South Beach Diet

Scrambled eggs of a lone piece of egg, sliced onions and diced tomatoes that is cooked in extra virgin olive oil. How does that sound for morning breakfast? Complete the first part of your morning with Nescafe (has more anti-oxidants than ordinary coffee according to their commercials), half-filled teaspoon of sugar, and non-fat milk. Now, you’re set for that 100-meter dash to the office. Don’t give me that “will-that-fill-you-up” crap. A meal is just like life, unfulfilling, especially in this idiot-infested world of ours!

Ten o’clock, you fiddle in your worn-out office chair having baby boomer vintage wheels that don’t work. Air conditioning is horrible in this government office whose expertise is energy. There is not a pretty sight to look at and power dressing inexistent in a government office that is in the business of power. No event to prepare for thanks to twin nincompoops in upper management who has got stage fright. Too early for a drink and concerned body organs have begun complaining of excessive smoking, you resort to the next best thing … eating! What better stuff to fill your hunger pangs than boiled cabbage yum! Don’t give me that “no-taste” crap. A meal is just like life, No Taste!

Thirty minutes past eleven o’ clock. Finally, half of the day is done. Colleagues in the office signals for lunch break. For this meal, a can of omega-3 Century Tuna in Brine. Again, don’t give me that “that’s boring” crap. A meal is like life and not quite a delicacy!

Tick! Tuck! Tick! Tuck! Three o clock! Spencer (the resident baby cockroach of your office desk) makes a dash across your PC monitor. Time for that colourful snack again. No, not Spencer but the unsalted cabbage! Don’t give me that why not have the more glamorous lettuce crap! A meal is like life, plain, boring and lacking in glamour.

Four o’ clock and you get more impatient as lesser time is left to twitch on. What more pacifying a snack than a handful of nuts and almonds. Don’t give me that “you’ll get sick for not eating enough” crap. A meal is like life, its lack of colour gives you a frequent visit to the modern torture chamber that they call a hospital.

Last five minutes! Last two minutes! Thirty seconds, ten seconds and a buzzer beater task from the desk of the division chief! You wake up from your power nap and realize that it was just a nightmare.

It’s ten minutes past five o’clock. Don’t you just love the sunset! Seven o’ clock. You grab two fillets of snapper from the refrigerator, which you took down from the freezer this morning. For dinner, sprinkle rose marry on the snapper, place above the heated pan, and broil to a brown. Don’t put oil or butter and especially none of that disgusting mayonnaise. Add some steamed cabbage. On those rare occasions that you have extra money, treat yourself to steamed broccoli and cauliflowers too. A meal is like life, you only get a treat once in a blue moon so savour the moment! Night life will always be a part of life. It’s a temporary relief from your frustrated attempt to achieve your childhood dreams. Yes, it’s not a permanent solution but then again, nothing is. For drinks, a presentable glass of wine to be sipped slowly. Drinks are also a resemblance life, it was meant to be consumed slowly and with pleasure. In case you wish to eat anything with it, what more to compliment it than tofu sticks and Mama Sita’s Chili Sauce Yum!

Originally written on Friendster

South Beach Diet

April 6th, 2006 by joshmarlo

Note: The Lifestyle Chef was in the dumps of a Mid Life Crisis when he first wrote this. He was then an International and External Relations Officer of the Philippine Department of Energy and just broke up with his first serious girlfriend. His current state of disposition is way much better now!

Healthier Options in a Buffet

There are a couple of reasons to lambast anti-socials who are either against style because their freedom to wear hideous worn out tradie boots or eat cholesterol-filled 500g tradie tuckers is threatened by the fashionista. For one, style is a discipline. It takes a lot of self-restrain to assert one’s disposition and talk- write- party your way into high society with your radical views. For example, it would take some nerve and extra rare confidence for a man to sport red leather moccasins with matching red belt. It takes will power for a woman to sport blood red velvet boots in a humid cosmopolitan district such as Bonifacio High Street or Burgos Circle in Manila. Finally, it takes a lot of discipline to keep yourself away from those irresistibly tempting fatty parts of Pork Belly, Rump Steak and lots of Chips.

 

In reality, an obsession for style and chic lifestyle makes a healthy balanced diet easier to follow. Fine dining involves etiquettes that minimize your servings to small bites. For example, etiquette endears us to limit our slices of lamp chops to three pieces at a time and to be consumed slowly and with pleasure. The choice of simple salt and peppered steamed broccoli instead of the MSG-infested street style vegetable preparation limits our intake of cellulites and undesirable carbs from highly salted and starchy sauces. The use of fork and knives instead of a spoon keeps us from over raking cups of refined white rice into our already sugar-saturated bodies and leave more allowance for socially essential fixations like Starbucks hot mocha or some Crispy Crème donuts to compliment a stressful day at work. In other words, moderation seems to be the prime characteristic of a stylish dinner and we all have heard our nutritionists cry out for moderation in everything we intake. An obsession to be stylish in eating naturally puts a check on our consumption and choice of food.

 

In contrast, an obsession with your freedom to eat just anything is not only unchic but detrimental to your health. Need I tell you the heart and liver implications of eating Sisig like a swine it comes from (I’m an animal lover and believe in Animal Rights just to be clear lol). There maybe some who will find my disposition antagonistic towards cuisine that is monumental to certain cultures and I apologize. I am simply pointing out the advantage of being refined and cultured in our style of eating.

 

Keeping your style in a buffet

 

For many, the buffet is your ultimate temptation to fat and cellulites but for the stylish individual, it is a salvation from “lack of choices”. In your usual food court, diner is limited to a cup of rice, a piece of meat and soggy vegetables. Chances are the diner will chomp on the rice and meat and leave the vegetables out. In a buffet, you are given more vegetable options and probably prepared enticingly such as buttered with parsley. The most common sight in a buffet is a diner having a mountain of fat, cellulites and sugar on his plate by the time he reaches the end of the buffet table. The trick in a buffet is for you to hover over the dishes first. Scan and take a mental pick on what you will have. It is also important to categorize. A third of your plate should consist of vegetables, another third with meats of your choice (two pieces of each max), and a scoop of rice, pasta or baked potatoes small enough to fit an enclosed fist.Remember that a buffet is an occasion. We get to eat rice all the time so why not take advantage of the healthier (and more expensive) meats and vegetable meals on such a day? Begin your meal with a bowl of soup as an entrée and your are set for a stylish dinner.

 

Upon sitting, remember that a buffet is not just a dinner but an occasion. Take your time in consuming the food and take advantage of small talks with fellow diners to lengthen the pace of your eating. Begin with your soup and finish it. This should make you half-full and restrain yourself from attacking your main meal like. Next, consume your vegetables piece by piece with a fork. Most vegetables prepared in fine places are slightly seasoned or salted. Finishing it before you partake of the meats help you enjoy the vegetables more. Our taste buds are designed to enjoy a succession of bland to salty and not the other way around. Next, slice your meats to small bite sizes three pieces at a time. Like your vegetables, consume them by piece and slowly. You may want to join the small table discussion during this phase of your dinner. Do not worry that you may find little time to consume your rice or go for another serving. It’s beneficial for us to eat lesser carbs and refrain ourselves from a second serving. Besides, carbohydrates are cheap and you can easily consume more of them during ordinary days. There is usually fruit in a buffet and you may choose that over cakes and pastries. If its of any inspiration to you, Italians – who are known for fine dining, is accustomed to eating fruits for dessert.

 

Eating in style is a healthier option. The more you get yourself into the etiquette of fine dining, the more you will find yourself fitting into those glamorous clothes you’ve been window shopping in vain. You may also Google for South Beach Diet for healthier options in preparing meals at home.

 

An effort to plate up in a buffet goes a long way

 

Eat all you can in style!

 

 

The Sea Lion Who Lost The Sea

I was at the height of my quarter life crisis in 2006.  I was unhappy with work and love life. I had broken up with my first girlfriend (the first serious one, the previously none serious don’t count lol) and was then working for the International and External Relations Section of the Philippine Department of Energy. As glamorous as it may sound, it wasn’t the creative world that one would think and wasn’t an environment to meet interesting people. I was in a deep state of depression and my parents mistook it for a psychiatric case (yes, my parents are only many of that old generation that didn’t think out of the box).  Needless to say, they sent me to a psychologist who told them that I didn’t have a psychiatric defect after all and the cause for myself acting strange was justified.  She said the cause for my depression was my job which, like a domino effect, affected my social life, love life and nature as a person. Her prescription was resignation from work and a giant leap of faith to advertising. Was my psychologist out her mind? To make things worse, she didn’t give me any feasible advice on how to get into an advertising company which was not only competitive but next to impossible! But in just a few months, I managed to land myself in a job as a corporate communications and training officer in a real estate company and eventually an account manager for corporate public relations in a national affiliate of Edelman Worldwide.

My psychologist wasn’t really that ineffective. During one of the many consultations, she gave me a book about the pursuit of happiness.  The following story was taken from this book and will forever change my perspectives in life.

 

Once upon a time there lived a sea lion who had lost the sea. He lived in a country known as the barren lands. High on a plateau, far from any coast, it was a place so dry and dusty that it could only be called a desert. A kind of coarse grass grew in patches here and there while a few trees were scattered across the horizon. But mostly, it was dusty and sometimes wind, which together make one very thirsty. Of course, it must seem strange to you that such a beautiful creature should wind up in a desert at all. He was, mind you, a sea lion. But things like this do happen.

How the sea lion came to the barren lands, no one could remember. It all seemed so very long ago. So long, in fact, it appeared as though he had always been there. Not that he belonged in such an arid place. How could that be? He was, after all, a sea lion. But as you know, once you have lived so long in a certain spot, no matter how odd, you come to think of it as home.
There was a time, many years back, when the sea lion knew he was lost. In those days, he would stop every traveller he met to see if he might help him find his way back to the sea.
But no one seemed to know the way or the least care.

On he searched, but never finding. After years without success, the sea lion took refuge beneath a solitary tree beside a very small water hole. The tree provided refuge from the burning rays of the sun, which was very fierce in that place. And the water, though small and muddy, was wet, in its own way. Here he settled down and carried on as best he could.

The sea lion was not entirely alone in those parts. For it was there he met the tortoise. Now this tortoise was an ancient creature, so weathered by his life in the barren lands that at first, the sea lion mistook him for a rock. He told the tortoise of his plight, hoping that this wise one might be able to help him. “Perhaps”, the tortoise mused, “this is the sea”. His eyes appeared to be shut against the bright sun, but he was watching the sea lion very closely. The sea lion swept his flippers once against his side, gliding to the end of the water hole and back then said,

“I don’t know, it isn’t very deep.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Somehow, I thought the sea would be broader, deeper. At least, I hoped so.”

“You must learn to be happy here”, the tortoise told him one day. “For it is unlikely you shall ever find this sea of yours.” Deep in his old and shriveled heart, the tortoise envied the sea lion and his sea.

“But I belong to the sea. We are made for each other.”

“Perhaps. But you have been gone so long now, the sea has probably forgotten you.”

This thought had never occurred to the sea lion. But it was true, he had been gone for a long, long time. “If this is not my home, how can I ever feel at home here?” the sea lion asked. “you will, in time.” The tortoise appeared to be squinting, his eyes a thin slit.

“I have seen the sea, and it is no better than what you have found here.”

“You have seen the sea!”

“Yes. Come closer and I will tell you a secret. I am not a tortoise. I am a sea turtle. But I left the sea on my own accord, many years ago, in search of better things. If you stay with me, I will tell you stories of my adventures.”

The stories of the ancient tortoise were enchanting and soon cast their spell upon the sea lion. As weeks passed into months, his memory of the sea faded. “The desert”, whispered the tortoise, “is all that is, or was, or ever will be. ” When the sun grew fierce and burned his skin, the sea lion would hide in the shade of the tree and listen the tales woven by the tortoise. When the dry winds cracked his flippers and filled his eyes with dust, the sea lion would retreat to the water hole. And so the sea lion remained, living his days between water hole and tree. The sea no longer filled his dreams.

It was in May that the winds began to blow. The sea lion had grown used to wind, and at first he did not pay much heed at all. years of desert life had taught him to turn his back away from the direction which the wind came and cover his eyes with his flippers so that the dust would not get in. Eventually, the wind would always pass.

But not this time. Day and night it came, howling across the barren lands. There was nothing to stop its fury, nothing to even slow it down. For forty days and forty night the wind blew. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The sea lion lifted himself to have a look around. He could hardly believe his eyes.

Every single leaf had been stripped from his tree. The branches that remained, with only a twig or two upon them, looked like an old scarecrow. Need not I tell you that there was no longer any shade in which to hide. But worse than this, much worse indeed, was what the sea lion saw next. The water hole was completely dry.

Three weeks after the wind ceased to blow, the sea lion had a dream. Now as I told you before, there were other nights in which he had dreamed of the sea. But those were long ago and nearly forgotten. Even still, the ocean that filled his dreams this night was so beautiful and clear, so vast and deep, it was as if he was seeing it for the very first time. The sunlight glittered on its surface, and as he dived, the waters all around him shone like an emerald. If he swam quite deep, it turned to jade … cool, dark and mysterious. But he was never frightened; not at all. For I must tell you that in all his dreams of the sea, he had never before found himself in the company of other sea lions. This night there were many, round about him, diving and turning, spinning and twirling. They were playing.

Oh, how he hated to wake from that wonderful dream. The tears running down his face were the first wet thing he had felt in three weeks. But he did not pause even to wipe them away; he did not pause, in fact, for anything at all. He set his face to the east, and he begun to walk as best a sea lion can.

“Where are you going? ” asked the tortoise.

“I am going to find the sea.”

 

In 2008, I became a food and lifestyle journalist writing for online media and glossy magazines. In the same year, an opportunity presented itself for myself to pursue a culinary career overseas. In 2009, I flew to Australia and landed on a Valentine’s Day. My life was to be as interesting as I realised that what made me happy was an environment that could never be found back home. I have been destined to be a traveller after all.

 

Free At Last! – Snowy Mountains of Dinner Plain, Upland Victoria, Australia

Freedom comes at a price – Nomadic Life in the hostels of Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

Dancing Under the Pale Moonlight

Omnia Vincit Amor, meaning “Love Conquers All”. Virgil. Ironically, love could lead to disaster and end yourself up dancing with the devil under the pale moonlight, wreaking havoc on other people’s lives and yours too, until you find someone who will turn your world upside down. And when that happens, a place so sinister and foreign suddenly feels like home. And if that relationship fails, you reset to the beginning, the cycle repeats and you end up dancing with more devils. And as the kwentong bartender from Big Sky Mind goes, “Carry on compadre!”

My cool and wicked brother has asked me about drinking in Australia so let the story begin. Well, people drink for many reasons and besides that of seeing and being seen under the pretense of chilling out, you have to admit that it is actually to prey on something exciting to happen. For me, I had no choice. I’m back to dancing the devil although this time under the protection of the Almighty. I know now why he had to suffer which is to prove to us that he loves us and that we need not worry. So here I am dancing with the enemy without worries, well a little bit. But hey, danger comes in any form of excitement.

Castle Hill is a suburb some 60 minutes away from the city and of acceptable elegance. It is surrounded by other suburbs ending their names with “Hill” or “Hills”. They call us the Hills District. Hills is home. The good thing about Castle Hill is that there is only one place to rendezvous for drinks and that is the Hillside. On Fridays and Saturdays, clubbing happens upstairs at a very affordable price of AUD5.

Hillside Hotel is probably where I’ve met the most insane of people. Insane meaning cool. There is Ryan who lived a significant period of his life in South America. He calls me Fish because I drank his whiskey like one, and the name “Marlo” sounds like it apparently. One time, we all went to the Tavern from Hillside and got sloshed over too much beer and bourbon coke. He was kind enough to take me home in a taxicab, which I fucked up with orally thrown out Vaginal Brew (VB or Victoria Bitter) and cost him AUD270. Poor thing. Ryan is a very nice guy. Lesson, don’t throw up in a cab, no matter what happens! Not in Sydney!

There is Chris Bar, the fisherman, with his fixation on Icelandic chicks and Cricket. Actually, Chris works in a large fishing vessel and has an amiable circle of friends, including a guy eternally clad in a suit. Chris is great with stories to tell and has a kind heart too.

There is David, my awesome housemate, awesome because he calls me awesome too. Well, we do have to reciprocate a compliment. David is a gentleman in a big bike and works at the Hillside Hotel. He would invite me to have drinks with his friends when they visit the house once in a while. On certain days that I felt weary, he offered me a couple of beers from his eskie, eskee or however they spelt it in Aussie English. His girlfriend is a very nice brunette chick who would always say hi to me whenever she visited David in the house or saw me at the Hillside. She is lucky to have David and vice-versa.

There is the sea witch, that is the landlady, who eternally breaks into other people’s lives, in particular, OURS! She looks and sounds it. We all hate her but what can we do, she is after all the landlady! She is kind to me sometimes, brings me Flip food once in a while. She makes me mow the lawn which I get to do only during my very rare free time – that is when I’m not in school, away at work as a dish pig, or wasting valuable time procrastinating, HAR! HAR! She insists I missed a week’s payment which I know I didn’t. May the Holy Spirit enlighten her and save my beer money, errr … textbook funds, from disintegrating. Hush! Hush! MiJ! Hehe. But seriously, that money is set aside for two new textbooks I need for the upcoming assessments.

Then, there is my best friend from Perth, Australia. She is my classmate and loves cooking as well. She has the same color of her mug as mine, pastel brown and into olives and Italian cuisine. During Friday class, we have Chef Darren, who is very good in teaching, like your watching a good cooking show on TV. He is bubbly, British and passionate about cooking. He has this bible of culinary terms including Rouille, which he says is a key ingredient of Soup de Poisson or fish soup. He seems to be into Bacardi because that seems to be the consequence of us fucking up in the kitchen. We have to buy him one if we do. I guess it will be cool to drink with him one time so I’d better think of a way to fuck up, perhaps “accidentally” pour gasoline on that bitch of a dishwasher or some emo fashion-clad classmate. Har! Har! Anyways, one time, Kate and another classmate of mine had a couple of beers, which we brought to the school parking lot. In the morning, Kate remembered that there were cameras all over that area. We have not received any notice so far. Safe!

There is my Filipina classmate but she doesn’t drink. So why is she part of my story? Well, she is nice. That’s all. Hehe! And she seems to be the favorite prey of my international classmates who is new to western culture and “shocked” with the liberated stories of Filipinas in Manila Society.

There is my cousin Anjo, who gave me a push into Hillside clubbing upstairs for the first time. He is an angel. His girlfriend is nice to me too. I met her with blonde hair but now sports something jet black. I teased her being inspired by the teenage flick “Twilight”. It is from Anjo that I was immersed into Mexican cervezas like Sol and Corona. Anjo also introduced me to Woodstock Bourbon Coke. It was very potent. Anjo always had supplies in the fridge and told me I can get from anytime. God bless you Anjo. Hehe!

The other night, I met The Beatles at Hillside, and in their early 20s at that. Actually, they simply introduced themselves as such out of fun. Two of them were Kastilaloys, bearing the name of Aldeguer and Alcazar respectively. The Aldeguer guy looked like Dino Aldeguer but he didn’t know him. It was Danny that I jibed with a lot, the Aussie guy who claimed to be John Lennon. He loved my pick up lines and probably would work in Australia, perhaps. “Are you a dictionary? Because you just added meaning to my night” or “Do I have a bruise on my forehead? Because I saw you and fell … in love”. HAHAHAHAHA! FUCK!

There was this hot Italian girl whom I met during the same night. She reminded me of someone special. She was clad in black party dress and tan boots. Her name was very Italian which I could pronounce but had a hard time spelling. I was chicken shit to get her number though she was the first to talk to me and showed some bit of interest. Her smile was like that of Jennifer Love Hewitt and her dimples, God save me from desire! I can never forget the way she looked at me. Malandi, haha! Perhaps I will meet her again.

Finally, there is that elegant person who reminded me how scintillating it is to be in love. I’ve forgotten who I was after my terrible break up some three years ago. She is the reason why this place so sinister and foreign suddenly feels like home. I met her in the early days of winter. She bore the name of my mother and grandmother. Oooh! Meant to be! So high school, haha! Unfortunately, I was too tactless and immature to take care of that relationship. She was right. I didn’t let her go, she left. I deserve it because I took her for granted and distanced myself. I never had faith in love because of my past experiences with women. In the end, that doubt destroyed us from within and we fell apart. And the drinking part? Well, she likes drinking. Haha! Beeyah (meaning beer in Aussie English) and red wine. Now I’m addicted to cabernet sauvignon, which is way cheaper than a 6pack mind you. I buy a bottle for AUD7 once in a while. Good for the heart.

So moving forward, I now know what I want to do. I knew I always did, but somehow lost it along the way. I am a party animal and I belong to hospitality. I love culinary and will finish this course then do my apprenticeship. The rest, we’ll cross the bridge when we get there. No more bitching, just happy thoughts. Have you ever danced with the devil under the pale moonlight?

Originally posted 9.9.2009

In a house party in Castle Hill, Sydney Area, New South Wales, Australia

In a house party in Castle Hill, Sydney Area, New South Wales, Australia

Under the pale moonlight at the Bull and Bush in Baulkham Hills, Sydney Area, New South Wales, Australia

Random moments with Kelly Anne Bewicke. Castle Hill, New South Wales, Australia

Random moments with Kelly Anne Bewicke. Castle Hill, New South Wales, Australia

The Road to Perdition

Originally written on April 22, 2011 at the World Square Hostel, Sydney, Australia

Today, I sit here at the hostel lounge waiting for check in time, which will not happen for another one and half hour.  Until then, its quite nice to sit in a couch again daydreaming, doing nothing and generally being unproductive.  The fast pace of life in the hospitality industry, excacerbated by an expensive Sydney lifestyle, has trained me to live like a horse, just running without looking backwards or sideways, just forward without you knowing if your horseman (life) is leading you to a triumphant march into a conquered city or a suicidal cavalry charge against a larger army.  Now that my horseman is on break, I can take off those wretched horse eye patches and reflect on what I need to do.  But then, you realize how dreadful the past few weeks have been and the coming more weeks with those cavalry charges without knowing where your horseman will lead you.  Is Sydney the beginning of my march to greatness or rather my road to perdition?

Bunk Beds at World Square Hostel in George Street corner Liverpool Street, Sydney, Australia

Goodbye Carla!

Dear Diary,

I saw Carla today. She is soooo cute!!! Kaya lang, she thinks I drink too much!

So from now on …

Goodbye Vodka!
Goodbye Rum Coke!
Goodbye Johnny Walker!
Goodbye Coopers!
Goodbye Carlton Draught!
Goodbye Toohey’s New!
Goodbye San Miguel!

Hmmm …

GOODBYE CARLA!

Lol

This Island of Reality

It was cold and raining in Sydney when I left that fateful day for an island in the Whitsundays hoping for a new start. Among the excess baggage I carried with myself was a prized red towel, a  jersey from a failed relationship, fear of people in the industry and most important of all, running into the same problem, that is people with a penchant for verbal abuse, those that have contributed to my feeling of self worthlessness. However, the first sight of this beautiful paradise shed away a few doubts, well at least as it appears to be. You can never underestimate the power of reality to search and destroy.

The welcome letter from the company gave me an idea that this would be a different experience. Indeed, the first sight, as we approached the harbour, was a group of enthusiastic GOs waving at us for our proper welcome. In case you wanted to know, GOs stand for Gracious Organizers (Supervisory Staff), to realize later that some disgruntled elements in the island would refer to as Generally Obnoxious, lol. Anyways, the chef de village himself welcomed my arrival with a firm hand shake, a warm greeting by knowing my name and where I would be working. The smiles on the faces of the islanders, that is the GOs and GEs (Gracious Employees) shed away more of that seemingly stalker of a doubt that had pestered me for since my encounter with insensitive elements of society. To my surprise, a fellow worker offered to take my luggage and carry it herself to my room. This was a very heart-warming welcome, not expecting such hospitality for someone like me who didn’t arrive as a guest but rather an addition to the oompaloompas of the island.

A member of the cuisine team, where I would be assigned, was there to personally welcome my arrival and take me around the island. I learned later on that he was using his most prized break to do this for me. As we took a walk into the places I need to know as a new GO, everybody was waving towards our direction from afar. I turned around to see if they were referring to someone they knew from my back. There was none. It turns out they were waving at me. I could feel my bottomless pit of self worthlessness filling up again.

Some people say that this island is Never-Never Land, or that mythical place inhabited by the lost boys who never grew old. Indeed, the lifestyle in this place is so far from reality as everyone enjoys life and the people around them unaffected by the pressures of keeping a home, having food on the table and other worries of big cities. It was a multicultural environment as well as people come from all over Australia and around the world. The only time that there is trouble in this paradise is when pirates occasionally assault the island with the corruption of grown-ups. These are times when islanders begin to compete for promotion, better accommodation and recognition. The abundance of alcohol, good times and parties also keep the islanders filled with youthful energy. Work was pretty much play. When they go out of hand, these are the times when grown ups assault the island with liquor bans, curfews and other disciplinary actions, the most popular of which is the NBO or Next Boat Out, or simply put – You’re Fired and back to reality you go!

Yet this island, I feel, is a training ground for reality. For in this paradise, you learn to discover  or rediscover yourself, acceptance of other people for who they are and deal with conflicts which are as common as death and taxes. Most importantly, it is a place where you realize that even the ever immortal Garden of Eden has an end. And this is accepting what is to come. It is accepting reality. I will leave behind memories, both sweet and bitter, and my soul will die along with this island when it sinks.

Ice Berg Dead Ahead!

Note: Club Med Lindeman Island permanently closed down in February 2012.  The Lifestyle Chef and Editor was fortunate to be among the last batch of GOs.

The Club Med Lindeman Island Cuisine Team

 

 

Neighbouring Hamilton Island

Removing Gallstones Naturally

Removing gallstones naturally was suggested by Dr. Lai Chiu-Nan and was circulated in the internet sometime in 2006. Gallstones may not be much of a concern but they should because we all have them. Moreover, gallstones may lead to cancer. “Cancer is never the first illness, “Dr. Chiu-Nan points out. “Usually, there are a lot of other problems leading to cancer. In my research in China, I came across some material which says that people with cancer usually have gallstones. We all have gallstones. It’s a matter of how big or how small, many or few.”
One of the symptoms of gallstones is feeling bloated after a heavy meal. You feel like you can’t digest the food. If it gets more serious, you feel pain in the liver area. So if you think you have gallstones, Dr. Chiu-Nan offers the following method to remove them naturally. The treatment is also good for those with weak liver, because the liver and the gallbladder are closely linked.
Regimen:

1. For the first five days, take four glasses of apple juice or eat four to five apples, which ever you prefer. Apple juice softens the gallstones. During these five days, eat normally.

2. On the sixth day, take no dinner.

a. At 6 p.m., take a teaspoon of Epsom salt magnesium sulphate with a glass of warm water.

b. At 8 p.m., take another teaspoon of the Epsom salt magnesium sulphate with a glass of warm water. Magnesium sulphate opens the gallbladder ducts.

c. At 10 p.m., mix half a cup of olive oil (or sesame oil) with half a cup of fresh lemon juice. Mix it well and drink it. The oil lubricates the stones to ease their passage.

The next morning you will find green stones in your stool. “Usually they float”, Dr. Chiu-Nan notes. “You might want to count them. I have had people who pass 40, 50 and up to 100 stones. Very many. Even if you don’t have any symptoms of gallstones, you still might have some. It’s always good to give your gallbladder a clean up now and then.

Disclaimer: This information was circulated in the internet sometime in 2006. Some sentences and paragraphs may have been copy-pasted from the original manuscript.

Surrounded by Fallen Leaves

I always thought that women who flirted with part-time message handlers were fugly. Well, this one wasn’t. There she was clad in her white Pre-Med student uniform and standing between two ladies – a rose amongst thorns. Too good to be true.

It was an ordinary day when I set the eyeball date. The campus was a romantic place with all its Romanesque architecture and gardens. One attraction was the statue of the Querubin which was said to be the patron saint of homosexuals. The thought was rather disturbing but there was just the two of us surrounded by fallen leaves, scintillating silence and mystique of the lone statue. I could still remember the feeling.

Act 1:

Oh, did I mention that she had a boyfriend? Yes, she did. She said that she misses him. I could still remember the cheerless expression on her face. The thought of it was sad but not tragic. It was too early to fall head over heels. At this point, the excitement of courtship was all that mattered. In a few more days of dating, I forgot that the car I was driving her with was color coded, that is the vehicle was against curfew for the day until 7pm due to the last digit of my plate number . Far ahead were the figures of four sloppy looking clowns (a.k.a. MMDA Traffic Enforcers). They haven’t seen us so I had time to turn right and pretend to be parked in some corner of Kalayaan Street. A flyover made the area poorly illuminated. There was hardly anyone. She bit my right arm in a flirtatious way. I didn’t do anything about it. We just talked. One night, in the middle of one of our nightly telebabad (telephone conversation until the wee hours of the morning), she said it was over between her and the boyfriend. I didn’t take that as a sign either.

Act 2:

My memory is fuzzy but I think it was a break from the career dumps that ended our story. The new direction introduced me to new friends and routines. I spent less on phone conversations and ice cream dates and more on clubbing and staying out late. We simply lost the connection, just like that. Poof! Some months later, I remembered to call her up and say hello. Actually, I kind of missed her. Her answer was an evil laugh and said she had gotten back together with the boyfriend. For some reason, that laugh failed to inspire myself to rekindle an old friendship.

Act 3:

Some years passed and reached my late 20s without even noticing. I was emotionally more mature, email had become available to everyone and Friendster (before Facebook) had just been born. Consequently, she was among old friends I wanted to dig up. I could still remember that first email conversation.

Josh: Well, well, well! Look who we have here. =) You don’t seem to have changed, still charming as usual. How are you?

Cons: Well, some things do change. I’m getting married in a few days.

Originally written on 8.14.2008

The Inspiration of Upland Cavite

The hills and mountains of upland Cavite has been traditionally a perfect breeding ground for cattle, livestock and pineapple. Majority of residents are small business owners based on farming or community services, professionals and teachers. Though very traditional and conservative in social and economic picturesque, it is safe to say that poverty is practically inexistent in this province filled with history and culinary culture. As late as the early 1990s, the town of Silang, where my Lola Francisca (Kikay) hails from, was dotted by 18th century houses that bore the character of the Revolution that gave birth to a nation.

Cavite is seat of the Filipino Revolution, being home to the Magdalo, the republican elements of the Kataastaasang Kagalanggalang na Katipunan ng mga Anak ng Bayan that became the First Philippine Republic and rising courtiers of Imperial Manila. As such, the ways and food of Cavite bears the perfect character for Filipino Haute Cuisine and a gourmet kitchen.

The conspiracy of Caviteño Regional Cooking and Nouvelle Cuisine brings forth the revival of Filipino Haute Cuisine. A beautiful marriage that brings to life a whole experience of revolution, food and culture!

MORCON CAVITEÑA on a contemporary fusion with Fettuccine tossed in Extra Virgin Olive Oil, Sea Salt, Freshly Cracked Pepper and Parsley