Holy Week ruminations

My daughter Ripley's pc artwork titled "butterfly" -- a perfect image to post here for this holy week while reflecting on Christ's death and resurrection.

We have been cooped up in the house since Wednesday and this being Black Saturday, nothing has changed. Holy Week is a time for prayer and reflection for us Catholics, and I've been doing a bit of both while spending quality time with the kids. I've done a lot of cooking in spite of the fact that we should be fasting, this being Holy Week and all. My excuse is that I have kids and I can't feed them boiled eggs till Easter, right? So my apologies, but I had to make that garlic and lemon chicken with avocado and orange salad yesterday. Aside from cooking, I did a lot of cleaning as well, a tradition that I've been doing since college. Tomorrow, I guess I'm ready to get out of hibernation, have a nice Easter lunch somewhere or go to the beach.

In the meantime, I'm signing off. I'll be listing this day as one of those ho-hum days. But hey, who's complaining?

Karma bit me in the arse

In 2010, when I was in Wales, after like close to a month of not seeing my husband and/or males under the age of 50, I got super excited (hey, I'm just human after all, a weak female...) when my Welsh host, Robert Lloyd told me that I will be the special guest of the Llanelli All-Male Voice Choir during one of their rehearsals.

When something seems too good to be true, it probably is. This was the sight that greeted me when I walked in the rehearsal room:






There were like more than 50 guys there, but they were also above 50. Hahaha! But I had a wonderful time and thoroughly enjoyed listening to them sing. But if I were an insect, all secreted pheromones would have gone pfffft.

First Post for the Year 2012

Happiness + Prosperity in 2012!
This was my new year's greeting to everyone via FB, Twitter and SMS, my way of spreading holiday cheer and what have you.

I checked out my fate for the year 2012 and according to some Chinese wise men (i.e. Feng Shui experts), those born in the year of the rat will have good fortune in the year of the Dragon. Whupak! Haters back off, I shall own this and believe that this year will be fabulous for me.

I actually spent most of New Year's eve cooking in my parent's house. I made 2 kinds of pasta (one with pesto and another with meat sauce), baked 2 kinds of cake, made cream cheese icing, and made one dish for my Dad (Creamy Dory Parmesan Fillets). I don't have a picture of the food as we forgot the memory card of my hi-tech camera at home. So all we had to show for our exciting new year's eve celebration was a phone video footage where the only thing I could see was the lame flame coming from my bummed out sparklers. Nice.

The next day, I had the chance of taking a photo of the left-over chocolate cake. So here goes:


My daughter Ripley helped me with the icing, and although the cake doesn't look like a million bucks, believe me, it was delicious.

Here are also a few dishes I've whipped up since the new year that I wanted to document for future reference. My son calls some of my dishes "one-hit wonders" because I can't duplicate them after I've cooked them. I cook from the heart and whatever is in the refrigerator, and being a busy working mom, I don't have all day to write down recipes. At least, with these dishes holding residence in this blog, I can finally duplicate them by sight. Yahoo!


This is actually what I made as a side dish to my Parmesan Chicken with Coriander. It's good old eggplant and red bell pepper sauteed in olive oil and sprinkled with chili flakes. I dribbled some balsamic vinegar with olive oil to it and voila!


Here's my Parm Chicken. I pounded a few slices of chicken breasts, roughly sliced some coriander and mixed it with bread crumbs and parmesan cheese. Then I slathered the chicken slices with flour, dipped them in my egg mixture (1 beaten egg with a teaspoon of water), and dunked them in the bread crumb mixture. Of course, the next step is frying them in vegetable oil. Yum!

Tonight, we had Pork Sisig for dinner. It's made of pork cutlets, chili flakes, fresh sili (native chili pepper), green bell pepper, green beans, egg, and my secret sisig mixture. I then squeezed some lemon before serving. Sinful!


Yes, I had to double the dose of my hypertensive meds for this!

Hmm... this blog is turning out to be a food blog. But it's not. It's just that these days I'm obsessed with food. And losing weight.

Till next post! Happy eating!

Radioactive Chili Project

I am convinced. Chili will never come out appetizing in photos. The other day, I made chili for the very first time and with my hi-tech 5 mega pixel camera (I'm trying to be sarcastic here because clearly, my camera stinks), I took a shot.

I have no idea why this photo is sideways, but it's not my fault. Wake up Blogger.com. Going back to the chili, I call it my "Radioactive Chili Project." My greatest fan, my 12-year old son Zach absolutely loved it. He loved it so much that he wanted to swim in it. But of course, with the small bowl, that's not possible -- and I'm being silly.

It was actually pretty easy making the chili. I have like a secret ingredient that I won't divulge, just because I'm a selfish, self-centered cook, but if you have ground beef, onions, fresh tomatoes, tomato paste, garlic, cumin, paprika, chili powder, fresh chili (whatever you have in the house), beef stock, salt and pepper to taste, and gorgeous red beans -- you're good to go. All you have to do is cook the beans first, bring to boil, maybe 1 1/2 hours of cooking will do until tender. Saute the ground beef with the onions, garlic, and spices and add to the cooked beans. Add the tomato paste, stock, a bit of water, and season. Voila, radioactive chili is ready to serve.

I don't know about you folks, but cooking for me is not really all about the measurements and how anal you are about how much of this and that you have to put in the dish you're cooking. Aside from the basic techniques that you should master as a cook, it's also about your taste buds telling you that you either suck or rock. I've been cooking for a few years now and the first years were the most challenging. Now, I'm pretty comfortable in the kitchen and can whip up dishes in a jiffy based on what's in the ref or my cupboard.

Now, here's my question: can you call yourself a chef or, say, put up a culinary business just because you claim to have studied in some obscure culinary school after being "inspired" by cooking shows on TV?

Are cooks or chefs made (overnight after an epiphany while watching Mr. Ramsay say, "This looks like what's in my grandpa's colostomy bag!") or are they born with that innate talent to cook? Of course, when I say "born with it," I don't mean that you should come out of your mom's stomach with a spatula and a toque. What I mean is, you don't have to have a fancy degree in culinary arts. You should, however, maybe from a young age, have that genuine interest in cooking (I made my first muffin at the age of 8) along with that effortless something that allows you to create delicious dishes. "Effortless" being the operative word.

Some cook from the heart, and to me, they're the ones who really succeed in the culinary industry. In the same way that writers, to me, are born, not made. Case closed.

tours and detours

Rhondda Valley, South Wales

The tricky streets of London

Biking is better than smoking pot in Amsterdam

My Parisian ride

So much has happened these past years. After I plunged into oblivion in 2009 and allowed this blog to slowly decompose in www's purgatory, I have somehow managed to put up a business, closed a business, and opened another one. In the later part of 2010, I lived in Wales, UK for a month (this story will be retold here soon), got lost in Paris, attempted to smoke pot in Amsterdam (and this one too), and almost got hit by a car in London. This year, I published my own magazine, a major achievement and a lifelong dream that I've managed to pull off with a little help from an old friend.

Every six months, my life changes. If I had a reality TV show, I'd put the Kardashians out of work. There's always something exciting happening. I've moved a total of 3 times since 2009; renovated part of my husband's house, and gained an infuriating cat for a pet.

What remains constant? Why, motherhood of course! I am still a hands-on Mom. I cook dinner for my family. I help with my kids' homework and I still remind them to cut their nails. My son is now taller than me. I can no longer buy his shoes using my own feet as a guide and my daughter, who turned six a few months ago, now have the power to decide on what outfit to wear every time we leave the house.

Soon, it'll be 2012. What's in store for me then? Someone said that the best way to predict the future is to invent it. So I might do just that.

You can't call yourself a Pinoy if...

... you haven't made a "parol" or Christmas lantern in your life. I had to pop my hypertensive meds soon after I glued the last bit of paper on the darn thing, which just goes to show that one parol could, quite possibly, kill you.

My son Zach had to submit his parol project for school and being the good mother that I am, I helped him out not knowing the stress involved in making that teeny tiny harmless looking project.

If you want to try making one, make your life easier by buying a pre-fab frame. Zach and I wanted a Green lantern. So we cut up some pages from old magazines. For added pizzazz, we added silver tinsel boas (or whatever you call them). You can recycle your Christmas decors from previous years and stick 'em on your lantern if you want to be environment-friendly.

To share my stress, here's a video on how to make a Christmas lantern.

Good luck. Keep your Catapres on hand. Have a Merry Christmas!!

WTF?

I tried to change how this blog looks like and attempted to add more widgets like the FB like button, google+, and Twitter icon. I guess I failed. For a moment I thought I was successful only to realize that I should leave the programming to programmers. I also managed to change the whole look of the blog but somehow the new face came out... er, kinda lame. Good thing I was able to revert back to the original... I think. Well, we'll see after I "view blog" -- and here goes.

Bluejay Coffee's cheese roll, possibly the best cheese roll in Iloilo. Cheesy, sweet, soft. Heat it in the microwave for a few seconds and enjoy. And my camera is possibly, the worst digital camera ever. I need to upgrade. Fast.

Girl Action

I Spit On Your Grave is for us women who can handle a pair of garden scissors, fish hooks, and a shotgun without batting an eyelash. "Hell has no fury like a women scorned" is pretty much the idiom of choice in this movie and the many definitions of "revenge" can be seen here in graphic detail.

The movie, a re-release of Day of the Woman (a 1978 controversial rape revenge film) have been condemned by film critics for its graphic violence and lengthy depictions of gang rape. The film was named in 2010 one of TIME's Top 10 Ridiculously Violent Movies.

Go ahead, watch this for kicks. For the male viewers, I suggest that you hold on to your nether regions while watching.

Revival 2011

It's official. I am reviving this blog. Never mind that I am only being read by 3 people. Never mind that most of the time, I don't have any earth-shattering, world-changing news or views to write about. Facebook and Twitter might have killed this blog, but I am rising from the dead and Mark Zuckerberg can go to blogosphere's hell for all I care.

First Day

Today was my daughter's first day of school. I was expecting drama, tears, and a lot of pulling and tugging. But no, Ripley dumped me at the door and didn't even look back to blow me a kiss. Bu-hu-hu! Sob! Okay, now I'm having a massive insecurity problem. Is there something wrong with me as a mom? She didn't even want to go home when I went back to pick her up! Oh well, I guess I did a good job of "briefing" her. She actually told me she's in it for the slide and the monkey bars... I'm so proud of you baby!

password where art thou?

I can't believe it. I completely forgot my password. This is what you call stage 1 dementia and the fact that I haven't been signing in for the past 3 months or so. I have been so busy, in fact, I still am, and this was what kept me away from blogging:


Will post more soon. Gotta go. Too sleepy to think. Ciao!

grasshoppers, etc.

My son had a playlet last week and I kinda harassed the whole Pijuan clan which included my dear mom-in-law and my sister-in-law (not to mention all of great Grandma Minia's household crew) just so Zaki won't look like the grasshopper from hell. I was, on the other hand, the stage mother from hell, hanging out with the other stage moms at the backstage holding Zak's wings which my talented sister-in-law Ella made. Mommy sewed Zak's green suit and the only thing I did was to dye the stockings green. I've never been the crafty type and man, it was darn hard. I almost dyed the pan green because of my bullheadedness. The thing is, that pan was my sinigang pan, so the next day, I was kind of expecting my soup to turn minty in color. Ugh!

So I was utterly useless, save for googling Zak's grasshopper mask, I just made everybody paranoid with my incessant complaints and rantings. But the costume was done in a day in spite of the fact that I frazzled my mom-in-law's nerves in the process. Ripley was whining about why she didn't have a butterfly mask and wings and I had to appease her with some lollipop and er, empty promises just to shut her up.

I was so proud of Zak as he did his best on stage. He's such an awesome kid, I mean, if you're a 9 year old boy, would you wear green stockings and spandex on stage? That could be detrimental to his future mental health and may lead to lifetime therapy, which, I'm sorry, I'll never ever be financially prepared for. But he did it and he did it with such aplomb and pizzazz! Way to go my boy! You were the best-looking grasshopper in the history of best-looking grasshoppers. You made mommy proud!

Zak on stage with some t-shirt wearing dragonfly (this kid's mom
must be the exact opposite of OC me)

mental malfunction

I've been feeling so cuckoo lately what with the stress of multi-tasking. My dear husband has been ultra patient with me and my sadistic tendencies (that actually sounds kinky) and he has managed to divert my sadism with his never-ending massages and patience. Anyway, I wrote this article a few years ago about these strange brain disorders and just wanted to share it with my readers (as of last count I have 3,000 plus people wasting their precious time reading this blog. I bet half of them hate my guts (hah! you know who you are -- you sick WEB VOYEURS!) and half of them LOVE me. To the latter, the feeling is mutual. To those who read this blog just to keep track of my exciting life because yours are unbearably boring -- get a life (not a nose job), read this article and have your brains checked! (Evil laughter in the background.)

"It’s official. I am now suffering from a serious, albeit temporary mental malaise. Although my condition has not yet progressed to full-blown dementia, I suspect that I am presently in the ‘pre-dementia’ or ‘questionable dementia’ stage (I actually did some minor research which proves that I haven’t entirely lost it). Selective memory loss (for some reason I only remember the things I want to remember) and / or forgetfulness -- what did I say again? Oh, yes, forgetfulness; violent outbursts; self-pity; and an almost daily, syncopic loss of consciousness (where my brain literally zonks out and plays dead for 30 seconds; I used to call these brain black-outs ‘30-second comas’ during my post-college years) especially when there’s an influx of things that I’m supposed to do and when deadlines are near -- are just some of the symptoms of my (mental) illness.

However, I shall leave it to the able doctors and psychiatrists to give the proper prognosis and definition of my affliction. All I know is that my condition is actually temporary and will soon be miraculously cured – specifically when I’m done with all my “brain” projects. I’m talking of course about all my writing assignments lined up for this month and the Iloilo Yearbook is one of them. You see, the trouble with my job is that except for some minor finger action (I meant when I’m typing on my laptop, you sleazy fools) my brain is actually doing most of the work. Now this is a scary thing because if my brain conks out, I won’t have a replacement for it. If this fella inside my head goes bananas, can I go to the hospital and ask for a brain transplant (a lobotomy, maybe, but a brain transplant, no) or to a store and order a Pentium 10 brain to go (the high-tech PC has Pentium 5, give me some credit, will you)? I don’t think so. If my brain malfunctions, then I’m as good as dead or you can add me to your chopsuey (I’ll be a vegetable, what else?).

In order to fully know and understand what ails me, I did my usual research and came across some rare brain disorders and diseases. What I found out were mind-bogglingly worse (or better – you be the judge) than mine but definitely more interesting. Take for example this American woman who woke up from a stroke with a brand-new British accent, specifically, a mixture of English cockney and West Country. This was despite the fact that the woman had never been to Britain (she’s from Indiana). Turned out Ms. Brit had a condition called Foreign Accent Syndrome. This rare condition occurs when part of the brain becomes damaged, usually after a stroke or head injury. Researchers at Oxford University found that when specific parts of the brain gets injured, certain linguistic functions are affected. The damage could then result in altered pitch or mispronounced syllables, thereby causing the speech to sound accented.

There have only been a few documented cases of this mental syndrome, but the first one occurred in Norway in 1941 after a young woman suffered a head injury during an air-raid. Apparently, after her recovery, said woman was amazingly left with what sounded like a strong German accent. What was even more astonishing and distressing was the fact that after hearing her talk with her new accent, she was shunned by her fellow Norwegians (sad, but true).

So, you get thumped or bashed on the head and voila -- you’ll be speaking with a French, Irish or Japanese accent when you wake up. However, if luck (and I’m not trying to be insulting, just tongue-in-cheek) is on your side, instead of sounding foreign, you might end up with a thick Visayan or Kinaray-a accent (the latter I already have, so no need to hit me in the head). Now, that’s an interesting thought.

And here’s another one. To have a hand which defies your will, or even turns violently against you may sound like pulp fiction fodder or a plot meant for one of those horror B-movies. “Anarchic Hand” has earned the popular sobriquet, Dr. Strangelove syndrome (named after the eponymous scientist with the unruly limb in Stanley Kubrick's 1964 film), where a stroke, head injury or aneurysm can cause a hand to become errant or take a life of its own. Just like the mad, bomb-maker character of Peter Sellers in the movie; the 40 or so people who are documented to have been afflicted with “Anarchic Hand” are often forced into Jekyll and Hyde-like skirmishes with their recalcitrant appendage. Some were even known to uncharacteristically hit people or to strangle themselves to near-death with their own violently, uncooperative hands.

Come to think of it, a few days ago I actually felt my hand twitch when I saw someone I have been wanting to beat to a pulp (this one’s real, not fiction). The moment I saw her disgusting, serpent-like face, I actually had to hold my “anarchic” right hand by my left or it would have taken a life of its own and whacked the poor, dumb girl on the spot. The question is, if I did pummel her, could I have used Dr. Strangelove’s syndrome as a way out of a possible law suit? That’s another food for thought.

There is also another mental syndrome called Agnosia that makes people unable to recognize faces, shapes or even specific sorts of animals. This syndrome has an even more distressing “offshoot” in the form of Capgras syndrome. Named after the French doctor who identified it in the 1920s, the syndrome causes its victims to conclude that a loved one has been replaced by an impostor. It results from the breaking of the link between the parts of the brain responsible for visual recognition and emotional response, brought on by, again, a head injury or a deep depression.

There is actually a story about a Welsh couple who was involved in a minor car crash in 1995. Alan Davies, the husband, suffered from Capgras syndrome and became convinced by a series of vivid flashbacks that his wife of 31 years had not survived the accident. He decided that Christine Davies (in reality suffering nothing more than whiplash), was in fact a double impersonating his "dead" spouse (call it reverse doppelganger if you will). Though Mr. Davies still believes that "Christine One" was killed, and shows little affection for her "double", the couple has not divorced.

So, how would you feel then if your husband is still in love with his “dead” wife (the “dead” wife is, of course, you) but he thinks you are his “new” impostor wife? Will you still love him, leave him, or make him fall in love with you all over again? This just tells us that love could really boggle not just the heart but also the mind. Aw, shucks. Now I’m really going insane."

taking a breather

I just finished two articles for the newspaper and all that food writing has made me hungry. Had ibos (sticky rice) in the ref, so I fried them and sliced some mangoes to go with the delicacy. Ibos and mangoes -- comfort food for us Pinoys (particularly for Ilonggos) -- a delicious way to satisfy our starch and sugar craving without breaking the bank. To add to the yum factor, I slathered some butter and sprinkled sugar on the ibos -- fattening!

Anyway, this weekend, I'll be taking a breather. I had such a busy week. The kids are sleeping over at their grandpa's house, so hubby and I are catching the last Valkyrie show at the mall. Nothing like Tom Cruise, the Führer, and some addle-brained Nazis to complete my hectic, cuckoo week!

mommy this and daddy that

This is the story of two haggard individuals who, after being bestowed the title "mom" and "dad" now have to deal with the endless whining of two crazy kids. Having no nanny has resulted in many, many late nights and too early mornings, stinky towels, and dolls with severed hands and heads.

Ah, the joy of parenthood -- what a paradox! Is there joy when you have to stop mid munch of your dinner or your lunch so that your little girl can pee and poo? Is there joy when your daughter who calls herself "Ripley the Rascal" (yes, and she's living up to the name) suddenly screams "Mommy I farted!" in the middle of the mall with a hundred people within hearing distance? Is there joy when your son tells you to smell his soggy towel and asks you by virtue of your 'smell test' the philosophical question, "Should I put this in the hamper Mom, or not?"

There are, however, lucid intervals in the lunacy that surrounds our little, happy family. Such as when our dear 3 year old daughter Ripley queried, "Dad, is Barack Obama the president of America now?" Or, when our son Zaki, after tasting a spoonful of a dish that I cooked, made a perfect rundown of all the ingredients that I used,"Go easy on the salt Mom, but I like the taste of the tomatoes and the cheese with the fresh basil..."

Taking care of our kids can be stressful and often temper-inducing. But in spite of that, we're happy. And aside from the embarassing mall farting reportage, we're also ultra proud of them. As for me and my husband, no matter how painfully tired we are at the end of the day and the only conversation we manage to have are our synchronized snores, I think we've never had a better understanding of each other than we do now.

Zaki and Ripley in their best behavior at our farm last Christmas

it's that time of the year again

Well, well, well. Cynics of the world won't you please take a backseat? It's V-day once again and we don't want all you cynical people out there to ruin the fun. (Hmm... am I talking to myself?) This year, I'll probably be celebrating at home with hubby and the kids. I'll force him to cook something for me (I'm sure it will be something FRIED as the guy can't cook even if his life depended on it) and I swear I won't do any stressful household chore (except complaining, which I'm very good at, thank you very much).

Ah, V-day. Brings to mind happy and not so happy thoughts. I remember one Valentine's day when I ran after four teen snatchers (as in chased the culprits NYPD style) along Katipunan Road in Quezon City. Before the huge highway and the many establishments that now line that street, one could actually take a walk under huge, lush trees in that area without becoming road kill.

Anyway, I got mad at my then boyfriend (now good friend) J (let's just call him that) and decided to take a walk along Katipunan Road. The kids thought I was an easy prey being anorexically thin and all. What they didn't know was that I had (and still have) a nasty temper and Ninja-like instincts. And so I ran after them and managed to catch two of the culprits with J's help (he chased the snatchers with his car and pretended to have a gun inside his jacket or something to that effect -- my apologies, this happened ages ago). J and I ended up spending Valentine's day at the Barangay Hall of Loyola Heights. The mothers of the teens were crying and begging for my forgiveness. (Could anything be more melodramatic than this?) The funny part was, my necklace was never taken. The thing fell when they attempted to snatch it from my neck! Some night that was.

How you're going to spend Valentine's day is your choice, but remember that it's a celebration of love and life (and for some -- of lust). Hope you have a great one this year!

Marathon dining: Date night at Amalfi

Chef Miner with his kitchen staff at Amalfi

Manzo alla Griglia, Foie Gras with Salsa di Funghi and
Crema di Carrota e Patate

"Miner del Mundo, the infallible chef of AMALFI, Iloilo City’s newest and hottest Italian restaurant, has put together an unforgettable Valentine menu. The dinner will start out with Italian Bruschetta and U.S. Angus Carpaccio de Manzo. Then it will be followed by Zuppa de Asparagi (Asparagus soup), Insalata di Scampi e Salmone and Mescluno e Frutta del Giornio (shrimp, salmon, strawberry, and grape salad). If that won’t impress your date, then maybe the entrees will. Chef Miner will be preparing three sets of delectable dishes for you to choose from. There’s the luxuriously juicy Manzo alla Griglia (grilled tenderloin steak) topped with Foie Gras for those with sophisticated palates; the tasty Stuffato al Frutta di Mare (stewed seafood) and Scampi ala Griglia (grilled prawns) with Insalata del Giorno (salad of the day); and the deliciously comforting Rosemarino di Maiale (Rosemary pork chops) with Calamari Fritti (fried squid) and Salsa di Tartare. After your chosen entrata, a plate of perfectly cooked Pasta al Tutti di Mare (shrimp, squid, and salmon pasta) will be served. Got room for dessert? You better, what with the sinfully rich Cioccolato Salami e Panna Cotta to cap your memorable date." -- excerpt from my article in The News Today

Who wouldn’t be moved and wooed by such a feast? Well, nobody I guess. Three nights of degustacion made my head (and stomach) spin. I had to go out for 3 consecutive evenings to sample Bauhinia's, Mojave's, and Amalfi's Valentine Menu. Everything was so delicious! (Especially the Tenderloin Steak topped with Foie Gras at Amalfi and the Angus Steak at Mojave) I'm planning to spend V-day at home but after sampling the food at those restaurants, I'm thinking of splurging.

Zuppa de Asparagi, Insalata di Scampi e Salmone, Mescluno e Frutta del Giorno

bikini girl is out

American Idol is a secret indulgence of mine. I've been keeping track of the contest since the new season started and I'm glad the abominable bikini girl is out! I don't understand why she even made it this far with her dumb antics and talentless performance. Oh well, there's just something about almost-naked women that can curb even the most acerbic tongues -- Simon Cowell be ashamed, be very ashamed!

marathon dining

Bauhinia at The Avenue

The degustacion gang: (l-r) Rey Ponsaran of Promenade, Chef Miner,
Marichel Teves-Magalona of TNT, moi, and RV of The Avenue

Tonight is my second night of gorging on Chef Miner del Mundo's dishes. Yesterday was Pinoy food night at Bauhinia, a Filipino restaurant and tonight I was at Mojave Grill and Steakhouse both at the newest Ilonggo resto strip -- The Avenue. I've been a bad girl what with the juicy and sinfully good Angus Steak that I've been eating for two straight nights. But since I'm naturally thin (ahem), am I complaining? Not!

In the coming days I'm expecting other invits from different restaurants and coffee shops. I like writing about food as I enjoy dining and conversations with friends over a great meal. Will clogged arteries be the result of this little eating marathon? Abangan!