Aftermath of Hurricane Athena

The cloying citrus scent assaulted my nostrils and shook me out of my drug-induced drowsiness. Like a ferocious dog, it chased away the side effects of the two 25 mg meclizine, anti-dizziness, tablets I had taken earlier that day. Scrambling out of bed in panic, I called out for my children. They came running in.  I looked them up and down and they seemed to be OK. No cuts, bruises, and broken bones. Nothing was burning. Good. I must have been dead to the world for two hours. I saw empty cereal bowls on the table. My son informed me that he already fed his sister. I smiled gratefully and ruffled his hair. Still I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Then I saw the mess.

Athena, my three-year-old daughter, had given her Sleeping Beauty Barbie a makeover. Toilet paper was strewn all over the floor. On a small table  in their bedroom was my comb, a pair of scissors, and some strands of blond hair. There was my son’s cologne, Johnson’s Citrus Scent. Empty. My eskinol-type facial cleanser was there,too. Not a drop was left inside. And my newly bought Oil of Olay Total Effects. Third one she’s wasted. Sleeping Beauty Barbie was as slick as a greased pig. My beautician wannabe daughter had slathered my facial cream all over her doll’s hair and clothes then pumped out the rest into her cup. See the milky liquid inside a pink cup with handles on both sides? See the pink bendy straw inside the cup? I suspected that the baby cologne and the facial cleanser were also squirted into that cup. O, how she loves to squirt things. What exactly was she planning to do with the cosmetic cocktail that she had mixed? Scary thought.

I shook my head and started picking things up. Athena hovered around with an anxious look on her face, expecting me to give her another of my lectures. Nothing. I just kept shaking my head. I need to hide my things better. This was one time when I couldn’t say anything. I felt defeated.

Lake Balboa Park in North Hollywood

While cooped up in the house for days due to the maddening rains, I promised myself I’d go to Lake Balboa Park once the sun came out. I developed a burning desire to take pictures of  the birds there, probably the result of watching too many nature shows. My mind was made up. I was going to be a wildlife photographer, just like in National Geographic. And why not? I have a fancy schmancy camera, the one my workaholic husband gave me last July, his “I’m sorry” gift of sorts for spending the entire day of our 11th wedding anniversary snoring away like a broken down truck engine.

January 24. The clouds had thinned somewhat. The sun, like a shy little kid, hesistantly stepped out of its hiding place. I slung my camera over one shoulder and nagged my three-year-old daughter  to quit lollygagging. She was taking her sweet time putting on her socks and shoes, refusing my offer to help.  I can’t understand why she has to insist on being independent  just when I’m in a hurry to go somewhere.

The photo above doesn’t qualitfy for a spot on National Geographic, but this is a moment I don’t wish to forget. My daughter talking to a tiny duck. Three pompous geese parading by the water’s edge, honking loudly for attention. A family of four seated on the grass, observing them with amusement. I was reminded of  Georges-Pierre Seurat’s painting, “Sunday Afternoon on the Island of Grand Jatte”. How I wish I could paint!

“Are those cormorants?”, I thought with excitement. I didn’t see a single one of those birds when I visited the park last October. I wonder if they’re just passing through. Those big black birds perched high among the trees looked like evil, ominous sentries. They’ve always fascinated me eversince I had seen the video below.

After being in the water, they like to spread out their wings for long stretches of time, as if trying to dry them up in the sun. Other water fowls don’t do this as often. They don’t seem to mind if their feathers are wet.

Cormorants are different. They’re so OC . So like my husband.

On and on I wandered, looking for interesting things to photograph. My daughter followed me around, furiously pedaling, huffing and puffing on her trike.

Finally she grew tired and reached into the basket behind her for a bag of cereal. Little did she know that she was being watched. The moment she snapped open that ziplock bag, the ducks, cautiously but persistently, waddled closer, expecting to be fed. My daughter panicked, got out of her trike, dragged it behind her, and screamed that she wanted to go home.

Don’t you just love the head of the mallard duck? Most of the time it’s just  plain black, but becomes a shimmery green when the sun shines directly on it.

Can you spot the bird? That’s a heron keeping a close watch for any fish that might swim downstream. I wish I could get a better picture. This shot was taken from above and doesn’t do justice to the bird’s beautiful form. A heron is an elegant and solitary creature. It likes to stand patiently in shallow water, far away from the noisy ducks and geese. It never moves a muscle and then suddenly…..BAM! Quick as lightning, it stretches its neck down into the water. When it straightens up, there’s a struggling fish in its beak. You can’t help but admire such a skill.

This yellowgreen bird is just a little bigger than a hummingbird. I followed it as it flitted about. Finally it settled on this tree. I stood ever so silently  and waited for it to straighten up so I can get a good shot. My daughter, not content with whining, suddenly shrieked behind me. The more I ignored her, the more hysterical she became.  See those long yellow things dangling from the branches?  The ground all around us was thickly carpetted by those yellow worm-like things. My daughter wanted me to carry her because she was scared of them. “They’re not worms, they’re parts of the tree”, I explained in frustration. “I scared the plants”, she insisted. So I clicked the camera and got this picture that I don’t really like.

We moved to a different area. I set her down. No more yellow worm-like thingies. I saw a spotted brown bird perched on this tree and tiptoed closer. My daughter, maybe wanting to be helpful, announced in a loud voice “Mom, I see a bird! There, mom. Look!”  That’s how I ended up with this picture of an escaping bird.

The sun was going down. We  left the park and dropped by my mother’s place. I was startled when I saw two piercing marble eyes staring at me from above this vine-covered fence. Crouched like a black panther, Bechang, my mom’s overweight cat, was stalking birds in the backyard. I suppose, in a way, this would pass for a wildlife photo. I snapped this picture and wagged my finger at her. “Come on, Bechang! Leave them alone. Don’t kill the cute little birds”, I lectured. My three-year-old assistant burst into tears and declared that she wanted to go home. “What’s wrong this time?”, I sighed. “I ‘fraid of cats”, she sobbed.

MY THOUGHTS

*Get longer and better lenses. Hopefully this July, when my husband snores away again on our 12th wedding anniversary. Or maybe I just need to study the manual of my camera.

*Three-year-olds don’t make good assistants.

*I bet National Geographic photographers didn’t have the kind of issues I had to deal with.

*Maybe I should start with animals that don’t move around too much. I’m too ambitious.

]]> http://chiquibaylon.net/2010/02/chiqui-wildlife-photographer/feed/ 6 http://chiquibaylon.net/2010/01/search-real-meanings-quests/ http://chiquibaylon.net/2010/01/search-real-meanings-quests/#comments Tue, 19 Jan 2010 01:11:39 +0000 Chiqui http://chiquibaylon.net/?p=1650

Long before Google became very popular and indispensible, when people wanted to find out the “real meaning” of things, they’d go on a long and perilous journey. The quest for the impossible dream. The search for the real meaning of life. Juan Ponce De Leon went on an expedition to find the fountain of youth and instead discovered Florida. On a more personal level, my friend looked into his soul and came to the conclusion that god is just a fabrication of man. He became an atheist. I, too, went on a search, albeit for something not as lofty. It was for the real meaning of cormed beef, a.k.a. carne norte.

made in australia

In the Philippines, corned beef occupies the apex of the canned food pyramid. It is a staple in most balikbayan boxes being sent home by Filipinos working in the States. I’ll never forget a coworker who told me “Chiqui, di baleng natutumba na ko sa kakatrabaho,  basta makakabili lang ako ng carne norte at maipapadala sa mga kapatid ko ay maligaya na ko.” (Chiqui, it doesn’t matter if I collapse from work. As long as I can buy corned beef and send it home to my siblings, I am happy.”) I remember him everytime I open a can. Sometimes I get teary-eyed. This guy worked 16 hours/six days a week. One day on my shift, I saw him stagger and slump into a chair. He passed out from exhaustion.  This is just an illustration of how big a deal corned beef is to most average-income Filipinos. Hence, scrutinizing its nature and history is a worthwhile endeavour.

Here in the States, where quality beef is cheap and abundant, it is not all that. In American-owned stores, you’ll usually find only one brand. Sometimes they don’t even have it. But go to Seafood City or Islands Pacific, which are Filipino-owned grocery stores, and you will see lots and lots of brands: Libby’s, Hereford, Palm, Ox and Palm, Martin’s Purefoods, etc.

made in New Zealand, they come in different flavors

Sauteed with lots of garlic and onions, who can resist its aroma? Competing with other hungry mouths at the dinner table makes it even more delicious and desirable. It’s always been my favorite as a child. I was around seven when I asked my mother, “Why do they call it corned beef? Do they put corn in it?” My mother explained that it comes from cattle that have been fed with corn. The authority in her voice  left no room for any doubts in my mind. “Makes sense,” I thought to myself. We had a 10-volume Children’s World of Knowledge. In one volume, I saw a picture of a farmer feeding his farm animals with corn.

made in brazil,never buy them, they’re clearing the amazon for cattle

For years, that was the unshakable truth that I held about his particular canned food. Then came college….. I had this roommate who was into Food Technology. We were discussing something and I got irritated with her. To stump her, I posed the question I knew she didn’t have the answer to. Why is corned beef  called corned beef? She stopped and thought for a long time. She searched her brain for food tech data, but I’m sure she didn’t find any because I noticed that there wasn’t much conviction in her voice. “They use corn as an extender for it”, came her weak answer. ”Hhhmmmph!” I snorted inwardly. When you open a can of corned beef, you’ll only see meat and fats. There is no starchy texture that may suggest corn extenders. And so we argued….

Some years later, I met an agriculture student from UP Los Banos. A light bulb lit up in my brain when he told me that he was into cattle husbandry. Maybe he knew a thing or two about corned beef. So I asked the question again. Why is corned beef called corned beef? He kept quiet. “A Food Tech student told me it’s because they use corn as extenders and my mother told me they use corn-fed cattle. Which is it really?”, I badgered him. He just went LOL. That made me feel really stupid. Looking back, I think that loud laughter was just a mask for his ignorance. He didn’t have the answer either.

I was confused when I saw this kind

I got older, graduated, started working, and became friends with a retired US coast guard. During a conversation, he mentioned that he also worked as a meat inspector at a slaughter house in the US. Bells rang in my head. I raised the question again: Why is corned beef called corned beef? I told him the different views I got from different people. “So which is it really? Corn extenders or corn-fed cattle?”, I continued. He didn’t go LOL, but I still felt stupid when he started speaking. He chuckled and clarified that “corned” is just a slang for something that is processed. Corned beef simply means processed beef.

Oh. I never expected that.

When I got home, I pulled out a rarely-used, five-inch thick Merriam Webster Dictionary from the bookshelf. I opened it up on the very dining table where I had first asked my mother the most important question of my life. Letter C. Color. Commerce. Cordial. I was getting excited. Corned. I found it! Its meaning was – preserved in salt water, processed: corned beef.

He was right.

There’s a lesson to be learned here. When I came up with the question years ago, the dictionary  that held the answer had been sitting there on the shelf. All those years…I could have looked up the word, but I chose to go around asking people. It made me feel stupid. I got into an argument. I was laughed at. I could have spared myself all that. Bottomline: Before you launch yourself into a grand quest for the “real meaning” of whatever, take the time to check the dictionary, or ,better yet, just google it.

Took out the canned jackfruit(langka) an hour ago. It would be nice to cook KBL, an Ilonggo dish of Kadyos(a type of bean), Baboy(pork), and langka (jackfruit). But here I go again….procastinating on the computer.

I don’t feel too confident about cooking this dish, I guess. Months ago, fueled by a picture on a food blog, I went out to buy some black beans (substitute for kadyos), bulalo beef cuts(substitute for pork), and canned jackfruit. I began to lose interest in my work while it was boiling away on the stove. I couldn’t understand where my dish was headed. Was it supposed to taste like bulalo or linaga?Because I was sure as hell it didn’t taste like KBL.

My husband, who (much to my irritation) always asks about the name of a dish (as if dishes were books with titles), gave me his usual “What’s that called?” question. I apologetically said “I can’t really understand what it’s supposed to be. Basta. May sabor. It’s edible.”  He smiled and answered that he’s used to my cooking by now, that nothing really surprises him anymore.

Sigh. To a lesser degree, I think I’m like my mother. And maybe this latest realization about myself is my punishment for all the times I teased her when she’d put a queer-looking dish on the table. She has the tendancy to experiment. She turns a recipe upside down by putting ingredients that are not supposed to be there. Just last weekend she served miswa for dinner. It had cabbage and ginger in it! That’s culinary innovation at its best. I kept my mouth shut this time, but in the past I would usually say, in my best announcer voice, “Welcome to the  Cooking Adventures of Dax”. She’d just laugh and counter that  cooking doesn’t always have to follow a cookbook.

If I were to grade my KBL attempt, I would give myself an NI for Needs Improvement. The meat and the beans were not tender enough. The jackfruit had somehow disintegrated. My only consolation was that  my husband ate a lot. He disappeared after the meal. When I saw him again he informed me, with a smug smile on his face, that his BM was as effortless as flowing water. Coming from him, that’s really something. Best compliment of all was when my 3 yr. old told me that she liked it and finished the contents of the bowl I gave her.

That’s not too bad for a dish I had quietly named: Identity Crisis Beef.

These sightless vines-

Who tells them just

Where to climb?

Hey inchworm!

Finish a leaf

Before you munch on another

Don’t wanna share

My garden with a worm

Wasteful, picky eater

Tiny leaves spread out

Embracing the sun

Why do plants

Do their growing

When we’re not watching?

]]> http://chiquibaylon.net/2010/01/honing-my-haiku-eye-3/feed/ 0 http://chiquibaylon.net/2009/12/3-am-food-thoughts/ http://chiquibaylon.net/2009/12/3-am-food-thoughts/#comments Sat, 05 Dec 2009 14:53:58 +0000 Chiqui http://chiquibaylon.net/?p=1559

3 AM. I am cooking. Crazy day ahead. I look up and see this can of wasabi and soy sauce almonds on the kitchen shelf. I know I bought it for my husband to snack on while at work, but I wonder what it tastes like.  Like sushi maybe. So I open it up. Not bad. I can’t stop eating, in fact. The wasabi kick, which makes sushi-eating such an adventure, is there. Enuff to sting your nasal passages, but not potent enuff to burn your sinuses and make you want to bang your head. Which reminds me…..

Wasabi mango is one chocolate concoction I can’t get off my mind. See that chocolate-filled plate above? The square one with the green and yellow stripes – that’s the wasabi mango chocolate. My god! Who would have thought that the perfect accompaniment to raw fish would taste just as good with chocolate and a fruit. Another knockout flavor is the chili apricot. It’s the one with the orange square design on it. A year ago I tasted the Lindt Cherry Chili chocolate bar. It was okey, but the chili was almost imperceptible. If you eat it like a pig, you would hardly notice its presence. But this one… Whew! When you bite into it, the first thing you notice is the sweetness of the apricot. And just right after you say “So where’s the chili?”, you feel its unmistakable warmth spreading down your throat.

And the best thing about my newly discovered gustatory pleasure is that it’s being made just a block away from where I live. They come from a store called L’ Artisan de Chocolat. What a surprise! Our area is not exactly the best piece of real estate around. Just yesterday the police had closed off  several streets because of a robbery that took place  two blocks away. Traffic was moving at a snail’s pace. Two police helicopters were circling  close to our apartment.  Black and white cars are a common sight here. You’d never, for a moment, think that this could be a place for an award-winning chocolatier. Beverly Hills maybe, but not Koreatown.

I feel like giving myself a knock on the head. This place has been around for six years and I learned about it only last month. First week of November – the kids and I  drove beyond First and Virgil. Just a few feet away from that intersection, maybe five to ten feet away from that Korean nightclub that we see all the time, was a small brick storefront. French flag hanging above the doorway.  ”L Artisan De Chocolat” , I read the sign in my best french-sounding voice. I pointed it out to my son and suggested that we check it out the following week.

The store is actually bigger inside. There’s a small area for displaying their wares. Most of the space is used as a workshop. When we came in, a friendly gentleman with a french accent greeted us. He was making chocolates with a Korean lady. I learned, when I visited their website, that they are a husband and wife team, trained in a French culinary school. Their work has earned them many  awards. Mostly they supply restaurants and hotels. Hotel Sofitel of Beverly Hills is just one of their famous clients.

ginger, korean garlic, and olive

Since this discovery I know I won’t be stopping by the Godiva chocolate store anymore. These candies are just as expensive as Godiva, but not as sweet. Their flavors are extremely adventurous. First time I was in the store, my heart was racing and I couldn’t stop grinning. Inside their display case was a wealth of  chocolate combinations I’ve never even thought possible.  Hibiscus (Gumamela), rose, bacon, kumquat, tomato, pumpkin, rosemary. OMG! I remembered Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Jelly Beans in the Harry Potter novel. What are they gonna come up with next? Booger and pencil shavings flavor?  My son and my mother rave about the Korean Garlic. I haven’t tasted it, but it’s next on my list.

hibiscus, melon,  and tomato

]]> http://chiquibaylon.net/2009/12/3-am-food-thoughts/feed/ 9 http://chiquibaylon.net/2009/11/garden-pests/ http://chiquibaylon.net/2009/11/garden-pests/#comments Tue, 03 Nov 2009 21:29:48 +0000 Chiqui http://chiquibaylon.net/?p=1504

Chaos ensued in my mother’s garden two Sundays ago when these creatures were spotted. Four fierce-looking worms straight out of a science fiction movie. They were as long as my ring finger, oozing green goo, plump and juicy after having feasted on the leaves/stalks/fruits of my mom’s cherry tomatoes. I screamed. My three-year-old ran from her grandmother’s side to me. But because I was just as scared as she was, she fled whimpering back into the house. My mother rushed after her.  Startled, Rupert, my son, pulled his hands away from the tomatoes he was picking. Then he jumped up and down, all the while saying “Uggh! Uggh! Uggh! Uggh!”.

When calm and order was restored, I picked them up with tongs and put them in a glass jar. They could be butterfly caterpillars. Who knows… It would be nice to see them go through their metamorphosis. My kids would enjoy that. Feisty critters. They won’t go without a fight. When they felt the tongs touch them, they quickly raised the front ends of their bodies and turned to face the metal implement. Fighting stance. Then they lunged forward to attack it. That’s Manduca Sexta for you, a.k.a. Tobacco Hornworm, the natural pest of tomato plants. It is green with seven white diagonal stripes on both sides of its body, and a red curved tail that looks like a horn. You will also see it feeding on potatoes, eggplants, and tobacco.

Two days after their capture they stopped moving, shrank, and turned brown. I was worried that maybe they’re sick or dying. I learned , after searching the internet, that they’re in their prepupation stage, getting ready for the big change. So now we’re just waiting. I don’t know when they will get their wings. Hopefully we’ll get to see them fluttering about in the plastic container that used to belong to our turtle, Mojo. They’re not going to turn into pretty, multi-colored butterflies like I hoped they would. The Manduca Sexta is a caterpillar that transforms into a plain, and not-so-pretty brown moth called Caroline Sphinx. That’s okey though. We’ll still keep them til they  spread their wings. It’s not everyday that you get to see a miracle of nature. I’m really tempted to squash them. They’re gonna mature and breed more garden pests. But my friends told me that even pests have a role in ecology and that I should put them back in their natural habitat. Huh!  I’m thinking- the friends who said that have never had a plant eaten up by worms with insatiable appetites. So, here I go again with my worm issues. I’m so getting tired of this.

]]> http://chiquibaylon.net/2009/11/garden-pests/feed/ 5 http://chiquibaylon.net/2009/10/grandpa-and-baby-girl/ http://chiquibaylon.net/2009/10/grandpa-and-baby-girl/#comments Thu, 29 Oct 2009 21:01:38 +0000 Chiqui http://chiquibaylon.net/?p=1488

Took these pictures of an old Korean shopkeeper and a little girl that he was probably babysitting for the day. Couldn’t resist it. They gave me an early morning laugh. I went into his store on the corner of Third and Vermont streets to have a key duplicated. I also wanted an adjustment on my watch bracelet. While the laconic old man went behind the counter , the little girl went around the store like a tornado in pink and stripes, opening shelves and turning on musical toys.  Seeing her grandfather  working on my watch , she also got some tools and started pounding away on a low bench, glancing at him from time to time just to make sure she was doing it right. Funny girl! When it was time for me to go, she hurriedly snatched a few of her grandpa’s merchandise and gave them to me. This girl enjoys playing shop just as much as I did when I was small.

Flashback: 1975-1979, Riverside Bakery, Me, Bambi, Ritchie, Michi, Rikki, tearing up bags of candies being sold by my Lola, Love, Snow Bear, Kendi Mint, White Rabbit, setting up shop by the fence just a few feet away from my Lola’s bakery, calling out to passersby to come and buy our purloined candies, my poor grandmother, she never complained. How could she have been so tolerant?