that ONE PERSON

Ever have that one person in your life that you just can't give up on, the one person who can screw you over time after time yet you always seem to give them another chance, and no matter how many times you say this is their last one, you know it's a lie because there's always just one more waiting for them. The one person you know you're better off without but yet you can't find a way to let them go because deep down inside you wouldn't know what to do without them. The one person that you know doesn't deserve you but yet you choose to overlook it...

Last Night's Dinner: Aubergine

Hans and Norbert, proprietors of Aubergine had been executive chefs in Shangri-la and Mandarin respectively. They setup Aubergine to be the practicum restaurant of their culinary school, the International School of Culinary Arts and Hotel Management (ISCAHM).

 

The restaurant itself reminded me of a hotel coffee shop. Big and brightly lit with yellow lights. The center had a wall to ceiling glass-encased wine cellar.

 

From the dining area, one can actually see the entire kitchen through a large glass pane window.  Several ISCAHM students were busy preparing ingredients from their stations.

We opted to share the degustation menu to have a wider sample of what Aubergine has to offer.

 

Amuse Bouche – Seabass mousse with ratatouille

 

Oyster Delight… Variation of fresh, baked, fried on mango-papaya salsa, pouched in vinaigrette, sauteed with prosciutto on mascarpone-dates cream and Tempura Oysters, accompanied by garden green’s in Raspberry dressing – The oysters are of good quality. Plump and clean taste to the oysters.

 

Mushroom flavored beef consomme with crepes strudel and vegetable julienne – I didn’t like this. It’s basically strong beef broth with some ground meat in it. The strong beef broth got to overpowering midway and I couldn’t finish the whole bowl.

 

Pan seared duck foie gras on celeriac-apple Mousseline and balsamic-port wine reduction – Best dish on our menu. Foie gras is of very good quality. The foie gras was firm and smoothly textured. It just melts in your mouth.

 

Calamansi sherbet – Creative way of serving the sherbet. Dry ice has been placed inside the teacup which was giving out smoke.

 

Grilled Australian lamb loin, gratinated with porcini mushrooms on red wine-pommery mustard jus, served with rosemary and truffle infused potato gratin and glazed vegetables – Grilled to medium. The meat was done was just right. The sauce was creamy and complemented the meat.

 

Grand Marnier ice parfait with chocolate-mascarpone fritter and mango jubilee – The Chocolate Mascarpone fritter stood out among this dessert trio. Tasted like tiramisu because of the mascarpone.

 

On the side, we also ordered Watermelon with Brie, Arugula and cherry tomatoes salad.  ( forgot the actual name).  I didn’t think the watermelon complemented with the brie cheese. The flavors clashed between the sweet watery watermelon and the earthy creamy flavors of the brie cheese. The Brie cheese by itself was excellent though. I liked mixing the brie with the arugula salad, cherry tomatoes and candied walnuts.

 

We also had an order of Shrimp Bisque which is very good. I would recommend this any day over the Beef Consomme.

Aubergine is classical fine dining. Perfectly executed dishes, artful plating and very attentive service. It’s just like having a meal in a hotel restaurant.  But as with a  hotel restaurant, the atmosphere is stuffy and formal. I rather have a very well-cooked meal in much much more relaxed surroundings. I had a server pulling my chair for me everytime I stood up!

Aubergine
32nd and 5th Building
Fort Bonifacio, Taguig
Philippines
Tel : 856-9888

Have Faith. Always.

Everyone needs to believe in something...I believe in God; I believe that there are angels looking out for me wherever I go and whatever I do. I believe in the strength of good relationships; that when surrounded with supportive family and friends success is inevitable. I believe in love; a “Cory and Topanga” romance, a “Walk to Remember” destiny. I believe in staying up late and sleeping in. I believe in arguing. I believe in the right to happiness. I believe you are never too old to cry in your mother’s arms. I believe everyone needs a hero in life. I believe in dancing in the rain and living in the moment. I believe in being prepared and being on time. I believe in ice cream after break-ups; I believe in laughing until it hurts to breathe. I believe in dancing in the middle of your room with the blinds closed in front of your mirror when your favorite song comes on. I believe in forgiveness, though hard as it may be to master. I believe that everyone needs to trust in something to get them through the days, months and years. And I believe that it is truly a beautiful life..... ;)

The Sweet Life: Some sweet things to try!

The Charcoal Roasted Coffee

This charming coffee shop is found in the center of the Tiendesitas food village. I enjoy dropping by this place whenever I’m in Tiendesitas ( for dog stuff =) ) to have a cup of local coffee and a snack.

The shop sells four types of brews – Kalinga, Tagaytay, Malay Balay and Kanlaon. I always go for the strongest brew, Kalinga. It’s a good cup to enjoy with a pick of their homemade snacks.

 

My perfect Tiendesitas snack. Ensaymada with Guava jam and Cream Cheese Php50 with Kalinga coffee Php50.

Charcoal Roasted Coffee is a welcome sight in Tiendesitas among the row of inihaw kiosks which offer the same kind of food. They serve local coffee beans and enjoying a cup of their brew also help support the local Philippine coffee industry.

Charcoal Roasted Coffee
Tiendesitas Food Village

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Korean Grocery Store – Ortigas

There was a Korean Grocery Store right across Minato (a Korean Restaurant*will post a blog about it next time). We browsed around while waiting for our lunch.

 

 

Rows and rows of Korean items. From Toiletries, Biscuits, Junk Food, Cooking ingredients like potato flour, breadcrumbs, pancake mixes etc.

 

I came out with a fish ice cream. Picked it just because it looked weird. The wafer tasted like communion wafers. Fish-shaped wafer cone wrapped around vanilla ice cream and a layer of red bean. Not  a bad dessert for Php 40 bucks.

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Nathaniel’s Buco Pandan

I’ve never gotten tired of Nathaniel’s Buco Pandan, the main reason being I seldom get to eat it. hehehehe

It’s not every week or month that super nice work colleague come back from a Pampanga field work and bring back 3 gallons just for us here in the office. YEY!

Strips of buco and pandan jelly with the creaminess of carabao milk, frozen. Heavennn…

Nathaniel’s
Km 69 Olongapo-Gapan Road, Dolores City, San Fernando Pampanga

***Good news for all addicts of Nathaniel’s goodies, you can now get your fix in Manila! ( thanks Cassidy!)

Nathaniel’s
#39 Talayan Street, Talayan Village, Q.C.
Tel – +632 7125318  Call in advance so that your order can be prepared ahead.

 

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Yogurburd

Pinkberry launched in Los Angeles last 2005 ignited the current fro-yo craze. There are now a handful of frozen yogurt shops sprouting up in Metro Manila like Yoh-gurt Froz, Cold Spoon and I Love Berries .

Another fro-yo shop which is found along Tomas Morato is Yogurbud. They also serve Yogurt salad and yogurt cakes. The yogurt salads and cakes were not available so we were only able to try the yogurt ice cream.

 

You can select from different toppings of fresh fruits to chocolate bits. I had strawberries and cornflakes on mine. The only other yogurt ice cream I’ve tried is Yoh-gurt Froz and Yogurbud tasted different. Yogurbud is different to Yoh-gurt Froz in the sense that it is closer to a sorbet texture and tangy while Yoh-gurt Froz is creamier with dairy notes prevalent in the taste. Yogurbud is an acquired taste as it is sour but tastes better though with every spoonful.

Yogurbud
Grnd floor, 170 Tomas Morato Ave
cnr. Scout Castor, Qc

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5-star Turon

A family friend made this turon. Chef Bernice Yap is a chef in Burj Al Arab, Dubai. The Burj is the hotel with the famous sailboat silhouette.

I literally fell off my seat when I took a bite of this turon. Filo sheets are used instead of lumpia wrapper which gave a flaky, buttery taste to this turon pastry. Crushed peanuts and brown sugar were spread between each layer of filo wrap while the filling is made of firm bananas and macapuno strips. The best turon ever….

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Sebastian’s Ice Cream Studio

I got excited when I saw Sebastian’s ice cream kiosk over at the Podium. Holidays has kicked in and their ice cream flavors looked sooooo interesting and yummy! I wanted to bring home a pint and I went through their array of ice creams for free tastes =P and the ice cream lady was nice enough to let me try each one.

The Dublin Fudge made of Bailey’s ice cream was the flavor I jumped on to try. I’m such a Bailey’s fan and I don’t get much of a chance to have Bailey’s ice cream! This flavor was good and I immediately knew I wanted to bring a pint home. But waiiitttt, I haven’t even tried all the other flavors and I already settled for my pint so I went on with my quest to make sure I got the flavor I wanted best.

My favorite Haagen Dazs flavor is Macadamia so I tried this one next. I found Sebastian’s  

Macadamia White to be milky. The milky taste was overpowering for this flavor so I didn’t like this too much.

Chocolate chip cookie dough is their bestseller. Big globs of cookie dough for you fans out there.

I found the Butter Pecan to be a bit salty as the pecans are salted I think.

The Simply Strawberry is really good, I wouldn’t be able to differentiate it from Haagen Dazs. It has that sourness from the strawberries which balanced the flavors out.

Up All Night is another winner if you are a dark chocolate fan. Quality chocolate with choco bits in it..

In the end, I ended up buying two pints. A Dublin Fudge for myself and Up All Night for my family. And having a scoop of each tasted really great when the two flavors start melting into each other in your bowl. =D

Price List

Single Scoop Php85

Double Scoop Php 140

HandPacked Pint Php250

Sebastian’s Ice Cream is good. REALLY good. It can beat any of the other local brands in the market. It’s packed tightly and you don’t feel like you’re eating fluff and air half of the time. You can also taste the quality of the ingredients used. My only complaint though is that Sebastian’s should have handpacked pints for take-away frozen at a lower temperature. The scoop serve containers are at a temperature wherein the ice cream is a bit soft already, (which is great if I’m eating my ice cream there!) but not too great if I have an hour’s drive to get home.

Sebastian’s Ice Cream Studio

Podium and  Alabang Town Center

 

 

An Early Dinner with Sis: Yaku Japanese Grill

Yaku is a modern designed Japanese place located at the 5th floor of the Podium. It’s all modern minimalistic dark wood and dim lights. Its funny how appearances can really influence a person’s perception. The first time a friend dragged me over to try Yaku three years ago, I had thought Yaku would be expensive since the place was tastefully done but surprisingly prices are reasonable.

 

Agedashi Php95 – This tofu was soggy! I suddenly remembered that I had ordered this years back and it tasted the same. Left me wondering how someone could botch up plain old agedashi.  I did NOT like this tofu.

Tuna Sashimi Php221 – Top sushi restaurants would have springier tuna sashimi of course but their sashimi quality was good for the price. ( i really dont eat raw food but tasted it for this blog (lol) )

Gindara Yakitori Php120- Grilled gindara with grated radish on top. Nice sour bite to the fish.

Shisomaki Php116 – Shisho means basil in english. This is grilled chicken with basil leaves on top Interesting mix of flavors.

Spicy Tuna – Nothing great. There are other places which serve better spicy tuna.

Ebi Teppanyaki Php 293 – Too much butter? Look at the picture, it sure didn’t make the whole look pretty! Prawns were a bit overdone for my taste. The dish has potential though with a little improvement.

Therefore I conclude, If you’re a Teriyaki Boy fan and want the ambience in the package, then try this place out. Food is at the same level including price range.

 

 

Yaku Japanese Grill

Podium
18 ADB Avenue, Ortigas Center
Mandaluyong City, Metro ManilaPhone : 687-5368

 

WHY PRETTY ISN'T ALWAYS SEXY :)

Very inspiring article from Walter Kirn below featured in Elle Magazine June 2008 issue(came across while reviewing some Ads). It talks about the "Cinderella" (rags transform to princess) side of most women in our society and how men (and other people as well) should see the beauty, the grace, the "sexy" factor in each different woman.

I totally agree to Kirn as he describes how he was infatuated, obsessed, and fell in love with women who normally society calls "unpretty", the plain girl, or girls who didn't receive the perfect genes that pass FHM or Vogue standards.

Thank God for men like Walter Kirn who thinks like this! (if only ALL men would think like this but let's face it, maturity and intellect doesn't come with most guys these days- no offense to my guy-friends *peace*).

I know a lot of people might not agree with this like I do, but hey, my life is the same as the women he talks about so I'm definitely going to agree and I don't care what other people might think. I know how it feels to walk in the shadow of some of the prettiest girls in school (HS and College until you reach your Workplace), I'm the type of girl who's not afraid to be funny or sound stupid at times, and "radiant-happiness" (I found a new term that's right for me) for me is everything hehehe... . It's just nice to think and know that other people think you don't have to be uber-perfect to be pretty, to be sexy ("sexy" is a state of mind), to be loved or to be happy. Sometimes being perfect or trying too much to be perfect clouds and ruins your mind, it makes you selfish and it keeps you from fully enjoying life.

For all you fabulous people who agrees, enjoy the article. For those cynics who don't, just read it, you might learn something or maybe change your mind. :)

WHY PRETTY ISN'T ALWAYS SEXY
Elle Magazine
June 2008 Full Feature Article

PIECES OF YOU
 

 That crooked nose. That untamed hair. The enormous appetite. The hottest girl in the room isn’t who you think. Why pretty isn’t (always) sexy.

By Walter Kirn

They tend to go out on the town in pairs, I’ve noticed: the conventionally pretty one, all dolled up and shining, and her average-looking friend, who’s barely had time to do her hair. The pretty one, I have a hunch, is generally the instigator. With the plainer one by her side, she thinks she’ll look even more dazzling than usual. And the plainer one goes along with the idea because she wants to bask in her friend’s glow—or maybe because she just doesn’t get out much. I don’t know. I do know, however, that when I spot them and manage to push in beside them at the bar, I often feel sorry for the pretty one.

Because she’s about to learn she’s not the pretty one.

“What are you girls drinking?”

The pretty one answers for both of them in most cases. Hers is the dominant personality, and her heels are higher, too. The plainer one (the supposedly plainer one) isn’t wearing heels. They hurt her feet, and she’s not afraid to say so because she has no image to preserve. This makes her much easier to talk to. It also makes her more interesting to talk to—and, as the night wears on, to look at. By then, see, the bar is full of pretty women, and pretty women tend to look quite similar. They may not look similar before they dress and put on makeup, but afterward they do.

“Where in Ohio?” I ask the plainer one, who doesn’t look half so plain now. I like her nose. I like the fact she has one. The pretty one had a nose at one time, but she hired a surgeon to cut most of it off.

“Akron.”

“I love that city,” I exaggerate. “It’s so…I don’t know…so…”

“Depressing?”

“Industrial.”

That’s when the pretty one, who’s tired of standing around with nothing to do but check out her look-alikes and estimate her own rank in the evening’s pageant, wanders off to use the bathroom. I don’t really notice; I like her friend. Her friend has hands that are too big for her wrists, and when she gestures with them to make a point, I’m mesmerized by their power, their vitality. I’d like to hold them, to feel them on my back. I bet they’re warm—much warmer than the pretty one’s, which are small and slender but look icy.

“Could I have your phone number?”

I ask.

The woman who’s no longer plain at all says, “Sure.”

I nod and hand over a pen. My crush starts writing. Her friend walks up and sees what’s happening. She stiffens. She narrows her eyes.

It isn’t pretty.

In the fairy tale, Cinderella goes unnoticed until her appearance is magically transformed to match little girls’ ideal of loveliness, which they grow up believing is little boys’ ideal of loveliness. This belief is wrong, though. And I should know, because I’m a grown-up boy who longs for Cinderellas who’ve never touched a pair of glass slippers—who are plenty alluring barefoot. I prefer them to some princesses I’ve danced with. I prefer them—these unconventional-looking women who too frequently call themselves ugly or imperfect when they ought to call themselves perfecting—because their transformations are still ongoing.

Maura, the first barefoot Cinderella I fell for, was not a fussy eater, and it showed. It showed in her substantial hips. It also showed in her contented face.

Radiant happiness was Maura’s best feature, the kind that comes from filling up on pasta and not leaping up afterward to go running. This distinguished her from the other girls I’d dated during my first two years at college. They were slimmer than Maura, their features more symmetrical, but their facial expressions were harder and more anxious, particularly at mealtimes. Salad without dressing will do that to you.

“Can I scrunch in here with my tray?” I asked her in the dining hall one evening. She smiled and scooted over to make room. I’d been watching her. Her skin had the glossiness of a caramel apple. Her figure reminded me of an apple, too, but this was not a flaw because apples reminded me of pie, pie reminded me of ice cream, and pie and ice cream made me hungry for…Maura.

I didn’t go hungry that fall semester, fortunately, but my appetite for Maura confused those who thought she wasn’t worth pursuing. A girl I’d once dated, the type who counted her croutons, asked me one day if I had “a thing for heavy women.” I told her no, I had a thing for women who enjoyed life. My old girlfriend seemed to find this threatening. She realized, I think, that it’s easier to keep off the weight than to keep on the happiness.

The charm of a barefoot Cinderella is that her beauty obeys no formula and therefore can sneak up on a man. When he becomes aware of it, he feels like he’s discovered a secret. And secrets are always exciting.

I once worked in an office with a woman whom none of my colleagues seemed to know was there. Nor did I, at first. Her job was distributing memos and other documents, and she drew no attention to herself as she passed silently among the cubicles. A bulletin about changes in the health plan would suddenly show up on my desk, and I’d have no idea who’d brought it. The tooth fairy? The memo elf?

Then one day, when the office was half-deserted due to an outbreak of the stomach flu, she caught my eye while walking toward me down an empty hallway. Straight hair, straight posture, straight in every way. Flat, too. And wearing glasses. Yet she was provocative as hell, like a stripper who was working under deep cover. She had a disciplined, stealthy sensuality that seemed to whisper to me as she slipped by: “What you see isn’t half of what you’ll get.”

I set out to get it, whatever it was, confident I would face little competition. While hanging around the woman’s desk one morning, waiting for her to get back from her rounds, I spied another guy my age peeking at me over his computer. I detected jealousy. When the woman returned, I kept an eye on him as I asked her a stupid question about a memo concerning the corporate softball league or something. Then another guy showed up with a story about a malfunctioning copier. The woman excused herself and went off to help him.

“Get in line,” said the guy at the computer.

The movie was based on a novel I’d written, Thumbsucker, about my agonizing adolescence. The director invited me to suburban Oregon to spend a few days on the set. There, I met the woman playing my mother: the Oscar-winning British actress Tilda Swinton. She instructed me to call her Tilda and invited me to her trailer for a chat.

She struck me at first as less than stunning. Her skin was pale, as though sun had never touched it; she was wearing a costume of homely nurse’s scrubs; and her short red hair was dyed a mousey brown. We sat across a small table drinking coffee and talking about our love lives (I was going through a divorce), and I couldn’t believe how comfortable I was. Tilda was a Hollywood leading lady—the first one I’d ever been alone with. I should have been too awestruck to lift my cup.

But the awe didn’t take long to set in. Fifteen minutes into the conversation, Tilda’s unorthodox glamour overwhelmed me. Her pallor turned luminous. And because she lacked the curves and cleavage of the stereotypical female star, there was nothing to distract me from her assured, refined intelligence, which was the sexiest thing about her. In even her most ordinary gestures—raising her coffee cup, patting her pockets to find a ringing cell phone—there was a magnetic elegance. She moved the way thought moves, with a quiet fluidity. Her beauty was pure, unobstructed, metaphysical. But it had a physical effect. By the time the director called Tilda onto the set, my head was swarming with inappropriate fantasies whose moral saving grace was that they featured my movie mother, not the woman who’d given birth to me.

She—my actual mother—wouldn’t have been surprised by this encounter. She told me back in high school that there was often an inverse relationship between a woman’s superficial luster and her power to entrance the deeper self. But I was a teenager, stuck on cheerleaders, so I didn’t believe her right away. Then I went out with a few cheerleaders. And then, later on, I went out with a model. She wasn’t shallow or ignorant, this model, but she wasn’t stimulating, either. So smooth and uniform was her exterior that she seemed to be encased in glass. The first time I saw her naked, I was flummoxed. Where to focus? Where to start? I gazed at her on the hotel mattress and searched for a scar—or a flaw of any sort that might afford my lust a toehold. My attention kept losing its grip and sliding away, though, so I ended up ordering chocolate mousse from room service as a stalling tactic.

When the confection finally arrived, Cinderella was fast asleep, of course. And I’d changed from a prince into a pumpkin.

To me, it comes down to Los Angeles versus Paris. In L.A., where I’ve spent some time in recent years, a lot of the women have nothing wrong with them—and nothing particularly right about them either. The outer layers of skin they’re constantly peeling and dermabrading must strip away some of their inner selves as well. And who cares about eyelids so tight and firm that they make the eyes beneath them look cyclops-wide and triple-espresso awake? Whatever happened to sultry, sleepy sensuality? As for implants, no matter where in the body they’re inserted, they lend a woman a faint cyborg aura. The polymers in them must send out vibrations.

In Paris, which I first visited in my twenties, the situation is the opposite.

I sat there dumbfounded at the small café, watching the street and pretending to read Ulysses as the waiter delivered my third croissant. The passing women weren’t what I’d expected. An American pal at my grad school back in England had warned me that Parisian femininity would tempt me to relinquish my U.S. citizenship, and I’d assumed that what he’d meant was that I’d find myself surrounded by beauty queens with magazine-cover faces and centerfold figures. The reality was quite different, though. As the strolling women neared my table, what loomed were their protruding noses, their conspicuous ears, their overly broad shoulders. As they passed, I took note of their formidable posteriors, their lack of any posteriors whatsoever, and their oddly squat or boyish physiques. What lingered when they vanished, however, was their heartbreaking seductiveness.

They came in all shapes and sizes, these French ticklers, but rarely in the standard ones. The cut and drape of their appearances was haute couture, not off-the-rack. Until I saw them, I hadn’t realized how many ways there are for women to be themselves—their best and most enchanting selves. Nor had I known how many parts of me could be aroused by such shows of self-acceptance. I’d been living in one dimension—on the surface of the TV screen, the catalog page—but I’d awakened deep inside the Louvre, with galleries stretching away in every direction (including the one that houses the Mona Lisa, who’s no knockout herself but always draws a crowd).

Thank you, Paris. Thank you, Tilda Swinton (humbly disguised as a midwestern nurse). Thank you, sleeping model. Thank you, Maura. Together, you and your ilk have granted men a power we’ve longed for since we were teenagers: the ability to see through clothes, not to mention layers of foundation and coquettish posing, to the sexy center of a woman. You taught us to walk into parties, bars, and offices and look around not for pageant-winning figures, blown-glass complexions, and foreshortened noses, but direct our gaze downward, at women’s feet. Crooked toes? No glass slippers? Promising.