, on the other hand, did not know how to cook at all. during the rare events that my mom was out of town for a night or two, dinners then became quite the culinary adventure. the most memorable was my dad's recipe for...

Quickie Secret Spaghetti

Ingredients:
  • 1 can of Corned Beef Hash
  • 2 cans of Spaghetti-O's

Preparation

  1. With electric can opener, open can of Spaghetti'O's. Pour into medium pot.
  2. With key provided by Hormel, open can of Corned Beef Hash. Add to pot.
  3. Heat for 5 minutes over medium flame, stirring occasionally.
  4. Serve alone or with rice. Or straight from the pot.

needless to say, when my mother found out about the canned rot that her child had been served, she was not pleased. actually, she was pretty damn pissed off. my dad apologized, but kept serving it to me anyway...but only she wasn't around, and with a bribery of cookies, to ensure total secrecy.

...green mangoes and atomic fireballs...my friend roseville LOVES mango. when we were younger, i'd sometimes get phonecalls from her, always in a hushed, conspiritorial tone of voice, instructing me to meet her on the corner, by foodland, in ten or fifteen minutes. i'd rush over and giggling, we'd squat on the sidewalk or on the stairs by territorial savings, our legs akimbo and our mouths watering. out from her blue backpack would come a square tupperware container filled to the brim with crunchy slices of green mango, lovingly marinated in shoyu, vinegar and pepper. with sticky fingers and loud slurps, we'd devour it all in between exchanges of juicy gossip and rants of pre-teenage angst. with our tummies pickled and full, i'd then whip out a bag of atomic fireballs, which i'd buy for less than a buck from nagasako variety store. we'd both pop one after another into our mouths, wincing at the first lick of the spicy red coating and then settling in to enjoy the sweet, sugary pink core. she'd tell me about how so and so said this and that and i'd gasp in shock and shake my head and tell her about whatsis name trying to feel up whatser name and failing gloriously. and we'd both crack up, our eyes teary, our tummies aching, and our hearts, like our brown summer faces, smiling.






Saturday, September 10, 2005

SPAM me!

so according to santos over at scent of green bananas, there is a restaurant in manila called SpamJam that includes spam in every single one of their dishes! we're talking spam corndogs, spam spaghetti, spam nuggets, spam ceaser salad...mmmmmmhmmmm. it boggles my mind that there are no SpamJam restaurants here in Honolulu. it would do so well, dontcha think? maybe i'll open one up. i can have a little SpamJam restaurant right next door to my tea shop, Snootea. Anyone wanna contribute to my start up costs?

p.s. notice the color of my font? the color of raw spam. heehee.

Saturday, September 03, 2005

Bake me some bibingka!

have i ever told you how much i love bibingka? now, though i'm proud to be a filipina, i'm really not much for filipino food. pancit, diniguan, halo-halo...yuck. but bibingka?! years ago, i was sitting in coffee talk with my childhood friend, lee myra, talking about the trip she had recently taken back to lahaina, where we both grew up. while she recounted stories of running into classmates who had acquired 5 kids and 50 pounds since we last saw them, she pulled out a large ziploc bag of homemade bibingka that her grandma had made and passed it over to me. assuming it was all for me, i opened it up and ate the whole bag, in one sitting. i found out afterward that she was actually only offering me one square, not all ten. oops.

anyway, the reason why i thought of this is because i was reading on another blog that bibingka in the phillipines is made with duck eggs and creamy cheese. who knew? i'm intrigued...mmmmmmm...

Saturday, August 20, 2005

I hate Jawaiian music.

Much to my dismay, my friend Shinwoo has recently taken a liking to Jawaiian music, possibly the most simplistic, plebian, prosaic music on the planet. I can say that in public because the people who write Jawaiian music would probably have to look up all those "fancy" adjectives I just used, in order to get that I'm actually insulting their "creativity". Just for kicks, I attempted to write my own song, using the rules that Shinwoo outlined for me:
  1. make it rhyme
  2. make it about an island boy
  3. make it not make any sense

so here goes.

::begin reggae-esque beat, imagine a faux-jawaiian tinged voice singing::

Hey, yeah

Uh huh...

Island boy, yeah...

First verse:

Around midnight

Our inhibitions flung into the cool Kahala wind

The creamy moonlight dappling our bare skin

Our senses drenched in wine

And you, lookin' so fine

Isn't that how it always begins?

Chorus:

Oh, Island boy

Why are you being so coy

Treating me like a toy

Is it really all a ploy

To steal away all my joy

Ooh, boy!

Second verse:

Around midnight

My fingers lightly dancing across your skin

Teasing out a charmingly boyish grin

It seems we're off to a promising start

Not realizing you're about to break my heart

Oh, why are we committing this sin!

Baaaaaabeeeeee.

Repeat chorus

over and over and over again...

hahahahahaha! hate it? me, too. that's jawaiian for ya!

Just another night out...

Groovin...
Simple beats...
Pop pop Pop
Flirtatious smile.
Blue eyes, blond hair.
Not my type and yet
oh soooo right.
Slight scent of scotch
Panties damp.
I close my eyes and fantasize.
TAP! TAP! TAP!
A glance over my shoulder and it's Rand.
Just Rand.
I'm annoyed at the intrusion.
"Time to go." he says
I shake my head.
He parts his lips.
AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!
Flurry of commotion
Rand is shuffled here and there.
A manager is called
Witnesses are sought.
Random bitch wins a round at the jealousy game.
"Stay the fuck away from him!" I snarl.
She laughs and strolls away.
A stub left, just a stub.
Flashback:
Crossing over to the bar, slightly hard.
Order and wait.
Hand on back of head
Head on lip of bar.
Surprise!
Toothless in Kona!
Revenge of the random bitch
Blood and stub and Rand and I
pick our way back to the car.
"Great gams, honey!" thrown at me
"Mmmhmm, I know" I toss back.

Thanks for the memories...

an echo in the hollows of my mind
a pink rubber ball
high-pitched laughter
little feet pattering up the stairs
a bluish green dress
a curled body
trembling lips
cowered head
streaming tears
futile cries
a worn leather belt
rage blazing eyes
rhythmic smacks
bass toned insanity
scene 1 in a
never-ending reality
downcast eyes
small hurried feet
escaping
down the stairs
chaotic silence

a stained soul.

Don't try to sell me your shit....

So here's the deal, in plain black and white...Do not, under any circumstances, leave comments on my blog tryin' to sell me your shit! Stocks, vacation homes, your crusty-ass toaster...whatever it is, I ain't interested in it, dig? Cause I am a strong filipina woman and I will hunt you down and do some serious damage if need be. Consider yourself forewarned.



Now, back to our regular programming....

Thursday, August 18, 2005

you didn't ask, but i don't care...

it's rather delicious, sometimes, to ache a bit after a long, honey-laced, sleepless night...

Saturday, August 06, 2005

the last word for today...

i took a peek at some other people's blogs and then looked over mine again. gee, i sure do like colorful font. must be the pilipino in me. smile. everybody loves a filipina girl!

Black Ain't Always Beautiful

I was famished. I was sweating. I was sleepy and hungover. And I was nursing a bit of a cold. Thus, I'll admit I was not in the best of moods when I trudged up the stairs to Lulu's yesterday. As soon as my mom, her two friends, and I settled into our seats we immediately ordered 4 Magnum P.I. burgers (bacon, guacamole and cheddar cheese, mmmm) and water. Then we waited and chatted and used the restroom and waited and griped about the woman smoking at the bar. And waited. And waited and waited and waited and waited and waited. Finally, one fricken hour after we put in our order, our burgers arrived. Semi-cold. Upside down. I mean, it's still flat bun on the bottom, burger, cheese, accoutrements, and then a rounded, sometimes seseme-seeded bun to top it all off, right? The burger was burnt. And not just slightly overdone, but actually PAPA'A, carcinogenic, tastes like the dirty-crusty- grill- it- was -scorched -on JET BLACK. Served with a manini side of fries. 10 fries at the most. How can they be rationing fries at 12:30 in the afternoon? All for a whopping $10.95 plus tax and tip! Which we ended up not paying cause my mother complained loud and long and hard to the waitress and the owner. But still, those of you who know me well know that nothing pisses me off more than eating a bad meal. After all, one only gets so many meals in a lifetime, right? My point? Lulu's sucks. Now back to your regularly programming....

disclaimer...

hey y'll, by the way, most of this stuff under "Aug 6th" is actually some old shit from a year ago. In case you're wondering about the randomness of it all...

Naturally, I'm over it.

I miss being
admired.
I miss the
fluttering
butterflies
I miss lavender sunsets with
another's fingers
entwined
with mine.
I miss
feathery
soft
kisses
cloaked in
midnight shadows.
I miss the
jazzy
sensuality
of discovering a new body.
I miss sweet, silly gifts.
I miss waiting
anxiously
impatiently,
to hear the sound of
my lover's voice.
I miss spooning.
I miss being messily fed
strawberries and chocolate.
I miss wetness
and panting
and rhythm
brought by someone
other than myself.
I miss private jokes
and pet names.
I miss the ease and security of
commitment.
And yet still,
I don't miss You.

List II from the never-published Midnight Hour issue...

You've been there before. When the daylight has completely surrendered, the hum of life has dimmed and, except for the murmuring of a few stray cars, the quiet darkness has set in. You are alone, nestled cozily between your sheets, one arm cradling your head, the other resting gently against the rise and fall of your soft tummy. Your entire being is as still as the night around you, save the flutter of your freshly broken heart. So you think of his smile...the crinkle in her eyes...his sinewy legs...the curve in her neck. Inevitably, you start to dream of those lips, those soft, warm lips, and you wish, with all of your fluttering heart, that those lips were there with you, traveling over you, one last time. Ah yes, you've been there before, and so have I. So I present to you my soundtrack for those bittersweet midnight hours, to keep you company while you chase those elusive, vanishing dreams...

5. Both Sides Now/Joni Mitchell..."I've looked at love from both sides now, from give and
take, and still somehow, it's love's illusions that I recall. I really don't know love at all."

4. Don't Miss You at All/Duke Ellington, Norah Jones..."So if you never come to me, you'll
stay a distant memory...And then I wonder who I am, without the warm touch of your
hand...I don't miss you at all."

3. I Get Along Without You Very Well/Hoagy Carmichael, Diana Krall..."I've forgotten you
just like I should, of course I have...Except to hear your name, or someone's laught that is
the same..."

2. In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning/D.Mann & B. Hilliard, Frank Sinatra..."In the wee
small hours of the morning, while the whole wide world is fast asleep, you lie awake
and think about the girl, and never ever think of counting sheep."

1. What'll I Do/ Irving Berlin, Chris Botti & Paula Cole..."What'll I do with only dreams of you,
that won't come true, what'll I do?"

Polling the Prosaic

Back during the dead wood era, I polled a few friends, promising them that if they responded, I would publish their answers in my zine. As previously mentioned, the Dead Wood Editions are, well, dead. But I am a woman of my word so...


For my very first, and possibly last, lunchtime poll...What is your favorite midnight snack and what's the most you've ever eaten in one sitting?

"My favorite midnight snack is peanuts. The kind you buy at sebun-erebun in Japan...de-shelled, crunchy, and salty as hell. I've been known to eat bags of it in one sitting!" - Ginger, Venice Beach, urban artist, culinary wizard, Filipina goddess and part-time drunkard. teehee.

"Domino's chicken wings with lots of ranch dressing...I've eaten 30-40 of those things in one sitting. I shame myself..." -Bryan, Venice Beach, top notch eigo no sensei, snazzy dresser, and expert in all things Igorrot.

"Soy corn dogs...I've eaten 4 in one sitting! Guilt-free dogs." -Derek, Seattle/Honolulu, phenomenal photographer and owner of the most beautiful feet I've ever seen.

"I'm not sure what snack would be my FAVORITE...one really can't choose when you love snacking as much as I do!! The first thing that did come to mind though, is Breyer's Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. And the most I've probably eaten at one time would be 1/2 gallon. Glutten, I know!" -Renee, Seattle by way of Mililani, kickass cook, songstress, master quilter, and postal love extraordinaire.

"I would have to say my favorite midnight snack at the moment are carrot sticks with herb and garlic hummus!" -Kim, San Francisco, accomplished athlete, spanking new elementary school teacher, karaoke queen, and intrepid photographer.


"Favorite midnight snack would have to be chocolate!" -Joy, Scottsdale, spin-class addict, blushing bride, and my favorite cousin.


Last, but not least, me, your humble blogger...PNuttles are, by far, my absolute favorite midnight snack. I have eaten bags of them in one sitting and once made a boy that I adored drive, in the middle of the night, to three different stores to satisfy my craving for them. And now, a haiku...

Yummy PNuttles
Tiny toffee perfection
Sugar soothing bliss!




Oompa Loompa Doompa de day!

Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory is showing in Waikiki at Sunset on the Beach tonight. I wanna go. But I get off of work too late. Damn. Oompa loompa doompa de dey...

Thursday, August 04, 2005

Gomaichi

Missing the ramen in Hawaii while living in Japan is like missing the ravioli in Japan while living in Tuscany. Tis true though...bar none, Gomaichi serves the best bowl of noodles I 've ever slurped and every bowl of ramen I tried during my 2 year teaching stint in Japan paled in comparison to what I'd had back home. Stepping out of the hustle and bustle of Korea-moku Street and into this blond wood paneled, air-conditioned haven, I always tingle with a delicious yet comforting sense of anticipation. I prefer to sit at one of the two bars that run parallel to each other along the length of restaurant...the better to people-watch inconspicuously. A menu, in both Japanese and English, is brought immediately, along with an ice cold glass of water and a friendly smile. Flavorful egg noodles are served with your choice of broth; shoyu, spicy (tantan) or spicy sour (think tom yum). Toppings available include vibrant choi sum, delicate egg strips, fresh green onion, sweet corn, and of course, the superstar of all ramen toppings, char siu. Gomaichi's char siu is where they really shine...gently floating on top of the broth, the generous slices of chopstick-tender pork seem to simultaneously melt with tenderness and explode with flavor. After a bowl of Gomaichi's ramen, you may find yourself, at first, disappointed that the sensation is over so quickly...but the fullness of your belly will keep you warm and happy all the way home.

Sunday, May 15, 2005

top 5 ramen garnishes

  1. corn
  2. char siu (not the red kine)
  3. choi sum
  4. black pepper
  5. bean sprouts

Cow bells in Cambodia

The navy blue tank top I'd bought the day before was providing little reprieve from the morning sun. The unabating heat and and stifling humidity were penetrating the Banana Boat sunblock that I'd smeared my arms, legs, and face with, leaving me with a heavy veil of uncomfortable stickiness.

Mr. Poch, a dark-skinned Khmer, adjusted his frayed black cap with one hand while deftly navigating us along the dusty Cambodian road with the other. For three days now, we've ridden in his tuk-tuk over disintergrating bridges and cavernous potholes, meandering along in a soothing slow-paced rhythm. Those cozy two-seater carts hitched up to noisy but sturdy moto-bikes were surely the best way to travel in this part of the world.

With the grainy wind in my face, I peruse the unbroken landscape before me. We wander past willowy blades of unshorn elephant grass, an occasional emaciated cow and small groups of sepia-toned children, enthusiastically waving their delicate arms back and forth at us. Glancing over at Kim, my travel buddy, I wonder what she is seeing, smelling, hearing, thinking. It's infinitely intriguing to me the way two people can look at the exact same thing and perceive it in two completely different ways.

The tuk-tuk lurches as Mr. Poch comes to an unexpected stop. He twists himself around and, in his accent thick as coconut curry, tells us that we will look at one more temple ruin before he returns us to our guesthouse. Trustingly smiling and nodding in unison, Kim and I both chirp, "Ok!" and Mr. Poch detours off the road leading back to Siem Reap.

Bantaey Samre is a more impressive structure than I've expected. According to my Lonely Planet guidebook, not many tourist venture out to this cleverly hidden temple and for a fleeting moment, I'm perversely proud for being the 'intrepid' traveler that I am. I allow myself to wander around as I please, stopping frequently to admire the intricate carvings adorning the sealed doors and narrow galleries, itching to run my fingers over and around the endless grooves and curves that I see.

Rounding the corner of the centermost building, I come to a doorway. I pause, silently sip my water, and watch a handful of children tumble along in their blue and white uniforms, chattering and giggling all the way home. Suddenly, I feel a tug at my shorts. At my knees is a tiny Khmer girl, no more than five years of age, beaming up at me with hope glowing in her eyes. She nervously adjusts her faded pink dress, then holds out her wares for me to examine. "Madam, you wanna buy a cow bell?" she inquires sweetly. "No, thank you." is my well-rehearsed reply. Widening her eyes, she quickly asks, "Why?". Her innocence and melefluous voice tickle me and I pretend to think for a bit before admitting regretfully that I do not own a cow. Despite her obvious astonishment, she refuses to be put off so easily. She tilts her head, deep in thought, and I chuckle softly, completely enamored by her earnestness. After a brief minute, she peers up at me again and confidently smiles. "Madam, you wanna buy a cow?" I shake my head, giggling uncontrollably with delight, and soon, she starts giggling, too. I give her some stickers and crayons that I'd brought with me, shake her hand, and then we part, walking backwards towards our individual destinations, waving until we can't see each other anymore.