Writing My Life Challenge, Day 11: A (Non-) Adventure in the Kitchen

Now, this is THE writing prompt that stumped me, the main reason why I’m writing this only now, or three days late. It’s embarrassing for me to admit that I don’t cook. I’m blessed to have a mother who would still prepare home-cooked meals for me good enough for a week; otherwise, I can live with takeout food.

I can again write about the time I was inspired to try Ruth Reichl’s carbonara recipe and how Pam attended her book launch in New York and got to tell Ms. Reichl herself about me, thus earning this autograph:

I’m amazed at how writers are able to write specialized messages for each book they are signing.

… except that there really wasn’t an adventure to speak of.

Why don’t I cook? An excuse I always tell myself is that the apartment only has a small kitchen, the size of one-and-a-half restroom cubicle, with no ventilation and space in the front and back, just sideways. However, I think that’s how small 90 percent of the kitchens are in the city, therefore, that’s not a valid excuse, unless 90 percent of urbanites don’t cook, in which case, I guess I’m in good company.

Two, I love Spanish sardines. I can live off Spanish sardines, perhaps not for a lifetime, but long enough to register a percentage point in the economy of a fishing village. I’m partial to the Zaragoza brand, though I normally buy anything that has the spicy variant. I would normally crush a full bulb of garlic, fry that with the oil from the sardines, then dump the rest of the bottle on the pan, until it bubbles into caramel-like thickness. Best served with garlic rice!

Three, I love corned beef. I can live off corned beef, perhaps not for a lifetime, but long enough to register a half-percentage point in the revenue of Purefoods. My family loves how I do corned beef—my secret is that I first fry the corned beef with brown sugar to caramelize the meat. Also best served with garlic rice!

Four, I love Mcdonald’s. (And Jollibee, too, but for home deliveries, I like McDonald’s better.) I can live off McDonald’s, perhaps not for a lifetime, but long enough for me to see the consequence in my future angiograms. Here’s how a call to McDonald’s take place:

McDo: Opening spiel, blah, blah, blah… if I’m lucky, there’s Sharon Cuneta blaring in the background… blah, blah, blah

“May I take your order?”

Me: “Yes, hi. Please refer to my last order. Yun ulit.”

That would be a chicken with spaghetti meal with large Coke, extra rice, and hot fudge sundae. 😀

And these are just my weekend choices. On weekdays, I have a plethora (plethora talaga?) of choices, especially as Poblacion, Makati has become a hipster foodie’s playground. So there. For now, I see no compelling reason to have my adventure in the kitchen unless I get a proper space, or at least, until I run out of excuses to tell myself.

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