Sunday, August 31, 2014


Perhaps I should try the Italian section, which I did, after the quartet did a sorry rendition of Bruno Mars' "When I Was Your Man" and The Script's "Than Man Who Can't Moved", although the pasta chef asked for my selection back because it was not heated, which when returned surprisingly blended well with sashimi that is the highlight of a gluttonous SUNDAY lunch at Dad's World Buffet. 

The next day, I am sure that there was indeed pancit canton on the catered dinner of shanghaied fish flakes, chicken adobo wafting of lemon grass, guising-guising nearing the jellying stage, lengua creamed to the max, and lechong kawali minus the crunch as the Lodge of Instruction concluded on a MONDAY that was supposed to be a national holiday.

That was prelude to a welcome road trip that got somehow doused by an extremely disappointing serving of what looked like pasta pesto left languishing in the serving tray for too long as a ho-hum TUESDAY suddenly exploded with an impromptu cover of Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World" which threatened to burst the basement seams of the Sulo Hotel...

...the same lonely pasta pesto making an almost sadistic comeback on WEDNESDAY, so redundant I refused to have anything to do with it, before a somewhat assuaging thrill of finally feeling Fred's Revolucion and that unforgettable Thai fish curry on crispy noodles of theirs cooked in Che Guevarra's kitchen and washed down with pitchers of fresh mango daiquiri.  

THURSDAY was a bore which I killed pretending to be a lawyer revising an amendment to a contract, and then walking all levels of the Trinoma Mall until almost succumbing to the temptation of the Hanamaruken Ramen  before settling for two scoops of Pinoy-flavored ice cream. 

And then FRIDAY, no pansit, only ginisang monggo and fried lapu-lapu for lunch, and a boring business meeting which I pretend not to be attending by doing a futile attempt in bringing to life the ramen announced in an ad magazine, during which I came up with an alibi not to attend another contract signing, and got me a hitch to the Baliwag bus station for the long ride back home.

The next day, two huge bilaos of sotanghon guisado was served with breakfast hotdogs and eggs, so huge they looked almost untouched as Kuya Monic's Masonic orientation spilled into the regular SATURDAY meeting, surviving merienda and lunch with barely half of one consumed, extending into fellowship time before being sent to the gas pump attendants, the other bilao finding its way to Guimba where a horde of drunken anniversary celebrating alumni finger-ate it until its edible life span expired.

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