[Ny Minute Now]

10 months later and I'm still talking about the wedding. I can't help it: I never thought I would be married. I was never one of those who grew up planning their wedding day. In my own family, weddings have been far and apart, and in the last 20+ years, I have only gone to three weddings of relatives. That's a very conservative number considering my grandmother has eight living children and more than a dozen grandchildren. Most members of my family have chosen to elope or get wed without the whole shebang of a ceremony and guest list, and a handful of them are on their second or third marriages/life-partnerships.

My own parents got married when I was eight, they were too busy making a living to actually put together a party. So if I'm not mistaken, their "wedding" came in the form of Mama handing Papa the court papers in the bedroom for Papa to sign, and then Papa adopting me so I could take on his last name. They separated after about 20 years together and they're both happily partnered off to their respective new better halves. Again, no bells, no hooplah, and the two of them are still friends.


So how did I end up having this lavish(?) out-of-town shenanigan complete with gowns, bridesmaids, catering, and everything? It just happened. And, the nice thing about not having expectations is the chance to be radically surprised.

Don't we all love success stories? Steve Jobs, Oprah, Reginald F. Lewis...who else can you think of who had gone past early adversities and turned their lives around to yield magnanimous and amazing results?

I only have to look into the stories of my own parents to be inspired: My mother moved to the U.S. when she was 33 with NOTHING. Sure, she had a bit of money left earned from back home, but that was it. I am guessing it was probably only enough to last her a couple of weeks. No trust fund, no credit card, no working papers. Yet, she made it work. She's written her success story on her own terms, and she simply had an attitude and work ethic that wouldn't quit—seven-day workweeks, multiple jobs, even odd jobs. Fast-forward 17 years, she's fit, fabulous, and doing well, in career and in life. True, she's not the mega-millionaire I'm sure she'd be happy to be, but she's in a good place. (Plus, she's running her first 5k race this weekend!)

My father, on the other hand, lost everything he had—the bookstores he'd worked hard to put up in our hometown—to the calamity that was the Mt. Pinatubo eruption of '91. He and my mother had to start out from scratch by adding to my grandparents' mini-grocery business at the market. They would wake up at 3am to open shop, barely having gotten enough sleep from their bedtime of 12 midnight or so. Eventually, when Mama moved to the U.S. to seek greener pastures (and I guess to escape the grueling market schedule and stress surrounding the events succeeding Pinatubo), my dad moved to Manila to, again, restart a new career as a newspaper reporter. He practically worked as a volunteer, until management took note of his talent and dedication (he literally LIVED in the office in a small room with a bunk bed he shared with other reporters) and he zoomed past the tiers of the masthead and reached a high position that paid him well and gave him quarterly bonuses. Now, Papa is retired and has a thriving eBay business selling rare stamps to an international clientele. Again, he's not the mega-millionaire I'm sure he'd be happy to be, but he's in a good place.

The two experiences above perhaps explain and provide a better understanding on why I literally get stressed out and bothered when faced with a situation wherein a person who has the brains, background, talent, and skills to move forward and succeed gives up prematurely and concedes defeat so early on—without putting up a fight, logging in the hours, exhausting one's all. It's a challenge for me to bear witness to these moments knowing that life is full of stories of individuals who simply made it work amidst hurdles and challenges that, at first glance, were seemingly impossible to conquer.

Guys, I apologize for egging on about this whole manners thing. My etiquette and Botox articles were/are taking a while to complete, hence, the fixation in decorum (and frowning).

While doing research, I came across this quote:

"Being married does not give you freedom to ignore your manners."

I got reminded of how, at the airport a few months ago, I noticed a woman snapping at her husband for apparently not finding something in her purse. Immediately I promised myself, "I will never treat my husband that way." The woman, by the way, later on happily leaned against her spouse's arm while waiting for boarding. All the more I was struck by the prospect of treating A. with respect…consistently. For if someone is capable of giving you love and comfort, it's only proper to reciprocate by being mindful of how you treat that person.

Now, the challenge here—and why I'm even writing about this—is that I come from a family whose members are known to be impatient, impulsive, and quick to anger…including myself. There lies the importance of the aforementioned resolution....and again, I make that promise to be my best.

Image courtesy of DailyMail.co.uk.

[Reposting from "Baked!" at Yummy.ph, November 2009]
I was around eight years old the first time I realized I could feed people with the things I whipped up in the kitchen. Carpenters were renovating our home (my parents bought our house barebones, with gray walls and hardly anything built in). I went into the kitchen to toss some flour and water to make my own Play-Doh and as an afterthought, decided to flatten and toast it in a hot pan and then finally coating it in sugar. One of the carpenters ate it, which I found really amusing—and gross, because to me, it was play-dough!

Before that, I spent weekends and summers at my aunt’s bakeshop. She let me tinker around and even let me use her candy thermometers, trays, and random ingredients—even the expensive ones. I made my own pink lollipops wherein I boiled sugar and water and waited until the thermometer pointed to ‘hard crack’; put in a few drops of red food coloring; poured the scorching mixture onto metal sheet pans; and then lay Zest-o straws over the hot sugar, slightly melting them in the process. I also watched my aunt create intricate Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle birthday cakes, and she let me make my own cheese candies and butter frosting to decorate a small cupcake (or two) to take to my best friend’s house on a playdate. Thanks to her, I became aware at an early age how delightful and delicious butter could be (as opposed to lard or shortening).

Over the years, I would be in and out of the kitchen. But it wasn’t until these last two years that I’ve seriously perused a career in food. The plans may still be blurry at this point, but so far, I’ve taken to blogging plenty of times about the things I’ve made in the kitchen. Food was always in the background, no matter what job I held. Well, at some point, I did work in a restaurant as a hostess and maître d’ during my early months in New York. And when I started working in an office again, I brought freshly-baked banana chocolate chip muffins and nutella to share with colleagues. When I found myself jobless, I baked more muffins and brownies as I nursed my wounded ego and jumpstarted my freelance career.

Fast-forward to more than a year after and much to my delight, I was recently called in to blog for the new and improved, Yummy.ph! So here I am, chronicling my foray into the baking world, with lots of sweet (and at times savory) musings along the way.

As if right on cue, my mother also gifted me with a brand new Kitchenaid stand mixer: the 90th Anniversary Edition in Candy Apple Red. Certainly I no longer have an excuse to not officially tinker about in the kitchen. So far, since it arrived, I’ve made chocolate cake, buttermilk biscuits, carrot cake, lemon vanilla cake, chocolate chip cookies, and oatmeal raisin cookies with it. And I can’t wait to talk about and share with you all these sweet treats. Meet you back here next week!

It's been I while since I bought dressy, strappy sandals. And for this pair I have to thank my dear, dear friend Frances of Topaz Horizon, who gave me gift cheques for VNC (a.k.a. Vincci as made famous in Malaysia) when she wrote about me in her Magnificent Women blog series. I love the huge gems on the shoe; I have a weakness for big sparkly baubles.

Anyway, it already feels like Christmas morning over here. If, like me, you scatter purchased items on the bed and look at them lovingly the minute you get home (and maybe have them next to you all through the night) then you know exactly what I mean.

Laying on my back next to the shopping bags, it dawned on me that this past year has truly been a divine gift from above. About a year ago in New York City, I remember waking up and asking myself: What if I didn't have to work? What if I didn't have to pay rent? Can I ever stop working?

I simply felt tired. And now I know that God heard my exasperated plea. While I didn't know back then that I was probably calling out to the universe for a chance to live life differently, how succeeding events panned out has proven this divine understanding, love, and compassion beyond words—even when I wasn't fully aware of the big picture. While I haven't been exactly idle this past year (I think I'm wired to keep my plate full at all times), I'd experienced a languid lifestyle wherein I was able to zone in on the things I loved to do without the pressures of a rigid schedule, and perhaps most importantly, spend plenty of time with the people that I love. In the process of all of this, I also got the chance to reflect, and then redirect my life in ways I have not imagined possible. And now I can say that I am truly, forever grateful.

Photo: Mariel Chua

In the same vain as I'm never going to eat nachos drizzled with melted cheese and jalapeños with a fork, etiquette has plenty to do with common sense. And for whatever is written here, I suggest taking it all with a grain of salt.

To quote from Papa:

"The best way, forever, is to grab the chicken and chomp. I learned that there are so many useless information is this part of the galaxy and I coped better when I fixed on the big things. Max Fried Chicken just provides water to wash your hands after eating. I listen to successful people—free guide to fortune... Now, to Farmville!"


American vs. Continental Dining

Prior to reading The Little Book of Etiquette by Dorothea Johnson I had no idea that there were two ways to handle one's fork and knife. I'm tempted to just scan the illustrations, but I don't want to deal with copyright issues (and I'm lazy). I'll try to break them down as simply as I could.

The American way is to hold the fork in a downward slope, gently slicing food with the knife ("Don't saw back and forth at your meat with a knife. Stroke the knife toward you."). After cutting, place it down the edge of your plate, sharp side facing in. Switch the fork on your left to your right and hold it like a pencil. Convey food to your mouth as you would a mini-shovel.

The Continental way, on the other hand, has the diner holding both knife and fork throughout the meal. "After the food is cut, your knife to secure it on your fork. Bring the fork, tines down to your mouth by twisting your wrist and raising your forearm slightly."

If that sounds confusing, I'm sure a quick Google will yield some helpful images. As for me, I've managed to combine the two ways without realizing it. Now knowing this, does it mean I'll have to choose?


The 'Fish' Way

I'd been holding my knife like a pencil all these years, after learning this was the proper manner of doing so. It turns out, this is the way one is supposed to hold the knife when eating (and maneuvering) fish. Good thing I've eaten mostly seafood in the past decade.

For poultry and other meats, "the knife is not held like a fish knife because more leverage is needed for cutting." So do as you would when slicing vegetables on a cutting board, except stick your pointer finger forward to steady the knife. "Cut only one piece at a time."


Going Back for Seconds

This I needed to know: The photo above is how one should leave silverware on the plate when taking a breather or leaving the table with the intention of coming back to pick up where one left off. "A highly trained server will not remove your plate with the fork and knife crossed. This is a universally known silent signal indicating the diner has not finished and is only resting."


Bread and Butter

• "Do not pull the roll in half." (I am sooo guilty of this!)
• "Break off only one bite of your bread or roll at a time, then butter it with your butter spreader and eat." (This, I do, after I've pulled the roll in half, ha!)
• "Do the buttering on your plate, not in your hand." (Oops.)

When it comes to table manners and proper social conduct, I don't consider myself completely ignorant. After all, plenty past luncheons, dinners, and events had required some form of proper decorum from my end, and as a child of the 80s and 90s, I knew early on from watching Pretty Woman that one used utensils from the outside in.

When my uncle—a self-made man—got together with my aunt who was from an old-rich family, my cousins and I (we all lived under one roof) benefited from a lesson or two on refinement. Tita Joan (pronounced 'Jone'), became our second mother, teaching us about manners and the good life by way of Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. She taught us by example—never ever in a condescending way—and through countless invitations to dine at her parents' home wherein household help served meals from our right and cleared the plates from our left. (Or was it the other way around? Now you see why I needed the book above?)

Personally, apart from Tita Joan's open-minded and introspective outlook in life, I can mostly recall her culinary influences: chicken baked in paprika, how to properly sear meat ("Don't flip it about."), good mustard and marmalade, and so forth. She also taught me to eat Boursin and Havarti cheese; and for many years, I couldn't tell them apart. And because of her, when I had my own apartment and didn't really have a lot of money, I still went to Mandarin Hotel for the walnut multigrain bread.

That said, I always still get curious about other fine things in life, including the study of etiquette. So when I picked up the mini-book, The Little Book of Etiquette by Dorothea Johnson, I may have as well called myself ignorant all these years.

Here are some pointers that called out to me, including so many things I didn't know. Please feel free to add your own tips via the comment boxes, we all could use a new reminder or two. And as I write this, I realize the book covers a lot of ground with enough material to be discussed, so I'll do a mini-series as I blog along.

1. "Do try a little of everything served to you unless you know you are allergic to it."

I first caught wind of this dining 'Do' when I noticed almost a decade ago how my friend, Simon (my mentor Marie's boyfriend) never declined on snacks or food I offered him. This habit of his slowly clued me in that he was doing this out of good manners. After all, he always struck me as someone who had impeccable decorum—always tactful and refined.

2. "Blot your mouth before taking a sip of water."

Now I think I've been doing the opposite way, patting the napkin over my mouth after drinking from the glass. From now on, to be safe, I am going to blot twice: before and after.

3. "Do take medicine discreetly, preferably away from the table. If you must take medication at the table, do not mention it to anyone."

This is a good reminder for my Tempra and Claritin moments.

4. "Do remove alien objects from your mouth with your fingers and place them at the edge of your plate."

Good to know because I'd always assumed one had to use her fork or spoon to do this.

5. "Don't place personal items such as purses, briefcases, and glasses on the table. A small purse belongs on the lap and large purses near your feet."

And I'm adding phones to this list. I'm also guilty of placing my mobile next to my plate, so again, this is a good reminder not to. Also, those nifty jeweled bag hooks from CMG come to mind; must get one of those.

More table etiquette tips tomorrow, plus, what my dad had to say about all of this!

A Lesson in Etiquette (Part 2)

Image courtesy of BarnesandNoble.com

I once read before that what you were when you were 7 is what you’re likely to turn out to be when you’re a grownup.

Looking back, the things I did during playtime and countless afternoons were activities I eventually made careers out of.

If you’re hitting some on-the-job roadblocks and feel like it’s time to branch out, perhaps all you have to do is look back on those summers you spent as a child. What appealed to you the most? What made you look forward to those days without school? Or what subject in school was your ultimate favorite throughout your academic life? You’ll be surprised to put two and two together and come up with a promising and potentially perfect career mix.

Here’s my own trip down memory lane, plus some realizations along the way.

Makeup and Playing Dress-up

When I was little, maybe around 3, my mom gave me a small green shoebox filled with old lipsticks and other makeup she no longer used. Around that time, I’d also successfully bitten my aunt’s strawberry Chapstick and discovered that how it smelled and lingered on one’s lips wasn’t necessarily how it tasted once you’ve chewed a chunk of it.

Eventually, at 7 or 8, when my parents were out working, I spent afternoons rummaging through my mom’s closet trying out her Splash Cucumber astringent and Mary Quant mascara. I also wore her high heels and oftentimes wrapped a blanket around me pretending to be a Miss Universe contestant. (My cousin and I loved doing this. That year, Miss Thailand won, and we both wanted to be her. So in our version of the pageant, the commentator would say, “And the winners are, Miss Thailand 1 and Miss Thailand 2!”)

Working in magazines was not unlike all of that. I got to wear a lot of makeup—and also put it on other people—and play dress-up, and got paid for it(!).Who would’ve thought?

Cooking and Baking

In the 80s, my aunt had a flourishing baking business wherein she made beautiful birthday cakes and formed them into famous cartoon characters like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and all those cool caricatures from that time. She was also known for her araro [cornstarch cookies] and Sans Rival, and at some point, she sold egg pan de sal from her home bakery.

I used to spend plenty of summers and weekends in her shop. In retrospect, I’m surprised at how generous she was that she just let me tinker about. I had free reign on the sheet pans, candy thermometer, and powdered sugar, and I even made my own frosting using Anchor Butter, like there was an unending supply of it. I also learned early on the difference between butter and shortening, a.k.a., vegetable lard (the latter is gross).

Fast-forward 20+ years and I’m wielding my own electric mixer, sifting flour, and making my own sweet treats in the kitchen—going through sticks and sticks of good butter. It’s a delightfully decadent example of history repeating itself.


Reading and Writing

Growing up, I was only allowed to watch TV on Thursdays—that was when Okey Ka Fairy Ko aired—and on weekends. So I spent many quiet nights reading and going through children’s encyclopedias and fairy tale books to my heart’s content (my dad also owned bookstores back then).

With all that reading came writing. My earliest memory of being ‘published’ was in second grade, when I wrote a poem(?) for Mother’s Day that came out in the school paper. I still vividly remember because that was the only time I didn’t spend my 10-peso allowance for a day (or two) so I could buy my mom this red-orange lipstick from the store beside my school.

As the years went by, writing and reading have been mainstays in my chosen career path. When I got a copy editing job at a famous fashion retailer in New York, I was stoked: What could be better than reading all day while getting to look at beautiful clothes in the process? When I had that job, I also did my writing projects at night. To me that was the perfect work balance doing both the things I loved to do.

These days, I still try to maintain that equilibrium of doing the things I enjoy and, even if it’s sometimes literally just pennies, earn an income in the process. Like my dad said (and that I always repeat), “Do something you love to do and the money will follow.”


Drawing and the Arts

Now, I’ve never really fancied myself a drawer. I’ve carried what I call ‘drawing guilt’ ever since that summer when I was about 8 and my mother got me a portrait sketching book. I got impatient following the steps, so I traced the faces. When my parents got home that day, my mother kept on raving about how talented I was and how marvelous my drawings were. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I cheated.

So all my life, I simply assumed that ‘art’ wasn’t really my thing or calling. After all, I’d worked with so many amazingly talented artists and art directors and there was no way my stick drawings could have been up to par with what they produced.

When I got into makeup artistry, I did wonder why I was able to shade people’s faces, but was still ultimately clueless when it came to sketching and drawing. I figured, I probably just had to take up an art class to learn technical skills.

It wasn’t until years after that I would find out from a ‘real’ artist that tracing was actually a start, and that it was perfectly okay! So instead of feeling guilty about tracing those portraits, I could’ve persisted and become really good at drawing. Oh well.

My mother recently cleared her storage room and unearthed some ‘paintings’ (I really am uncomfortable with the whole artsy-fartsy thing in relation to myself) I did when my little brother was younger and had this kid easel set up in the living room. When I saw them, I was surprised: They actually looked better than what I remembered. So maybe I could pick up ‘drawing’ and ‘painting’ as sensible hobbies after all, without being embarrassed or feeling pretentious, and maybe someday, no longer underestimate my art skills.

I’m not saying I’m going to ditch everything and live in the woods to take up painting full-time, or anything extreme like that. What I do want to do is get to know other tools—I am now absolutely curious about Adobe Illustrator—that could further hone any skill I may (or may not) have. If I now draw like a 5-year-old, maybe 10 years from now I’ll start drawing like a 20-year-old, and so forth.

My ‘art’ skills may never catch up to my real age, but I’m only happy to explore.

Part of this month's Cosmo Series, 16th of 16 posts also published at Cosmo.ph.

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