I’ve moved. Follow me here:
http://ria.absentsea.com/blog
http://ria.absentsea.com/blog
http://ria.absentsea.com/blog
http://ria.absentsea.com/blog
See you there. :)
Mango Tree Bistro – Trinoma
One of the consequences of having a car and having younger cousins who like to fill in the role of younger sisters is that sometimes they ask you to go out with them, aka drive them to Trinoma. The nice thing about these excursions is that they usually (if you’re lucky like me) pay for your food and stuff (subsidized by their mom/my aunt)! :D So recently, my cousins, after taking them out, took me to a restaurant they had eaten at with their dad: Mango Tree Bistro. We were supposed to inquire about reservations for a birthday, but ended up sitting down and ordering lunch. I knew nothing of the place, only that it was there, as I often passed it on my way to Powerbooks or the cinema escalator. I only found out once we had sat down that they served Thai food, which I’ve only had experience with a handful of times. As such, I sat back and let my cousins do the ordering, not minding what was being ordered. So after we ate and I tried to identify food on the receipt, I knew nothing. (Everything was in it’s traditional Thai name!) All I had were photos, the lingering taste, and a vague idea of what what was. But what I knew was this: the food was good, and I had to come back.
Shrimp cakes, I think!
I particularly liked these. As far as I remember, these were served as appetizers, but were good and large enough in serving for a heavy meal. I also really liked how, despite being fried, the patties were not overly oily, nor did they have a rancid oily taste.
Pomelo Salad.
The Pomelo Salad was very interesting, as it is mainly made out of pomelo. It has no dressing of any sort, and as a result it feels light, but surprise, it doesn’t lack in flavor. The part of this salad that stood out the most for me was the presence of peanuts. It sounds weird, but tastes really, really great. I have no idea how they figured out that peanuts and pomelo would taste good together, but it works.
Pad Thai!
Nothing remarkable, for me. It felt heavy and I had admittedly narrowed in on the Shrimp Cakes, so I ignored the Pad Thai. The presentation was really cute, though.
Fried… rice.
This rice. Is. Silk. To the senses. Not oily at all and full of flavor. It was perfect for me.
This was chicken, lemon grass chicken, I think.
Definitely not bad, though grossly overshadowed by the Shrimp Cakes in my eyes. And mouth.
Chocolate… dessert!
…Obviously I should have paid more attention, but at least I know that Mango Tree Bistro is a place I want to visit again. Hopefully, I’ll remember the dishes by look the next time I eat there. (Which I will make sure will happen again.)
Mango Tree Bistro
Level 3, Trinoma
North Edsa, Quezon City
Mobile: (0917) 8902166
Duo (02) 5855460
Landline: (02)9160297
office window
Late night at Starbucks
There’s nothing really special for me at Starbucks. I don’t drink coffee, and I don’t like mocha, and I grew out of the ‘frappe’ phase highschoolers tend to go through a long time ago. While their Cinnamon Swirl and Tazo tea drinks are pretty good, the rest are so-so. Still, the sheer number of branches everywhere and their availability for late night conversation makes Starbucks indispensable even for a person like me.
dinner for one
I’ve been feeling lonely in a strange way lately, strange in the sense that I haven’t really been alone. I recently began working at my first full-time job, which pays less than I hoped it would, but is still not bad at all. However, I work in a cubicle with encompassing walls in the corner near the door, so I constantly hear people coming and going but rarely do I see their faces. I couldn’t ask for anything more of my workmates though, as they are few but fun, candid and friendly. Tonight was the first time I stayed over-time at the office, and I came home late after doing some last minute grocery shopping. Dad had waited until I got home, and opened the front door for me as soon as I had parked my car. But he went upstairs to sleep as soon as I had sat down, and I was alone in the dining room with my dinner. It was tilapia and rice, long turned cold.
push
Today, I’m halfway through Kusamakura by Natsume Sōseki. I only realized a few days ago that January was quickly coming to an end, and that I had only read two books for this month (the first being George Orwell’s 1984, and the second being Albert Camus’ The Stranger). Given that the first goal that I listed in my goals for 2012 is to read at least three books a month, I realized that I only had less than a week to make sure I don’t fail one of my resolutions on the first month of the new year. Luckily for me, Kusamakura is proving to be much easier and lighter to read than 1984, as the latter took me about more than two weeks to finish.
I also finally, finally actually wrote the first part of a story I’ve been thinking of for a long time. After letting Pepito read it, we discussed the idea I had and how I could go about it, but we both agreed that the only real way to flesh out the story would be to write it and see where it goes. It’s exciting; the last time I wrote something (or at least recognized something I wrote as something really written) was way back when I was still writing for RF Online. And that’s at least four years ago.
It feels good, to feel that I’m actually doing something, accomplishing something. I’m still worrying about a lot of things though, such as my pending job applications, my dwindling funds and my sanity in the next few months, but all I can do is stick to my guns, put myself out there and keep on pushing myself.
Traveler
Traveler
by Heather Sommer
Your first time out of the country
of your own skin, I didn’t bring a map.
You always hated that I’d been lucky
enough to pick my way through streets
I couldn’t pronounce to find cathedrals,
graveyards. If you were a city, you said,
I’d only like to know your suburbs.
If you were a city, I said, I’d like to know
your poor neighborhoods, your inner parts.
Read your graffiti. Drink your tap water.
Feel your smog and dirt stick to my sweat.
Hear your orchestra of sirens and gunshots.
I’d know which of your streets to walk.
If you were a city, I’d expect to be robbed.
