We got some new shelving for the upstairs- nothing fancy, just industrial shelving from the local Mitre 10- and because I hate over-head lighting (unless it were pin-lights), I thought, why not get a floor lamp?
My budget was reasonable, anything a bit over $100 was fine and of course, I saw these…( and no, couldn't afford these):
This is my favourite. It looks like the lamp has been photoshopped to look this big, but it is this big. Artemide is an Italian design-oriented manufacturer founded in 1960. They’re known for their award-winning lighting designs. This one retails from $3625.
Winner of the 2018 Mercedes-Benz Design Awards, this combines the functionality of a lamp, a bookshelf and a side table all into one. The wiring has been cleverly integrated into the solid natural timber structure.
Would you believe this was designed in 1954? Sarfatti’s goal for this design was to put the aesthetic focus on the light source itself which is the fluorescent tubular bulb. That aluminium box is actually the power supply and works to balance the base. As I generally don’t like fluorescent lighting, I’m glad I won’t fork out $5,495 which is how much this retails for.
Anyone who loves Ikea can probably immediately tell the design DNA of this lamp. Designed in 1954, the small solid oak shelf table on it, is a great nod to that period. A steal at $1395
Got my 2nd dose of the Pfizer vaccine today dressed in a pink hoodie, sweat shorts and Nikes with red socks. After the shot, I was asked to wait out my 20 minutes in a holding area with three other people- seniors- who warmly welcomed me as if I was suddenly part of an exciting new order- the vaccinated.
In about 10 minutes, our bond was even made stronger by the fact that we all shared the same sentiment- that people who refuse to be vaccinated, or are skeptical of it, or worse, actively worked and campaigned against it, were scum of the earth.
And of course I went there because I couldn’t help myself; well, the day will come when we come face to face with a Covid mutation that’s far more lethal than any current variant, let’s see how they’ll deal with that’
Everyone went quiet. I waited for a bit thinking they were all formulating their response to that, but nope. Silence.
Okay!
This is from a recipe that apparently broke the internet, by New York Time Food writer and chef Alison Roman (see her recipe here); as to why, who knows? It’s not particularly ground-breaking nor sublimely delicious I’m telling you now. But then anything or anyone can break the internet, it’s just a fact of life.
But if you feel like you need a break from meat (we had lamb for Sunday dinner), this should work. It’s a very capable dish that ticks the boxes; substantial, spicy, creamy and healthy. I get anxious whenever I sit down to just a vegetable dish, so as a concession, I chopped up a couple of strips of bacon, but you can totally take this out (or use bigger chunks like lardons!).
Here’s my recipe:
Ingredients:
Two cans of chickpeas
half a cup finely chopped white onion, garlic and ginger
A can of coconut milk
powdered turmeric
seasoning to taste (chill flakes, sea salt- I also used chicken powder)
silverbeet or any leafy greens (if I were in the Philippines I would use heaps of maluggay)
bacon (optional)
Method:
Saute the aromatics. Put in the chickpeas and add the turmeric. Add coconut milk. Season to suit. Add greens. Alison suggested serving with yoghurt (or a spritz of citrus like lime or lemon) and this brightens the taste up as it does when you do the same thing with curry. It was served with bread (why???), but try it with rice instead.
The ties that bind
My fraternity brothers from college have set-up this Viber chat group and after all these years, we’re all still what we’ve always been. J the joker; M the rich guy; S still-doesn’t-like-me; B is still tense; B2 still the nice guy. There’s a couple I miss- L, who is MIA; M who is still as dodgy as ever. And then those who have passed on- D and A. Plans are being made for 2022 and I’m thinking, I’d like to get there. I don’t think it’s too optimistic to believe that I can drag my ass to the Philippines in a year’s time. As we normally say in the fraternity- ‘S__ R___ Fight!’
Sept 11
I believe Anna gave birth after Sept 11 not sure really, But I remember watching the events on the news unfold knowing that Chris was on his way to the airport. Happy 20th birthday to my goddaughter Angela.
Not hard enough
I’m inherently lazy and I think it’s genetic. I see my brother and remember my uncles and how they lounged about with their lanky bodies, smoking and being chill. It’s not really laziness, but more of an aversion to too much effort, which is what you need to get abs. I know that I’m vain, but I know it goes way beyond vanity when I refuse to slouch (even if no one is looking); or to not eat anything until noon so that my stomach feels flat and firm; or to dress impeccably even when just buying something at the dairy just across from my house. It’s because I’m still alive and kicking goddamn it and when I am, I will try to be my best 24/7. But then I feel I don’t try hard enough- or harder. And these days I am, trying even harder even if I must admit, I’m inherently lazy.
Stuff
I want the new Go Pro 10; still hemming and hawing about getting the new iPad Pro with the M1 chip; NOT buying a new iPhone this year; I want a new drone; I want a medium-format camera.
Fuck off to (and I’m avoiding having my new Twitter account suspended)
Still the Republicans; the state of Texas; all the American states that are Republican; anti-vaxxers; Nicki Minaj; anti-maskers; athletes who want to eat their cake and have it too; a generation who want to eat their cake and have it too and have the audacity to cancel people who call them out; David Seymour and Judith Collins; Bongbong Marcos and his entire fucking family; historically challenged Filipinos who support Bongbong Marcos; and the entire corrupt, ratchet Duterte government.
It was a Tuesday when it was announced that there was a community case of Covid, and that Patient 0.2 had been to a million places. I was at home early, in bed and on instinct, went to a supermarket website to get online delivery. A million other people had the same idea, but had gone to a physical store instead. This was Sam and me last year thinking we were clever in leaving the house for the nearest supermarket 15 minutes before the prime minister could announce lockdown, but we didn't get squat. A thousand other cunts had gone there first and the staff decided to close.
I could feel the website crashing at some point but I held on and an hour and a half later, successfully got my order. I spent the next couple of days/weeks working, with the supermarket website open and refreshed every 30 minutes to catch one of the precious few slots for delivery, and so far have been 100% successful- this was a good thing because the supermarkets became a hot-bed of Covid exposure sites.
Doing and waiting for the grocery deliveries is pretty much the only exciting thing during lockdown which is still ongoing.
Anti-vaxxers
The Taliban
The Russian government
The Chinese government
Republicans
Anti-perspirant
packet of cocktail sausages
packet of paprika flavoured crisps
packet of tortilla chips
can of chickpeas
juice (carrot, ginger, apple)
two pottles of sour cream
cup of instant noodle soup (chicken)
I had a work lunch at Little Jimmy in Epsom with some office staff and our web dev guys. Though I was eyeing a fish starter and a veggie side, I ended up with their Wagyu Beef Short Rib fillet with celeriac puree and some bokchoy. It was the size of my fist- and I have a small fist.
Luckily, one of the guys offered to share his curly fries. It needed a side, just saying ( and I was really hungry that day). It was labelled as a large plate too which was not accurate. To compare, Sarah from work ordered a small plate of trevally ceviche, and the ‘small plate’ was actually a condiment bowl. I know that the restaurant industry is struggling but…
Dinner/ Blue Ox Babe BBQ
Continuing our fortnight eating-out runs, we put aside Korean for a change and tried out this Texas barbecue joint in Pukekohe with the strange name of Blue Ox Babe. If you’re not sure of how much meat you’re supposed to order you can ask them to make that decision for you. We ordered the brisket, pork belly, sausages and the ribs and skipped the chicken. With four adults (Matt was still at work), they recommended doubling the ribs to a full stack.
For sides, we had two curly fries (there’s a loaded one slathered with pulled pork), slaw and the pickled cucumber (the total bill was just under our magic number of $200).
They were spot on with the quantity though I would be happy with just the brisket and the ribs. The ribs were great- firm with a nice even layer of fat on top (I loathe ribs with the meat falling off) and unslathered with sickly sweet sauce which I also hate. I would’ve wanted rice for a side- or something plain, like maybe corn on the cob or even bread buns. The curly fries were a disappointment; they were under-seasoned and hard.
The hero side was the obviously home-made pickles - actually crinkle sliced Lebanese cucumbers with just the right combination of tang, crunch and acidity to freshen your palate for another forkful of meat (and no forks!).
We were in agreement that next time, we would do takeaway and eat it at home with rice.
This is time. You just don’t see how fast it’s going probably because maybe, it’s not real. Not real in the way you think anyway. Our cat Lily sleeps most of the day. In between, she eats, poops over the storm drain on the curb (I’ve seen her do it twice, squatting gingerly over the grates), follows scents or tries to pick fights with other cats. But she sleeps most of the time, and if you think of it, this is probably the most important thing it does in its life. It seems like it’s nothing, but it’s fundamental to its existence.
I wouldn’t even try to think what is fundamental to humanity’s existence anymore. When I try, I hit this ceiling in my consciousness and I’m like, yeah, I don’t really care. Hitting this ceiling physically hurts; and it puts me in a foul mood, a nasty spiral of negativity and toxicity where the only outlet is lashing out (pointlessly) on social media, where thankfully, I’ve been banned and it’s fine with me, because it was the only way out of that motherfucking hole.
But I’m really more concerned with what’s fundamental to me. Is it work? Is it some lifelong dream put on the back burner for far too long? Is it proving that you are this, or that? Is it learning something as stupidly simple as driving (maybe it’s not so simple); or taking on an endeavour we used to think wasn’t us, like a business? Is spending over $4,000 a year on clothes really me?
I don’t know. I’m still figuring it out. I feel like I don’t have enough time as I used to. Or maybe I do.
Maybe I’ll do what Lily the cat does - just relax. Sleep.
I bought a block of Philadelphia cream cheese nearly a month ago intending to make peanut butter cheesecake and thought that now was the time to make one. However, I came across a cheesecake that I had always seen at cafes but assumed that it was known simply as a baked variant- I honestly have always preferred the non-baked kind- but this one had a proper name; burnt Basque cheesecake (Tarta de questo).
And in spite of a name that somehow implies it goes back a long way, it was actually invented by a Spanish chef, Santiago River of the La Viña restaurant in 1990 who wanted a custardy cheesecake.
And to achieve this texture, the oven has to be really hot (400 degrees) with a cooking time of exactly an hour. The top after this is that deep shade of brown that is 5 minutes away from being burnt, and the cake has that jiggle that is just a tad shy of being firm, but not too wobbly. Some recommend clocking it at 40 minutes for that soft, custardy consistency and I’m glad that I didn't, because I think, it would’ve tasted too eggy (this Bon Appetit recipe calls for 6 large eggs.) which I would hate; if I wanted eggy, I’d make an omelette.
It’s recommended that you let it cool completely (like 3 hours), but we ate it anyway just two hours in and it was still slightly warm. I drizzled maple syrup (Nigella Lawson has a recipe where she serves it with licorice sauce) on it and that was a good idea because it isn’t exactly too sweet.
I had another taste of it after it had been chilling in the fridge for about 2 hours and it tasted even better, like the marriage of a regular cheesecake and an egg flan, airier and less dense than a New York cheesecake which I’ve always found to be stodgy (that’s because a New York cheesecake is normally baked for an hour and a half, cooled inside the oven and doesn't use heavy cream).
If I could eat pork belly everyday I really would. I’ve cooked it so many times but I still could not find the one fool-proof, consistent way that would serve me meat that would have the following characteristics:
Intact, crispy skin
Nearly falling apart, flavourful flesh and fat
I’ve boiled, brined, dried and salt-crusted with varying degrees of success and what’s annoying is that the next time I boil, brine, dry and salt-crust, the results are different again.
But this one worked right off the bat:
But the meat could’ve been more tender. Maybe the ratio of fat to meat makes the difference. I got the pork from the supermarket and the fat was on the thin side.
Next time - #1,001,001 - I’ll try the butchers.
Can’t commit to watching new movies so I watch stuff I’ve seen before. In the opening sequence of ‘The Wild’, the 2014 film starring Reese Witherspoon, she takes off her hiking boots to inspect her bloodied foot. I wince, cover my eyes partly with my hand as she pries off a toe-nail and screams. The pain causes her to jerk, knocking the boot she has taken off tumbling into the cliff below. She looks at it in disbelief and seized with rage and frustration, she throws the other pair off the cliff and screams bitch.
I want to scream too when I bump into doorways and table edges because I’m either wrapped up in thought, or that my eyes are not working properly like they used to. I also want to scream when I put my glasses on and see everything up close in their gory, chaotic detail; the sinks that are always wet because they’re cheap and designed poorly and water collects on the surface; the shavings of hair pooled around the drain that I never could quite wash off.
Chicken. I prefer the darker thigh meat, but when we have breasts, my favourite way to cook it is a variation of lemon piccata, but without the capers. You dredge the breasts in flour, pan-fry them a bit until browned, melt about 220 grams of butter- yup, that much - in a pan with garlic, take the garlic out before they burn, put the chicken back in with a cup and a half of lemon juice and some chicken stock, leave to simmer for about 30 minutes until the liquid reduces to this golden, buttery syrup.
Now I have to try a different recipe for a change. Here’s a NY Times recipe for pineapple-marinated chicken breasts.
The landscape changes to spruce and pine. There are patches of snow up and ahead and about 3 miles up, a blanket of new snow glistens in the sun. In her camp, kneeling in snow, Cheryl looks up and sees a fox watching her with what she thinks are human-like eyes. A shaft of sun on the animal gives the illusion that its yellow-red pelt is on fire.
I want a puffer jacket. I have every fall-winter garment available except for a puffer jacket. The only problem is that it never really gets that cold in Auckland and there wouldn’t be much of a chance to wear it.
In the TV series, Little Big Lies, Reese and Laura Dern are friends who look like their ages are not that far off. In The Wild, they play daughter and mother.
“We are never prepared for what we expect”
Yup. Another Korean restaurant. And we’re starting to see a menu pattern:
All serve fried chicken dishes
They all have a version of steamed or boiled pork belly (my favourite)
They all serve some version of beef
The price points are on the average, the same, but the quantities vary
This one is more on the pricey-ish side ($200 for five dishes)
Twelve is at 1 Courthouse Lane, Auckland CBD, Auckland.
I’ll pass on the Korean dramas and Kpop and while I can see the effects of the Korean glass-skin routine, at the end of a long day at work, it still feels like I moisturised with beef drippings.
But Korean food - yes, give me the food.
This is our third in as many months, and there are three staple proteins you can rely on - fried chicken, boiled/steamed pork belly and beef. The fried chicken is common enough and at this point, I wouldn’t order it if I was eating by myself. I don’t like the sauces and glazes which always tend to be on the sweet side; a reminder of the 1st time I had fried chicken and waffles and thought of it as an abomination.
But fried chicken and fries - shoe-string and slightly sweetish - is your filler before tackling the pork and the beef. Their pork belly is served cold which I know turns some people off, but the fat is firm and gelatinous-like with a dab of seasoning on top. You eat it like you would with Peking duck, tucked inside a lettuce leaf, or a cabbage and even shiso.
But the main star was the beef - Galbi Jjim - beef short rib (with a bone so long, it could’ve been a forearm), two bones arranged on the plate with the meat cut in precise pieces. You sort of wonder how they’d prepared it, braised long enough that it’s fork tender, but still firm enough to be cut the way they did.
Seoul Night
Fort St, Auckland Central
?
There’s a photo of me about to blow a candle or candles on a cake. I’m wearing my good clothes; a short-sleeved polo shirt and pants. The shirt has some prints on it but I believe it’s basically white. I’m not sure though because the photo is black and white. All the neighbourhood kids crowd around me and I remember some of the faces, some of whom were kids much older than me. I’m probably standing on a high bench, hunched over the cake, my short arms solidly planted on both sides. I look like a princeling biding my time as if waiting for instructions from the photographer when to blow the cake. I look neither happy nor sad. I look business-like; as if I somehow knew how all this was going to play out.
I don’t remember how old I was, and I couldn’t remember how many candles there were on the cake which would’ve given than information.
20 - 30
Can’t remember at all.
40
It was a good year, but I just didn't feel like announcing it because it seemed that I already was, on Facebook. The word ‘blessed’ was being bandied around as if God was in a great mood and was passing good fortune around like party favours. I finally learned this - I don’t need to explain my life to anyone but you can always ask me. And guess what? Nobody does. Deleted my Facebook account and celebrated it by cooking three dishes I had been craving.
Thank you for the gifts!
Feeling just a bit running on low, work-wise and thinking there was going to be a break soon - like a long holiday - when I realised I had worked through the holidays.
I don’t mind it to be honest. I enjoy the work; I enjoy the privilege of it; It gives me a chance to prove that I deserve that privilege; and these aside, the overtime $$$$$$ is a nice cushion.
But I feel damned tired which I keep trying to brush away as half-mental….I’m nearly convinced though.
Easter - or Lent - in the Philippines is a far memory. As far as my inability to be able to look inward like I used to without all the crutches I have now- the phone, the internet, this satisfying, contented life.
I don’t even commune with Him like I used to and I think, I’ve become that Catholic I used to mock; those who pray only when they need something. And do I have everything then? I’d like to say that I’ve always been practical and specific about the things I want so yes, I think I have everything I think I need and wanted.
There are a couple of things however that are beyond the power of prayer - still working on those.
Life wouldn’t be without its biggest moaners, so really thankful that I’m still suspended from Twitter because I’d be sticking my unwanted opinions in if I had the chance.
It won’t be the same, but here it is anyway:
To that Papatoetoe family who claimed to not have received 15 text/email messages from the government, you’re all a bunch of FUCKING GODDAMNED LIARS.
To those Indians caught playing cricket in the park during lockdown and claiming they didn’t hear anything or couldn’t understand what the government is saying, you’re all a bunch of FUCKING GODDAMNED LIARS.
To the Republican Party, hope you all catch Covid and….(see? This is why I was suspended)
My mother has told me this a thousand times in different ways, but the gist is, ALWAYS PUT YOUR BEST FOOT FORWARD. Like always. And she practices this as well. When she would stay over for a couple of months here in New Zealand, Matt and Toni would always roll their eyes when they would ask her to go with them to the superette a few metres down the road. She would take some time to fix herself up before doing so.
And I’m the same- DON’T FUCKING GODDAMNED CARE IF I’M JUST GOING TO THE SUPERMARKET. Not going out looking like a fool because I’m not a fool. If you’re that bitch who says you don’t care about the way you look, it doesn't mean that you have strength of character for coming onto the screen in your bathrobe, hair all a mess with a sour expression to tie everything in together (people who do porn actually have the same rationale just FYI).
It just means YOU’RE UNCARING- probably of everything, and who needs a person like that? NOBODY.
I moisturise anyway 24/7 so this is a given. I tried a primer once- never really used it before- and I thought, it’s too much. What looks a tad shiny in real life, looks glossy and dewy on screen. Like I’m 20 again, HA!
I work with a window in front of me but it’s too harsh and so is the glare from my 27-inch iMac. So the curtains are closed and I turn on a yellow lamp to balance out the white light and put a cloth over it for good measure to soften the lighting a bit more.
I look human!
Happy Valentines! I felt like buying chocolates- for myself of course but then thought nah. I’ve begun putting a tiny bit of brown sugar into my espressos lately, so I should be cautious of over-doing it. Don’t want to be suddenly diabetic.
Auckland goes into another lockdown today as there are three Covid cases of still unknown origin in the community.I could say ugh, but I actually welcome it- you get to control the spread, and you get some quality work done at home without all the office distraction. Win-win really.
Plus we get to spend some quality time with our new cat Lily; and get to write; and get to work-out.
Triple win and fuck Covid!
