Oh lord.

I'm in the family room down from the kitchen, having just downed four slices of pizza in quick succession. I am typing this little anecdote in the hopes of interesting you and garnering more visits to this blog.

Anyway, it was not Pizza Hut, which I am used to eating, which was the culprit in this story. It was something called Jamaican...hot sauce.

To start off with, I am a big pizza lover, and would gladly allow more stomach room for more slices. Problem is, I have PMS, and I'm at the stage where I eat a lot. There was this twelve-course dinner last Saturday, which didn't help at all, then some leftover fondue, butter cookies and whatnot lying around in the kitchen. Somebody untempt me!

So, three pounds heavier than I was last week (hey, I counted!), I proceeded to stuff myself again. It all started with an innocent little slice of Pizza Hut's beef-and-pepperoni, and a tiny drop of Jamaican hot sauce. Now you should know that I never can enjoy a pizza without a sauce of some sort (garlic, chili, you name it) and once in a while I get an overdose of the spicy kind.

Today was one of those days. After that small droplet of yellow sauce, I added about six more, in abundance. They'd already warned me about the taste but I guess I underestimated the power of Caribbean hotness.

After that slice it was fast and furious all the way. I couldn't even finish it so I gave it to my mom and started a new one, this time without the sauce. I didn't even need it. The taste was still as fresh in my mouth as if I had put it on that slice. I drank a lot of Coke repeatedly and with each bite.

So here I am, sitting right after having such a huge meal. It's one of those times when my mind is racing and my fingers are itching to type, which may just mean that I am inspired (which I hardly am). And when when I indeed am, I choose to ignore it. So count yourself lucky to have had me type this thing. Hopefully you'll be coming back for more. Ha.

Labels: boredom, foodtrip, summer

Labels: foodtrip, summer

I got pretty excited because it was my first time to dine in a Greek restaurant, and I was dying to taste something else besides the usual shish kabob. We ordered our food, waited, washed our hands, and waited again. Soon it arrived.

Of course I ordered something with beef on it. Steak-beef tenderloin souvlaki it was called, and it turned out to be what else but shish kabob! Nevertheless I really liked it. Other orders were kotopoulo lemonato, which is, according to the menu, Greek chicken adobo with lemon, and my parents' order, mahi-mahi (fish).

It was a fairly awesome dining experience I guess, since it was Greek. Of course there's always the fact that it is Greek-Filipino, not Greek-Greek, so it is not 100% authentic. I must say I liked the souvlaki best. The kotopoulo lemonato, besides having an exotic name, was not to my taste, although I ate quite some.

And then there was dessert. We got a flaming mango, another recommendation from my dad's officemate Tita Dolly. It's basically a whole mango with vanilla ice cream and a syrup. Before they put the ice cream though, they shout "Opa!" and flame the mango - I think the syrup contains some alcohol.

It's a really amazing treat, hot and cold at the same time. The mango tastes even better with the sweetness of the warm syrup and the neutralizing flavor of vanilla. I guess you can say it was my favorite part of the meal.

Curious, my mom asked Kristy what the whole ceremony meant. Kristy explained that opa means something like "cheers" in Greek. Most first-timers, we were told, are startled to the point that some even jump out of their seats when the waiters do that, but we'd been warned so we didn't. A signal is given when the flaming mango is served, and they all shout "Opa!" It's a merry activity, I tell you. I was quite amused.

As Anton says, it's like fire and ice melting together. It's sweet and creamy and mango-ey, even better because mangoes are my favorite fruit! For all that, however, you spend P180. Somehow all five of us managed to get a bite, us three daughters getting the most. My mother is an expert in making said, so she managed to scrape the mango clean.

All in all, it was a semicrazy new dining experience, worthy to be shared to you all! So if you're going to Cyma's, order the flaming mangoes. You'd be missing out if you don't.

Labels: foodtrip