Everybody Makes Mistakes

“How intoxicating is the triumph of beauty, and how right it is to name it queen of the universe! How many courtiers, how many slaves, have submitted to it! But alas! Why must it be that what flatters our senses almost always deceives our souls?” Madame de Surin

“What is one big mistake that you’ve made in your life, and what did you do to make it right?” The famous question that cost her.

Her slightly shrill voice betrays her.  She sounds nervous but faintly hides it.  But who wouldn’t  be?

“You know what, Sir in my 22 years of existence I can say that there is nothing major major, I mean, problem that I have done in my life. Because I am very confident with my family, with the love that they are giving to me. So, thank you so much that I am here, thank you thank you so much.”

I watched the the video footage of this particular part where Mr. William Baldwin asked her that famous question.  This is what I observed.  Instead of taking a few seconds to ponder the question and contemplate on her answer, she enthusiastically addressed the crowd like a fake politician running for office, and then delivered her shallow answer.

A very simple question, yet she failed to deliver a meaningful answer.  An answer that would have showed her maturity and wisdom at the age of 22…  Instead she made herself appear as if she’s never made mistakes in her entire life; that she’s a perfect goddess.  And  because of this, most people believed, is what killed Maria Venus Raj chances to be crowned Miss Universe 2010.

Perhaps she’s not ready.

But I know I shouldn’t be too hard on Ms. Raj.  The fact that she made it to represent the Philippines on the Miss Universe Pageant, is already a big accomplishment.  And if her life story is true, she’s already accomplished what most beautiful women could only dreamed of accomplishing in their entire lives.

Though her answer reflects youth and immaturity.  Still young, indeed, so that she hasn’t experience the biggest hurdle in life.  She has yet to face her darkest hour, and feel the incinerating pain in her heart and soul.

But her answer is also a reminder of the attitude of most Filipinos.  There are exceptions, yes.  But we are a people whose true feelings about anything are never expressed – or revealed.  It is unnatural for us to openly express our anger and disgust.  To reveal our frailties and inadequacies.  To express our wants and desires.  We give hints, and we expect the other person to interpret our facial expressions and body language.  To understand our true feelings.  To see the truth behind the facade.

And this type of attitude  seems to be more prevalent among the poor and the uneducated.

This is a country where a YES is a NO and a NO is a YES.  We don’t like to admit that we don’t know anything, or that we are guilty of something.  So instead of admitting to our ignorance, we’d answer yes to a question we don’t understand or don’t know the answer to.  Because admitting to not know anything is far too embarrassing.

The word “hiya” which means “shame” “disgrace” and “humiliation” is rooted too deep in our culture.  And Pride.  Which all too often hinders us from developing our true potential; and of becoming the people we aspired to be.  We are never direct or upfront about what we want, or do not want.  We are wishy-washy.

Unless one is exposed to other culture, especially the western culture.  Where a direct answer is expected.  Only then, that one is inclined to change this attitude.  But change takes time.  And this type of attitude that’s been drilled into our soul since we were babies, takes many, many years to undo.

I know.

A typical Filipino would refuse a dinner invitation from a friend, even if he is hungry, have no money or can’t afford it, because accepting would be too embarrassing.  Again, that word “hiya” or shame and pride is at play here.

However, there is a catch.

We only exhibit this attitude towards people who do not know us very well.  A friend.  An acquaintance.  A colleague. A co-worker.

When it comes to family, especially immediate family, and among siblings, the attitude is completely different.  And again, more prevalent with the poor lower class.

There’s the “obligation” to financially help those who are less fortunate.  Guilt is always used.  It is used as a shameful device against a family member who has more, or they think has more.

~~~

I usually don’t pay attention to beauty pageants, except many years ago when I was a teenager.  When Ate Remy and I, my sister’s friend’s nanny, would sit in front of her small black and white television, inside a dark, cramped room, to watch the Miss Philippines’ beauty pageants.

An interesting fact that I discovered, while searching for information about Ms. Raj, is the increasing number of beauty contestants in the Philippines, vying for the coveted Miss Philippines’ title.  Most are mestizas.  Filipino girls mixed with white European or American Caucasian ancestry.

This shouldn’t surprise me.  Because Philippines is a country that worships mestizas and mestizos –  Filipinos of mixed race.  More specifically, Filipinos mixed with white European or American Caucasian race.

So Filipinos who lived abroad, and or have married foreigners, send their daughters back to the Philippines to enter beauty pageants, and or to become models and actors.  And because of the seeming bias to the meztizas or meztizos, they have a much greater chance of winning beauty pageants, or of becoming models and actors.  A chance they would not have had, had they pursue the same things here in the U.S. and Hollywood.

Maria Venus Raj caught my attention as I clicked through several articles about the 2010 Miss Universe.  As it was trending on Yahoo!

At first, it wasn’t her beauty that caught my attention, it was her last name Raj.  Raj is not a Filipino name. So my first thought was, hmmm… she must be half:  Filipino mixed with Arab ancestry.   And then I told myself: you shouldn’t be surprise.  Filipinos work and live around the world, most especially in the Middle East.  They work in different professions – domestic helpers, drivers, nurses, mechanics, engineers, etc.  So I was thinking:  maybe her mom married a rich man with Middle Eastern descent.  But with further Google on the internet, I find that my assumptions were only partly correct.

So, who is Maria Venus Raj?

Her beauty is mesmerizing and intoxicating. No doubt about that.  Extremely tall for a Filipino woman.  But the question remains.

Who is she?

Where is she from?

Why is her last name Raj?

Several videos and news articles written about her revealed this information:

Ms. Raj was born, out of wedlock, in Doha, Qatar to a Filipino mother and an Indian citizen father.  Her mother, Esther Bayonito, who worked in Qatar as a domestic helper, brought her home to the Philippines when she was merely an infant.  She was raised in the town of San Vicente, Batu, Camarines Sur.  She grew up in a nipa hut and her family is a tenant farmer, cultivating rice.

She is the youngest among five siblings.  (I am presuming her mother had four children before she left for Qatar.)

Her mother was too embarrassed to have born a child out-of-wedlock so that she asked her sister, Maria Venus’ aunt to register her daughter birth – as a child born in the Philippines with catholic parents.  (These facts got her dethroned.  But her powerful and moneyed supporters got her crown reinstated.)

How do you go from living in nipa to getting powerful connections?  That’s what I want to know.  Was it her intoxicating beauty that captivated all these people to her aid?

Her mother was offered $60,000 by a wealthy Arab for the child, a fact that both mother and daughter seems proud to reveal to the world.

She started joining beauty pageants since she was 17 years old.   Joined oratorical contest in high school, coached by her English teacher

Obtained college scholarship from Francis Papica Foundation.    Graduated Cum Laude with a Journalism degree from Bicol University – a prestigious university.

Several months ago, an Asian Journal correspondent, Joseph Pimentel asked her:  “how did you go from a farm girl to where you are now?”

She replied: “Yup, I grew up in a small farm. My parents are farmers. I walked along the rice paddy just to go to school or somewhere else. I did that for 21-22 years. It was a very simple life, not very extravagant. As long as I had my education and a job, life is okay but since winning Miss Philippines and representing the Philippines in the Miss Universe pageant, it’s like an entire different world. I have to be true to myself and try to fit in.”

She did not answer the question.  (It irritates me when people answer questions like the ever evading politicians.)

I think the answer would have been for her to list the specific steps, works, and sacrifices, both she and her family had to do in order for her to achieve her dreams: college education from a prestigious university and international beauty queen title.

How do you go from a poor farm girl to being friends, and connected with wealthy and powerful people, including politicians to rally behind you?

What about her formative years?  How was she raised?  Where there specific things her mother did for her or taught her which helped her become the woman that she is today?

Was she given special privileges because of her beauty?

If her story is true, then there are plenty of poor little girls out there who would want to know the answers to these questions.  Who would be inspired by her accomplishments so that they too can dream big!

But of course, they must meet the pre-requisite.  If they are dreaming of becoming Ms. Philippines, they better be mestizas.  And have the intelligence to back it up.

As for Maria Venus Raj.  I admired her display of confidence and courage.  I admire her audacity to transform herself from a mere farm girl who lived in Nipa Hut, to now an international beauty queen.

With her beauty, anything is possible.

I wouldn’t be surprise if she is pursued by international modeling agencies.

One thing is for sure.  She will have, if not already, an array of very wealthy suitors.  That’s expected of beautiful women.  Her only problem would be is choosing the best one.

~~~

Cook rice as you normally would, using a heavy bottomed pot or rice cooker.  If this is your first time cooking rice using over the stove top.  Follow the instruction below.

Rice that is cooked for the purpose of making fried rice is best cooked the night before.  Chilled in the refrigerator.  This is the key to a perfect fried rice.

If using a rice cooker, the rule of thumb, in my experience, is that the water is always half a cup more than the amount of rice being cooked.  For example, if I’m cooking 2 cups of rice, the water is going to be 2½ cups.  Now, the rice I’m referring here are long grains (Jasmine or Basmati) and short grains (Calrose, Nishiki and other Japanese rice.) This does not include sweet or glutinous rice which is never used for fried rice anyway.

For fried rice, long grains are best.  I prefer Jasmine or Milagrosa rice.  Long grains are less starchy and drier, while short grains tends to have more starch and wetter when cooked.

As for the meat, I have also used salted pork, which is most commonly available here in the South.  I’ve also used ham, Canadian bacon, other type of meat that can be cooked very rapidly, even shrimp.

Here is one of the many different ways to cook fried rice.

Easy Bacon Fried Rice

Ingredients:

8 cups cooked rice (preferably cooled overnight)

5 thick slices bacon – chopped into one inch square.

4 – 5 garlic cloves – peeled and minced

1 medium onion – chopped

2 large eggs – lightly scrambled, and season with a pinch of salt and black pepper

½ tsp. coarse sea salt or kosher salt (less if using regular salt)

¼ – ½ tsp. ground black pepper

3 TBSPs. soy sauce

4 stalks green onions – chopped – white part and green part separated.

Heat a large non-stick skillet over medium heat, and add the chopped bacon.  Stir constantly until slightly crispy and grease or fat has been rendered from the bacon.  Remove the bacon to a plate and pour off all but 1 tablespoon of the bacon grease into a glass cup.  Set aside.

Pour the scrambled eggs into the hot skillet with bacon grease.  Let one side cook for two or three minutes.  Flip to the other side and cook for additional minute.  (It’s like cooking a crepe or a pancake.)  Remove eggs onto the same plate of bacon.

Pour about 3 tablespoons of the bacon grease back into the Hot skillet.

Stir in garlic and sauté for 1 minute.  Push to the side.

Stir in chopped onion and the while part of the green onions.  Stir fry for 2 minutes or until onions are translucent.  Push to the side.

Loosen the rice with spatula and add it into skillet.  Stir to combine all the ingredients.  (The best way to do this is to use 2 wooden spoons/spatulas, using both hands.)

Keep stirring until the rice is fully heated through, about 10 minutes.  Add the bacon and eggs, breaking eggs into small pieces.  Stir until combined.

Sprinkle salt and ground black pepper over the rice.  Stir to combine.

Drizzle the soy sauce over the rice, one tablespoon at a time. Stir so that the soy sauce is well distributed.

Taste to see if additional soy sauce and black pepper is needed.

Stir in the remaining chopped green onions.  Stir for a minute or two.  Serve warm.

Serve by itself as breakfast, a light snack or a side dish.

Fried Rice with bacon

Fried Rice with Salt Pork

Shrimp Fried Rice.  Here, i broke the rule of using only chilled cooked rice.  That is why the fried rice looks a bit sticky.  The fried rice still taste good, just not a perfect texture like it should be.

How to Cooking Rice over the Stove Top?

Measure 3 cups of long grain rice.  Preferably Jasmine or Basmati into a 4 quart heavy bottomed pot with a top or cover.

Wash rice and drain. Do this about three or four times, or until the water is fairly clear.  Pour the rice into a strainer. Pour washed rice back into the pot.

Add 4½ cups filtered water to the rice.  (The rule of thumb is 1½ cup of water per cup of rice for a drier cooked rice.)

Cover the pot and bring rice to a boil over medium heat.  Once boiling, reduce heat to low and keep boiling for about 15 – 20 minutes or until all rice is absorbed.  Turn off heat but keep the pot tightly covered for another 10 minutes.  The rice should be cooked by now.  If so, loosen the rice with a spatula – a wooden spatula is best so that the grain kept intact.  Transfer cooked rice into a plastic container or you can leave it in the pot and store in the refrigerator overnight.

Of course, if you plan to use the cooked rice as a side dish for another meal, instead of using it for fried rice.  Serve it immediately while hot.

Tess’ Kitchen Secrets:

#1 – To attain the perfect fried rice, even better than most Chinese restaurants, chill the cooked rice in the refrigerator overnight.

#2 – You can add finely chopped carrots or green peas to the fried rice for color.  Simply saute the carrots and green peas with the onions, before adding the cooled rice.

Enjoy and Happy Cooking!

Tess Harris

Blowing Wednesday

A mass of dust, world’s momentary slave,

Is man, in state of our old Adam made,

Soon born to die, soon flourishing to fade

(Barnabe Barnes, English Poet)

Today is Wednesday.  Again, I am awakened by the blower outside.  A loud, ear shattering, machine running sound.  That’s the leaf blower.  Instead of it sucking the dirt, it blows it everywhere.  All over the place, which creates a dirty cloud up in the air.

For most people things like this don’t bother them.  But for someone like me, it gets into my skin.  I am highly irritated every Wednesday.  Because every Wednesday, they clean the grounds outside.  They clean! The grounds maintenance crew.  But they sure have a funny way of cleaning the grounds.  These guys, here, they use the leaf blower to blow dirt up in the air – while supposedly blowing the dirt off the parking areas and walkways.  The result?  Cloud of gray and brown particles floating up in the air.  And guess where most of this dirt lands?  Right back down to the ground and right on top of cars, covering them as if a bad dust storm had just hit West Texas.

Dust.  I hate dust.  It’s absolutely disgusting.  I hate looking at it.  Touching it.  That’s why I wait until I couldn’t stand to stare at it any longer before I pick up a rag to dust it off.

They other night I was complaining how much I hate dust.  And both, my husband and son gave me a little education about dust.  They both said that “Dust, inside the house, is really our skin.  We shed.  Our skin sheds.  And that’s the dust everywhere in the house.”

I don’t know.  It is disgusting just thinking about it.  Part of me, don’t want to believe it.  It’s got to be the dust from outside.  Especially the ones they blow out all over the place every Wednesday.  They blow it up in the air and it gets into the chimney; down the fireplace, and into the apartment.  To me this is a more logical explanation of all the dust.  I do believe that we shed.  That our skin sheds.  But not enough that its all over everything in the house!

Whenever we move to another place, especially another state, I always hope that it’s not as dusty as our current place.  I believe Colorado Springs wasn’t as dusty as Las Vegas.  We had a few sand storms while we were in Vegas.  And here in West Texas – is the same way.

West Texas is a bit of a dessert.  There are weeks when it’s very windy, sometimes 40 miles per hour.  So windy in fact, that I struggle not to be blown by the wind at times.  And we’ve have several dust storms.  Where, not only it’s windy.  The wind seems to stir up all the dust and dirt, and anything that can be lifted up from the ground up into the air.

Just like those guys blowing dust all over the place.

Once I made a mistake of having my car washed on Wednesday morning.  It was nice, clean and shiny when I brought it home.  But by the end of the day, it was covered with brown dirt.  I wanted to run around the apartment complex with a stick, and chase the guy with the blower. I so wanted to.  If there’s anything that I hate the most are those blowers and the person that uses it.

I dread going outside every Wednesday.  If I must go outside, I have to be tactical.  I have to have good timing.  It’s like going out in the war zone.  My strategy?  I make sure the blower’s not in front of my door.   They have to be at least 100 feet away.   So I look out through the glass window, listen for the blower sound, and if they are far away enough from my door, I ready myself.  I hurriedly open the door and lock it.  Run to the car, open the door, and then quickly slide myself into the seat and slam the door shut.  Hoping that the door won’t catch my leg.  I hold my breath the whole time, while on the run, from the door to the car.

My husband always asks me – “What is wrong with you? You grow up in the dirt! So all this dirt and dust shouldn’t bother you at all!”

And my reply to him is always – “Well, I am not in the Philippines anymore.  I no longer live in a nipa hut so I don’t have to put up with all this dust and dirt unless I have to.  This is America for god sakes!  This is a country where no rickety house exist.  Everybody lives in nice homes!”

Of course this is untrue.  I was shocked, when four summers ago, we were on our way to Fredericksburg, a German town in Texas, driving down highway 83-84.  Then there they were.  Several rundown houses along the highway.  They were so old and rundown that I had to really focus at them for a few minutes, while driving 70 miles per hour, to see if someone still live there.  I saw chairs out in the porch and car outside.  A sure sign that those houses are still inhabited.

I tell my husband, “Wow, honeyko! Did you see those houses!?  They look so old and seems to be falling apart, but people still live there!”

And his answer was, “Yeah. So?  You’re the only who thinks that America is this perfect country.  That everybody lives in nice homes.  We have poor and homeless people here in America, just like any other country in the world.  The only difference is, people here have more choices and opportunities.  You can rise up from ground zero if you try hard enough.”  “And besides,” he added, “those old and rundown homes? They’re still better than your nipa hut!  You know why?  Because they have electricity, and running water, and TV! You didn’t have that in your nipa hut!”

I have to admit.  Yes, they are.  As bad as those houses.  They are still better than the nipa huts I grew up in.  At least they have running water, and sewer, I’m sure.  And, they probably own the land that their house is built upon.  Most nipa huts in the Philippines are built not on their land.  They are merely sharecroppers.  Those nipa hut dwellers can get evicted by the landowners at any time.  That’s how we were.  We were sharecroppers.  Though the arrangement was not at all bad.  The landowner only demanded that we share half of our harvested rice.  We didn’t have to share our sweet potatoes, cassava, and occasional vegetables.  Though we were willing to share if the landowner stops by and ask.  The landowner did have one specific request: that my Dad take care of the coconut plants scattered around his land.  My Dad was to cut the shrubs and bushes around the young coconut plants so they’ll grow to full size coconut trees, and start producing coconuts.

My Dad did owned a piece of land.  I think it is 16 hectares – close to 40 acres.  He bought it from my Godparents.  But he barely cultivated it.  The guy who owns the land next to ours, keeps extending his marker, stealing a piece of our land every single year.  Each time he has his land surveyed, he moves his fences – a marker, surrounding his land several feet into ours.  And to avoid from having to quarrel with him, which could end up in a bloody massacre, hopefully on the part of that guy, my dad just let him slide.  He let this land-hungry man get away with several infractions, while stealing a piece of our land every year.  I wonder how long will he allow this to go on…?

Again, every Wednesday, the grounds maintenance crew cleans the grounds or so they think.  Personally, I think it’s a waste of money and time.  I can understand them trimming the plants.  But the grounds?  It’s hopeless.  They haven’t figured out how to make grass grow in a lot of areas on the grounds.  In front of our condo, for example.  Right outside our door.  They planted grass outside that small space, about twice already since we been here.  The grass didn’t last.  It was green for about a week, turned brown the following week.  Both times this happened.  So now it’s just bare.  And when it rains, it’s worst.  There is dirt every where.  Dirt washes down into the parking areas and on the walkways.  Because there’s no grass in most places, the soil erode when it rains.  And guess what happens next Wednesday?  They’ll be blowing dirt and dust all over the place again.

I so badly want to tell the manager this “ you know, what your grounds maintenance crew is doing doesn’t make sense.  They blow dirt all over the place and it is counter productive.” But I don’t think she’ll welcome this criticism.   I certainly do not want to ruffle her feathers.  I’m sure she’s going to stop being “sweet” to me in her Texas twang if I do.  So I just put up with it.  I hold it inside.  All this aggravation about dirt.

Sometimes I think – maybe I am just being irrational?

If I am, then so as  the 20 cities in California that ban leaf blowers.  And other states like Arizona, Hawaii and New Jersey which also have laws against Leaf Blowers.

~~~

I want to console myself with this Strawberry Pretzel Salad.

Eleven years ago is when I first ate this.  I was at a ‘pot luck” luncheon in Okinawa, Japan.  Our HR Manager, Beverly Essex brought this dessert.

At first, when I saw it, I kind of looked at it funny.  I mean, eating pretzels and strawberries kind of strange, doesn’t it?  It certainly did for me back then.  I did not plan of having any.  But, when it was almost gone… and everybody was bragging how good it was…  I had a second thought.  I wanted to find out for myself why everyone was bragging about this Strawberry Pretzel Salad.  I thought, hmmmm… I think I better have some of that before it’s all gone.  So I did. Sure enough.  As soon as I took a bite, OMG! All these flavors were dancing in my mouth.  I wanted some more!  And more!  This stuff is addictive.

The combination of salted pretzels, cream cheese, cool whip, gelatin, and frozen whole strawberries, produced an appetizing and unique taste.  Yes, it is weird.  No doubt about that.  But it’s a tasty weird thing.  You really just have to make it to find out for yourself.  Ms. Essex was kind enough to share her recipe with me.  And I would like to share it with you.

Strawberry Pretzel Salad

Ingredients:

5 cups coarsely crushed pretzels – (I buy a 1 pound bag pretzel with salt.)

1½ sticks or ¾ cup butter – melted

5 TBSPs. sugar

1 (8 ounces) pkg. cream cheese – softened

1 cup sugar

10 ounces cool whip

2 (3 ounces) pkgs. Strawberry gelatin

2½ cups boiling water

2 (16 ounces) frozen whole strawberries

Mix pretzels, butter and 5 tablespoons sugar.  Smooth in 10½ x 15 baking pan and bake 8 minutes at 400 degrees.  WATCH CAREFULLY.  It burns easily!

Beat cream cheese and 1 cup sugar until creamy.  Fold in cool whip and spread over cooled crust.  Leave no gaps.

Mix strawberry gelatin, boiling water and frozen strawberries with juice.  Cool until slightly jelled.  Spread over cheese layer.  Chill until set.  Keep refrigerated.

Serve cold.

the whole pan. after it has chilled, and ready to serve.

sort of look weird. but it’s one of those weird tasty stuff.

Tess Kitchen Secret:

I have no secret for this one.  Every ingredient is a critical piece for this dessert as a whole.  Though one thing that stands out is the saltiness of the pretzel and then the sweetness of everything that balances it out.

Enjoy and Happy Cooking!

Tess Harris

Guilty Feet Have Got No Rhythm

“To the heart and mind ignorance is kind.
There’s no comfort in the truth
pain is all you’ll find.”
(George Michael, from Careless Whisper)

 

“Dad can I go see the dance?”

“No you cannot! Dancing is a sin…!”

“But Dad… am just going to watch….”

“Don’t let me tell you again…!”

“Ugggghhhh.” I sighed in disappointment.

I wish my dad would let me go see the dance.  I really just wanted to watch since he forbids me to dance.  I’ve seen it – the dance I mean, a few times with my Mom.  On those occasions when I got to see the dance my Mom and I sold sweet stuff.  We set up a small  table and placed our basket full of rolled cassava filled with sweetened coconuts.  Often, my Mom took advantage of events like this.  This is one of the ways she made money for the family, which helped put food on the table.  Though I wish we weren’t working  each time I was at the dance.  But it was better than not seeing it at all.

I often wonder why my Dad wouldn’t let me dance.  I knew he considered it a sin, but now I wonder maybe it was because I was only twelve years old and really had no business dancing with boys. But of course he never told me so.  Other than telling me it was a sin, he never explained to me why.  I just knew that he detested the idea of me dancing with extreme repugnance.  But what about him? I’ve seen him danced…! He danced over a bed of red, hot coal during one of the many rituals he performed at one of his religious ceremony.  OK… maybe it wasn’t really a dance.  I think it was more like an Eskrima form.  Yeah.  He knew and practiced Eskrima during my childhood, every night, before he went to bed.

When I was 12, the barrio started a dance event every Friday night.  It was held in an open basketball court, where most of the barrio’s events are held.  In this same court, I also entered a Wee Wee Jamboree, along with my cousin, Villy.  My cousin sang better than I did, so he took in first prize.  I took second.

Teens and young adults are excited and look forward to the dancing every Friday night.  Dancing on Friday nights is the most exciting thing that is happening in our barrio.  Everyone can hardly contain their excitement – walking giddy  all day, especially on Fridays.

The man who owns and sets up the sound system:  the turntable or long album player and the large speakers is also the disk-jockey.  When he smiles, two gold teeth in his upper teeth shine against the beaming sun.  His name is Mr. Rubio.  He’s also married to my science teacher in 5th grade.  A very fine looking woman.  One of the prettiest teachers in our school.  She’s 27.  Tall, pale skin, with prominent cheekbones.  Her dark wavy hair frames her angelic face.  In addition to her graceful beauty, I was fascinated by her handwriting.  I’d watch her in fascination while she writes on the black board.  Every stroke was calculated, and very fine.  It is as if she’s studied calligraphy.  I am an admirer of beautiful handwriting.  When I see someone with a beautiful handwriting I often try to imitate it.  With handwriting, of course, I also collect different sorts of pens as long as it glides well on the paper.  Mr. & Mrs. Rubio have two children, Ruby and Roy, ages 11 and 9.  While she teaches in our school, her husband tends his electronic repair shop located on the first floor of their baby blue painted house.  Theirs is the place to go if you have a broken transistors radio.

At around three o’clock, Mr. Rubio, begins to set up the turntable and the speakers.  By four o’clock he starts playing music to get the whole barrio excited and in the mood for dancing that night.  He sets up three speakers.  One facing to the east, the second facing to the west and the third facing to the south.  The barrio was shaped like a cross, built along the only highway connecting Tacloban City, Imelda Marcos’ hometown, and Ormoc City.  Since the north part of the barrio is not as populated as the south, no speaker facing that way.

There were benches set up on both sides of the court, on opposing direction.  The benches set up on the left side are for the boys, while the benches across on the other side are for the girls.  The middle of the basketball court is left empty and wide open to serve as the dance floor.

The dancing starts at 7pm.  Here’s how it works.  When the music begins to play, the boys would walk over to the other side where the girls are seated and ask the girls to dance with them.  It’s usually a boy and a girl.  A boy picks a girl, usually a girl he would like to woo.  A girl can refuse to dance with a boy she doesn’t like, and wait for another boy.  A boy she much prefers to dance.  The boy who gets rejected moves on and ask another girl to dance.  There is no age limit.  But majority of the girls and the boys are teenagers, and people no older than 25 years old.  Both boys and girls are assumed single and unmarried.  Out of decency, married men and women do not participate in this dance, unless they want to be the “talk” of the barrio the next day, and can bear the rolling eyes and whispers all around.

Most of the boys take advantage of dancing events like these.  This is usually their best chance to talk to a girl, a girl they’ve never had the courage to talk to before.  And in these dances, the boys get to whisper ‘sweet words’ in the girls’ ears during a slow dance, and a chance to put their hands around the girls’ waist, where any other time would have been highly inappropriate.  In these dances, many romances and courtships are formed.

One Friday evening, at around 7 o’clock at night, that’s when the dance starts.  I could hear the song being played, one of my favorite songs.  It was the Bee Gees…

Listen to the ground:
there is movement all around.
There is something goin’ down
and I can feel it.

On the waves of the air,
there is dancin’ out there.
If it’s somethin’ we can share,
we can steal it.

 

Outside the kitchen, under the dark shadows of the trees, I started dancing… and singing…

Then I get night fever, night fever.
We know how to do it.
Gimme that night fever, night fever.
We know how to show it.

Here I am,
Prayin’ for this moment to last,
Livin’ on the music so fine,
Borne on the wind,
Makin’ it mine.

 

… swaying from side to side, bobbing my head, when all of a sudden I heard footsteps.  And then I heard footsteps walking towards me.  And then I head him yell:

“Teresita! What I tell you about dancing?!” He was holding his long, sharp knife, drawn from its sheath.  I stared at him in horror and froze.  All I could think of was – Ooh, ooh. I’m in trouble now.  He saw me danced!

“If I see you moving your feet again I’m going to chop them off!  ‘ you hear me?!”  With the point of the knife aimed towards my feet.  He was five-feet away from me.

“Yee – Yeeess, Dad.”

“Now, go wash your feet and go to bed!”

“Yee – Yeeess, Dad.”

Finally, I felt my blood flowing back into my legs and unfroze them.  I took a step and ran into the kitchen.  I poured cold water onto my dusty feet and dry them off with a torn t-shirt.  I went up to the room and laid down next to my little sister, Elsa.  I was a little embarrassed that my Dad caught me dancing.  And disappointed that I was denied the simple pleasure of a dance. Yet thankful that he didn’t beat me for it.  Or worse, chop my feet like he said he would.

I still couldn’t understand why he thinks dancing is a sin.  He didn’t used to.  Back in Samar, when I was five or six, I remember dancing outside – in the dusty yard, in front of my grandmother’s house with my cousins.  My grandmother, when she was in a good mood, she’d play her Fono – turntable player and watched us, grandchildren dance.  I don’t remember my dad getting upset then.  But then, I don’t remember him being around either, while we’re dancing.  He must have been at the farm still.  He usually stays at the farm until sundown.

It was fun – the dancing.  But my cousins always ruined it for me. When I dance I retreat into my head with the music, and phase everyone out.  So while I was in the moment, one with the music, one of my cousins, Norma, Mana Noynoy I call her because she was older than me, would pull down my underwear, and everyone would burst out laughing.  They think this is funny.  It’s not.  It’s not funny at all.  Not to me.  This is embarrassing and infuriating.  And when I am embarrassed and angry, I become physically violent.  So I’d start running after everyone whose laughing and start hitting them with my fist.  A good dancing session is ruined because of my cousins.  I couldn’t understand why they always picked on me.  Every time!

I still love to dance.  Though I am shy about it.  Especially if there are strangers watching.   I would feel embarrassed.  And I also feel guilty.  Each time I dance I think about how my dad threatened to chop my feet off.  Often when I starts dancing to the music, my son, Ramon smiles and would say, “Mom…  you’re off the beat, and you have no rhythm!”  “Well, baby…  When I was a little girl, I wasn’t allowed to dance.  So of course I don’t have any rhythm!” I’d tell him.   Rhythm or not, I still likes to dance at home once in a while.  I eventually get beat down after a few minutes into the song.  And dancing becomes fun after that.  Though sometimes there’s this voice, a little girl’s voice that nags at me:  “What are you doing?!  Why are you dancing? Stop that!” But I learned to ignore the voice.  I turn the music a little louder and keep on dancing.  I  dance.  And dance some more.  Until my heart’s content.

~~~

This past few months, I’ve had several people, friends from Yahoo 360, asked for my meatloaf recipe.  Thus, I’m posting it here.

This meatloaf recipe takes a bit of time to make.  But i think the extra time is worth it.   When i make this, i usually make this on weekends, when i am not rushed for time.

Spicy Meatloaf
1 ½ pound ground beef – round or chuck (93 – 96% lean)
1 pound ground pork
Sautéed Sweet Onion and Jalapenos – see below
2 extra large beaten eggs
½ cup plain bread crumbs
6 TBSPs. petite diced tomatoes, including the juice
1 tsp. kosher salt
Sauce for topping – see below

Sautéed Sweet Onions and Jalapeno Peppers
5 slices low sodium bacon – chopped
6 garlic cloves – smashed, peeled and finely chopped
1 medium sweet onion (Texas or Vidalia) – finely diced
3 medium sized jalapeno peppers – finely diced
3 medium sized celery sticks – peeled and finely diced
2 tsps. ground cumin
1 TBSP. paprika
1 tsp. dried basil leaves or 1 TBSP. chopped fresh basil
1 tsp. dried chives
1 tsp. beef granules
1 tsp. kosher salt
½ tsp. black pepper

Heat a large skillet and smear it with 2 teaspoons vegetable oil. Add the chopped bacon and sauté until it has rendered about 3 – 4 tablespoons of lard… and slightly crispy.

Add the chopped garlic and sauté for 1 minute. Add the diced onion and sauté until translucent… about 3 minutes.

Add the chopped jalapeno peppers and celery. Sauté and simmer mixture for about 5 minutes.

Add ground cumin, paprika, basil, chives, beef granules, kosher salt and black pepper. Stir and simmer (over low medium heat) until celery is soft… and the spices have blended well with the rest of the vegetables. Remove the pan from the heat and set aside to cool.

Preheat oven to 375°F.

Lightly butter two – 8” x 4” loaf pans.

In a large mixing bowl…

Combine ground beef and ground pork. Add the cooled vegetable mixture and mix thoroughly with your clean hands.
Add the beaten eggs, bread crumbs, petite diced tomatoes and kosher salt. Again… mix with your hands until all ingredients are combined.

Divide mixture into two equal portions. Form each portion into loaf and place in a lightly greased loaf pans.

Pour the sauce over the meat loaves… smoothing the top with spatula.

Place the loaf pans in a heavy-duty cookie sheet and bake uncovered, in a preheated oven for 1 hour and 45 minutes. Turn off the heat and keep the meatloaves in the oven for another 15 minutes. Remove from the oven. Pour off excess oil that has accumulated in the pan.

(Some people bake their meatloaf between 1 hour and 30 minutes or until the meatloaf reach a temperature of 160°F… BUT… this doesn’t work for us… Don’t worry… even after of almost two hours of baking time… these meat loaves are moist… tender… and melt in your mouth!)

Slice and serve meat loaves with mashed potatoes… and Sweet Onion and Bacon Bits Gravy.

Zesty Sauce Topping for the Meatloaf:
¾ cup ketchup
¼ cup Heinz 57 sauce or your favorite barbecue sauce
2 TBSPs. French Yellow Mustard
½ TBSp. worchestire sauce
½ tsp. ground hot peppers (optional)

Whisk together in a bowl… and pour over the meat loaves before baking.

Simple Mashed Potatoes

When I don’t have very much time… I peel and cut the potatoes in 2 or 3 pieces and then boil with 1 tsp. coarse sea salt. The potatoes cook in about 30 minutes and ready to be mashed and seasoned.

4 large potatoes (about 4 pounds) – boiled
3 cloves garlic – unpeeled (optional)
2 – 3 TBSPs. butter
½ – 1 cup warm milk
1 tsp. kosher salt
½ tsp. freshly ground black pepper

Wash potatoes and cut split them in half or thirds.  Place in large pot and add the garlic.  Cover with water, about 1 inch above the potatoes.  Add salt.    Cover pot and boil potatoes over medium heat for 25 – 30 minutes or until potatoes are soft.  Remove the garlic and peel them.  Set aside.  Drain the water and place the potatoes back in the pot.  Keep the pot on the stove, over a very low heat.  Add butter and mash the potatoes.  Add milk.  Start with ½ cup and add more milk for thinner consistency.  Season with salt and black pepper.

Serve with the Spicy Meatloaf and Sweet Onion Gravy.

Sweet Onion Gravy with Bacon Bits:

5 slices low sodium bacon – chopped
3 cloves garlic – smashed, peeled and finely diced
½ medium sweet onion – finely diced
1 tsp. dried thyme
6 TBSPs. all purpose flour
3 cups beef stock or boiling water + 3 beef bouillion cubes
1 tsp. coarse sea salt if needed – taste gravy before adding
¼ tsp. ground black pepper

Heat a large skillet and smear it with 2 teaspoons vegetable oil. Add the chopped bacon. Sauté bacon until has rendered about 4 tablespoons of lard, but not too crispy.

Add chopped garlic and sauté until garlic until light golden brown. Add onions and sauté until soft.

Add the flour and stir until flour is coated with the lard and form a sand texture. Keep stirring until flour is light golden brown.  Whisk in ½ cup beef stock… Whisk until mixture forms into a thick paste. Whisk in the remaining beef stock, ½ cup at a time until all 3 cups are added. Continue whisking until mixture is smooth and free of lumps.

Lower the heat to medium low… and simmer gravy until it thickens… for about 5 – 10 minutes.

Serve over mashed potatoes and Spicy Meatloaf…

before baking.

after 1 hour & 45 minutes.

ready to serve.

Tess’ Kitchen Secrets:

#1 – I usually like my mashed potatoes to have a zesty flavor.  So I add one tablespoon of wasabi paste to it, and two or 3 tablespoons of sour cream. If you haven’t used wasabi in your mashed potatoes before, start with one teaspoon.  Taste and add more if you like.

#2 -  The sauteed sweet onions and jalapeno peppers and the glaze or topping are  what makes this meatloaf taste extra ordinary.  Jalapeno peppers are not spicy if you remove the seeds and ribs off it.

#3 – As for the gravy.  I like the bacon bits in it. Its what makes the gravy tasty.  However, the  bacon can’t be crispy.  It must still be a little limp so it flows with the gravy’s creaminess.

Enjoy and Happy Cooking!

Tess Harris

In The City

Somewhere out there on that horizon.

Out beyond the neon lights
I know there must be somethin’ better

But there’s nowhere else in sight
It’s survival in the city

When you live from day to day
City streets don’t have much pity

When you’re down, that’s where you’ll stay
In the city, oh, oh. In the city

~ The Eagles ~

 

Tok – Tok – Tok. Tok – Tok – Tok

“Hi… Is Elvie in?”  I opened the door to see who’s outside.

“Who you looking for…?”

“Elvie.  Is she in?”

“No.  She is not.  I think she was “bar fined” last night.”

The lady paused for a moment… a confused expression painted her face.  Then the lady said…

“Aww… OK.  I come back later.”

“Who was that?” My half-sister asked, with a towel wrapped around her head, and another towel wrapped around her body.  She just came out of the shower.

“I don’t know.  It was a lady.  She asked where Ate Elvie is.”

“What did you tell her?!”

“I told her – Ate Elvie was “bar fined” last night.  That’s why she’s not here!”

“Aahhh shit! Why did you tell her  that?”

“Because that’s where Ate Elvie is… right? I heard you talked to Ate Mary, you said ‘she was bar fined’ last night…”

“Jesus! You’re not supposed to tell people that!  Her family doesn’t know that she works in a bar.  They think she works as a teacher!”

“Oww. I hope she doesn’t get in trouble.  But I didn’t know.  I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about it…”

“I didn’t know it was a secret.  You didn’t tell me it is supposed to be a secret.”

What’s bad about working in a bar? I wondered… What is a bar? My sister and her friends always talked about bars.  They met guys at the bars, and then they go bar hopping.  Or they go eat at restaurants.  Women find boyfriends there.  And then they get married and go to America or Australia.  But some women are too picky, so they get old and never marry.  And many bear  illegitimate children whose fathers they’ll never know.  Others get left behind by their boyfriends, who after three or four years of living together, the American boyfriend decide to not marry and off they go.  Nine out of ten, the girlfriend goes back to the bar, hoping she’s not too old to find another boyfriend. And the quest begins all over again.

Angeles City is one of the two sin cities in the Philippines, where Clark Air Force Base was located.  The largest American Air Force Base in the Pacific at that time.  The other is Olongapo City.  With Subic Bay, home to the U.S. Naval Base.  Both cities’ economies were dependent on the bases.  But when the U.S. Air Force and U.S. Naval Bases pulled out in 1991 after the eruption of Mount Pinatubo, both cities suffered tremendously, displacing hundreds and thousands of Filipino workers, both on and off the bases.

Both Angeles City and Olongapo City had a thriving night life.  They owe it to the U.S. Servicemen who were stationed there.  And the tourists from Australia and Europe.  It took at least five years before these cities start to recover.  But even if it recovers.  It will never be the same.  Like how it was when the U.S. Forces were there.

In a way… Angeles City is like Las Vegas.  Both are considered sin cities, full of promises for those who wish to improve their fortune and or gamble their lives.  While Las Vegas is famous for its gambling, entertainment, and its luxurious hotels which could make anyone dizzy and disoriented when they first step out of McCarran Airport, Angeles City is famous for its night life.  The bars and the girls.  This city is a haven for foreigners looking for a good time, and maybe lifetime companions.

Ate Elvie is Ilocana.  She came from Ilocos – the southern part of Luzon.  She has a degree in Elementary education.  She has smooth light skin, round face, and short wavy hair.  I liked Ate Elvie, especially her rugged and non-pretentious personality.   I never find out if she got in trouble with her family about the “bar fined” issue.  All I know is, since that morning when that lady was asking about her, they stopped talking around me about anything, especially about the bars and they guys they met over there.  And then we moved to another apartment a month later.  So I’ve never seen or heard of Ate Elvie again.  Years later, my sister told me that she’s in America, married to an American.

At 13, I wish they could take me to the bar.  The more they did not want to   talk to me about it, the more I wanted to know.  I wanted to see what all the excitements were all about.  I wanted to see what’s in the bar?  Why do they seemed animated and exited every time they talk about it?  It sounded like a fun place to be.  And then I always hear them giggling about the men they met.  But I remember Ate Elvie saying… “No – no – no.  You’re too young.  They don’t let young girls in the bar.”  I wish I was grown up like them so they could take me.  They seemed to be having so much fun.  I want to have fun too. What a silly girl I was.

Two weeks before the school was to begin.  Ate Elvie accompanied me and my sister to Angeles University Foundation to help me enroll in first year high school.  She said she knew somebody there, which will make my enrollment a lot easier.  So we went.  I remember getting into a long line, and waited for almost one hour.  Ate Elvie spoke to the girl she knew.  My sister paid and I was set to go to school in two weeks.  Except for the uniforms.  I  had to order my uniforms – a green and white checkered skirt, and a solid white jacket style top.

I was excited and terrified at the same time.  My new school is so big, with too many students.  Only in the Philippines where they can get away with it.  In the same school and inside the same campus, the building to the north was the elementary school.  The high school building was on the east side and five stories high and on the other side, in the west side was the building for college students.  Several guards are stationed at the gate to check for school IDs.  No IDs no entry.

I memorized my jeep route so I don’t get lost.  I had to take two different jeepneys to get to school.

This whole thing – being new in a big city, going to a big school, seeing people other than Filipinos, these were all dizzying to me; exciting and scary and the same time.  But this was my dream.  I wanted to live here.  No more planting rice in the mud; no more going to the farm to dig up sweet potatoes and cassavas.  No more carrying fire-woods on my head; no more basket full of foodstuff on my back while walking in the rain and muddy foot paths.  No more!  I got away!  Yaaayyy!

My first day of school came.  I sat on the front row, close to the window.  Our classroom was on the third floor.  There were about 30 students in my class.  And I was surprise to see that one third of the class were grown women – married and have children.  What are they doing here?  When I was in fourth grade, the oldest girl in my class was 19 years old.  She decided, after having gone to Manila to work as a house-girl, to go back home and finish her elementary education.

Now in my high school class… I found out that the older women in my class, most of them are married to Americans.  Amercano as we call them.

Gloria is 37 years old who’s married to a Master Sergeant.  She has three children.  Her oldest child – a daughter is 13, and going to middle school.  I didn’t know what middle school was back then.  Because in the Philippines, we don’t have middle school.  We have elementary school and high school.  No middle school.  So while her kids go to DOD (Department of Defense) school at Clark Air Force Base, she was going to first year high school at AUF.  And there was Maggie.  She was tall.  She was from Cebu she said.  She looked like she is mestiza – Filipino mixed with Spanish blood.  Her features proved it.  White skin, pointed nose, large round eyes with brown lashes, brown-reddish, wavy hair.  She has two children.  Both in elementary school.

And then there was Ate Nelly.  She wasn’t married but she was living with a steady boyfriend.  She told me she’s 27 years old.  She’s about 5 foot 7 inches tall.  Skinny with long black hair, down to her butt.  And then there was Grace.  She’s only 16.  She’s probably about 5 foot 2 with a gap on her upper teeth.  One day in class, she whispered to me… “I have a boyfriend.  American boyfriend.”  I know what that means.  I don’t know how I know.  But from then on, when a girl tells me they have an American boyfriend… that means, they are no longer virgins.  They are having sex with their American boyfriend.  I was only 13 so I never had a boyfriend. And Mirasol.  Very pretty girl.  She has flawless, white Asian skin, thick long, wavy hair down to her waistline.  She seemed always tired and sleepy when she came to school.  I found out that she worked as a dancer in one of the bars… Of course she didn’t announce it to the class.  Grace is friends with her and that’s how I found out…

I was keeping tab as to who is who and who is doing what.  I have always been a curious little girl.  I listen with full intent about people and their lives… I think it’s very interesting.  So different from mine.  That’s probably why I like to read biographies and memoirs of people.  Interesting famous people and sometimes bad people too.

My stay in Angeles City was short lived.  My sister or half sister.  I prefer to call her my sister instead of half-sister.  To me she’s my sister.  Though when I call her half-sister that is my urged to get even with her back when I was 13 and living with her.  She’d introduced me to her friends as her half – sister.  It’s true.  She’s my half – sister.  But it bothered me.  It hurt me.  Why couldn’t she just introduce me as her sister?  What’s the difference?  I looked up to her and loved her like she’s my full sister.  But that was then.  This is now.  Now in her early fifties, now I am her sister.  Yeah. Ah huh. It makes me wonder…

Like I said, my stay in Angeles City was short lived.  After two years, I was sent back home, to the province.  My sister married an Air Force guy who was stationed in Korea so she had to go with him.  I finished high school in the province.  And two years later, I was back in the city, Angeles City.

~~~

It was in Angeles City that i first tasted pizza.  It  was a small place off Fields Avenue.  That place was always crowded. Everyday.  Their pizzas or at least the ones I tasted were cut in squares.  I don’t even remember what kind of pizza that was.  All I remember is – it was good.

This pizza – if you can call it pizza.  But i will call it pizza… is quick to make.  I made this yesterday for my husband to eat at work.  I always try to think of a more convenient way for him to eat out there – when he’s working.  Something good and less messy.  So when i was at the grocery store the other day, i picked up a package of Pita Bread.  I didn’t know exactly what i was going to do with it, but told myself – “I’ll think of something.  And the result was amazing.

Pita Pizza Squares

(Serves 2 – 4)

4 Pita Bread – squares

1 TBSP. olive oil for brushing

2 Fresh Italian Sausage (I used Hot)

2 large cloves garlic – peeled and minced

1/2 tsp. fresh rosemary – chopped

8 slices Pepperoni – 2 slices per pita square

6 slices Provolone Cheese – 1½ slices per pita square

¼ medium onion – sliced

12 medium sizes Mezzetta Hot Chili Peppers – sliced (3 peppers for each pita square) – you can use olives if you want

Preheat oven to 375°F.

Heat a small skillet over medium heat.  Remove the casing from the Italian sausage.  Add the sausage into the heated skillet.  Crumble the sausage into bite size pieces.  Stirring until cook, about 6 minutes.  Add minced garlic and chopped rosemary.  Stir another minute.  Add the onion slices.  Stir and remove the pan from the heat.  Divide the sausage mixture into four portions.

Line a Baking sheet with aluminum.  Lightly brush with olive oil.

Place 4 pita bread squares in the pan.  Lightly brush each bread with olive oil.

Top each pita square with the sausage. One portion for each.

Add slices of hot chili peppers to the sausage toppings.

Tear each pepperoni slices into four pieces and also add to the sausage toppings.

Tear the provolone cheese and add to the toppings.

Bake Pita Pizza Squares in the preheated oven at 375°F for 10 minutes.  Remove pizza from the oven.

NOTE:  For crunchy pita squares, after 10 minutes in the oven, remove pizza from the baking sheet and slide each Pita Pizza Square on top of the oven rack and bake for another 4 – 5 minutes.  Be careful not to burn the cheese.

Tess’ Kitchen Secrets:

#1 – Placing the Pita Pizza Squares directly on the oven rack, makes the bottom crust crispy.  Which makes it easier to handle.  Of course you can serve it unsliced.

#2 – You can use different toppings if you like such as olives, Canadian bacon, Anchovies, etc.  Just try not to put too much toppings so you don’t weigh down the bread.

#3 – You can serve this as an appetizer or party food. Just slice each square into four little squares.

Enjoy and Happy Cooking!

Tess Harris