Here’s Lunch, or what was lunch over a span of a couple days. Shrimp cooked Coconut Milk, with Calabasa (Pumpkiny almost), String Beans, and Chilis. Dinuguan (Pork Blood Stew), made up of all the good bits (Cheek, stomach, etc).

Half of the fun of taking the effort and posting food photos is describing dishes that are just foreign to other people. Not that I’ve foreign readers, its just that most of the time these photos go live on SuFu prior anything. Here’s my emphatic attempt at trying to describe Sopas.

“Anticlimactically, we just call this Sopas. Chicken broth based soup, made with whatever pasta is available. Topped with forked chicken, chicken liver, and gizard (smoked sausage sometimes too), It’s served with a final douse of milk and Parmesan (and me, more pepper).”

Up and about, I’d expect, and still am expecting that this latest bout of “frugality” is going to result in a food turn down. But, just from the looks of whats been on the meal plate as of late, it isn’t terribly bad. Then again, I don’t think the words terribly bad have ever existed in the same paragraph (be it space) as foie gras.

Dinner out, and picking something relatively simple. Foie Gras, and Mushroom Ravioli. Served in a cream, clarified butter and peppercorn sauce.

Here’s what I mean by frugal, Food Court Grub (carb on carb concept). Grilled Chicken with a Thai inspired Sweet Chili Sauce. That beside Mash Potatoes, Gravy, and a good pile of Pesto.

I think this meal personifies what I’m trying to say here (much better than foie gras filled pasta, imho). It’s not necessarily just cheaper food (which they clearly aren’t), but food that have value. A hundred pesos for carb and carb, three hundred for amazing ravioli. Value meals, in the truest sense. Least that’s from how I see it.

Created by created by Droga5 Agency, NY. Directed by Ringan Ledwidge.

It almost didn’t look like an ad. Those were probably the first nonverbal words in my head after watching this tiny short. I don’t know if there are other people who share the same sensitivity to media, but I’m left happy and amazed at how this was branded.

A minute and a half short, with room to spare. It was all they needed. A sort of, clever culmination, both subtle yet strong. I’m sure I’m with a thousand other creatives in wishing that they’d get a chance to make something similar.

In summation, I think props are in order to everyone involved. I want/ed to work with Adidas before for this sole reason. They seemed to be one of those few big companies willing to throw so much money on a creative concept, and just go with it. Apparently not. Here’s Puma, proving that cool kids don’t just wear three stripes.

Title above, by mer de noms.

I’ve been gravitating to this lately, a lot of black. Fourteen, sixteens worth. Blues, greens. Reflective of anything internal? Maybe. Dissatisfaction is the war, happiness is winning only a day’s battle. Set to default, we wake up needing.

Filmed by director Henrik Hansen

There’s a thin line between dedication and madness. It’s almost indistinguishable to some degree. The latter being true, often the case. But once it’s found, dedication, it is unmistakable. As palpable and a distinct as the smell of oil, a piece of cloth, the texture of wood.

The common run-in with the word is hearing it in a work context, “I’m dedicated to my job.”, in which I immediately (and most often, only mentally) call bullshit. The phrase itself is an oxymoron. True as the phrase, “I love shit”, rung off anyone’s mouth.

There is no title in dedication. No job, no Executive Manager. It is similarly unconscious, yes. Bound, yes. Though not to reality, but to a terminal case of gut instinct, every bit as fatal. The latter, probably why we confuse it so frequently.

Greek mythology (and Norse, and Celtic, who knows the difference really) talk of this creature, the Ouroboros. A serpent swallowing it’s own tail. It was created, in the attempt of God, to make the perfect creature. Absent of eyes, or ears. Perfect to a cursed extent needed no one else, and nothing else.

In making his motorbikes, uninfluenced, unconsciously. In a man to spend his entire life, doing only one thing. It isn’t to simply be committed, to be bound. To be dedicated, runs much deeper. For these people, for Shinya Kimura, it’s not simply so much about just bending steel. It’s in doing so, that they make a distinctly human attempt, to reciprocate an effort of God. That is dedication.

Since I Left You by The Avalanches.

When I go, this is how I’d exactly want it to be like. Cravat on tight, Hop-skip onto a chair, pirouette. Foot and hips caught in an unstoppably happy shuffle, shimmying my way on home.

Dinner, in what supposedly was “Pre-Booze”, but then what the hell. Took the drive over to Charlie’s for Beer and Nuclear Wings (which lived up to its name, judging by the “Chernobyl” everyone had the next day). The food here is always good, long as you walk in without too many expectations.

There’s been Burger Horror stories, but me sticking to the poultry, have never ran into such. If anything, I can probably leave you a word of advice, spite how good that sauce looks, or how numb to the heat you already are, do not lop that stuff up with every bite. You’ll hate yourself for it.

Post Boozing Band Aid. Sangria, and Fries over at Wingman. Now here’s a place I haven’t sat down and eaten a meal at. Though there’s been a considerate amount of time spent over drinking out front, I’ve never really eased into anything past appetizers. But if the Fries, Quesadillas and Dips serve as any barometer, it should by all means be good.

Dots and Bubbles by mer de noms.

I’m not sure if anyone remembers. I’m not sure if even I do. It’s one of those nights, too much to drink and whatnot. Well, maybe just on my end. Seeing as how the distance to drunk can get quite relative when you don’t put binging into practice as much.

Back to the story, too much to drink, yes. Hobbling around, I began to recognize that the tethered weight tugging down on my wrist was a camera. And, oh, there couldn’t be a better combination. A device needing the palpable presence of motor skills, and a person who might not have any (for the moment atleast).

Funny how people react, post photo-op, after they’ve brought out their smiles, and angles, when all you’ve to show is dots and bubbles. Spectre like things, light traces. Timed with the sincerest rendition of “It’s great no?” It’s almost unavoidable to have a couple internal laughs.

Crotch, Shoulder, Agony by mer de noms.

Close to the end of the night, and after a good amount of time having introduced my butt to a chair, I managed to settle down enough to take some that made more sense/typical (figures).

Frontier Psychiatrist by The Avalanches.

Tighten your buttocks, put juice on your chin, and promise your girlfriend you can play the violin. Lie down on the couch, while I tell you a story about Cowboys and Indians, screwing an optometrist. Your a nut, your crazier than a coconut.

From Hell by mer de noms.

Don’t take the title too literally now. No, my friends aren’t from hell, neither do they normally appear to be. Interestingly though, that’s all I could think of when I was looking over these photos. Fiends, spectres, ghouls sitting guard at the gates of Hades (Yes, to that extent).

Sans the graffiti which doesn’t really make any sense to be in there, the photos were taken and edited with as little post as possible. Call it a freak accident, perhaps the camera reveals more truth that we’d like to credit it for?

A Thursday night out, a buy-1-take-1 promo and a fortunate twist of “alcohol fate” left us having one too many of these. Cherry Beers (San Miguel Light, maybe some vodka, maybe some soda, and the cherry flavored stuff they use on snowcones).

Lunch Break with one of the most straightforward food concepts out there, Rice-In-A-Box. My order, Thai Stir Fry Chicken (My verdict? Probably never again).

Here’s something born out of consequence. Not that we need any more of a reminder, but I’m beginning to feel resigned at the thought that the traffic jams are just terrible here in Manila. Six Thirty, Seven at night, everyone is just at a mad (and hungry) dash to get home.

I’d even go as far to say that we’re on the fortunate end of the spectrum. Thrown in a roomful of impatient and starving people, a traffic jam would be the least of my worries. I started picking these up to tide me over prior to dinner. Au revoir “No Food in the Car” rule, Grilled Bratwurst (with a gratuitous amount of mayo and mustard).

And lastly, a late night snack. Looking at the photos I can’t even remember when this happened. Judging by the Sampling Platter (wont even bother trying to name it all), Kebabs, and the other times we’ve been here, It’s probably one of those nights. Drunk and hungry (not necessarily in that particular order either) instinctive autopilot takes over and brings us to this place.

It makes you wonder though. I’m probably fringing on rhetorical territory on asking, but what do they eat when they’re drunk (Middle Easterns?)? Shatfaced and drunk. Four in the morning. Anything that isn’t kebab-like is simply just the wrong answer.