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Abaseria Deli & Cafe

39-B Pres. Roxas St. Villa Aurora, Kasambagan, Cebu City

If I were to open a restaurant, Abaseria would be a one of my models. Homey ambience to go with homecooked meals. Eclectic furniture. Lots of character with a healthy amount of kitsch. You can take the clan with you for family style dining on the long tables; or catch up with a girlfriend in an intimate corner; or, like me, dine alone with a book. Chances are, though, you’ll forget about your book because the cafe doubles up as a shop for export quality Cebu-made bling, bags, and home accessories.

I’ve forgotten what I’ve ordered. Based on the picture, I seem to remember having wild rice, a lemony adobo sauce on ribs, okra with sesame seeds and nori. Homemade flavors, but with enough twists so they are not quite what manang makes at home.

When you’re done eating, you can check out the baubles, sold at very reasonable prices. They were even nice enough to bring me to the nearby factory to buy more. The only thing that kept me from going berserk shopping were the facts that my bags were already jampacked with dangit and chicharon and I was flying off in a couple of hours.

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Cioccolo

Royal Garden Estate, Friendship Circumferential Road, Angeles City, Pampanga

I’m hardput to remember a Valentine’s night out with my husband. He’d buy me the best floral arrangement his money could buy and make sure it’s delivered where and when there would be the highest concentration of people to witness the delivery. He’d give me some expensive bauble, he’d treat me to a spa treatment even if I didn’t need one, just don’t make him be out there with those pathetic, soppy couples out celebrating the cheesiest occasion invented by man.

But this year, we had a candlelit dinner at an Italian restaurant. Okay, it was a business meeting with 2 other couples, but still.

Cioccolo serves more than just Italian food though. And most of us had non-italian dishes. We started off with deepfried balut, which to me was the best dish of the night. It was also the only dish that didn’t take an hour to be served. Okay, the menu described my order as 10-hour roasted ribs, but I didn’t know that was to be taken literally. The dishes eventually arrived, and at least they were good. Or we were just too hungry that even the soles of our havaiannas (yes, casual attire is welcome) would taste scrumptious. The ribs were tender and the barbecue sauce just right. My husband ordered grilled lengua; I’ve never had grilled lengua before and didn’t even know that was done. It was good; made mental note to try that at home.

Cioccolo serves a variety of coffees , including Jamaican coffee, Illy, and alamid (I gasped a little when I saw someone drowning the premium alamid coffee with copious amounts of creamer – you gotta go black!). In this day of roll your eyes up and go to heaven desserts, their Oreo cheesecake was just okay.

Even if the place was huge and the diners many, the place still had that warm, intimate feel; thanks to the well designed lighting and the fine furniture. My seat afforded a view of artfully arranged, gigantic cabbage roses, which surprisingly were fresh and real. If you’re ever in the area, this place is worth a try, valentine’s day or not.

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Subdelicious

Fields Avenue, Pampanga

Subdelicious sounds like a really bad name for a restaurant. It sounds like the food is just this short of delicious. A totally unfair description of the food. Because the buffalo wings are really good. Something I always look forward to when we go to Pampanga. If we hear of anyone going to that area, we tell them to try out the wings. Even the locals did not know about it, and my husband has invited lots of them to the place. We were one of those happy consumers providing them free word of mouth advertising.

You can order the wings mild, regular, or spicy. Of course, we went for the spicy, which is tempered by the blue cheese cream dip. The restaurant is known more for its hoagies and submarine sandwiches, but I didn’t care much about the Philly Cheese Steak Sub; not bad, but I prefer my beef rarer and sliced thicker.

It must be a happening place at night with the billiards and the jukebox. That lunchtime, though, there were just a few of us enjoying the place and the buffalo wings. We were on our last pieces… this after telling my husband that the 20-piece order was too much. And then, my husband accidentally dropped one onto the floor. And this is where the jukebox music suddenly jumps and screeches to a halt and the happy dream scene is over. Because seconds later a mouse runs from under my booth chair and grabs the piece of chicken. Of course, I let out a mini-scream, and just got as far away from that booth as possible. I tried not to make a scene and just waited for the bill to be paid. At this point, I was agonizing, thinking maybe I should just ignore the mickey sighting, and just give them a positive review because I really liked the food, and I didn’t want to be nasty, I mean after all Ratatouille has opened the minds of people to rodents touching their fine cuisine. But the nightmare didn’t end just then. The manager started asking, more like interrogating my husband about why I was taking pictures. Like this is the first time in history that people have taken pictures in restaurants. I don’t want to bore you with the exchange, but I was trying to explain that I was promoting their restaurant so my friends would try them out, but she was mouthing all these obnoxious lines like, “We’re all Filipinos here, okay. When QTV and GMA filmed here, they asked permission. We’re not stupid; that is a professional camera.” I really didn’t, and still don’t, understand what the fuss was about. It’s not as if we can steal their secret recipes by taking photos. We were not doing anything wrong and this woman was blabbing on and on doing more damage to her restaurant than to us. In exasperation and disgust my husband mentioned the mouse, and this woman had the temerity to say with a straight face, “That’s normal. All restaurants have rats.” Okay, I’m trying not to get upset as I write this so I’ll stop the happy reminiscing. Bottom line, I’m going to miss those wings because I’ll never ever go to that place of substandard sanitation ever again. I’m not going to stop you from going, though. Just make sure that if you go, you don’t drop any food on the floor, sit with your feet on the chair, and be ready with a mayor’s permit if you want to take pictures.

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Patpat’s Kansi

8809 Sampalo St. near cor. Kamagong St. Makati City

You’ve just had your annual medical checkup. Blood pressure good. Everything else unremarkable. It’s now time to live a little and clog those arteries with a flavorful dose of 100% cholesterol goodness. Behind the Metrobank branch at Kamagong (diagonally across Suzukin) is this no-a/c but breezy set up frequented by the office lunch crowd. There’s not a lot in the menu. The no-fun sissies who love giving you guilt trips order the boneless bangus (125 pesos), the health-conscious opt for kansi laman (95 pesos) and the carpe diemers go for the piece de resistance, the kansi bulalo (80 pesos). Seize the day, and your aorta, with about 4 lovely tablespoonfuls of marrow slush guaranteed to expedite your entry to heaven, physically and metaphysically. Bring that googled article from the mayo clinic that says coca cola can corrode metail; if it can do that then it can melt all that fat. Down the coke with lipitor bites. Eat this while you’re young. Or when you’re old enough and too far gone to say it’s too late to start eating healthy.

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Cendrillon

45 Mercer St # A
New York, NY 10013
(212) 343-9012

I’m going to rave, and no one can stop me. I was a fan of Cendrillon even before I got there by virtue of the book published by its owners and chefs, Romy Dorotan and Amy Besa. Memories of Philippine Kitchens is a beautiful book because of the stories and Neil Oshima’s pictures. When I found out that lunch at the Cendrillon was part of my relatives’ itinerary, I was ecstatic. Of course, being all that excited heightened the danger of the high expectations not being matched by the actual dining experience. I’ve heard mixed reviews, the bad ones mostly from Filipinos. Well, I don’t know what those bad reviewers ordered, but I was happy, happy, happy with everything about

the restaurant. The location was fabulous, with chic shops lining Mercer Street. (The Gourmet Garage some steps away, one of Heath Ledger’s stops on his last day alive, is a toys r’ us for domestic divas like me. The olive selection (with taste test) rivals Zabar’s.) The interiors – – global with strong Filipino touches. The food! The food! Filipino fusion without trying too hard to be fusion, and trying too hard to be Filipino. Amazing, sublime twists on the lumpia and the ukoy.

As soon as I get the chance, I’m going to go back.

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Bistro Filipino Chef Laudico


Ground Level Net 2 Bldg, 3rd Ave. Bonifacio Global City

A fine restaurant. Great interiors. A good example of Filipino fusion. We got the sampler dinner – 7 courses, 12 dishes, all paced out just right so that your stomach can adjust to the next course. Notable were the shitake soup and the tuna ceviche.

What kept it from getting five stars is that the food was somewhat overflavored. Too saucy. I mean, wagyu beef does not need much help except for the subtlest of flavors, but Chef Laudico’s rendition had it smothered in red sauce; it tasted just like your lola’s kaldereta. Good, but you just want to scrape the sauce all off to taste how wagyu really tastes.

Check out our photos of our Christmas Eve dinner: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=24327&id=631171910

Note: I gave this 4 stars after our Christmas dinner, but after another dinner last June, I’m promoting this to 5 stars. The dinner was exceptional. Loved the shitake mushroom puree, the blue cheese mashed potato, the duck patotim, the adobo overload!

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Seryna

2277 Chino Roces Ave. Makati City

Little Tokyo is a wonderful surprise in an area better known (or notorious) for pirated DVDs. It’s nice to walk around the courtyard to choose the Japanese restaurant that will be to your liking and within your budget. Tucked away in there are a number of Japanese restaurants all frequented by Japanese expats, so you know they’re good and authentic. But if budget’s not an issue, then you don’t even need to enter the courtyard. Fronting the deeveedee deeveedee den is Seryna. Ambience is cozy, with a low ceiling and interesting decor of rich wood and slate. The food’s excellent. I’ve never met a sashimi I didn’t like so it’s a given that their sashimi platters would be delightful. The sukiyaki uses fresh top-grade ingredients. The uni (sea urchin) tempura is melt-in-your mouth, eyeballs-roll-up good. Service is tops! The server even discouraged us from ordering a second order of Sukiyaki unless we’re sure we could finish the generous serving of the first one. She said she didn’t want to see good food go to waste. The only negative point is the unisex washroom. It’s quite clean, but I have a personal aversion to unisex restrooms. But that’s just me. Overall, this is one of the city’s best Japanese restaurants. I’m going back for the uni!

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BLUE LIKE JAZZ by Donald Miller

“I don’t think you can explain how Christian faith works either. It is a mystery. And I love this about Christian spirituality. It cannot be explained, and yet it is beautiful and true. It is something you feel, and it comes from the soul.”

I wish I had read this book sooner in my Christian walk. It would have spared me so much guilt and anxiety for thinking the way I thought, feeling the way I felt, as somebody who was still working out how this faith thing works out.

“The goofy thing about Christian Faith is that you believe it and don’t believe it at the same time. It isn’t unlike having an imaginary friend. I believe in Jesus; I believe He is the Son of God, but every time I sit down and explain this to somebody I feel like a palm reader, like somebody who works at a circus or a kid who is always making things up or somebody at a Star Trek convention who hasn’t figured out the show isn’t real.”

Blue Like Jazz is the coolest Christian book I’ve read; and it didn’t have to use edgy fonts; skate and surf jargon; and Bono to make it cool. It’s not religious. It’s not fire and brimstone. It is not hard sell. Not like how I could be when trying to “sell” the idea of my faith, as if I were selling Amway. I want to be like Miller’s friend, Nadine.

“The thing I loved about Nadine was that I never felt like she was selling anything. She would talk about God as if she knew Him, as if she had talked to Him on the phone that day. She was never ashamed, which is the thing with some Christians I had encountered. They felt like they had to sell God, as if He were soap or a vacuum cleaner, and it’s like they really weren’t listening to me; they didn’t care, they just wanted me to buy their product… To Nadine, God was a being with which she interacted, and even more, Nadine believed that God likes her. I thought that was beautiful. And more than that, her faith was a spiritual thing that produced a humanitarianism that was convincing.”

Miller is not a theologian so this book offers no dissection of the faith or deep biblical analysis. What it has to say about the Word is just a description of Miller’s own experience:

“I would lie on my bedroom floor, reading my Bible, going at the words for hours, all of them strong like arms wrapped tightly around my chest. It seems as though the words were alive with minds and motions of their own, as though God were crawling thoughts inside my head for guidance, comfort, and strength… The truths of the Bible were magic, like messages from heaven, like enchanting codes that offered power over life, a sort of power that turned sorrow to joy, hardship to challenge, and trial to opportunity… I seemed to have been provided answers to questions I had yet to ask, questions that God sensed or had even instilled in the lower reaches of my soul.”

This book has the feel of Catcher in the Rye when it talks about weird Christians with their bigotry, their parroted slogans, God infomercials, and Democrat-bashing ways that incite anger among and outside the church. He offers alternatives to these attitudes: First to pray that God shows you a church filled with people who share your interests and values, then to go to the church God shows you, and then not to hold grudges against any other churches because God loves those churches almost as much as He loves yours. In other words, Miller endorses God’s message of loving others, taking God as our model of love.

“To be in a relationship with God is to be loved purely and furiously.”

Miller talks about life, purpose, persecution, salvation, Savior:

“I know a little of why there is blood in my body, pumping life into my limbs and thoughts into my brain. I am wanted by God. He is wanting to preserve me, to guide me through the darkness of the shadow of death, up into the highlands of His presence and afterlife. I understand that I am temporary, in this shell of a thing on this dirt of an earth. I am being tempted by Satan, we are all being tempted by Satan, but I am preserved to tell those who do not know about our Savior and Redeemer. This is why Paul had no question. This is why he could be beaten one day, imprisoned the next, and released only to be beaten again and never ask God why. He understood the earth was fallen. He understood the rules of Rome could not save mankind, that mankind could not save itself; rather it must be rescued.”

Of evangelism:

“I could feel God’s love for him. I loved the fact that it wasn’t my responsibility to change somebody, that it was God’s, that my part was just to communicate love and approval.”

Of God’s love:

“Jesus didn’t love me out of principle; He didn’t just love me because it was the right thing to do. Rather, there was something inside me that caused Him to love me.”

But with this caveat:

“God’s love will never change us if we don’t accept it.”

Don says of our love for God:

“I think the most important thing that happens within Christian spirituality is when a person falls in love with Jesus.”

Of faith:
“My belief in Jesus does not seem rational or scientific, and yet there was nothing I could do to separate myself from this belief.”

Why Jazz?

“Christian spirituality is like jazz music. I think loving Jesus is something you feel. I think it is something very difficult to get on paper. But it is no less real, no less meaningful, no less beautiful. The first generation out of slavery invented jazz music. And that is the closest thing to Christian spirituality. A music birthed out of freedom.”

Miller talks about a decision that the human heart needs to make. It’s a decision that would determine how the rest of one’s story turns out. I think this book, in the hands of somebody with an open mind and ready heart, can help people make that decision.

“Your life is not your own, but you have been bought with a price.”

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STYLE by Kate Spade

For the holy week, I had planned to read something that was not required reading. Nothing that was remotely related to my line of work. Nothing that everybody else was reading that I had to read so as not to feel out of place in dinner conversations. Nothing life-changing, mind-boggling, or gut-wrenching. In other words, I was in serious need of fluff.

And fluff was had.

Simon & Schuster’s Style, by designer cum author kate spade, is the perfect no-brainer book to decompress after one of the most stressful months of my 40-year life. No IQ cells were disturbed in the delightful process of reading. No brows knit. No thoughts provoked. No worldviews challenged. No words looked up at dictionary.com. And there were pretty pictures too!

Reading all 109 pages of this book felt like those ditzy gab-fests with girlfriends talking about feminine products, childhood crushes, and favorite Oprah episodes.

Kate writes about her style influences – Diana Vreeland, Bjork; Jane Austen, Dr. Seuss; Picasso, Andy Warhol; movies like Annie Hall, The Royal Tenenbaums. She doesn’t really try to teach anyone about style, since she (and husband Andy; and language masters Strunk and White) thinks that style is achieved by affecting none. So, instead, she just shares her own style – what she packs for a trip to Mexico or Kansas; her favorite colors, and with what she pairs them with; what she wears to work, to play, to a party, in winter, spring; her favorite accessories. The last chapter shares practical tips for organizing closets and caring for clothes and jewelry.

People don’t normally believe it when I say I’m not into brands. Yet it’s true. I’m no fashion victim, wanting to have the latest must-have brands. I’m not going to spend one month’s salary (or my husband’s salary) for a monogrammed Louis Vuitton. Jimmy Choos won’t exactly make me squeal with delight if the fit is bad on my farmer-proportioned feet and the styling does not make me feel, “me.” I’ll be equally happy with a tiangge-find no-brand plastic tote as with a Coach original. Okay, that’s not true. But what I’m trying to say is the brand is not the main thing. Brands, to me, are merely clues to good buys. They just make shopping a bit easier as they lead me to stores where I can find certain types of items at the required level of quality.

I’m no brand junkie, yet, I have this healthy obsession with Kate Spade. She is, to a degree, my style icon. I like what she represents – a lifestyle of enjoying what is beautiful, expressive, distinct, stylish.

Kate’s style is far from mine. She does not wear t-shirts; I live in them. She can wear yellow; the only time I wore yellow was to our high school reunion and only because that was the theme. Kate’s favorite fonts are baskerville and futura; mine is trebuchet. She likes full skirts; I have child-bearing hips that forever preclude such items from my wardrobe. But this book inspires me to define my own style. Not by plagiarizing other people’s style, but by opening myself to the world around me – to books, movies, art, travel, people that move me.

After reading this book, I conclude that sometimes, fluff is good for the soul.

P.S. Thanks, Sana, for giving me this book.

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SLEEPLESS IN MANILA, Funny Essays, etc., on Insomnia by Insomniacs

Edited by Cristina Pantajo Hidalgo

I stupidly thought I could check out the new bookstore in Galleria – Bestsellers by National Book Store – without giving in to the shopping monster in me. Then I saw this book. On insomnia by insomniacs. Of course, I had to have it.

The back cover says that 10-15% of the world’s population have severe chronic insomnia, and an additional 25-30% have transient or occasional insomnia. I don’t know which category I belong to. Doesn’t matter. The book is about me. I can’t sleep when I’m supposed to sleep, meaning at night on the bed. Though if you put me in any moving vehicle – car, bus, train, boat, calesa, I can sleep in a matter of seconds. In planes, I can even sleep before take-off. Maybe I was deprived of motherly baby-rocking; but I digress too much.

I am halfway through the book. Not the best time to write a review on it. But I’ve had it happen often enough. I would be reading a book and I would nurture the ambition of posting a review on it. Then when I’m done reading I put the book close to the computer so I’ll remember to write the review. Then tinginingnginingngining… that’s the sound effect to represent a long time lapse, the cinematic ellipse… 6 months later I have to clear the book(s) away from the computer table to give me elbow space. By then, I would have forgotten what about the book I wanted to share with the world wide who-cares. Countless book reviews have jumped from my to-do list to my forget-it-it-will-never-get-done-you-pathetic-procrastinator-you list. Again, I digress.

Most of the essays, poems, factoids, short stories in the collection were probably written during the dreaded insomniac hours. Except for the piece written by Vince Groyon, whose name is on my top ten list of reasons why I am too insecure to write for a living. He says insomniac writing produces for him “jumbled, incoherent mass of words that just gets folded away deep in the pages of a notebook.” I can relate. My insomniac hours enable me to copiously produce PowerPoint slides so I can conduct corporate training for a living. But rarely do they help me write anything of show-off value.

The piece I can relate to the most is the one I finished minutes ago. Alex Almario contemplates doing away with the useless bed. The floor would serve a better purpose for pacing back and forth. I cannot do that, of course, because getting rid of the bed would mean divorce from my husband. Besides, when I do get to sleep I enjoy deep, long ones. But I get exactly what he means.

In Alex’s hours of restlessness, all his insecurities turn up and decide to hold a convention in his head. I know that feeling of random, uncontrollable ideas deciding to hold powwows in my head. It’s not always about insecurities though. Sometimes I obsess visualizing my dream house and the pantone color swatches, various pieces of furniture, facades of Frank Lloyd Wright houses just march in and out of my brain. Or I play out in my head all the things I have to do that overwhelm me. All the big pending projects. I try to break them down into manageable chunks like they teach you how to do in time management classes, but then I do such a good job of breaking them down into little pieces and then the many details overwhelm me and I can’t sleep. Sometimes the thoughts are similar to rudderless, 25-year-old Alex’s musings: what will I do with the rest of my life; is it pointless to dream; how can I impress my classmates in the next high school reunion; when will I ever wear size 6 jeans again?

Aha, now I get why my book reviews never get written. I don’t know squat about book reviews. This piece is turning out to be an indulgent, all-about-me blog entry. It’s noontime. I had 9 hours of sleep. I don’t have an excuse for this drivel.

Let me just end with Alex’s last 2 paragraphs, which struck a chord in me:

“I’ve been trying too hard to fight this problem, to no avail. The logical next step is to quit fighting it. Embracing this sleeping disorder is a very new-age, self-help-guru thing to do. When life gives you a lemon… (all together now, in a dorky, math-club-president voice) make lemonade! Those who can sleep have no time for greatness. While they’re wasting away hours of their lives buried under their pillows, I will be wide-eyed and restless making history. I will write the Great Filipino Novel. I will find the cure for cancer. I will find an alternative energy source. I will figure out the meaning of life.

‘I really need to get some sleep.”