Blindsided

"I come through the window

I'm crippled and slow

For the agony I'd rather know

'Cause blinded

I am blindsided."

Bon Iver, Blindsided

Wontons with The Girls

One of the little conversations that popped up the other day while we were hanging out was how our hang-outs usually involve food. As we grew up, we started making food too, rather than just consuming them. We've made several batches of pasta over the years. So much pasta in fact, that we got sick of it and decided to try cooking different things. So far we've made pancakes. Last weekend, we decided to make wontons.

We minced pork and shrimp and green onions and seasoned the mixture with salt, pepper, chicken stock, and a few sprinklings of chilli flakes. We sat on the table and played origami fold-up with the wantan wrappers. Four different personalities, four different wantan wrapping styles. Here's what mine looked like:

It was supposed to be wantan soup, and The Girls had even brought out the fancy steamboat machinery, complete with vegetables and all those little extras that make a steamboat a steamboat.

The soup was great, but we ended up frying most of the wantans. They tasted better that way, all golden brown and crispy and crunchy and unhealthy. We made junk food out of healthy wantans.

And that's just the way we like it.

Growing garlic

Four days ago, I found some extra garlic lying around and decided to see what would happen if I stuck the bulbs into the ground and watered them each day. I found a little patch (a really little patch) in the garden for my garlic, just next to the little curb and in between some weeds I thought were too pretty to rip out:

I like garlic, and like lots of it in pasta, but I'm not expecting to see bulbs of garlic growing in my garden (wrong climate methinks). I don't remember eating garlic shoots often, and I seem to remember not liking the taste. Why am I growing garlic then?

I guess I'm just excited to see their bright green spear-like leaves pushing through the damp muddy earth, little soldiers in green suits defying gravity, the scorching sun, and hungry earthworms. Although really I could be mistaking garlic shoots for shallot shoots.

Maybe I should try planting some shallots. Just in case.

Fragments

Fragments. Bits and pieces. Random goodness.

Night sky

Hustle bustle 

rush rush rush.

Quickly hurry 

fast fast fast.

But it's best to 

slow and hush.

Don't you let the 

moment pass.

© EScetera 2006 - 2013 

Busy... gardening?

It's been a while since I last blogged, and saying I've been busy might seem like a cliché, but really, I've been busy. With what, you might ask.

Well, with gardening, for one.

I've been in the garden quite a lot lately. Mostly in the evenings. Pulling out weeds is a lot harder than you might imagine. Then there's the pruning and pinching and trimming of leaves and twigs. And I'm trying to propagate the herbs that are already in the garden, so there's the transplanting and rooting and watering. 

I sound like some garden expert, but more often than not, the plants stick out their obstinate little tongues at me and wilt away. Like Pet Potato. Remember him? I kinda neglected forgot about him for a while (especially with the arrival of slow-walking-and-snap-hissing Tortilla the Emo Turtle), and one day I remembered, and I went out into the garden, and he wasn't there anymore. Pet Potato's place in that pot had been taken over by some other plants. I felt quite hostile towards those plants. I still feel quite hostile towards those plants. *heartbreak*

I think herbs are better. More hardy, more fragrant, and more suited to our weather. They grow really fast too, and it's really as simple as sticking twigs into the ground and waiting for them to sprout. And hey, if you can't stand the sight of them, you can always rip them out and have them for dinner.

Pancakes with The Girls!

Last weekend we decided to make pancakes from scratch. By 'we', I mean The Girls. Maybe I should put some emphasis on that: The Girls. There, much better.

Anyway, The Girls and I, we go way back. Like, some of us have known each other for maybe even more than two decades. That's a very long time. I remember running around with some of these girls. Literally. We played catch. I remember the hair-pulling and tickling and kicking (all in good-natured fun, of course). In fact, we're hitting our thirties soon *gasp!* and we still hair-pull and tickle and kick. But then again, I still crack lame jokes. Along the years, we've shared boy problems, jammed in a band together, watched other friends come and go, had slumber parties, debated third (and first) world problems, watched movies, taken road trips to the beach and back, kept each other company through diarrhea sessions, gotten lost in big cities, and grown up, but somehow, The Girls have still managed to hold it together and remain pretty firm friends. This year, our ages total up to a grand 142 years. Which means this year, the average age of The Girls is 28.4.

That doesn't stop us from giggling over pancakes. Especially if they're made from scratch. The Girls (minus one, who's in a different part of the country), when we meet, there's somehow always food involved. Sometimes we like to go to fanc(ier) eateries and have our dinner cooked for us and laugh while someone else is doing the dishes in the back, but sometimes we enjoy cooking our own meals. Although how what was supposed to be a light afternoon tea ended up being full-blown dinner remains a mystery, we managed to eke out 15 thick fluffy pancakes (and a few crepes) with the following ingredients:

Flour, baking powder, butter, milk, eggs, and mandarin oranges and a lime for a suzette sauce. The glass of black liquid is Coke, and no, that wasn't part of the pancake batter (one of The Girls asked).

We zested the lime and an orange, but the pot of suzette sauce was bitter and we had to toss it out because we burnt the butter. We left the zest out of the second pot, and watched it like a hawk, so it turned out pretty and sweet and all sunshine-y. Tasted like marmalade, actually.

It was really a team effort, and halfway through there were designated teams (really: Pancake Team and Suzette Team). It was really therapeutic, greasing the nonstick, ladling out the batter, watching it form a neat circle, then seeing the batter gradually dry up and the little bubbles emerging and flip flip flip. Steaming hot golden pancake. Wonderful aroma wafting through the house.

We had our pancakes with suzette sauce, honey and butter. But only after taking lots of pictures of our beautiful 15-level pancakes.

At the end of the day, The Girls remind me of pancakes. No, they're not oily and greasy friends. And no, they don't taste like waffles. But they're the ones from your childhood, the ones you grew up with, and the ones with all the memories of warmth and laughter and fun. Comfort food. Comfort friends.