here and now

I'm here in the East Coast right now and coming from the Philippines where the weather is a hundred degrees, I'm freezing my butt here. Every two years or so, I visit relatives in the US and I usually arrive around this time, April or May. I can't seem to get used to this nippy weather but what can you do, better this than the scorching heat back home.

I wasn't able to blog for weeks. I had trouble logging in due to some password malfunction. My techie hubby managed to fix everything before I left, so now, I'm back. I also had such a stressful time preparing for this trip, what with the barquillos and piaya hoarding that I needed to do as well as 'psyching up' the babies so that they won't have any major "We-miss-Mom tantrums" while I'm gone.

I do miss the kids. Terribly. Although I've considerably recovered from jetlag, I don't think I can ever recover from feeling this way, like I left a part of my body back home. Ah, motherhood -- mothers always get melodramatic especially when away from their kids.

So far, I've done nothing but sleep and eat. I went out a couple of times to eat out with my Mom and my sister -- those were the high points of my first week here. Oh, not to mention taking my brother's Audi out for a spin (okay, I just drove my niece to her bus stop -- but "taking it for a spin" sounds more exciting, don't you think?). German luxury cars drive oh so smoothly -- quite a change from driving the big Nissan Frontier pick up back home. (But still I love that truck!)

Let's see what's in store for me here in the Northeast. But first thing's first, got to stop the sleep-eat-sleep cycle, it's time to hit the NY streets!

stop dr. uwe boll

If you're sick and tired of this man's stupid films (Alone in the dark, Bloodrayne I & II, House of the Dead, etc.), as I am, please join the petition to stop Dr. Uwe Boll from making more crappy movies by voting here. For those of you who don't know him, here's the git in a Youtube video gabbing about himself as he responds to the online petition. This guy's a certified nut case!

corn pudding, etc.

I told you I'll have that corn pudding warming on the kitchen counter before my previous article (smoky eyes and lemon pie 2) goes to print in the newspaper. Aside from the delicious pudding, I tried making a blueberry cheesecake (sans the baking!) and that too came out really yummy.

my corn pudding

no-bake blueberry cheesecake

Sagaponack Corn Pudding

1/4 pound (1 stick) unsalted butter
5 cups fresh yellow corn kernels cut off the cob (6 to 8 ears)
1 cup chopped yellow onion (1 onion)
4 extra-large eggs
1 cup milk
1 cup half-and-half
1/2 cup yellow cornmeal
1 cup ricotta cheese
3 tablespoons chopped fresh basil leaves
1 tablespoon sugar
1 tablespoon kosher salt
3/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
3/4 cup (6 ounces) grated extra-sharp cheddar, plus extra to sprinkle on top

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Grease the inside of an 8 to 10-cup baking dish. Melt the butter in a very large saute pan and saute the corn and onion over medium-high heat for 4 minutes. Cool slightly.

Whisk together the eggs, milk, and half-and-half in a large bowl. Slowly whisk in the cornmeal and then the ricotta. Add the basil, sugar, salt, and pepper. Add the cooked corn mixture and grated cheddar, and then pour into the baking dish. Sprinkle the top with more grated cheddar.

Place the dish in a larger pan and fill the pan 1/2 way up the sides of the dish with hot tap water. Bake the pudding for 40 to 45 minutes until the top begins to brown and a knife inserted in the center comes out clean. Serve warm.

*recipe from Ina Garten's Barefoot Contessa

Smoky eyes and lemon pie 2

Sometimes I get obsessed with a topic and tweak it to death. I tweaked this one and ended up with something bigger than it was originally supposed to be. But I like it better. It's more me. A little loony and a bit loopy. Hmm.. methinks I'll send this to the newspaper. Recycling is always the best! Anyway, read on.

Four days into my self-imposed holiday and I'm bored out of my skull. In between watching Jamie Oliver and Giada De Laurentiis, there's really nothing much to do but cook. So far, I've whipped up a mean zitti with sausage, basil, and tomatoes (I mixed 3 kinds of sausages: Italian, Hungarian, and Vienna and added ground beef to the tomato sauce); a Shaker lemon pie where I had to wrestle with an uncooperative pâte brisée; and a pot of steaming pancit molo. By the time, this article goes to print, I’ll probably have a casserole full of corn pudding warming on the kitchen counter. I’m no expert in the cooking department but I do love to whip up new dishes for my kids. Sometimes I fail miserably especially when some baking is involved, but most of the time I’m actually capable of making something that my kids can eat without throwing up. (I’m just being modest, of course.)

Aside from slaving in the kitchen, I've been learning how to put on eye make up. Last night I did the smoky eye effect using black and gray eye shadow and I feel pretty smug because it actually came out really beautiful and dramatic (as opposed to looking like somebody hit me with a non-stick frying pan on both eyes -- yes, in my world that could happen, but I usually do the pan-hitting).

I know I looked fine after the make up session because Zaki just looked at me and yawned. Ripley did a double take but thereafter screamed "I want make-up, mommy!", which I assumed was an adamant request from a 2 year old to look 20 years older. I was expecting her to say “raccoon” but thank God her animal vocab is quite limited being 2 and all. My ever supported husband on the other hand just said, "That looks nice, babe." To which I replied, "I thought you hated make up." To which he replied, "Make-up is okay, it's jewelry that I hate." There's nothing more heartwarming than knowing that your family supports you -- yes, even with utterly trivial matters like eye make-up.

I know I won’t be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, the Palanca, or even Miss Congeniality in some trite beauty pageant (where my 2 year old can speak better English compared to half of the contestants) by doing the things that I’ve been doing for the past days. I know I’m dilly-dallying. I know it’s IQ-zapping to stay in the house day in and day out and be concerned about the most mundane of things (i.e. mulling over when the next CSI rerun will be, researching Heather Mills by typing “gold digger” on Google, and ruminating over which brand of shampoo is better for my daughter’s sensitive scalp). But it’s actually quite exhilarating, to be in the state where I am in right now. Nothing like the prosaic to remind me of how profound life truly is.

People always talk about their so-called “A-ha moments”, those pivotal, defining moments of their lives. I know you’re all familiar with what I’m talking about and some of you might even be having that moment right now as you’re reading my column. (That or you’re having an aneurysm – probably the latter, I know!) I’m sure Oprah would be so proud of you and all that, but sometimes, these Oprahesque take on life gets so maddeningly passé for me.

Sometimes all I want to do is puke when I read stuff like “As I stood there all alone surrounded by the breathtaking beauty of dusk, inner peace engulfed me.” I actually understand where that kind of phony profundity comes from (probably from reading sappy Danielle Steel books and committing to memory a few lines from some retro Hallmark greeting card).What puzzles me is that people never say things like “As I poured laundry soap in the washing machine, I began to understand the purpose of my life” or “I changed my baby’s diapers today and as I wiped her smooth buttocks with alcohol-free wipes (yes, it has to be alcohol-free), it dawned on me that life is indeed beautiful.”

Why do we have to be so irritatingly and superficially insightful when there’s so much material for profundity in real life? Don’t tell me that my baby’s buttocks are less inspiring than dusk (which to me is quite overrated because it’s actually the time of the day when mosquitoes come out, not to mention crickets, and frogs – you get my drift) or that one can’t be philosophical while doing smelly laundry.

And so, as I sit here in front of my computer wondering when this article will end because I have to go and cut my daughter’s toe nails, I can’t help but feel genuinely happy and content. There’s nothing like doing the most boring and inconsequential task to tell you that you’re living your life to the fullest!

the one with the killer grammar

Yes, yes, I have my occasional lapses (who doesn't?) but the following grammatical aberration from a local lifestyle magazine can probably cause Noam Chomsky to have an aneurysm. There I was, so peaceful and pleasant, sitting patiently in the comfortable couch of my Dad's tailor when I saw "it". I shouldn't have leafed through its pages, I know, but it beckoned me like an obnoxious fly goading a flyswatter to swat it to oblivion. And so, like the indulgent flyswatter that I was (and am), I succumbed.

I flipped through the pages of the magazine and I laughed and laughed until the tears were pouring down my cheeks. If still alive, Diana Vreeland would have died again; Anna Wintour would go ballistic and pummel the dumb ass editor of the magazine (you know who I'm talking about if you've been reading my blog) with her Manolos (or wring the editor's neck with the straps of her Prada bag); and yes, Chomsky will have an aneurysm.

Here are two sentences from the magazine that I've committed to memory so that I could share them with you. If amused (or the opposite) -- email me!

"Don't get stucked in the last minute shopping bash..." (stucked? stucked?! this is definitely not a typo! Har!Har!Har!)
"...fashion lab students take center stage through its ingenious fashion creations that showcases the state-of-the art Iloilo airport of international standard." (ever heard of subject-verb agreement? and what the hell are you talking about here? whoa-- the designers made their clothes using the airport! that must have been quite a feat!)

unlike me, anna wintour is not amused!

diana vreeland on the otherhand, is.