Cooking 101

Sundays in Antipolo have become an unofficial going-to-market-slash-cooking-lessons for Herbert and me. It's usually Herbert who wakes up early and drags me (forcibly) out of bed so we can go to church, proceed to market after.

Whenever we wake up late, which usually is the case, we go straight to the market and buy ingredients for our staple Sunday lunch offerings --- fish, clamshells (alternated with mussels), seaweeds, chicken (alternated with pork) --- going to mass will come at a later time.

When it gets really late, almost-lunchtime late, we don't bother tidying ourselves. Off we go, wearing the same clothes we slept-in. (It has its merits actually) We need not worry about snatchers and we can fix all our concentration on huggling, hence, getting the best out of the palengke experience.

Sunday lunches in my abode are synonymous to smörgåsbord . With only 4 of us at home (me, Bec and the 2 oldies), the feast is more than enough, so usually we partake a portion to the neighbors (much to their delight and dismay, depending on the state of the dish we offer).

Oh, if the world doesn't know yet, Herbert is an excellent cook. I can continue living life in peace, knowing I will never go hungry if he decides to take full dominance over the kitchen.

Yesterday, I cooked pininyahang manok, only without pineapple (huh?!) under the supervision of my head chef. At first it was going smoothly, I was waiting for the chicken to be tender when my head chef instructed that I should be putting the milk on the pan, so I did. But while he was busy waging war with the fish on the pan next to mine, I decided to not ask for his guidance and poured the whole can of milk onto the dish.

But when he caught me doing this, he quipped in a highly-pitched voice, "inilagay mo lahat?!" I was like "uhm, oo. lahat," with much bravado I could muster. Truth is I didn't know what I was doing, not the slightest. It was like I was programmed to think the creamier the better. the better. the better. the better?

My head chef, poured water and other magical stuff to repair the damage I have caused. In the end, it wasn't anymore pininyahang manok without pineapple but carbonara without pasta.

But lunch wasn't totally ruined, in fact, it was a very tummy-satisfying meal. Even the neighbors said so. All's well that ends well.

Lesson: Don't trust me with cooking duties. hehe!