6 DAYS IN JAKARTA

As PR 535 penetrated Indonesian airspace, the PeduliLindungi opened up to admit Passenger 42H to South Jakarta where hints of mami and arroz caldo from a delectable bowl of soto ayam campur nasi permeated a security briefing in Jalan Warung Jati Barat where the nasi goreng kampung at Baronk actually originated. 

Yes, the empanada from Jalan SMA 14, the rice pastry of the Philantrophy Building and a lunch of paket nasi ayam bakar tasted familiar but the piled plates of gulai (beef tendon, cow brain, chicken) from 42H's first ever hidang dinner in a padang restaurant were as new and interesting like going through an electronic custom declaration.  

And there was a delectable bowl of soto komplit that inspired the hijacking of La Boutique Gourmand for a virtual conclave before the Sri Kandi Room conversations where the Deputy Minister compensated a cup of overpriced coffee with elevated local snacks and a buffet dinner at La Brassiere Restaurant.   

The lady merchant from Jalan Kali Pasir with mysterious shaded eyes was never umasked, not even with another hidang style lunch in Menteng where three variations of sambal fired up plates of sate padang, ayam pop and dendeng to precede the delegation from Jalan Gunung Sahari, also concealed like those who debriefed and dined at the Clovia Restaurant.    

And Penny Lane is not a lady from Liverpool but a house of beer, a fusion of the militant with the conventional like melding pucung gabus with mac and tacos through the faulty projector of Bromo 3.1. 

One Bintang, three Bali Hais and a beer tower later, the defenders convened at Gedung SOPO MSA for a haram feast of babi panggang, saksang and babi goreng that were in fact the side dishes of a carp head arsik from Northern Sumatra who before being cooked was fattened with sayur daun singkong tumbuk and a bottle of Singaraja from Bali.

Later that night, PR 736 summoned Passenger 32H with a One Health Pass that whisked him through the express lane where he recovered lost sleep and tried to thaw a frozen shoulder... 

RED LETTER DAYS

Juan Pablo the Youngest will have the distinction of completing two years of senior high school without stepping into an actual classroom, a feat he accomplished with honors and appreciated with a Tuesday sinadag of kappukan na kambing, dinakdakan and air fried Vienna sausages; a virtual occassion attended in shorts and slippers, and celebrated on Thursday with leftover sinigang na litson, guising-guising, sisig and adobong bibe.

Then Howard Hamlin got pickled in Albuquerque in his 35-year old fine and rare Macallan whiskey so Pugad Baboy hied off to South Triangle's piece of Japan on Friday where the newest graduate of the tribe was indulged with tuna and salmon sashimi starters before wiping clean a below expectation plate of assorted katsu, a sweet pot of sukiyaki nabe, a tray of flaccid karaage and a bento box of delectable unadon that were digested with cold Kirin Ichiban malt beer.

Three days before the 24th year of receiving his birth name, Juan Gabriel the Oldest was informed that Nacho Varga got burned while being smuggled on a galleon from Mexico and brought to Intramuros where the clan scoured for traces of him in the wedding train of a bored bride at the San Agustin Church, the Manila Cathedral's non-functional walk through metal detector, Binondo's temperature check station and at the celebration of the Eucharist in Sta. Cruz.  

Nacho was not at the Batala brewery of Intramuros but perhaps incarcerated in Fort Santiago where Kuya Pepe's ghost told the Phantom Biker that he seems to be back to shooting churches in Intramuros and Binondo so why not eat noodles too while there, like perhaps an excellent al dente pancit canton that outshone Barbara's delicate adobo and usual silog dishes, or Awi's bihon pata, all bones and no meat so almost vegetarian and therefore easily eclipsed by a sizzling oyster omelette, salt and pepper tofu and even the stuffed shrimp that is not.

It was the Romans who painted both post-commencement and pre-birthday as huge red letter days with the colors of a superb hand-rolled spinach and mushroom pasta, an oven-fresh tutta carne artisinal pizza, an overwhelming graze board of cheese and cold cuts, a bottle each of Triennes red and chardonnay, and an atonement of Basque burnt cheesecake to apologize for spilling the glass wine in a floor of sourdough.  

And it was Sonora Smart Dodd who eventually settled the Sandpiper class suit and dressed the family in scarlet festals for an early breakfast of a wispy Bicolano lechon and Ilocano-grade igado, dinakdakan and pinapaitang kambing at the Sidcor Sunday Market to send off Nanay and Balong to Nueva Ecija via Baliwag Bus, Bulan to Sta. Cruz through LRT 1 and the Phantom Biker to Jakarta in PR 535.    

So Better Call Saul who had a crushed toe that might not get shoed cured with three days of counterpain mediation in the bike trails that also fixed the leaks in the roof and plumbing of the other house in Bakal 2... 

A CHEF'S hiSTORY

The Phantom Biker plunged into the rabbit hole on Monday and  emerged 5 minutes later to a feast of Heavenly Bites in Mexico where gallons of michelada hosed bags of overloaded chips, murderous desserts, insane giant burritos and frankenstein conchas and tortas off the dining tables of Oaxaca to restore the mole and mezcal as the centerpieces of Mexican cuisine thus beaming the Phantom Biker back to Bakal 2 where the candle smoke from a potted plant cake conjured a tray of sinaing na tulingan, two slabs of pork ribs barbecue, a pot of gotong Batangas and Li Hongzhang's chop suey for a Thursday birthday fete that was 18 days late because the hors d'oeuvres and wine aged prematurely in Cabanatuan.

Meanwhile in Cebu, the lobster rolls from Maine got exposed to COVID-infected reindeer meat from Helsinki so Somebody Feed Phil, not with Oregon oysters or Madrid's tortilla de patatas but with Italian salami and a goat head stew prepared by Chef Theo Dahl in the kitchens of Toscana for a sinadag in Bakal 2 that morphed into a Saturday dinner of dinakdakan, tiim na bibe, kalderetang kambing and an MILF from Baloc with a flat butt and an equally flat singing voice.  

We are A Nation of Broth chasing away hangovers and an elusive DOST scholarship with an array of jjamppong, an assortment of gukbap and a mutant budae jjigae that evolved from the workshops of applied physics and industrial engineering, so comforting even the rebooking fee from Phnom Penh was waived as the Phantom Biker emptied his matrixed irritation in the bike trails...        

GROWLING TIGER, DANCING COBRA

After 365 Days, the Sicilian mafia reinstated Saul Goodman in Season 5 so he can represent Nacho, accussed of eating the fish of a bored Laura Biel who fondly plays the clarinet for Massimo on the Thursday Group's Tuesday nights of dinakdakan and pritong bangus.  

It was however less than 365 Days This Day when the Fighting Maroons threw the game in favor of the The Growling Tigers but with the Green Cobras closing in, the Phantom Biker opted to Better Call Saul who adviced him that Saturday's sizzling sisig, pork baby back ribs, frozen sashimi and sweet nachos should precede the inihaw na pork chop at hito of Thursday since both were served in Munoz although separately by the MILF of Bakal 2 and one horny governess.

And that is how the report back from Phnom Penh went through Monday sans the rebooking, the Let's Talk sessions concluding on Tuesday and the TOR to Jakarta approved by Wednesday before Thursday's reiteration of the proposed IB regional workshop and pushing the OPA for FFA on Friday.

After six days in the trails, the Phantom Biker marked his liberation from first-Saturday-meetings by binging on two slices of pizza, a salisbury steak, chicken quesadillas, two kinds of burger and an unlimited supply of root beer.

There's no missing it and he doesn't really care.