Cookbook Kitchen

I love birthdays.

I love the celebration that comes with it.

I love the happy laughter shared among friends.

And most especially the introduction of yummy eats.

So it was such a pleasure to be invited to my officemate and friend Maan’s birthday at Cookbook Kitchen.

I’ve never heard of it.  And it’s a long way from the office to just have lunch (Commonwealth to Shaw Blvd., Mandaluyong, whew! Faye and I had to munch on some butterscotch bars as we got held up in traffic. Yep, we were that hungry!)

But as we entered the quiet neighborhood and saw Cookbook Kitchen’s colorful facade, we both thought that it promised to be worth the travel and the wait.

We were not wrong.

Maan and friends took the liberty to order ahead for us. 

We had parmesan crusted fishfillet,  chicken pizzaoili, mustard chicken, an orange flavored fish and another cream based fish ( i don’t know what kind), and honey glazed spareribs.  

And as per Filipino custom, everything of course had to be shared….

 

To be tasted…

 

To be oggled…

 

And happily dug into! 🙂

 

For a quaint hole in the wall resto hidden in far Mandaluyong City, Cookbook Kitchen was truly a winner in my book!

Thanks Maan and Happy, Happy Birthday! 🙂

 

P.S. Just found out that the resto was started by a couple of bank executive foodies who have chosen to retire early to engage in their passion. Sigh!  Someday…someday…

Unsettling Calm

I’ve always prided myself for being calm. 

In high school, I remember Mrs. R, my english teacher, saying she could never read me.  Nothing profound to be read in the comment.  Back then, announcing a surprise quiz was enough to elicit a jolt on any student! But not me, I guess.  I was simply, in today’s language, “deadma”.  I figured it was one of those things I have no control of – teacher’s whims, there will be a quiz whether I like it or, and it was best to keep my wits together. 

And this is how it was and still is, I would remain cool even in the most challenging of times, scary times, and on occasions that I am not, I would  just give the air of it. 

An important pleading was due for filing the following Monday.  It was Friday and I have yet to write a word.  My thoughts were going crazy,  I have yet to hold on a solid convincing argument.  But I calmly told my superiors they’ll have it on their table early Monday morning.  And so they did.

Two (2) witnesses did not show up as scheduled, leaving me with only one (1) who I haven’t even talked to much less prepared.  Court asks if I was ready.  Told them I was.  Elicited answers from my witness for more or less an hour, for questions I developed along the way.    Even if deep inside, I wanted to wring the neck of my co-prosecutor for his botched subpoena. 

I am Ms. Cool, calm under pressure.

I am Superwoman, able to juggle the demands of work and motherhood all together.

I am Chill Babe, a ready smile and a thumbs up sign always available to anyone.

 

Until I cried buckets for another contestant being voted off “American Idol”.  

My heart ached for this young man who despite his “incapacities/challenges” was able to become a musical inspiration to the world.

But deeper was my pain for myself, untold, withheld.

It was then that I realized that I was…tired.  Oh, so tired.

 

I was tired of work, I was tired of doing errands and household chores.

I was tired of staying up late for Nina.  (Oh, how bad that sounds!)

I was tired of being Ms. Cool.  Chillin when I didn’t have to.

When there was so much to be said.

So much that had to be revealed and let out.

 

Sometimes, there’s no pride in being calm.