Belated happy birthday Lei
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.
Burnt Basque Cheesecake
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).
Cooking pork belly #1,001,000 (this one works!)
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.
Multi-tasking. Sunday night. In bed
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”
12
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.
Nights in Seoul
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
Birthdays
?
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!
Easter postscript
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.
Lockdown part 5
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)
How to Zoom. Properly
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.
Today Feb 14
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!
Converse Pro leather Bandulu Mid Flux Gum Light
Honestly, I’ve never liked high tops.
I just find them uncomfortable and painful- they don’t have much cushioning you see - but this hasn’t stopped me from buying a couple of pairs through the years simply for the fashion. A worn, threadbare pair provides that stark contrast to dark, indigo Selvedge jeans for example, or that long monochrome look with black skinny jeans. I’ve also worn them for a while with shorts and tied their usually long laces at the back of my ankles in a knot like high-school kids do.
I’ve had variants of the Jack Purcells as well as a pair of that collaboration with Comme des garcons, which I left by mistake in a hotel in Singapore. Would I buy these leather ones? Not really, but what’s cool about these is that what I mistook to be paint splatter are actually embroidery which is what the European brand Bandulu does. Just wondering how durable the embroidery is; the shorts are cute tho..
Today Feb 12
Protect your tree
I have a favourite tree at the Papakura Central Park. It is some sort of pine. When I pass by it, I always stop and put my hands on its trunk, my eyes closed for a moment. Being connected to a living organism is not stupid; but developers who can’t work their way around them are. Would I protest when my favourite tree is in danger of being cut down? I won’t be as brave, but this kid is.
People who voted for Trump are also complicit
If you’re watching the Trump Impeachment Proceedings The Sequel, you’d know that it’s pointless reasoning with a party that sacrificed their testicles at the altar of Trump. So now the House Democrats want to convince the 73 million or so who voted for him. Good luck with that! Those stupid turds are even worse.
Purchase
I bought an adjustable weights bench for $154 on Trade Me. It came unassembled of course like everything else in this country. But putting it together wasn’t as hard as I thought. It actually gives you an idea on how sturdy it is; let’s put it this way- it’s just right for my 5 foot 8 and a half, 74 kilogram frame. Any heavier = 👻. So officially starting on weight training again which I’ve postponed for the longest time.
Law of nature says, only the fittest survive
And this applies to businesses as well. Queenstown is still moaning about its situation and still deaf, blind and dumb to the reality of 2021 which hasn't changed much from 2020- Covid is still raging; vaccines are not the 100% guaranteed fix we expected them to be; we still need to have our borders closed. The loss of a business is not comparable to people getting sick and dying, period.
Peace of mind is...
Being suspended from Twitter; everyone needs intervention- like Donald Trump- and me. It’s like being super-drunk at your own birthday party I guess, is the perfect analogy. It’s your birthday but someone still has to be somewhat responsible for you when you start being a danger to yourself.
Not looking at online stores too much and thinking you need another pair of jeans; of course you do need another pair of good jeans, but it’s now thinking beyond that and visualising about what happens when you don’t buy it. Turns out, there’s no difference except that you’ve saved that $280 for something else.
Going to bed and not thinking of anything at all; or thinking of possibilities, instead of what-ifs. I do sleep well but discovered lately that I can maximise the benefits of a good night’s sleep by choosing to think of creative things.
Cleaning up, everyday
Creative projects; will reveal details soon
Nothing really new
I wouldn’t be too quick to say goodbye to 2020 just yet; the New Year seems to have been just a short reprieve; a short if not necessary break; a short bridge where looking over your shoulder, you still see that motherfucking Donald Trump, a new Covid variant, and shoes which in hindsight you should’ve bought but didn’t.
The holidays 2020
Christmas was good.
Everyone that I love and care about (shockingly not that very many) are safe and well; I ate what I wanted (my top priority for the holidays); I gave a ton of great gifts, got a ton in return; work is humming, and Trump is OUT.
Managing chaos
Do you sometimes get the sense that no matter what you do, the normal state of things is really chaos and disorder?
I have heaps of work leave so on days when my boss is away and when there are no deadlines or pressing work stuff, I would take the day off in order to ‘put things in order’ as I would describe it. For me, relaxation and a calm mental state is not possible when your side-table is dusty, there is a pile of unsorted laundry, or there are no meals set for the last two days of the working week.
But even as i get everything done, there is always that feeling of undoing- everything would be undone again later, tomorrow or in two days. And what if you were sick and physically unable to maintain it? Who would do it? How would you do it?
It seems that no matter how good and efficient you are, you can’t win against time. Against disorder. Against death and decay.
But oh well! That's life. There’s also comfort in the thought that I have no plans of stopping, no plans of not trying. Just give me a minute will you, to catch my breath and I’ll get onto it…
The List of Things To Do:
Proper gardening
Studying Google Analytics
Read four books by the end of 2020
Bake a complicated cake
Gym and general bodywork
Write a new short story before the end of the year
sort my mountain of clothes
finish one proper artwork
make a complicated dish
write a letter and post it
Today's thought
When I was about Chini’s age, I occasionally questioned life itself- why was I here? How did we get here? Was there something beyond? It wasn’t at all a scientific or religious or supernatural question. It was simply being hyper-aware of your physical body and projecting your mind outward out of it, if that makes sense.
And I sort of succeeded, like an out of body experience but I was awake. I was able to untether myself- maybe it was disassociation? But whatever it was, it felt weird because nothing really happened, but something did happen. The feeling I got was an immense, but comforting sadness. I didn't get any answers, but I felt it- knew innately, that even as it was out of reach or sight, it was out there.
As I got older, I’ve tried to do it again but couldn't .
Ironically, my own mind is in the way. Imagine standing in front of a thick forest and the shortest way is straight through it, but I always resist. My mind is telling me that there are other ways, other routes. And I believe it.
My legs feel heavy, or I think they are. Or that I have a headache, except that I never really get headaches.
I spend weekends thinking that the greatest barriers to my life are my mountains of unorganised clothes or shoes; or that I need more of them to conquer challenges and fulfil aspirations (dressed in style of course); or that an epiphany is one amazing dish away, the flavour of which is the trigger; or that cleanliness and efficiency- vacuuming done in 30 and laundry in one- puts you next to godliness, because how can one be infallible and all-seeing when you’re mired in clutter?
I know- I’ve lost it.
Post-everything
The first mutation came from the election night viewing party at the Navy Mess.
The secretary of housing and urban development put out a press release that he was fine after being the 3rd person from the party to test positive. He was exhibiting no worrying symptoms that made it necessary for hospital confinement. He was isolating at home and his wife, results still pending, was doing the same in their other home in Long Island. At a press conference, a reporter mentioned that generally, the second week may bring more troubling symptoms but the spokesperson, a tall blonde in a tight cream pant-suit with a slight midwestern twang ignored the comment and even rolled her eyes. She wasn’t being paid enough for this bullshit. She had looked forward to this- your time to shine, her mother always told her- but she was only fronting the press because the one with a higher rank than her was unavailable, and so was the person higher than that person and going all the way up tp Miss K The Mighty One.
Miss K was safely ensconced in her 6 mil modern Tudor manse in Spring Valley. Probably touching up her hair (and face) with an army of hairdressers and stylists who were only recently asked to wear masks. She hadn't been seen in the premises the day after the election when everyone woke up to find that the other guy had clawed himself out of oblivion and was now president-elect. Nobody really believed the boss’s ranting about fraud, cheating and dead people voting. They all knew. She did too. it was all everyone could talk about weeks before the election, even if you had to be very careful about who you discussed it with. She was honestly surprised that the public didn’t even pick up on it the moment the boss started building the narrative of illegal ballots. It was all planned because they knew it was going to be close, and it was. At the end of the day, they couldn’t close the gap and all hell broke loose.
When she got the memo telling her that she might front the press because so and so was away somewhere, she initially felt euphoric and then later, deflated. There was no opportunity in this at all- just 15 minutes and mainly covering health updates regarding the election night party where three attendees including the sec of housing had tested positive. She squirmed at the thought- she almost went to the viewing party when Ms-Higher-Up-Than-Her rang & asking her to come over to discuss something. All the main players were there including the boss’s campaign manager. This was her chance to show them that there was more to her than just being a former Ms Kansas USA title-holder.
But she didn’t even get inside. Ms-Higher-Up-Than-Her was outside the closed door on her phone and when she saw her approach, held out a finger for her to stop. She babbled on for about 10 minutes. Someone inside yelled Ohio. When she was done, she motioned for her to come closer and she was instructed about what was possibly going to happen in the next 48 hours. She crinkled her nose ever so slightly- Ms-Higher-Up-Than-Her’s breath smelled of cigarettes, wine (rose??) mixed with Chanel.
‘You’ll get a memo of course, in case you forget’ Ms-Higher-Up-Than-Her said, dismissing her with a wave before taking out her phone to make a call.
When she did get a memo three days and three positive cases later, she also got a confidential email from Ms-Higher-Up-Than-Her telling her that she WASN’T (this was typed all-caps) really at the party. That she never went inside. That she waited outside the door talking to someone on the phone until she had arrived, had their discussion, made another phone-call and left for the night. Uh-okay, she thought. Whatever. She was honestly over this whole virus thing. Mexico, she thought. Somewhere really warm. Is there travel to Mexico? Of course; she remembered the Mexican president’s visit and how friendly he was to the boss.
‘Is Mr. C concerned that in most cases, the onset of more dangerous symptoms happen in the 2nd week’, some guy from the Post asked. Didn't she already sort of answer this question, that Mr. C was fine and on his way to recovery?? And she wasn’t a doctor for Christ’s sake. Someone sort of asked another question (it wasn’t for her) so she just ignored the guy from the post and said yes, putting on that dazzling veneered smile that won her the title of Ms Kansas USA. Five more minutes of this & everything was going to be just fine.
(But it wasn’t. By Wednesday, the sec of housing & urban development started to cough persistently and violently and it wouldn’t stop so he rang 911. The reports after that were not clear, swept aside by a tide of fear and panic that arrived quickly and brutally. But the pattern was the same; the patient would go into an extended bout of paroxysmal coughing triggering cardiac arrest. Then about 10 to 15 minutes later, what was presumably a non-beating heart roars back to life. But the patient is neither conscious it seems nor really alive in the true sense of the word. The condition was feral and the body’s state in the first 48 hours could only be described as hyper-human regardless of the age or condition of the body. It was also contagious, passed on by bites. The driver of the ambulance that brought the sec of housing was oblivious of what was happening in the back; by the time they arrived at Walter Reed hospital, it disgorged a gaggle of contagion that quickly enveloped the greater Washington area within 24 hours.
It didn't help that the boss’ advisers- still tiptoeing around him- thought it was another piece of ghastly news spread by the fake media and put into effect a news blackout. By the time they realised that it was real - a livestream of a far-right rally in Virginia suddenly engulfed in hordes of infected ferals was broadcast on Fox- the infection had spread to North Carolina, New Jersey & New York.
The secret service flew the president-elect to a secret bunker on the West Coast as a hastily assembled cabinet grimly worked on the urgent task to formulate a plan of attack.
The boss, by now reeling with events that seemed even stranger than his election loss, managed to finally get on a chopper with his secret service agents and ordered his staff to go to his resort in Florida against their wishes. It’s fortified like Fort Knox and big, he screamed. We’ll be safe there! What he didn’t know was that in the midst of clearing out guests and non-essential workers, the mostly Cuban-American staff hid family members in the grounds for safety; two of them would later become infected).
Would you like another glass? She was nodding on & off, feeling perfectly content. Yes, please she replied to the stewardess who handed her a flute of champagne. She looked out the window, the horizon a very pale band of yellow. She couldn’t even remember what time she’d be arriving in Puerto Vallarta; she had left in a blur. Filing for leave was easier than she thought it would be; everyone was in a state of both panic and suspension that HR approved it without much thought. She was glad to leave all of that unpleasantness behind. I need to decompress, she told herself, to find some inner peace.
She had switched off her devices and vowed not to look at the news- she was done wth the goddamned news; her plane on its 40 hour plus course had left by the time the news blackout was lifted.
A new day, she thought looking out at the sunrise & tipping the glass to her lips. The champagne was beautifully crisp & cold..ahh the life..and then something seemed to catch, like there was a tiny, sharp prick to her throat. She coughed. The prick was now a stab and taken aback, the pain searing, she clutched at the back rest in front of her. Her eyes watering, her vision swimming there was only one primal thought- she needed to get rid of whatever was clutching at the inside of her throat. She coughed and coughed and for a second, she thought she found relief. But it was only the blankness of death. The worse was yet to come, but mercifully for Miss Kansas USA, she wouldn’t know any of it really.