A delicious mess. Boar and elk tourtière by Summerhill Winery. #devourkelowna #foodie #yum
Thanks, Garry. I was pre-occupied with ghosts at my apartment for a while. Starting to post again now :)
And a very happy new year to you!
Hello, 2014. I can’t help but feel excited. 2013 was a banner year for me. A couple of big trips went down, made some dreams come true, had my first ghostly encounter (!!), moved to a new city, got a new job, and list goes on…that was one heck of a year! I almost didn’t want 2013 to end since it was so good.
So, what’s in store for me for 2014? Well, it all starts with a dream, right? And as I’ve proven to myself in 2013, I need to act on my dreams to make it a reality - an action which required making hard decisions and believing in myself and my vision. As my favourite saying goes, "Nothing is impossible. Your greatest limitation is your own hesitation." Think about it. All your dreams are just waiting to happen too.
Because so many milestone moments happened last year, I feel I only have one “impossible” dream for 2014 (for now, anyway): I would like to find the career path that allows me to be in control and be creative. That’s it. Boring, I know. But I can feel it. There is something brewing in my universe which is why I’m feeling restless again. There is this inexplicable feeling I’ve only felt a few times in my life. And it’s here again, stronger than before. I have yet to define what this is, but I feel something big is coming my way. Bring it on! I’m ready for you, 2014.
Yay! Thank you so much. You are very sweet :) And thank you for brightening my day!
Preparing for a trip to the City of Lights in 5 days. This means trying all sort of Parisian delights in Toronto so I can compare them to the real deal. In the last few weeks I’ve consumed an obscene amount of croissants, macarons, pain au chocolat, truffles, and oh, more macarons. Now I think I’m finally ready to move on and obsess about other things such as how to dress fashion-forward yet comfortable, heels or no heels, backpack or fancy satchel, and trying to pack everything in only a carry-on luggage. These are only a few on my to-do list. Everything is still in my head and haven’t made it to the “Action” phase. Hmmm…maybe I need to add that to my list.
In the picture: Giant pistachio macaron stuffed with fresh raspberries and pistachio paste and a selection of truffles from Thobor’s Boulangerie Patisserie (627 Mt. Pleasant Rd., Toronto). They were all mighty delicious!
Give me something deep-fried, slather with thick sauce, balance out with something healthy and all is good in the world (Yeuh Tung Chinese Restaurant, 126 Elizabeth St., Toronto). This kinda sums up how I want my food at every single meal. Gross, right? But this is why I had the side order of greens.
Filipino chicken noodle soup best on a rainy day. When it’s cold and dreary outside and the ground is wet from the rain, it never fails to make me feel all melancholy and sentimental. One of my outlets is trying to recreate childhood foods exactly how I remember eating them way back when. This soup (called Sotanghon soup in Filipino) was particularly hard to recreate as it’s tied to a particular painful memory.
A long, long time ago in the Philippines (I must’ve been 6 years old), our nanny took my brother and I to the wet market for her usual market run. We were walking along when we passed by a store with a crate of newly hatched chicks. They were the cutest, yellowest little things I had ever seen. So, we brought two of them home, named them, played with them, loved them and watched them grow into proud chickens. It was at this stage that someone in our household decided they would be delicious in a meal.
(Warning, what you’re about to read next is kind of grotesque.)
I guess I didn’t put up too much of a fight. I stayed outside, out of curiosity, to watch our nanny clumsily chop the head off the chicken, then it ran quietly but furiously all over the backyard squirting blood from its neck until it keeled over (I remember thinking that if it still had its head on, it probably would’ve screamed). It was at this stage that I finally understood what just happened. Our beloved chicken is gone.
Later on that evening, we sat around the dinner table with a beautiful bowl of Sotanghon soup. I watched everyone as they ate, chatted and laughed as if the chicken they were eating was just any other chicken. Perplexed and hungry, I put a piece in my mouth, chewed it with a heavy heart and swallowed. It was like a lump of charcoal in my throat, with feathers and its sharp talons trying to scratch its way back out. As it reached my stomach, I felt it running around like it did in our backyard. Then there was quiet.
I don’t remember if I took another bite after that. Thinking about this now, I’m pretty sure that Sotanghon soup was just as good as any other. But I find it amazing how it all played out in my head at 6 years old and how I still remember every detail some 3 decades later. Thank goodness that experience didn’t scar me for life. Or did it?
All shades of brown
defiant and purposeful
unafraid of what is still to come
yet welcoming in its demeanor
like a life well lived.