(This weekend is Gay Pride Weekend in New York, and, in celebration of equal rights for gay couples in New York, I've decided to change the usual food picture on top to something more appropriate.)
It’s been more than a year since I wrote something for the blog, and I’ve missed so many things: the blog’s anniversary, the requisite New Year’s and birthday posts, and celebrating the successes of many people I’ve met through this tiny corner of the blogaverse. But the last 365 days have given way to more important, life-altering milestones; so many firsts, which just like the excited parent with a camcorder I’ve wanted to write about, but hadn’t, because I was too embarrassed or because it was too personal (shocking, I know, that I wouldn’t share it anyway).

I fell in love for the first time last year. With it was my first date (at the overripe, blackened banana age of 28), my first kiss (the details of which are too mind-blowing to be expressed with my puny words, but you know someday I’ll try), and while no labels were being thrown around, the first guy I would call my boyfriend, or at the very least would have wanted to, had my first relationship not ended. It was devastating, and friends from all over the world physically and in writing rushed to comfort me, their friend in arrested development, well-meaning but utterly confusing. “Chalk it up to experience,” “You weren’t in love- it was just your first,” “There’ll be better ones, you just don’t know it yet.”

"You put too much meaning into things," a friend of mine once told me good-naturedly (and with a touch of concern). I didn't disagree. It was my thing, even though I tried so blessed hard for it not to be a thing with me. For better or for worse, it's how my brain is wired. And to be honest, it's a really difficult way to go through life, especially when your friends do a lot of things that don't really have any motivation or agenda. It always has to be about something with me.

Just quickly: if you want to learn the basics of adjustment layers (which is how I created the selective coloring effect in the image below), just head on over to Special Effects for my lesson on adjustment layers. It's applicable in both Photoshop and Elements.
Well, so much for rushing to post as many pending recipes I have in my cache before I start my first day as a resident. For a brief period after a brief holiday, my internet pretty much exploded (again). But I'm glad to be back and can't wait to read what everyone's been up to (asking that question on Twitter doesn't seem to generate any response!). Today I'm going to be talking about a major turning point in the entire 3-year history of my learning how to bake: the day I decided to buy a digital scale.

I've always thought it was silly that anyone would suggest that some people are not open to using scales because it involves "math". Granted I've never been afraid of maths (in fact I aced it), but dealing with the fractions of cups and spoons involves more math, especially if you have to scale a recipe up or down. The only part that would be prohibitive would be the price, but these are going down all the time even for good models and the time it saves and the joy of reproducing a recipe faithfully is more than worth it.

I've written a new Photoshop/Elements tutorial: using Levels to make highlights brighter, shadows darker, play with the contrast, and remove color casts.
I don't have foodnetworkhumor.com on my feed reader, but during an idle moment when I might need a food-related chuckle, I head on over and get my fill. It's not super-interesting to me because we get a much-condensed version of The Food Network here: no Sandra Lee, no Anne Burrell, no Guy Fieri. Anyway, one of the running gags they have there is, of course, Ina Garten and her insistence on only using "good vanilla," which, to be fair to Garten, is pretty valid (even though I still use the not-good kind for some applications).

When I was in college, I recall that a friend had told me once that I was just like Ally McBeal (apparently this was before the show went into the dumpster): I liked being sad. I also recall being a little offended by it and I would have been more indignant had I not been so shocked. No one wants to be sad, though you'd think so, given the way I behaved as a silly little teen (er, I was 16 when I entered college), which in my defense isn't so different from how most other silly little teens behave when they're all angsty and emotion-y. I mean, it's no accident that I've loved the song Rainy Days and Mondays since I first heard it. (Someday when I'm a little more confident in my voice, we may see a video of me performing it on the piano..)

I thought that I would be able to completely evade writing about love and all its silliness at around this time (you know... Chinese New Year). I've become extremely skilled at handling things all by myself that many of my friends would probably believe I'm the kind of person for which celibacy was made. It stings a little, but my friends from medical school are very used to me being professional that any evidence of sentimentality surprises them (something for another time), while my close friends are so used to me deflecting gooiness and mushiness with sarcasm.

But then in the past year, I've been to so many airports and I'd be totally embarrassed if you saw me at the gate, watching other people. Like when this sweet-looking, portly middle-aged man was bidding good-bye to his wife (an overseas worker) at the gate. He had a sad smile and couldn't let go of his wife's hand as he wiped away tears with a handkerchief. Or coming back to Manila last Wednesday, when a kid, who couldn't have been older than eight, was wailing as he hugged his returning father (also an overseas worker) with a mix of emotions so powerful and indescribable. Happiness/sadness/pure love. If you didn't know kids you wouldn't think they'd be capable of such a complex explosion of emotion, but they are. And it was too much for the dad too, who cried.

Edited to add: Before things get out of hand, I need to add: I do not have an offer yet. I am just optimistic.

I can't believe I have less than 48 hours left in the United States! As a parting gift, Mother Nature sent me a respectable amount of snowfall a few nights ago. For some reason, the way the sidewalks are shoveled, it forms a neat shelf of snow that remind me of chocolate sheet cake with marshmallow frosting. True story.

It won't be long before I'm back in the Philippines, staring dejectedly once again at the weighing scale. It can't be as bad as my last stay here... Can it? The cold wasn't as bad as the last time, but my resolve not to overdo going out and spending (sometimes to get all-new ingredients for something, as it's not my kitchen I'm cooking in) has fueled my sloth, which is probably not so bad considering WHEN (hehe... THE SECRET! lol) I get that residency this coming July, I will not have a moment to catch my breath. Which, if you knew me from before this blog, is my "zone", though I do a better job than most at keeping "zen".

Just a reminder: you can still join our Momofuku book giveaway. Before February 7 (12NN GMT), just insert a short paragraph in your next post about the most important food book of your life and link to our post on the Gastronomer's Bookshelf here, Then leave a comment on that post. Non-bloggers can also join by using the contact form on the site (visit the link above for details). Open to all!

While Garrett has been busy decorating his new apartment, he brought up an old post from his archives about dining alone. I am a strong dining-alone proponent, so I had to leave a comment on that post.

At my last Christmas party, when everything was just getting started, we were planted idly in front of the local news. The feature story was about a woman whose lover left her 6 years ago (I'm not aware that they shared the reason for the break-up). She was reminiscing about how they adopted dogs together and spent Christmas decorating the tree, etc. Even though they'd broken up, she still decorated the tree and put presents under it (presumably for the two of them), and set up mementos of the two of them together (a pair of Christmas angels). During the entire feature, there wasn't anyone else in her giant house. She said she did all these things in the hope that one cold Christmas night, she'd return and they'd live happily ever after.

"Oh man," I thought, "that is just too tragic."

Just last Thursday I was able to finally meet the lovely Jen Yu in person, after envying those who were able to attend the recent food blogger conferences. I actually thought I was a little more fortunate since we were able to spend quality time, even if only for a few hours. (My idea of a perfect time would be zooming through San Francisco in search of the best Asian food, heh heh :) From reading her blog and watching her actually speak on video you can tell she's quite engaging, but it wasn't until I met her that I confirmed what others have been saying about her-- her vivacity is infectious. I suppose we all have to exercise a bit of restraint in blogland, so meeting Jen was more awesome than I could have expected.

It reminded me of the time I met Allen and he told me, "You're exactly like how I imagined you." I wondered if that was a good thing. (In case you're wondering, Allen exercises much more restraint in his writing and in person he is a riot.)

When I was in elementary school I once had a friend who, every now and again, asked me what my deepest, darkest secret was. I don't quite recall if I answered the question honestly (after all, what kind of dark secrets do ten year-olds have?), but anyone who knows me, or most people for that matter, will have realized by now that it's probably one of the worst ways to get me to open up.

Many years later, I then had a co-worker who, in the midst of a conversation wherein I was sharing a bit about my family life, told me to not share any of my insights about it because she was still in the process of psychoanalyzing me. It shocked me because I thought we were having a genuine conversation and actually bonding, but in the end it turned out she was just trying to figure me out.

Sometimes, just for fun (and not as an obsession, mind you), I like to think about what different things in the world at which I can still be the best. You see, it seems like there's a finite number of things a man can do and at least one person out there has already devoted his life to at least one of those things, so in order to become an authority, I have to think of more and more specific things. Things that are so specific the talent becomes absolutely pointless. For example, no-one has claimed the title of World's Best Cake Baker Using His Feet, so maybe I can work at it until I am that person. That is, if no-one has actually done it already. And even when I do, it's not a distinction I'd particularly enjoy holding, nor will my cakes be particularly edible (oh, they will, if they're not squeamish).

So, like I said in my previous posts, this is my first Thanksgiving. However, I'm not feeling the mad rush to produce dinner, since my uncle's dad has already volunteered to do so, which is a relief (though I am thinking about dessert, I hope he doesn't mind). It will also be my first Black Friday, or the day after Thanksgiving that, as I understand it, there's usually no work and stores slash their prices to encourage buying for the next big holiday. There've been horror stories about this, sadly, but I'm avoiding that rush too and thankfully there's the task of babysitting my cousins while my aunt and uncle go to work (no surprise there, as she works in Nordstrom).

In about 30 hours I'm going to be leaving- again- for the United States. My US Tour will once again hit New York, a bit of New Jersey, Chicago, Sacramento, and San Francisco. And again there's that pounding in my chest, for several reasons: 1) I feel like this is going to be it- I'm going to get that medical residency, 2) I cannot freaking WAIT to be in the hospital again (sorry blog), 3) I am so afraid of failing, 4) and I am going to miss celebrating my birthday, Christmas, and New Year's eve with my family. But if I do get that residency, that will be something I'll have to get used to anyway. Thankfully, I will still get to spend it with family (my dad's cousin's family), so it's not so sad. But all this excitement and fear is not so great on my internal organs. Must breathe deeply.

Filipino Meringue-Custard Roulade

RP = Republic of the Philippines, just so you know.
When I was in Greenville, North Carolina, one of my kind hosts requested a dessert. Actually there were three mentioned: 1) Food for the Gods (to come later), 2) Tiramisu (unfortunately we couldn't find Savoiardi and I was strapped for time to make some), and 3) Brazo de Mercedes. I couldn't pass up on the opportunity to make something she missed dearly and probably couldn't get any other way in Greenville. It must have been something she really missed! It got me thinking about the things I'd miss most about the Philippines if I were to ever leave.