Letters to Marge (Chapter 33): A Slice of Saturday (or is it still Friday night?)

me looking at the Army Navy
serving counter in a very
"Night Hawk-ish" moment.

Dear Marge,

Nope, no lectures today. Just a little drop by.

Your mother is currently pregnant with your sibling. Please note the ambiguously gendered noun. Oh my, doesnt the word "sibling" sound a wee bit cold? But no, we still dont know if the bean of jelly in your momma's belly is a boy or girl.

Anyways, i have been dispatched at a little past midnight to the nearest spot that sells taco, because your mother caught Robert de Niro's "Machete" on HBO.

So there. Oh, order's done. Gotta run.

'catch you later.

Love,

Dad

random shots snapped while
avoiding a road accident.
(don't try this at home, kid)

P.S. your mother ordered a soft vegetarian taco, a tortilla soup (without the tortilla. Yeah...), and i got myself a bit of onion rings.

UFC Sarsarap... "...put your hands in the air..." ...and nutrition out the window!

The whole concept behind the economies of scale has always been a fact of life here in the Philippines. But some "product developers" (or mad scientists) at pseudo-ketchup mega-brand UFC have just insulted the Filipino middle class even further. (And the citizens don’t even know it yet.)

Introducing UFC Sarsarap Rice Buddy! The latest “product” from another semi-monopolistic conglomerate aimed at making a buck off hapless people, while helping push the rapid downward spiral of Filipino malnutrition even faster than ever.

"...But man… to peddle a product of such questionable value..."

As an ad guy for over a decade and a half, I can imagine the ultimate joke is that the cost of the tri-media ad campaign, the fees of a has-been celebrity endorser, the product development fees of the creative house, the “research and development” costs, and the production cost of the sachet packaging makes the cost of the actual product mere crumbs.

At P5.00 per sachet (suggested retail price), I’m guessing that a few milliliters of starch, sugar, MSG, breadings, flavoring powder, and of course water will chalk up less than a single Peso at the most. And I’m being generous there.

So the product exists mainly so we can see a poor cup of rice haplessly made to look like said has-been celebrity endorser singing a sad, sad tagline: “No more lonely rice.”

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"...so rich and delicious that people sometimes came by to buy only the sarsa..."

In the advertising universe not too long ago in an ethical galaxy now far, far away… there was a beloved product called “Mang Tomas Sarsa ng Litson.”

People may not know this, but legend has it (according to my yaya, when I was a child) that there really WAS a Mang Tomas lechon store in Metro Manila. And the legend further states that their “sarsa” (or liver gravy, for non-Filipinos who may be reading this) was so rich and delicious that people sometimes came by to buy only the sarsa.

Fast forward to the present. The lechon store is no more (was it ever?), but the bottled sauce lives on. People have made “Mang Tomas” a staple in the cupboard. Used with or without lechon. Now the concept of using anything one can find in the cupboard to top off some rice, whether it be with some soy sauce, or a pinch of salt, a bit of bagoong, a spot of banana “ketchup,” or (horrors) Mang Tomas, is a common practice in every Filipino home. In my “growing years” (which didn’t do me much height-wise), I have wolfed down up to five cups of rice matched up against a single tablespoon of bagoong (again, shrimp paste, for non-Pinoy readers).

At one point, Mang Tomas “Sarsa ng Litson” was relaunched into “All-Around Sarsa” with an amusing ad campaign that featured local band, Parokya ni Edgar. One of the most memorable moments of that ad was when Mang Tomas was used (horrors, in public view!) to top off rice as a viand substitute, and even as a bread spread (again, horrors!).

But see, while some people found it demeaning, it was being done. And at the very least, it was presented merely as an “alternative use.” It’s pretty common to find a bottle of Mang Tomas in very other Filipino home. What the residents do with their sauce is none of anybody’s else business.

But man… to peddle a product of such questionable value to capitalize on a people trying to scrimp and save in every possible aspect, and render them even more malnourished than ever… a whole new level, man… if they used the money to produce the Sarsarap monstrosity and diverted it into a rural feeding program, they can probably cover a few hundred barangays.

I have been told that Sarsarap isn’t doing too well in the stores. I hope it falls sooner than expected. Because while I believe that Pinoys really are hanging on to every Peso like crazy, they still have enough self-respect to not want to be caught dead with a “product” that is pretty much little more than an added insult to a nation’s already deep injury.

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‘catch you later…

Weekend Northern Food Trip (Part 3)

When I started dating the lady who would become my wife over a dozen years ago, I visited Pampanga religiously. I actually found the city to be charming and bustling with promise. Bearing the promise of better days after having finally recovered from both Pinatubo and the sudden exit of the affluent constituents of Clark Air Base.

Of course, there was the indelible identification of good food with the Pampangueños, together with the beautiful Capampangan women. Top this off with an ambitious master plan of developing what was Clark Air Base into a fully functional eco-zone complete with office complexes, factories, and duty-free shops, and you’ve got a city with a perfect blueprint for prosperity.

So the PX-goods were gone, to be replaced with quaint cafes, holes in the wall that served great Capampangan food, and little boutiques that offered selected dry goods now mostly bought from Manila. But the city was alive, and dreams were overflowing along with laughter sweetened by halo-halo.

That was then. This is now.

Driving back to Manila, the wife bemoaned the state of the city she once called home. Both saddened and relieved that she now lived in the big city.


We’ll drive back again sometime soon. Hopefully, there will be working air compressors then, and Victor’s will look enticing again…



(as written March 3, 2008)



* * * * * * * * *



Epilogue:


With no pending need for compressor hose heads, we happily breeze through Angeles City around a month and a half after the above from two days of work in Baguio City. It was dinner time on a Saturday night, and the barbeque boutiques along MacArthur Highway were alive and literally smoking hot. Invitingly so.

(Only two days previous, April 17, 2008, we found out over the news that Lucia Lagman Cunanan, better known as Aling Lucing, Pampanga's "Sisig Queen" was brutally murdered. Sadly, the lively octagenarian will not live to see her name proliferate even more as her namesake sisig restos sprout around Manila. My very pregnant wife joins her fellow Capampangans in mourning the loss of one their champions in giving the country a popular face to their home province of Pampanga.)

So where was I...? So I finally convinced my wife to agree to stop by Victor's BBQ (that's what it says on the signboard, dude...) for the sisig, crispy barbecued pork ears, and other fat-laden forms of tasty suicide we've become familiar with over the past decade.

Yes, it was unhealthy, and according to the ads will do a number on my liver, but it was damn good.

Weekend Northern Food Trip (Part 2)

We went around to the Nepo complex. The complex used to serve as Angeles City’s retail repository of PX cast-outs from Clark Air Base and its many GI’s. Considered one of the better polished food places of the area was “Perfect Loaf,” a bakery and café, which was a favorite of the wife back when she maintained a little boutique at Nepo Mart 1. We dropped in and were pleased to find that while Nepo Mall helped cause the nigh-absolute crumble of Nepo Mart 1 and 2 save for a few shops still valiantly open around the perimeter, Perfect Loaf remained lively, and the food was still good.

We wanted to cap off the evening with sisig at Victor’s along the northbound side of MacArthur Highway just a bit past the Dau terminal district. But before that, we had to get our tires checked since they seemed to be on the under-inflated side. Lo and behold, we went through a total of five (count ‘em FIVE) major gas stations only to find that their air hoses and gauges either didn’t work or wasn’t available, or the compressor was off until morning, or there was simply no facility.

We found out that unscrupulous creatures actually stole the hose heads off the air pumps to sell the metal as scrap. What have we become…?

This caused a lot of stress for my wife, who was horrified at the thought of hitting the expressway with under-inflated tires (of course!), and on top of it all, she was almost embarrassed at the state of things in a city she grew up in.

And to add insult to injury, Victor’s BBQ (as the sign has always said) didn’t look the same. The plump lady who chopped stuff up to put your sisig together, wasn’t there, and it looked liked there was only one staff person present, with only one table having a couple of customers. And they didn’t look too friendly either. So we turned back and waited until we reached North Park in Banawe Avenue (QC) to grab dinner.

Dammit... Larry J. Cruz is dead...

Dammit... Larry J. Cruz is dead...

For the unsophisticated pedestrian, Lorenzo "Larry" J. Cruz is the universal connoisseur best known as the cultural visionary who conceptualized, owned, operated several theme restuarants around Metro Manila, particularly in the Malate district, which is considered by many as the hub of Manila's literati and bourgois.

There was a time when I visited Cafe Adriatico up to four nights on a single week. Sneaking out late at night (as I was then only a teen-ager) with my notebook in hand (no PDA's back then, and laptops were a huge luxury), wearing shorts, top-siders (en vogue back then), to drive to Cafe Adriatico for a smoke and a cappuccino to scribble whatever verse streamed into my head. The waiters knew me by name, knew my drinks based on the company I had along, and even chatted me up from time to time. Heck, I even watched a few waiters climb from newbie, to manager... (a holler out to Domeng, Chris and Edwin, who is now a staple in also LJC-owned Cafe Havana)

Back then (around 1991), knowing the difference between an espresso, a cappuccino, and a latte meant you had an unofficial right to raise your nose a bit and wave off your commoner colleagues back into their Nescafe-stained cups and corners. The funny thing was, I was only 18. A subtly snot-nosed 18 year-old, who loved the taste of his coffee as much as the chattering sounds and slightly musty smell of Pledge on old wood permeating in the cafe...

But man, Cafe Ad' (as I refer to "Cafe Adriatico Premiere" abrieviatedly) made my neurons go totally wild and absa-tively alive... maybe it was something in the cappuccino... i don't know... But i wrote some of my best poems in there with that cappuccino in front of me steaming away...

I loved the place so much, that I always half-hoped that LJC (as Larry Cruz is usually referred to as) would drop by, and I would thank him for putting a place that has brought so much to my life. From time to time when the wife and I would drop in (more and more seldomly nowadays since I now live in QC), I would still hope a somehow of running into the cultural icon that was Larry J. Cruz.

Sadly, I never have. And now, I never will.

But for what it's worth... Thanks, Larry (can I call you "Larry", sir?)... Many hours and nights of my most important and formative years were spent in your cafe. I raise my cup to you, sir.

Mr. Lorenzo "Larry" J. Cruz passed away in Washington, last February 4, 2008.

Cafe Adriatico photo from smarttravelasia.com, by Vijay Verghese

Weekend Northern Food Trip (Part 1)

The whole idea was to have a nice provincial Saturday evening at the wifey’s hometown of Angeles, Pampanga. With the highlights being a cool nostalgic food trip of merienda (snack) at Corazon, a visit through Nepo, and capped off by yummy lip-smacking sisig at Victor’s along the highway. (The wife detests the wildly popular Lucing’s sisig, which she finds too fatty for her taste. I personally like it BECAUSE of the fat content, and the sizzling plate serving doesn’t hurt either. But alas… the bitch, oh I mean the “queen” has spoken… heh heh…)

And so we were off to the NLEX (North Luzon Expressway), a.k.a. “the most unreasonably expensive tollway on this side of the planet.”

We quickly proceeded to the Corazon district in Angeles for halo-halo. This is not to be confused with Razon’s of Guagua, which has successfully proliferated and overpriced itself back in Manila. I’m guessing the actual name of the business establishment is “JaJa,” with the “Halo-Halo sa Corazon” added as a descriptive suffix. Nonetheless, it has been referred to “Halo-Halo sa Corazon” for as long as I remember…

“we went all the way to Angeles, and all I took was this really bad photo of a rather pedestrian streamer…”

Forgive this idiot for not taking a photo of a visually unremarkable dessert served in a rather common-looking drinking glass. The ingredients aren’t even colorful, just various shades of yellow and brown, and the white of the ice. But while the presentation was unremarkable, the taste, texture and experience are beyond description.

Thing is, all ingredients save for the evaporated milk are homemade, which guarantees that their taste will survive various government regime changes, and over-commercialization of the condiment makers of this earth. They make their own sweetened red beans, sweetened bananas, macapuno strips, and their secret recipe pastillas (custard), the thought of which makes my mouth water just remembering it. All these are spooned generously into the aforementioned unremarkable glass, topped with shaved ice, and finished off with evaporated milk.

Your mouth watering yet? :D

Now oddly enough, the spotlighted halo-halo is usually supported by side orders of pancit palabok, nicely tart and tasty dinuguan (blood stew, believe it or not…), together with the obligatory chunks of puto (white sticky rice sponge cake).

And we’re off to other corners of the once-glorious city of Angeles…

(to be continued)