Gourmet Food and a Story
Written by keysinunez.com on 3/23/2008 – 5:42 pm - 754 Views
I’ll post the recipe as soon as it gains the approval of my chef-friend, who’s currently in the States.
I actually have a ton of recipes waiting to be posted. It’s just that I’m busier than that guy who manages Neil Crespi .com. LOL.
Moving forward, since we’re on the topic of food, here’s a repost of a popular story that I wrote about a year ago.
At that time of the day, it was as if the shadows were playing with it. It had certain angles when it looked threatening and eerie, and iIf you changed positions, it would look hilarious.
A view from the top right corner would make it look solitary and sad, as if it were left by it’s mess. The angle at which I view it makes the shadows long and narrow, as if it were standing on a lone desert dune watching the sun, its only companion in its soliloquy, set in the horizon.
The sadness which the shadows project on it makes me want to shed tears, but again shifting positions draws out terror in my heart for when I bring it at eye-level, it is suddenly looks imposing and dominating, as if Genghis Khan were standing right in front of me, waving his sword about.
The crushing jolt of my imagination startles me and forces me to take a few steps backward. I behold a new view from where I stand. It’s shadows fall to it’s left side, as if it were standing on a podium, forcing its audience to listen as it makes it voice heard.
The shadows work its magic on the table and makes the roughness of its surface look as if there were a sea of people shouting their support at the top of their lungs. I am instantly awed by this display of power and furtherance.
I hesitantly take a few steps closer and observe the smooth white surface of it, the rounded white surface that’s making it quite enticing. I reach into my bag and finger the meager sachet, containing the brown liquid that would amplify its smack to a fullness that would satisfy even the burliest, paunchiest of individuals.
My great craving enslaves me once again, as I grab it with a savageness that peons experience during meal time. I brutally force the flimsy sachet open and ruthlessly force the liquid onto it. I wolf down on it in less than a couple of minutes and flush it down with a glass of Gatorade.
So much for that siopao.
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