"Fear of Frying"

"I'm not a naturally anxious person. I am not afraid of enclosed spaces, open spaces or public speaking. I have no fear of flying. Heights have never bothered me. I view all of God's creatures - dogs, rats, cats, snakes, spiders, stingrays and sharks - as friendly, at least until they try to bite me. I am not abnormally fearful of financial ruin, male pattern baldness, impotence, the inevitable onset of senility or the prospect of dying alone. But I am terrified of kitchens."

- as shared by Andrew Humphreys on the Gourmet Traveller


Although it is the heart of the home, the kitchen was not quite the arena for me as a kid. Apart from the author's gender and seeming courage on the issue of impotence, I don't think I differed much then from Andrew Humphreys, especially on the "male pattern baldness". Memoirs from childhood also remind me of involuntarily deflecting from that direction which leads to the kitchen, mainly on Mum's advice to spend afterschool hours doing the homework. Maybe she didn't see in me that kind of innate talent Nancy had for cooking. Later on though, I learn I was meant for something almost as important, kitchen-related and otherwise.

But I was never never far from being there. I was almost omnipresent when Nancy was high on experimental baking, to lick a spatula or finger wipe that sweet batter from the mixer whisks. I was also there for taste tests and equally significant moments in Mum's trial runs. I was big on adjectives then, so a compliment or two was highly anticipated... and, of course, encouraging. :)

Dishwashing and other forms of cleaning make up the household chores I fetishised in, as Nancy was to cooking - and eating. :) Somehow, the kitchen had offered a niche for me as well. For years, especially when we were attending uni, Nancy and I were a team. With Mckoy being the utmost critic for our joined efforts' outcome (and also the biggest shareholder in terms of food servings), the kitchen was re-defined to me. Rather, it proved to me that, indeed, it is the heart of the home.

Now that I have my own kitchen, it is up to me how to make it my home's. Armed with cleaning prowess, I'm more than halfway there. I hope. It's Sunday once again, and it's that time of the week I can shape my kitchen to be the heart that it should be.

Despedidas

These past two months, we have bid temporary goodbyes to two friends who have returned to Sri Lanka. Suraj had just received his permanent residency visa and now intends to marry his long-time girlfriend before coming back, while Bathi has just had a sudden change of mind and decided to pack up for home.

Days before each left, we had despedidas for them but no more than the usual tearjerker types. Over wine and Chef Tyrone's bay trout specials, spirits were as festive as the night for Suraj with lots of conversations like he wasn't leaving. With Bathi, food or no food, there seems to be a perpetual jovial atmosphere anyway, and you can't find laughter louder than that anywhere else, though. Thanks to a couple of beers and Kappila's surprising homemaker dishes, it was quite a night to remember.

Cheers to you, Suraj and Bathi!

Pasta Marinara

So, it was pasta. And looks like he's eating. And, guess what, he's cooking it, too.

I was on my way to the kitchen (Promise!) when Hope Floats started as Sunday night's movie. Harry Connick Jr.'s rendition of More moves me, and watching his movie, I suppose, is my way of paying respect. More brings back memories of Mom singing it while playing the guitar. That was the only song she knew how to play with an instrument, and the only song I could sing without getting off-key.

Watching now, I could almost imagine Mom kicking me in the arse for letting my hubby cook after work. As a house rule, Tyrone doesn't cook on his work days. His days off, which also happen to be mine (For the lack of a real honeymoon, we have to spend his days off together.), are my days off from cooking. So you see, right now, I'm breaking a very important rule.

*poof!*

Sunday Kitchen Blues

Sunday. It's that day that I look forward to but never plan on how to spend. Like most of Tyrone's work days, it starts with seeing him drive off to work and me yawning, "What now?"

It's my personal day off, and I could go sabbatical as the day, choose to be lazy (which happens to be my fave), or accomplish things personal or otherwise. It's perfect for those household chores left hanging during the week, but of course, it's also the best time to hibernate a bit more. But today, I've decided I'll play the good stay-home wife.

While my cooking is basically forgivable -- and should be because of work (excuses, excuses) -- Sunday must highlight my growing culinary skills. Now, nothing fancy; neither does my husband expect it to be par excellence. It's just a highfalutin goal to be able to squeeze out some creative juices because I have more time to prepare. So, what now? I'm really stumped.

I remember adobo next on my not-so-long-and-barely-average list of "recipes within my intellect". But Tyrone had just cooked that with pakbet last Wednesday as a peace offering. (Long story. Domestic issue. Hehehe.) Grrr, I feel robbed of intellect! I know that sounds rather ridiculous, but how else can you call that? Then, pastas and tomato sauce-based a.k.a. Kitchenomic dishes are on temporary hold while he's working at this Italian resto where they serve -- what else? -- pizza and pasta dishes. Nilaga, tinola, and sinigang, according to the chef, sounds too nocosomial. Blood stew is non-negotiable -- he can't eat it. Fair enough, I can't cook it either. Fried stuff is too dry. Stir-fries are not saucy enough.

Hmm, looks like we're back to his fave. Curry na naman? Aaaah! O sya, magluluto na po ako.

Second

Obviously, my second log. I was looking forward to it after seeing how the first appeared with my chosen template. Well, not bad. It would be livelier though if I had more posts, which of course, would not happen if not, first, for this second one. :)

Today marks the fifth month since I moved down here. I pinched myself and asked Tyrone to tell me it really was, because I sometimes lose sense of this reality. Not that I still can't think of myself as married; I guess, I'm still on cloud nine. He still comes home from work like it was my first night here, the stress of the day underneath that wide smile and excited embrace. And I respond like any fairy-tale princess being swept off her feet by Prince Charming. Disillusioned? I guess when you're living the fantasies, Time can become relative. So I wish I'd be fooled forever.

Back to reality...

Like any other day off, we did our laundry (with breaky and nosing through mags in the news agency in between washing and drying) and marketing. We dropped by the Sri Lankan shop to replenish our stock of spices. (Hmm, making your way into the shop up is, as always, as good as tasting the spices themselves!) On the way home, we picked up a DVD at the rental and some pharmacy review notes from Bev Baxter.

Now, this is the best part of our day off: I'm sitting here, writing this, and my husband is busy preparing dinner in the kitchen. Ahh, life is good. I tell you, for the most part of it, being wife to a chef is second to none. (And pinching me would do no good.)

Then and Now

Here's another attempt at creating a blog -- and in this case, with a new blog account. Hmm, though the idea still remains that it will be a window for family and friends to take a peek at events in our lives, it will now be one wherein we live together. With fingers crossed, I hope we'll be more diligent in keeping this blog account going and active as we are. This will be more than just a window for all of you, but our way of saying, "Welcome to our home."

Would you like to stay for a cuppa?