Now you see him, now you don’t

“CLARE ABSHIRE, 31, It’s complicated™.”

If Chicago-based artist Clare Abshire (played by the luminously beautiful Rachel McAdams) signed up for a friendster account in the 2000’s, I guess that is most likely how she would have opted to summarize her relationship status with Henry DeTamble (the Eric Bana).

Theatrical poster for "The Time Traveler's Wife," as displayed at the Alabang Town Center cinema.

“The Time Traveler’s Wife” is the story of a girl.  Yes, the story starts with Clare as a young girl of six who meets and falls in love with a much older guy Henry who appears and disappears against his will.  Everytime he literally vanishes – leaving only the trail of his clothes and shoes behind (my fave being that one when he was running down the stairs) – he randomly turns up in another place and another time.  Either he finds the clothes he left behind, or he relies on his survival instincts – including developed skills like picking locks – to get clothes.  And then life at least for the time he stays in that frame of the universe goes on.

Clare very early on becomes fully aware of Henry’s “chrono-impairment” disorder.  And in spite of this very clear and very present deterrent, girl and guy manage to get into – and sustain – a relationship.  Though from that first scene in the Chicago library when an obviously thrilled Clare didn’t elicit the same level of excitement from the special topics librarian Henry, it really became clear to me that our protagonists are all caught up in a romantic situation that leaves them bewildered and confused at times.  But when the confusion sets in, Clare and Henry are still lucky that one of them has a good grasp of the time and the events, and will lead the other on.  Which was something I couldn’t say about me, seeing the movie alone.  There were points in the narrative when I would quickly glance at the couples and groups in the audience, trying to check if they looked as confused as I was.  I would chide myself that I didn’t get to read the novel first before I went to see the movie.

Yes, I haven’t read the novel but I decided to see the movie just the same.  I was abroad when I first heard about it when it was released, and when it later made the New York Times bestseller list.  The first thing that captivated me was the title – The Time Traveler’s Wife.  In the space of four short words, my neurons got all worked up with flashing scenes of romance and science fiction all muddled up by trips down memory lane and projections to the future.  I thought the author came up with a very clever – very prowerful – title that explicitly defined the main characters (a man and a woman), their relationship (husband and wife), and their greatest obstacle (someone’s traveling through the barriers of time).

Though the premise sounded straightforward enough, I have to say that it presents quite a challenge to the director tasked to capture hundreds of pages that, in Summit’s words, allow the reader to “linger on the possibilities and nuances of time and space.”    I will have to agree with Summit when she told me that “cinema doesn’t give you that leisure all the time.”  A part of me initially thought that the challenge posed to Robert Schwentke was pretty easy to deal with.  I thought it was akin to just weaving footages on a Windows MovieMaker storyboard with visually delicious video transitions dragged and dropped in between scenes of Henry’s vanishing and appearing.  But I thought wrong.  Having not read the novel, I found myself listening to the dialogue more intently than usual, trying to snatch hints of the current scene’s time stamp.

Yes, I can hear some of you may be saying, “Pay attention to the clothing, stupid!”  But my best guess is that the story unfolded within the time span of just three to four decades.  And if the production design of the movie is to be trusted, the lines between the 80’s, the 90’s and the 2000’s are as blurred as could be.  I didn’t see Clare’s posture enhanced by voluminous shoulder pads at any point to say that the time warp has brought us to the 80’s.  Besides, Henry having to contend with even Salvation Army fashion finds wasn’t any help.  And the haircuts really didn’t clue me in at all – except that I have to say only Eric Bana could pull off really bad hair.

But I think the biggest downside to not having read the novel first was that when Clare says that she and Henry is to have dinner at the latter’s favorite place, I swear I thought they were having Italian.  I totally thought the place was called “Bow Tie,” which I took as an homage to the farfalle (bow tie pasta).  Soon enough, a slowly spiraling camera shot from the top of their restaurant table caught a glimpse of the menu, revealing Henry’s favorite place to be “Beau Thai.”  Hahaha!  But at least I had the rare chance to really laugh at myself.

But having said these impediments, I still ended up texting my friends – just about every friend I think gives a damn about me and what I think – that I liked the movie.  I really did.

In any relationship, there is always one party that loves the other more.  While one decision made by Henry underscores just how much he cares for the welfare of Clare, I will have to give the unconditional love award to the latter.  For one, it takes so much – immeasurable even just how much – to love someone who just “will not always be there.”  And while Henry may have declared, “I don’t want you to wait.  I don’t want you to spend your time waiting.”  he knows better that any moment he zips past the time continuum, Clare will always be there.

And in one of the more poignant scenes in the movie, when Henry says that he has never wanted anything in his life that he couldn’t stand losing – but it was already too late for him to change his mind – I sincerely felt that he was speaking for both himself and Clare.

Now tell me if you could lay claim to a more complex relationship.

Another movie ticket for keeps

Definitely not moldy sofa cushions

TRUST SOME witticisms on primetime television to slam your synapses and remind you about a post you had unconsciously relegated to the backburner.

 

“You won’t like the muffins here.  They taste like sofa cushions covered in moldy nuts.”

 

While I pitied the woman onscreen who had to suppress her hunger pangs as she returned the muffin on the countertop display, I was just so thankful that I’ve never found myself in the same predicament.  I’ve been satisfied with my muffin finds, including those I’d usually get from this place.

My latest muffin discovery happened while I was busy perusing the four-panel menu display in Burger King.  Scanning left to right – and back again a number of times – I realized I still ended up undecided.  When I bowed my head to channel “The Thinker” – somehow hoping to appeal to the patience of the person next in line to me with the semblance of me struggling deep in thought – that’s when I saw it!

Newfound love – Otis Spunkmeyer® Low Fat Wild Blueberry Muffins!

 

The closer I get to you... Hahaha! My new fave.

Inconspicuously displayed to the right of the cash register was a display of three muffins from – drum roll pleaaassseee – Otis Spunkmeyer®.  Yes, the Otis Spunkmeyer of my happiest one-and-a-half years in Folsom!  I would have tumbled all over if what they had on display were my favorite oatmeal raisin cookies. But the muffins and cookies they did have on display looked just as tempting I couldn’t complain.  Specifically, they had these – wild blueberry muffins, chocolate chocolate chip muffins, chocolate chip cookies, and white chocolate macadamia cookies.

Part of my super yummy haul that night...

 

What lie inside – a chocolate chip cookie on top of a white chocolate chip macadamia cookie!

A quick check of the packaging revealed that they were shipped here straight from the States.  And though they promise their treats to be “Oh…  so Good!™” and always “fresh baked,” something about being mass-produced and transported half-way around the world left me skeptical.  Besides, in the States I did get them straight out of the oven.  So understandably, with my haul of six muffins and six cookies, I lowered my expectations considerably.

But soon enough I realized that lowering my expectations was not needed at all.  The wild blueberry muffins – easily Spider-man’s favorite in the bunch – couldn’t even be thought of as dumbed-down versions of the literally freshly baked goodies they usually offer.  While most likely produced in huge batches, I could tell that Otis Spunkmeyer does believe that only the highest quality ingredients will do… and will go to their products.  The muffins were moist with a tender crumb, chockful of real wild blueberries!  And the best thing about them was that they clearly didn’t take literally what muffins are usually summarized to be – “sweet” and “quick” bread.  The sweetness was really just coy.  And though I’d almost always want my blueberry muffins to be topped with a yummy streusel of blueberry bits and a little coarse crust and crumbs, the glaze on top of Otis Spunkmeyer’s muffins did a great job just the same.  I think it even helped a lot in keeping the confection really moist!

Perfectly "glazed" muffin top on the Otis Spunkmeyer® Wild Blueberry Muffin!

 

The muffin really was chockful with real blueberries. Yummy!

I’ve yet to try the cookies.  But this early, Spider-man swears by the white chocolate macadamia already!

Highly recommended stuff! Otis Spunkmeyer® is surely a name to trust!

It takes the Summit to enchant and pique my curiosity

EVEN WITH the friendships we forge, it helps to be able to find those that will help nurture the best things we like about ourselves – or at least, the best things we aspire to be.

While I take considerable caution to not cross the demarcation line towards “social mountain climbing” (hahaha!), I have to say I’m bolder in trying to surround myself with people whose intellectual capacity, whose wit, and whose high degree of sound knowledge could help make me create a better version of myself.  Summit happens to be one of these people.

My interactions with her when she was still handling video and events production here in the office were nothing less than enriching experiences for me.  She encouraged me to blog…  something I eventually succumbed to especially after I experienced myself just how powerful – just how moving – the written word can be.  That happened to me while reading several of her posts on her own blog.

This morning, I was so surprised to receive from her an e-Mail response to my shameless promotion of what I called my “review” of one movie I just saw.  I couldn’t help but quote here Summit’s reaction to my mention of “The Time Traveler’s Wife” in that previous movie post.

“I’m super excited about Time Traveler’s Wife as well.  Do try to read the book too though.  The concepts lend itself well (and efficiently) to the written word, but onscreen I’m not sure how these will turn out.  The book allows you to linger on the possibilities and nuances of time and space.  Cinema doesn’t give you that leisure all the time.  But still, it’s worth watching!”

Seriously, she just further piqued my curiosity over that movie.  And I have to say that she has put together in about just 67 words what would usually take me kilometers of print space to articulate.  Hahaha!

Thanks Summit for being an inspiration!

———–

By the way, Summit is my good friend the Daphne Tatiana “Data” Tolentino-Canlas.

Much to my chagrin

NO, THIS is not a post on “Twilight” or any of its installments.  But it is somehow related to something of a non-human life form or more specifically, extra terrestrial.  But no, nobody’s phoning home in this one.

Judging from the poster, this movie sounded promising.

Buzzer beaters that we are – Spider-man, Adam, Alex, and myself – we found ourselves at the box office just a good five minutes before the 5:35 P.M. screening time.  I took a glance at my Technomarine wristwatch and looked at Spider-man quizzically.  “5:35 P.M. or 7:30 P.M.?”  As always, Spider-man just squinted his eyes further, both his dimples appearing as he smiled.  Everytime he does that, I know the decision-making is in my hands.

Thought bubbles formed above my head.

       Peter Jackson-produced.

       No name stars.

       Science fiction.

       The possibility to miss the first few minutes as I had yet to rush for food.

“5:35 P.M.!”  I declared.

We paid for our tickets and split up – Spider-man and Adam to go get us seats.  Alex and I to go get food.  Obviously, that’s one role I would love to fulfill all the time.  So after getting all their orders, off we went to McDonald’s.  Everybody asked for McChicken meals and I settled for the Big Mac.  While we waited for the sandwiches to get served, I asked for a small plastic condiment saucer and sort of “repacked” the tomato ketchup sachets.  I just realized that it has been with these that Spider-man would struggle in the darkness of the moviehouse.  So I thought about doing my best friend a favor.

Settled in our seats, I jumped into devouring my hot BigMac.  Something about the first few scenes appeared foreboding of much gore ahead.  Gore!  Gore!  Gore!  So before I would have even lost my appetite, I took quick huge bites of my burger.  More than halfway through I had conceded that I’d be going out of the theater with my vintage yellow Guess?® shirt puddled in ketchup, mayo, and wilted iceberg lettuce.

I realized that my fear of losing my appetite was not unfounded the moment the aliens were revealed.  And fears of gore were likewise warranted, and not simply because the likeness of the alien creatures brought back to mind Davy Jones from the Gore Verbinski-directed “Pirates of the Carribean:  Dead Man’s Chest.”

The movie started off with a documentary feel to it.  Coming at the heels of the docu-drama I just saw over the weekend, I was all for another barrage of woven news video footages, interviews and commentary.  As news ticker tapes continued to run on the screen, a part of me wished I just stayed home and tuned in to the news.  At least there I could snuggle under the covers and put the TV on sleep timer mode.  Sadly, I couldn’t do it there.  But I kept mum about my thoughts especially since I could tell Spider-man totally looked engrossed at what we were watching, almost absent-mindedly munching on his ketchup-stained twister fries.

I swore I could tell all I was watching was news when the plot reached the point wherein eviction notices had to be served to the aliens, as the government had decided to relocate them to a new district about 240 km. away.  I swear, MMDA Chairman Bayani Fernando could’ve done a much better job than the ill-fated Wikus Van De Merwe.  I’ve seen a lot of slum area and illegal commercial area demolition jobs to root for Bayani over Wikus.  Hahaha!

Soon, I couldn’t help but feel that a lot of other movie themes had been packed into the movie’s 112-minute running time.  The fleet of helicopters hovering above, with sharpshooters ready to shoot down any resistance in sight was so Black Hawk Down to me.  I was playing in my head scenes and screams of “We got a Black Hawk down!  We got a Black Hawk down!” that at one point I was half-expecting Eric Bana to show up on screen.  (Note to self:  Watch “The Time Traveler’s Wife.”)

And when an already alien DNA-contaminated Wikus Van De Merwe lodged himself at the controls of an alien super robot weapon something, it was so “Transformers:  The Rise of the Fallen“ to me.  I slept through that movie so it explained why my eyelids were already feeling heavy at that point in “District 9.”  I actually ended up catching some zzz’s, only to be shaken awake by Alex’s offer of twister fries.

I’ve never liked science fiction but I gave “District 9” a try, hoping that it would change my opinion the way “Up” made me look at animated motion pictures with a fresh set of eyes and an open mind.  To watch this sci-fi movie, I almost had to literally pull Spider-man, Adam and Alex away from their laptops and their work!

But sadly, I found “District 9” to be self-indulgent, busy, migraine-inducing.

The poster said, “No humans allowed.”  I thought they were just joking!

I should have given heed to the warning. The poster itself said so, "No humans allowed."

Even a national hero said so

“TO BE a prolific writer, a voracious reader first be.”  No, it wasn’t Yoda who said that.  But I’ve heard it once before and have actually espoused it since.

I got reminded of it the other day when I saw “The Last Journey of Ninoy” on TV.  It wasn’t mentioned verbatim, but one comment – spoken in the first voice, as if it was Ninoy himself narrating – rang with much the same truth.  I paraphrase, “I read and read and read what they wrote.  Soon enough, I learned to write on my own.”  He was speaking about how he learned the ropes of the journalism world, starting out as assistant at the then “The Manila Times.”

Whenever asked for tips on how to become a writer – not that I think highly of myself enough to think that I’m a prolific writer (Note:  I’m not fishing for compliments here!) – I would always start with the “be a voracious reader” bit.  That has always been one of only two tips I’ve kept on sharing with whoever asks.

The other tip is as simple as that one.

Taking everything "literally" – that's my own "writing" in cursive.

More than just calories to burn by pushing carts

I THOUGHT I could breeze through the supermarket and be at the checkout in no time.  Unfortunately, my stomach was already grumbling, churning acids on emptiness.  I realized I couldn’t even push the cart anymore so I conceded it was time to grab a bite.  Besides, with the 800-gram Marca Pato Edam cheese ball that I’d throw in my cart later, it would prove impossible for me to push any cart on an empty stomach.

Max's fried chicken on my plate. I'm not good dealing with bones, so I intentionally carve portions that just have meat and skin. Doesn't that golden, crunchy, crispy skin look so enticing?

Whenever I would find myself in the malls, one of my and my family’s top considerations for a satisfying meal is Max’s.  Growing up, this restaurant – together with Savory and all the other haunts in Ongpin – witnessed my formative years.  In turn, I do remember witnessing my grandmother – in a number of occasions – camly canceling our orders and walking out of any branch that had miserable wait time.

Perfectly done – my favorite "Ampalaya Con Carne," my ultimate gauge in comparing Max's branches all across the metro!

 

A close shot of the "Chicken Sisig." Notice the sliced finger chilies on the foreground. I remember picking out the chopped bird's eye chilies ("siling labuyo")... just one of those days when I couldn't handle the heat!

On this particular Max’s meal, we asked for a spread that consist of our usuals – Ampalaya Con Carne (bitter gourd with beef tender tips in a savory fermented soy bean sauce), Chicken Sisig (tender chunks of white and dark chicken meat and liver in a really spicy soy-mayo sauce served on a sizzling hot plate), and of course, Max’s signature Fried Chicken.  Don’t get me wrong, I so adore KFC fried chicken.  And I would always find myself ending up lickin’ my fingers and gulping down their gravy.  But there are just some days when nothing but real fried chicken skin goodness – and crispness – will do.

Max's "Ampalaya Con Carne" live up to its name – it does have both the vegetables and the meat in good measure! So love this dish!

 

I piled both the vegetable dish and the "Chicken Sisig" on my plate!

Like most Filipinos, I’ve done the rounds of most Max’s branches in the city.  And I have to say that while the quality and the taste have remained consistent across, there’s this one branch way south of Metro Manila that I consider tops!  My personal favorite Ampalaya Con Carne serves as my gauge.

Weird that it’s not the fried chicken!  But come to think of it, that dish is “copy exactly” all throughout.

This is how I take my Max's fried chicken – doused heavily with ONLY worcestershire sauce!

 

I washed everything down with bottomless iced tea.

The Last Journey of Ninoy

I REMAINED seated, motionless as the credits faded in and out of the screen towards the end of “The Last Journey of Ninoy.”  For someone like me who is very critical and particular in chronicling his life – captured not in celluloid but in cursive, on the pages of his 16-month Starbucks Coffee Company® Planner and Date Journal – the daily accounting of the late Sen. Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino, Jr.’s last nine days packed into barely a couple of hours proved very effective and engaging.  But that is barely scratching the surface of – and even sounded to be trivializing – the real suffering Ninoy and his family had gone through.

I watched the documentary with my mother, who on that fateful day in 1983, gave me a glimpse of who this “Ninoy” was and what he meant to the Filipino people.  I remember we were coming home from visiting my aunt in Pasig.  Upon our arrival, we were met by the charging steps of my grandmother, rushing from our home’s second floor, almost screaming: “Pinatay nila si Ninoy!” (They killed Ninoy!)

I saw my mother’s face turned ashen with grief, it was almost palpable.  She slumped on a chair and I could see tears silently streaming down her cheeks.  I had to ask who Ninoy was and if we knew him.  I remember my mom saying that he was our country’s hope.

A lot of years had passed – 26 to be exact – since that fateful day.  Like most of my countrymen, I had sailed on comfortably, almost oblivious to the struggle and the fight that had allowed me to enjoy all the freedom that I have in my hands right now.  Our former president Cory Aquino’s passing three weeks ago rekindled the latent patriotic and nationalistic pride that had seemed to be trampled on by one too many displays of braggadocio and claim to “absolute” power these past years.  These past days I have honestly gained a deeper appreciation of what it must have taken to set this country free.

But nothing had made me feel more aware of the price democracy and freedom had cost than “The Last Journey of Ninoy.”  Timelined within the nine days it took for Ninoy to make his trip from Boston to Manila – arduous as it was circuitous in making all those stops in Los Angeles, Singapore (then on land through the Malaysian border), and penultimately in Taipei – this gem of a documentary opened my eyes to the passion and the spirit that had fueled Ninoy’s dream for the country while allowing me to fully understand the impetus for his return.

In the space of his last journey’s “nine days” – starkly heralded with title screens that simply marked the day and date against the days-long timeline – I saw how Ninoy rose from the unassuming but undoubtedly driven boy of seventeen to the martyr of democracy that he came to be.  Something which to me seemed was an eventuality he didn’t wish for, but something that ironically breathed life to his oft-quoted belief that indeed, “the Filipino is worth dying for.”  While the center of the documentary was clearly Ninoy, I didn’t lose sight of the subtleties that underscored Cory’s role as the anchor, light and strength of a young family oppressed and pushed to their near-breaking point.

The precious and I assume never-before-seen video footages and photos were interspersed with precious – yet again – commentary from the late President Cory Aquino.  This, I firmly believe, lent invaluable factual and emotional credibility, and cohesiveness to an outstanding work of art and heart.

Every Filipino worth dying for (Ninoy’s words)… worth living for (Cory’s), and simply…  worth it (Kris’s) should see this docu-drama.

Pork spareribs in guava broth

WHILE ABC News may have called it an “obscure tropical fruit” in its 2008 listing of “The 10 Best Foods You Aren’t Eating,” the guava is so common here in the Philippines, and in my case, something that I’ve been picking right from the tree out front.  I do remember mentioning here that I’ve had just guavas and sub-zero water for breakfast, a hint that I’ve been snacking on these “obscure tropical fruits” for quite a while now.

Days away from being another sweet guava to munch on! I took this photo from the tree out front. Sadly, the wind blew this flower away. Huhuhu.

“Guava has a higher concentration of lycopene – an antioxidant that fights prostate cancer – than any other plant food, including tomatoes and watermelon. In addition, 1 cup of the stuff provides 688 milligrams (mg) of potassium, which is 63 percent more than you’ll find in a medium banana.  And guava may be the ultimate high-fiber food: There’s almost 9 grams (g) of fiber in every cup,” says the ABC News article.

We'd get plenty of this. Most of the time, I'd really end up snacking on them. Or when I'd have the will, I would wait for enough ripened fruits to whip up my favorite sinigang!

I was so surprised to find this out.  Now, I know of two excellent sources of lycopene – tomatoes that always find their way in my pasta sauces and salads, and now, guavas that I snack on and use to flavor the broth of my favorite pork dish.  And I couldn’t help but take note of the fact that a cup of guavas has more fiber than a sachet of my favorite psyllium fiber supplement that I down with Eight O’Clock mango-orange juice drink.

And probably – just probably – if I’d stuff on guavas enough, I could do better than the 27 minutes 27.37 seconds record I had set for a five-kilometer run.  I wouldn’t be surprised if even Rafael Nadal would consider snacking on guavas instead of bananas in between sets!

Four considerably large guavas ripening further inside the refrigerator.

 

This one I gobbled up!

The other day, I was able to gather enough ripened guavas to whip up my favorite “sinigang na baboy sa bayabas” dish (pork in guava broth with fresh vegetables).  For this particular instance, I decided to use spareribs, instead of the usual pork belly.

Guavas on a roll...

 

A close shot. These are super sweet!

I’d peel each guava, then cut it in half.  I’d soften the guavas with a quick boil in just enough water to cover.  Once soft – about after 10 minutes from when the water had come to a rolling boil – I’d cool the guava halves, then carefully spoon out the cores.  I’d make sure that I’d remove the cores completely, both the fiber and the seeds (especially the seeds!).  I’d set the guava flesh aside while I mash the cores in the water I boiled the guavas in, and run everything through a fine sieve to get all the guava juice.

In a heavy bottom pot – deeper than it is wider – I’d put the cleaned pork spareribs and water just enough to cover.  I’d bring this to a boil, skimming off any froth that would come to the surface.  Once the meat would become very tender, I would add the guava meat and all the guava juice.  I’d wait for this to come back to a rolling boil, allowing it to simmer until the guava flesh had become really soft.  Sometimes, if my desired level of acidity and flavor hadn’t been reached yet, I’d mash some of the guavas into a paste and add it back to the broth.

Before I add the fresh vegetables, I would check if I’d need to season the broth with a little salt.  Just a little salt!

Of all the many variations of sinigang (dish of meat or fish in a sour broth with fresh vegetables), I really favor the one with guava against all the others – tamarind, calamansi, or mango.

This is the resulting dish. Not really a pretty picture... but surely a yummy one!

Beef that sticks to your ribs

I THINK I may be in a serious corned beef phase.  It’s actually one of Tita Cory’s signature dishes.  She would make it fresh for their family’s Christmas spread.  And true to expectations, when Friendship learned about my corned beef fixation of late, she blurted out: “Chi-nun-kee check mo ba ang corned beef mo?”  (Did you “chunkee” check your corned beef?)…  totally channeling Ms. Kris Aquino, sans the long-handled all-stainless steel fork.

Palm corned beef, the original "with juices".

Friendship actually brought up a good point.  Honestly, I want my corned beef chunky, not really shredded beyond recognition.  And everytime I’d try to imagine what Tita Cory’s fresh corned beef would have been like, I would picture really tender beef brisket – chunky and stringy at the same time, with real good measure of fat and tendon.  The other night I got up and raided the refrigerator.  Though I knew what to expect inside, a part of me still wondered if fresh beef brisket and the perfect blend of pickling spices would magically appear.

I was so tempted to open both cans!

Good thing that in our last trip to the supermaket, we were able to stock up on all three brands of corned beef that I favor!  So on one night, I reached out for Palm – the original, “with juices” – and sauteed it my way.

I used one large clove of garlic, crushed; three medium vidalia (white) onions with the ends and inner layers finely chopped and the outer middle parts cut into rings; and lots of roma (plum) tomatoes that I blanched, peeled, and seeded.

Sauteed Palm corned beef – the closest I’ll ever get to real home-made, fresh goodness.  Perfect with lots of hot steamed white rice!

Lots of fresh vidalia (white) onion rings to top my Palm corned beef dish! I finely chopped up the cores and the ends for the actual sauteing.

 

The onion rings looked so fresh and juicy that I almost whipped up a light batter to turn them into "onion rings" – as we know it – instead!

 

I start off with sauteing the onion rings in a heavy bottom skillet. I used 100% pure canola oil on this one. Not too much because I think that oil imparts a characteristic taste to the dish that may get in the way of the corned beef.

 

The onion rings would take only a couple of minutes - do NOT overcook! After I remove them from the pan, I start sauteing the large clove of garlic, then the onions... then the tomatoes (blanch, peeled, seeded).

 

A few minutes into the sauteing, this is how it would look like. It would always be at this point when I'd find myself torn between continuing the original dish in my head... or turning this into a fresh pasta sauce instead. Hahaha!

 

The corned beef is now standing by, waiting to dunk into the pan.

 

The corned beef finally joined the sizzling melee in the pan!

 

A close shot of all the "chunky"-ness!

 

The sauteed Palm corned beef is served, topped with a generous heap of onion rings. Sarrrap! Yum-O!

Up, up and away

That's me with a new found friend – Russell from Disney Pixar's "Up"

“SOUTH AMERICA is like America…  only south.”  I laughed so loud that I heard my own voice reverberate in the moviehouse.  I realized that the sound from the top of my lungs had drowned the modest chuckles the other moviegoers managed.  So to not melt under the stares thrown at my direction, I attempted to muffle my guffaws with the huge bite I took of my BBQ bacon mushroom burger I bought from Burger King.  The willingness to deaden my noise level through munching on the melange of protein and carbs in my mouth proved a bit futile.  So I took a sip of my root beer.

In the rush, I almost snorted my drink so I reached out for my hanky, only to realize that – just well within the first 15 minutes of the movie – I would be needing it to wipe my tearing eyes.  Yes, Disney Pixar’s “Up” could do that to you.  The first quarter hour that the story warped through time would tickle you at first, then hold your heart in its hand.  You could really tear up and not be sorry about it.  Spider-man broke my melodrama by snickering – his way of letting me know that he could bet that my tear had fallen as if on cue.  Hahaha!

The movie’s faithfulness to its monosyllabic title takes literal form when Mr. Fredricksen “balloons” above and around the earth by hoisting his house to – I guess – thousands of balloons.  The scene was truly magical to me.  When the balloons were finally revealed, I saw on screen the antithesis of a genocide of color.  I thought to myself that somewhere out there a rainbow must be very happy.  “Somewhere out there” – that sounded so “An American Tail”!

The other half of the movie is the kid named Russell.  The moment he shows up the second time – and in such a funny situation – I realized that he has got to be the cutest kid ever on any animated motion picture (but then again I haven’t seen a lot).  He was so cute and lovable as the over-eager and well-meaning wildlife boy scout of sorts that when he said in one scene that he was hungry, I wanted to run to the screen and offer him half of my burger and drink!

Though it was a running joke with Spider-man that what I was trying to drag him, Stave, and my other friends to was the screening of “And I Love You So,” the movie that Ms. Kris Aquino has so sincerely plugged on national television, I guess we got the better end of the deal by settling for “Up.”  At least on one thing, the two movies do strike a common chord.

Without giving much away (especially since in the trailer it wasn’t hinted), I have to say that “Up” has given a face to how people left behind end up reeling from a great sense of loss.  How easy it is to say that life indeed has to go on.  But how does it really?  As the movie unraveled, I guess I found the answer.  In one scene that reduced me to sniffles, I think I did find the answer.

I have a deep-seated difference with and loathing for the thought of “loss” that the movie sort of had a profound effect on me.  At one point I thought that for an animated motion picture, the resonating theme was kind of heavy.  But thankfully, as the adventure unfolded before my eyes – in synch with the deepening bond between Mr. Fredricksen and Russell – the sensible dialogue and the flawless computer animation made the 100-minute journey light.

“Up” is the kind of movie that I would stop a total stanger in the streets for, just so I could recommend it to him or her.  It’s a story any human being can relate to without the need to fight back the surge of emotions by downplaying it with a label such as “cheesy.”

And as for me, I loved all the scenes that capture the house flying, tied to all those balloons.  Somewhere inside my head I could hear The 5th Dimension cooing: “Up, up and away in my beautiful, my beautiful balloon…”

Just make that balloonsssssss for this great animated motion picture.

Destined to become another Disney Pixar classic – Russell.