(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.”

Normally I really wouldn't, but several people would have strangled me if I didn't announce over both Twitter and Facebook that I had finally succeeded in getting an Internal Medicine residency position in the United States. Thanks to all those who expressed their congratulations. My ecstasy is tempered by the sense of responsibility and the determination to be the best physician that I can be. Part of this is determining what's going to happen to No Special Effects for at least the first year of my residency. But first, let me establish a few things:

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.

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."

THANKS to everyone who read, commented, and most especially contributed from last week's post. I'll be replying to the comments soon, but for now I'm glad to have touched people enough to give in a time of despair. You are all so, so awesome, in case you didn't know that yet.

In college we once had an assignment in Communications class: think of one funny thing you witnessed. It can't be a funny story you heard from someone else, it can't be something you saw on television. It had to have happened to you (or, at least, in front of you). I think I must have written down the lamest story about how some lame teacher was tormenting me, thinking it was probably marginally funny. Well, it wasn't. Truth is, it was hardly that funny, and to no one's surprise, it was even less funny to everyone else.

The sad fact is, even though I am a laugher (I consider myself a sitcom guy) and I never fail to see the humor in everyday situations, I could only remember the laughs and the belly laughs, but not what made me laugh. Or if I could, it was from some line from The Simpsons or something.

Hi. This is a difficult post to write, but truth be told, it's going to be difficult to write about food in the midst of so much suffering for a very long time, so I might as well start. Long story short for those who don't want to read the rest: please visit this site on Google to find out how you can help the victims of Typhoon Ketsana in the Philippines- it has ways for people overseas to help. Thanks so much.

EDITED TO ADD: Make a donation to UNICEF for this cause today, and your gift will be matched, doubling your support.

When I was in high school, my friend and I had this well-meaning discussion about giving to the poor. He said that his parents always taught him that it's usually better to give to big charities (I think he named the Church in particular, though it's not really a charity) than to beggars for several reasons: the organizations know how to systematically dispense goods so it provides the most benefit (rather than a beggar buying a big meal, then is hungry again), you never know what beggars do with the money (e.g., buy cigarettes), it encourages begging instead of working, and encourages organized begging syndicates (watch Slumdog Millionaire to get the gist of it). "Give a man a fish and he eats for a day, teach him to fish and he eats for the rest of his life."

So I am back from my observership from North Carolina- and if you've been paying attention, it won't be long before I have a travel post on it. I'm not quite sure if anyone's interested, but of course I'll try my best to make it interesting. Certainly it was a good trip and I enjoyed my time there thoroughly, but a lot of it had to do with my time inside the hospital, and of course I did my best not to take any pictures of anyone in the hospital or the surroundings (there were some really endearing patients along the way, but I'm protecting their privacy of course). So we'll see what I'm able to write. But I'm here now, in case you were wondering if I died or something. Observership gave me a cold hard look at how much time I'd be spending on my blog if I had work (and observership isn't even work!) and the sad fact is, it's nearly zero hours. Well, unless you count the time I spend actually cooking. Maybe I can spend my one free day cooking and the free day next week blogging. Two posts (or less) a month, ha ha ha!

Now I wait. I applied for a not-small number of hospitals and now I'm expecting the first invitation to interview. Annnnny day now. In the neeeext minute. It must be their coffee break. I'll check again in ten minutes. Just kidding- they actually have tons of applications to go through and if I've learned anything from this whole experience, it's to be confident of the skills you've acquired, because no one else will see it if you don't.

Macarons Cerise

(Gosh, can anyone guess how many times I've used a Beatles song for a post subtitle?) Again with the craziness! This week-end is going to be one of my silent ones, comment-wise, as I'm currently in a rush to pack respectable (read: physician-style) clothes and gifts for half the Filipino population in the US, as well as make the finishing touches on my application for residency in the United States (the applications are electronically sent to the program directors on September 1. AAAGH!!). I know I said I'd share part 2 of my New York experience from last Winter, but those posts take the longest to write, and I'm trying to save time, so I'll get to that post when I've settled.

When I was in college, there used to be this strange yearly event for freshman orientation wherein various organizations compete to be the best. At what, I don't know, because it involved racking up points for 1) collecting as much newspaper as you can and 2) hanging out at a particular building in campus during your spare time for the most amount of hours. It was considered to be a chore because let's face it, there's a ton of places better to go than some ratty building wherein you played board games until everyone went postal from having to hang out with each other (er, never happened).

I've heard someone say that one of the worst ways to start a speech is with an apology. I'm glad then, that this isn't a speech, and I'm me, and I am rarely too proud to apologize when I have to. Again I dropped out of the blogosphere for a whole week, except for the few times I logged on to Twitter and had a nice time chatting with a bunch of folks. You see, I'm trying out this thing where I only read and comment on blogs once a week.

I transferred from another elementary/primary school to high school. As a result, many of my classmates knew each other from before, and my classmates had friends in other sections. In the Philippine school system before college, sections of 40-50 students are stationary in the room, it's the teachers that moved around, so I never really got to meet anyone outside my 49 classmates in 4 years. Anyway, there was this boy from another section about a year older than me who was a paraplegic (? functionally, if not totally) and therefore always walked with crutches all over the campus. I knew his name but I didn't know anything else about him.

Susan once told me over at Twitter that she imagined I wasn't a problem child and gave my parents no headaches. That's probably true... To some extent. I didn't hang around the kids in my neighborhood (plenty of cousins to keep me entertained), didn't get to any fights, and was quite content to stay indoors and draw away on my sketchpads, and a bunch of other introverted hobbies like origami or listening to music.

When I was in my fourth year of undergrad (positively the Dark Ages), one of my friends who was frustrated with me told me point-blank that I cut people too little slack. As a result, she said, I hurt one of my closest friends at the time, who said I made him feel stupid. You have to be thankful for those moments when people are being brutally honest with you, because during the 90% of the time when people are just being mindlessly polite, you can't accurately make an assessment of yourself and your values. (Hopefully not too often, though, because it can get depressing.) However, even though I felt really bad for how he perceived me (for the record, I never thought he was stupid), I never said sorry for the things I made him feel.

Hi everyone-- thanks to all those who gave words of comfort and encouragement after last post's sadness. I'm really touched. Anyway, my dear Jen of Use Real Butter has featured my humble kitchen in a recent post, do take a look if you like! And my right column now has links to 5 of the most recent reviews from my newest baby, The Gastronomer's Bookshelf. I hope you drop by (and subscribe)!
It's never a good sign to have to preface your posts with reassurance that you're alive, but since I got back to the Philippines, things have been crazy. I won't go into the details, but the worst among the things that have piled up is that the internet connection has now been reduced to intermittent. After giving me around 4 minutes (30 if I'm verrrry lucky) of blissful browsing, the line will die for maybe another 4 minutes (30 if I'm verrrrry unlucky), then repeat ad nauseam. Not exactly ideal circumstances for catching up on the blogs you've missed reading so much, as well as responding to my own comments and e-mail. Graeme once told me, "If you have time to blog, then you have time to comment." It's just common courtesy. Sooo... It turns out, I couldn't blog either. (By the way, just to drive the point home: The Philippine Long Distance Company is the worst broadband service in the history of telecommunications. Congratulations!)

Instead of pulling my hair out, I ended up doing chores, the most pressing of which (ooh, pun) was washing and ironing the clothes I'd brought back from my trip. Having become used to washing my own clothes when I was in the States, I thought I'd flex those self-dependence muscles by usurping the person we hire to do the laundry, and at the same time learning to treat my clothes with respect (i.e., actually following the care instructions on the tags). Never mind that chapter one of "self-dependence" actually involved calling Duncan up and asking him how to iron a shirt. Oh, we grow up so fast! (And yearn for no-iron shirts!)

So, there are a few of you who are probably wondering what happened in the almost 2 weeks I didn't post on this blog. Big changes. HUGE changes. They are changes in plans, though-- as in real life, what I instead have is a giant stop sign in front of my face. You see, I failed to match for a hospital (read: the four hospitals I interviewed for went another way). What followed is almost a week of malaise, juggling trying to "feel the feelings" (as my friend Allen puts it), smacking myself in the head for inadequacies, smacking myself more in the head for realizing that there are people out there with real problems and this: coming to the United States to grab an opportunity, missed as it was, does not even rate. However, even though we can argue about what the factors were that led to this outcome were-- internal or external-- the fact remains that I could only have really influenced the internal factors, and that's what really kills me. (Especially since it worked for some of my Filipino peers, but not for me.)

"It's time to go back to the house, pack your belongings, and go. Home." In all probability I'll give it another $hot. Even though there are $ome problem$ a$$ociated with that. But frantic sublimation a week after falling flat on your face is a little superhuman, don't you think? (The start of the next application period is September.) Though I try to be a Tiffany, I usually end up a Rebecca, which is probably for the best because the last thing I need is Tyra yelling at me how to feel. But I am trying, Tyra! I want to take control of my destiny!

Oh, hello again! Some of you might be wondering what hole I fell into since the last week. What happened was that my laptop finally decided it's tired of this life and severed its adapter jack from the motherboard. I guess it's served me kind of well over the last three and a half years considering in the last few months its battery no longer worked and wasn't really in stock anywhere. So, not super-portable. And since that time, I flew to San Francisco and didn't acquire a new laptop until recently. And nooo, it is not a Mac. I know some design freaks out there poo on PCs, but I don't really get the belly-aching. I work remarkably well with a PC-- we have a rhythm.

Anyway, so I'm out here, and meeting two of my faaavorite bloggers (and, since my social Venn diagram isn't super-expansive, that means they're two of my favorite people as well), Allen and Joe, and Marvin (more on those later). Without my trusty sidekick, I was able to devote a lot of time to doing fun activities with my host family's kids (my cousins), like cooking lunch, helping with the homework, and indulging the occasional need for a playmate (though chess isn't really challenging against a seven-year-old, Mario Kart on the Wii is). And then there is the simple joy of the Wii fit telling you every day to keep up the good work as you go through yoga poses in the exact opposite way you should be (screaming).

Macaron Framboise

This is my entry to the 29th Edition of The Blog Rounds, hosted by Dr. Em Dy of Pulse. The theme is LOOOOVE! Ack.
When I was standing in line at 4 in the morning on New Year's Day at the check-in counter of the airport, there were two American women behind me who made Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie seem like the kindest, most intelligent creatures ever. In whiny voices, they'd think (using the term loosely) out loud, "Why are we the only ones in New Year wear?" (uh because only people who absolutely HAVE to leave for their jobs leave on New Year's Day instead of spending it happily with their families?) "What airport doesn't have a McDonald's? I'm not going to be eating in no fucking Jollibee," and other such gems. I thought to myself, Lord, if ever I get married, let it not be for this.

I keep chuckling every time I remember the travesty that was Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson's marriage. Each time Nick would finally get a brief respite from inane questions about what's inside a can of tuna and gets to party with his male friends, Jessica calls him up to ask him whether bratwurst is made of beef or pork. How unfortunate that his severe loneliness was documented, but at least now he's out of it. Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt of The Hills seem to be heading for the same trainwreck, and I'm beginning to wonder if Heidi deserves Spencer (he who would name his adopted African baby "Dunk" (skip to 6:27 in the clip)) if she doesn't get out now, blinded by the promise of multimillion-dollar deals if they tie the knot. That's two less idiots to infect the pool of single people.

Hi everyone and welcome (again)! Today's weather in beautiful Noo Joisey is probably a snowstorm. I'm not too sure because when you say storm/typhoon in the Philippines, it usually means extremely heavy rain and strong winds that sometimes howl. Snow is deceptively light and benign-looking, though I'm aware there's a lot of danger in it. And since it's not falling straight down, I guess that means it's a snowstorm. I took the opportunity of being stuck indoors to clean the bathroom, throw a robe over my pajamas so as not to titillate my neighbors too much, and struggle with the garden hose outside in the snow to blast the patina of germs on the trash can into oblivion. And now the time has come to post again, yay! And I begin with a tour of the first non-Joisey city I visited in the East coast: Akron, Ohio.

First thought: wow, it's kind of a winter wonderland. Only lake Erie is separating it from Canada. So cold that the skin of my legs threatened to progress into an ichthyosis-like state. My heels progressed as much, and I got two cracks on each foot, minute but enough to cause sharp pain with each step. I didn't let that deter me from getting my "tour" in, though. By now they are completely healed (and lint-from-socks-free, ugh) thanks to CVS Pharmacy's Heel Balm (for general and diabetic foot care) and a pumice stone (healed amazingly quickly-- 3 days). Rest of my skin managed with advanced therapy moisturizing lotion.

"My life is very monotonous," the fox said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the colour of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat..."

The next day the little prince came back.
"It would have been better to come back at the same hour," said the fox. "If, for example, you come at four o'clock in the afternoon, then at three o'clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o'clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you... One must observe the proper rites..."
"What is a rite?" asked the little prince.
"Those also are actions too often neglected," said the fox. "They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours. There is a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they dance with the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all."

Those are my favorite parts of the book The Little Prince, which I realize is predictably schmaltzy on my part but you can also predict that I don't care. There are some good parts after those passages but I kept it essential-- if you haven't read the book yet, I highly recommend it. Far too many people have bought into the whole reality television illusion (The Bachelor and its kin, Rock of Love, and worst of all, Paris Hilton's My New BFF) and foolishly believe that friends and relationships can be formed instantly. You put on your best Sunday frock, make a great first impression, and bam-- you're in love. What Saint-Exupery has shown in this lovely parable is that it takes commitment for trust to form. If you suddenly dropped out-- like, say, NOT POSTING IN YOUR BLOG FOR TWO WEEKS, people will get confused, some will forget who you are, and think that you can't be relied upon. Not what I wanted to happen at all. I hope you'll understand that it's been a little difficult to write (civilization will not advance one iota until blogging is possible on airplanes). I just arrived from Akron, my first interview-- and I'll be telling you about that experience soon.

Gai Hor Bai Toey

This is my second entry to Darlene's Regional Recipes event, featuring Thailand. Except that the fantastic Thip just posted this days ago and she wrapped it better too, haha :P

During the day my pretty crappy neighborhood can get on my nerves. Even though the construction that made my ears bleed is done, every now and then the serenity will be broken by the impossibly loud honk of a truck's horn. Imagine that coming down not 4 meters from your window. Even without the vehicles, the children who live in the area (a squatters' area sadly) are horrible thugs in the making. In the afternoon they play dodgeball, which is fine-- kids should be able to play as much as they want especially during holiday. But these brats scream and yell at each other like lunatics. Having nine year-olds scream "(Pu)tang ina mo!" (literally "your mother is a whore" but the usage is more similar to "Fuck you!") at each other is quite jarring. When they combine forces, it's so tragic it becomes funny again:

(Kids play on the street, yelling obscenities at each other.)
HOOOONK!
Kid: (Tauntingly) HA HA, HINDI KAMI NAGULAT! (Ha ha, we weren't startled!)
Truck driver: UMALIS KAYO SA DAAN, SA SUSUNOD SASAGASAAN KO KAYO! (Get out of the road, next time I'll run you over!)
Kid: 'TANG INA MO! (Fuck you!)
They grow up so fast.

(The next few pictures were taken from my grandmother's house in Pampanga last All Saints' Day.)

At night, all these harsh elements go away. Lovely Siberian winds have brought us a gentle chill (if you can call it that, o people of the frozen north), with temperatures of about 24°C (75°F) at night. I usually sleep with the electric fan on, but recently I've wanted to feel the cool temperature on my skin without any help. Even though the electric fan has a barely noticeable whirring sound, the quiet that resulted was a sweet surprise. Nothing but the crickets. Amusingly, when I was a boy I thought that it was the sound the moon makes.

Flowers for my grandfather

What I think is my grandfather's old bike (it certainly is aged and beautiful, like he was). The tracks on the side were from rain falling from the scalloped roof edge.
It reminded me of those times in my childhood when we spent the evening at my grandparents' one hour North (in Pampanga). Some rooms had no electrical outlets or fluorescent lamps, and we slept on mats on the floor, in pitch darkness and with the sound of frogs and crickets outside our lullaby. I hated those nights; I longed for my light and my television. However, during my recent quiet nights, my memory only associated my sleepovers with a feeling of calm. And now that the year is ending, as always, reflection.

My grandmother's tools: a chopping board and a paddle (for washing clothes).

Overgrowth of kangkong (water spinach) at my grandparents' pond
Though there were many joys and triumphs this year, it had its share of tragedy as well. But after the dust settles, I can't deny that life has been very kind to me. I'm so looking forward to the opportunity to start giving back to the world again as a working physician.

Jackfruit tree

Seat from my grandparents' siesta hut, made of bamboo (and nails).

My favorite non-food photo I took this year, of a Passion flower I just happened to find near the water pump. Probably the first time the beauty of the shot matched the beauty of what I saw with my eyes.
This year I also got to meet a lot of new blogging friends, and a lot of new places to enjoy on the web. Thanks so much for your support-- I thoroughly enjoy your company and your food, even if I can only taste it through the monitor! Even though by mid next-year I'll be posting a lot less due to work (crossing fingers!), I hope you'll still continue visiting. I'll make it a point to still visit you guys each time I get a chance. But that won't be for a while, so let's enjoy ourselves for now :)

Gai Hor Bai Toey
This is one of the first Thai dishes I ever tasted, and it still is one of my favorites. Quite kid-friendly too, and though I am not a fan of cilantro and the aroma is quite strong as it marinates, the end-result is very pleasantly flavored and not offensive at all. There are plenty of recipes out there (here's Syrie's quick and delicious version, which was the one I adapted): this is a hybrid of all the versions I saw, though a little simpler on the ingredient-aspect (no coconut milk). I encourage you to add whatever you feel may be good-- I particularly liked Thip's addition of red chili powder-- wish I had thought of it.

• 500g (1 lb) chicken thigh fillets (I used skin-on, just a preference)


• about ten stems of cilantro (coriander), roughly chopped


• 5 cloves garlic


• 1 teaspoon white pepper


• 2 teaspoons brown sugar


• 1 tablespoon cornstarch


• 1/2 teaspoon salt


• 3 tablespoons oyster sauce


• 1 tablespoon of sesame oil


• vegetable oil for frying


• 20 fresh pandan (fragrant screwpine) leaves, cleaned

Cut each fillet into 2 or 3 pieces, each about 2-3 inches. Mash together the cilantro, garlic, white pepper, brown sugar, cornstarch and salt (alternatively you could blend/process it all with the oyster sauce and sesame oil). Add the oyster sauce and sesame oil if you haven't already. Coat the thighs in the marinade, cover, and leave in the fridge overnight. The following day, wipe the marinade off each chicken piece with your hands (just to make sure there aren't any big pieces of cilantro or garlic sticking to it) and wrap each with a long pandan leaf (sorry I can't diagram these; as you can see I didn't do a good job of it-- a skewer helps to keep it in place). Place in a steamer for 5-7 minutes, then fry until golden brown all over, about 3 minutes each side. Serve with sweet chili sauce on the side.