What I am starting to observe in this blog is that it is no longer a 100% food blog as it should be- but more of a personal diary. I have been keeping diaries since I was twelve years old and I confess that the last one I had was a dilapidated Starbucks planner where I wrote April notes on the November pages. And that last diary has been flavored with scribbled notes on the perfect mashed potatoes, the perfect pesto, Jaime Oliver's perfect French side salad (is there really a 'perfect' recipe for anything?)... and daydreamings of a very handsome lover.
And better yet- this blogging - apart from talking, is an ultimate release of my thoughts of this cooking profession.
The past few weeks have been some of the most mobile days of my little existence. Used to the sweltering heat of the kitchen, my earlier cooking years were most quiet and nonchalant and, as a Food Huntress who ate chicken intestines in the vast wilderness, I believed that the television lights should be the last thing to ever glare at my face. It was only recently that by some strange phenomenon, I have been dragged around for TV interviews- whether to be asked about the secrets of the perfect sinigang and to be featured yet again about the secrets of the perfect barbecue. Wait, is there really a 'perfect' recipe for anything? So went my few minutes of Tee Vee. No, I didn't emanate the aura of a sexy Giada nor a smart Rachel, but more of a dumb hybrid of Beavis and Butthead doing America. Why, I am a cook, not a celebrity!
There is something about TV shoots that stirs my wonder, though, and which, as a matter of fact, I seem to enjoy. First, I did enjoy the magical hands of the makeup artist who turned a rat into an empress. Then there's this lights- camera- action thing, and where, at the slightest mistake of your move, the director would cringe silently at the corner. Hahaha. And then, at the diffused lights of the studio, I almost had this urge to play act - forgetting that I was in fact wearing a cook's jacket- and try on different poses, from that Iron Chef cross- armed- serious- look to a kitchen god's paramour, to imitating my sister's playful stares at a dessert restaurant.
In between tossing vegetables in a wok and thinking of something to write about, I realize that my philosophy for sanity these days has been likened to that of a favorite dessert- the halo- halo. There's no perfect recipe for halo- halo, I'm telling you. No standard measures either. A heterogeneous mix of beans, tapioca pearls, candied fruits, custard, milky ice... etc, you are actually free to put anything into it- boiled squash, if you like. Whatever makes you feel good, everything would end fairly in you gut. Next to a precious glass of water, it is the perfect panacea to boredom, heat, and double visions brought by the bright studio lights. You'll get that delicious high and at last, in spite of the director's instructions, you are free to speak. No scripts required.