Having a symposium is one way to disseminate information. Thus the 11th annual memorial lecture in honor of Rafael Salas held at the United Nations las Nov. 20 was just that.
Honorable Gertrude Mongella, president of the Pan African Parliament was guest speaker and touched on reproductive health issues of the African nation. She mentioned that her country has the highest population in the world with a ratio of 300 people for every square kilometer and that only one out of 22 born children will live to see daylight. Her appeal to the global community present at that symposium that night was indeed a revelation.
One statement that struck home was her mentioning of " religion which discriminates women in her country and should be re-examined." I couldn't agree more with her. Such subject is the issue of many women as well.
Haven't you notice that women's adversities always have MEN. Menopause, Menstruation, Mental etc..
It never ceases to upset me when verses taken from the bible are taken out of context to fit the male species' interpretation. This is what I'm talking about.
1. Submission
Ephisians 5:22..25 (Wives submit yourself unto your husbands, as unto the Lord...Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church and gave himself for it)
When a man uses this verse as a tool to express his authority over a woman, there is only one conclusion. The husband has a symptom of pigititis also known as "pigheadedness". Many husbands believe that this verse puts them in charge no matter what conflict or disagreement arises. This is not the point because the verse before tht (21) states that submission is enjoined by all believers in fear of God. A wife's submission to her husband is to be "as unto the Lord" She has only one Lord, (Christ) but her devotion to her husband is to be of the same quality as her devotion to God. Similarly, a husband shows love for his wife by following Christ example of humility and self sacrifice (which is also a form of submission). No where in these passages says that the husbands are to excercise power or authority over his wife.
2, HEAD OF THE FAMILY
1Cor 11:3 ( But I would have you know that the head of every man is Christ and the head of every woman is man, and the head of Christ is God." Eph. 23 (for the husband is the head of the wife)
Again, this does not mean control or subordination or even heirarchical. When the bible was translated from the original Greek form, many words can get mixed up. The greek word "andrasin" for example can mean man or husband, depending on how it is used in the context. The word 'head' has been explained in a number of different ways variously as supreme ruler, governor, boss, derivation or source. Therefore, this verse simply means that the husband is not commanded to be head but is described in metaphorical terms as the head of the wife. Since the context is the parallel of not the glorious ruling of Christ, but has self giving sacrifice, it is likely that this is the most sensible reading.
The derivative source could also mean that women originated from man by its historical beginnings that women came out of man's rib (Adam in Genesis).
Given that our filipino culture is heirarchical, many men pressume that they are "boss". It can be terrifying to women that Christianity advocates them as seconday to men's supremacy. Not the point here. The bible also states that we are co-heirs to God's inheritance.
When two people enter marriage, they bring with them various gifts and abilities so that each partner will seek to develop the gifts of the other, rather than fitting into mythically predetermined roles. There is no biblical mandate for husbands going out to earn their daily bread and women staying home to bake it. Paul never specified any cultural action or practical application from this passage. But when a man loves his wife (Eph 5:25) he is fulfilling his role.
3 BIBLE IS LAW BECAUSE IT IS GOD'S WORD
I am an absolutist in terms of God's Word. 2Timothy3:16 says that "all scripture is given by inspiration of God and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness." But I am a relativist when it comes to the level of belief that a believer or a non-believer has in terms of his faith.
If one is a spiritual midget, then the letter of the law is the basis of one's belief. But that is not what the truth portrays. We do not follow the letter of the law, but by the Spirit of the law. We go beyond what the scripture says, beyond its black and white letters. Just as the final verse of that chapter says 2Tim4:22 "the Lord Jesus Christ be with thy Spirit"
Ken Wilbur's book "the integral vision" explains in chapter 5 the aspect of being spiritual but not religious. When you first read his notes, you can easily conclude that he is a weird man. But sometimes weird men makes sense in our mess up worlds. Just as there are spiritual midgets, there are also spiritual giants in the Christian world. Wilber explains his findings/researches scientifially in layman's terms and it is up to us to find what level of spirituality we have attained.
Many researchers define spiritual intelligence accordingly. The most simplified one is based on Paul Tilich's definition that "spiritual" refers to that which indicats a person's ultimate concern. And he goes on to show the levels and stages. Just like Maslow's Needs Heirarchy, there is a graph to knowing your own level of spirituality. However, this does not mean that the level described will determine the specific content of one's ultimate concern, but simply explain the degree of development, complexity and consciousness that goes into one's ultimate concern, whatever the level may be.
Summing the whole issue on men being head (boss juno), submitting (under kuno), and it's all found in the bible (Law kuno), everyone who takes their spirituality seriously should consider the outcome which one desires.
I definitely confirm with Dr. Mongella's observation that religion is discriminatory to women when seen at the least level of understanding. Education in every aspect, whether for health, values and other pertinent issues should take priority in the list of programs,not only in Africa but in many parts of the world. Religion takes a major role in this quest because these are the origins of many wars since time immemorial.
To quote Wilber: The press (media) seems to recognize only two types of religion: fundamentalist nutcases and New Age nutcases. Both, of course, are pre-rational, with the fundamentalist believing in amber dogma and myth, the new agers believing in magenta magic. Any transrational orientation, such as transpersonal psychology is lumped in with the New Age nutcases. But heck, the only two people that the press knows who are "spiritual" are George W. Bush and Osama Bin Laden. And the press can't figure out who is the more dangerous.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Yehey! I am once again invited to a symposium at the United Nations in honor of Rafael Salas.
My mother’s youngest sister, Carmelita is married to Rafael Montinola Salas. He was the Executive Secretary of the Philippines during the Marcos regime. When Tito Paeng, as we fondly call him, knew that Marcos was going to declare Martial Law, he fled the country along with his new bride, Tita Carmen.
Because Tito Paeng was brilliant and very knowledgeable, he was able to organize the U.N Fund for Population. This entity aids to promote the rights of every woman, man and child to enjoy a life of health and equal opportunity. He was the pioneer and first Executive Director for UNFPA.
Every year, at the U.N., Tito Paeng is honored as the brainchild of such a dream and it has been a great help indeed to millions all over the world.
Learning that we had recently moved to New Jersey, Tita Carmen did not hesitate to send us an invitation to grace such an event.
Taking half a day off from work, I immediately hurried home for a change of clothes. Donning a black pair of pants with matching top and gold belt for accent, with boots for that New Yorker look, I scurried to the train station just in time to catch the 3 o’clock transit for an hour’s train ride to new York city.
Arriving New York Penn Station at the onslaught of rush hour is not a fun sight. Literally! People were on a stampede rushing to catch their trains. You would think you were in a football game tackling your way through the meter dash. By the time we got out of the Penn, it was starting to rain.
We had decided to take the bus earlier, but with the traffic caused by the rain, we would surely be late. So hailing a cab (a first time for me in New York) was our best bet in reaching the U.N.
After the security checks, bags open and hands capping on the sides, we were hailed to proceed to such and such corridor where the reception committee for the event was situated. The reception committee took our invitations and exchanged it for badges that would grant entrance to the affair. Since there was already a group that converged when we arrived at the desk, an escort brought us all together to a set of elevators that would lead us to the main hall.
The familiar hall, which I only see on t.v. was now a reality. Where once I would see heads of nations debate on global matters, negotiating on the affairs and futures of countries, I am now witness to such a place of action. Our escort informed us that we could sit anywhere we like except the oval center table which was reserved for the heads of states or the ambassadors. Above the center table and on stage sat the guest of honor, guest speaker and the present UNFPA director, together with my Tita Carmen.
The guest speaker, whose name now slips my mind, is a writer for the New York times and travels extensively all over the world. He spoke about the plight of women in terms of human trafficking and the increase in their health issues. Moreover, he talked about the rise of homeless children due to the effects of the wars . Over all, it was an experience.
Right after the symposium, we were directed to another Hall where they served cocktails and a time to mingle with the dignitaries. My escort husband left my side after doing his obligation of handing me my drink and in due time was off engaging in conversation.
As often, my interest would lead me to the buffet table located near the end of the room. Actually, what magnetized me was the floor to ceiling glass overlooking the river. The lights on the buildings against a lighted bridge just looked overwhelmingly beautiful.
I was enjoying alone with myself when I overheard a man beside me engaging in conversation to a lady from Africa. She was garbed in a printed mumu with matching print wrapped around her head. He casually asked her, “what do you think of the plight of women in the Sudanese area?.”
I almost got panicky and said to myself, ”boy if someone ever converses with me, “I KNOW NOTHING, KID” but then again, I do know something. I surfed through my mind and recalled ,Eve Ensler’s play “Vagina Monologue”. Thank God they presented that ages ago in Cebu and Fabregas was my favorite actress then. So, my confidence came back…just in case…
However, no one had any courage to talk shop with me. At that point, my drink was down to 2 drops and no husband in sight. So I donned my 4 ounce of wine courage and headed to the bar.
One fellow, in his thirties, was looking at me hold my wine glass to the bartender. He gave me a wink as the bartender replaced my wineglass for a new one. Suddenly, I felt like a girl out from high school but then again thought to myself, “is this how you get picked up? Do I look like a Mrs.Robinson? The guy is old enough to be my son!….but then again, does he know I’m 50? Hmmmm?’
Smiling with a full glass out of that scenario, I immediately looked for my husband. Seeing him standing beside the buffet table, He was stretching his neck out as if looking for someone. Sooner than he could say anything, I asked him, “do you think I look 50?”
“why?” he asked.
“just tell me.” I quipped.
“No! you look 30ish.” he said. This man is indeed my husband.
“well! Someone just hit on me! “
The best part for me was waiters handing out hors’d’ oeuvres. I stationed myself conspicuously enough that when the servers and waiters would come out with sets of fresh hors’d’oeuvres, I was waiting. There was baby lamb chops with mint sauce. Soft and juicy. Then a single potato chip with a dolop of dill dip, crab cakes, spring rolls, brushectta on toast, satay on ornamental sticks with peanut sauce, strip of steak on pix, puff pastry tart, dips on artichoke leaf, and some other canapés.
The evening went on beautifull, until finally, I was able to get hold of my auntie. She was tired but happy after meeting all the dignitaries. While we were together, she never failed to introduce us to whoever came near her. To me, Tita Carmen is the epitome of finesse and dignified grace. She had her own entourage of photographers and assistants . After all not only is she the wife of Tito Paeng, she is presently also the ambassador of the Philppines to the Czech Republic in Prague. After several pictures and last minute hook-ups, we had to bid each other good bye.
Stepping outside of the U.N. bulding, the rains kept pouring. Mike and I were debating either to take a cab or walk several blocks to the Penn station. As I was light headed (almost drunk really, from all that wine and hors’d’oeuvres) I wanted to walk.
It was a great 30 minute walk for me,with rain on my face and holding hands with my love one. But not so much for Mike. Since he was wearing his $150 dollar shoe, he kept on swearing and looking down, afraid of stepping on a puddle lest he ruin his shoes. Kinda reminds me of a sanitized aunt who goes to a Sinulog procession. She is often seen head down, not so much in reverence of the patron saint, but is afraid to step on spit with her shoes.
By the time we arrived Penn Station, I was sober and happy, Mike’s shoes were wet and he was miserable. However, on the train back to New Jersey, we both agreed that we had a great time and look forward to the next invite.
Thanks ,Tita Carms. See you in a couple of days!
My mother’s youngest sister, Carmelita is married to Rafael Montinola Salas. He was the Executive Secretary of the Philippines during the Marcos regime. When Tito Paeng, as we fondly call him, knew that Marcos was going to declare Martial Law, he fled the country along with his new bride, Tita Carmen.
Because Tito Paeng was brilliant and very knowledgeable, he was able to organize the U.N Fund for Population. This entity aids to promote the rights of every woman, man and child to enjoy a life of health and equal opportunity. He was the pioneer and first Executive Director for UNFPA.
Every year, at the U.N., Tito Paeng is honored as the brainchild of such a dream and it has been a great help indeed to millions all over the world.
Learning that we had recently moved to New Jersey, Tita Carmen did not hesitate to send us an invitation to grace such an event.
Taking half a day off from work, I immediately hurried home for a change of clothes. Donning a black pair of pants with matching top and gold belt for accent, with boots for that New Yorker look, I scurried to the train station just in time to catch the 3 o’clock transit for an hour’s train ride to new York city.
Arriving New York Penn Station at the onslaught of rush hour is not a fun sight. Literally! People were on a stampede rushing to catch their trains. You would think you were in a football game tackling your way through the meter dash. By the time we got out of the Penn, it was starting to rain.
We had decided to take the bus earlier, but with the traffic caused by the rain, we would surely be late. So hailing a cab (a first time for me in New York) was our best bet in reaching the U.N.
After the security checks, bags open and hands capping on the sides, we were hailed to proceed to such and such corridor where the reception committee for the event was situated. The reception committee took our invitations and exchanged it for badges that would grant entrance to the affair. Since there was already a group that converged when we arrived at the desk, an escort brought us all together to a set of elevators that would lead us to the main hall.
The familiar hall, which I only see on t.v. was now a reality. Where once I would see heads of nations debate on global matters, negotiating on the affairs and futures of countries, I am now witness to such a place of action. Our escort informed us that we could sit anywhere we like except the oval center table which was reserved for the heads of states or the ambassadors. Above the center table and on stage sat the guest of honor, guest speaker and the present UNFPA director, together with my Tita Carmen.
The guest speaker, whose name now slips my mind, is a writer for the New York times and travels extensively all over the world. He spoke about the plight of women in terms of human trafficking and the increase in their health issues. Moreover, he talked about the rise of homeless children due to the effects of the wars . Over all, it was an experience.
Right after the symposium, we were directed to another Hall where they served cocktails and a time to mingle with the dignitaries. My escort husband left my side after doing his obligation of handing me my drink and in due time was off engaging in conversation.
As often, my interest would lead me to the buffet table located near the end of the room. Actually, what magnetized me was the floor to ceiling glass overlooking the river. The lights on the buildings against a lighted bridge just looked overwhelmingly beautiful.
I was enjoying alone with myself when I overheard a man beside me engaging in conversation to a lady from Africa. She was garbed in a printed mumu with matching print wrapped around her head. He casually asked her, “what do you think of the plight of women in the Sudanese area?.”
I almost got panicky and said to myself, ”boy if someone ever converses with me, “I KNOW NOTHING, KID” but then again, I do know something. I surfed through my mind and recalled ,Eve Ensler’s play “Vagina Monologue”. Thank God they presented that ages ago in Cebu and Fabregas was my favorite actress then. So, my confidence came back…just in case…
However, no one had any courage to talk shop with me. At that point, my drink was down to 2 drops and no husband in sight. So I donned my 4 ounce of wine courage and headed to the bar.
One fellow, in his thirties, was looking at me hold my wine glass to the bartender. He gave me a wink as the bartender replaced my wineglass for a new one. Suddenly, I felt like a girl out from high school but then again thought to myself, “is this how you get picked up? Do I look like a Mrs.Robinson? The guy is old enough to be my son!….but then again, does he know I’m 50? Hmmmm?’
Smiling with a full glass out of that scenario, I immediately looked for my husband. Seeing him standing beside the buffet table, He was stretching his neck out as if looking for someone. Sooner than he could say anything, I asked him, “do you think I look 50?”
“why?” he asked.
“just tell me.” I quipped.
“No! you look 30ish.” he said. This man is indeed my husband.
“well! Someone just hit on me! “
The best part for me was waiters handing out hors’d’ oeuvres. I stationed myself conspicuously enough that when the servers and waiters would come out with sets of fresh hors’d’oeuvres, I was waiting. There was baby lamb chops with mint sauce. Soft and juicy. Then a single potato chip with a dolop of dill dip, crab cakes, spring rolls, brushectta on toast, satay on ornamental sticks with peanut sauce, strip of steak on pix, puff pastry tart, dips on artichoke leaf, and some other canapés.
The evening went on beautifull, until finally, I was able to get hold of my auntie. She was tired but happy after meeting all the dignitaries. While we were together, she never failed to introduce us to whoever came near her. To me, Tita Carmen is the epitome of finesse and dignified grace. She had her own entourage of photographers and assistants . After all not only is she the wife of Tito Paeng, she is presently also the ambassador of the Philppines to the Czech Republic in Prague. After several pictures and last minute hook-ups, we had to bid each other good bye.
Stepping outside of the U.N. bulding, the rains kept pouring. Mike and I were debating either to take a cab or walk several blocks to the Penn station. As I was light headed (almost drunk really, from all that wine and hors’d’oeuvres) I wanted to walk.
It was a great 30 minute walk for me,with rain on my face and holding hands with my love one. But not so much for Mike. Since he was wearing his $150 dollar shoe, he kept on swearing and looking down, afraid of stepping on a puddle lest he ruin his shoes. Kinda reminds me of a sanitized aunt who goes to a Sinulog procession. She is often seen head down, not so much in reverence of the patron saint, but is afraid to step on spit with her shoes.
By the time we arrived Penn Station, I was sober and happy, Mike’s shoes were wet and he was miserable. However, on the train back to New Jersey, we both agreed that we had a great time and look forward to the next invite.
Thanks ,Tita Carms. See you in a couple of days!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Haberday!
Three of my dearest relatives (Uncle Clyde, Tita Lorna and Menchu) are celebrating their natal day this month. Being Filipinos but having been here more than 20 years, I am wondering if they still stick to the tradition of making noodles as part of their birthday meals. This tradition was taken from the Chinese to indicate long life!
During my elementary years in St.Theresa‘s Cebu, when a classmate had a birthday, she would distribute lolly pops, chocolates or candies . Everyone had to be good to the birthday girl,even for just a day. You’d never know she might include you for that intimate “blow-out” of preferred friends.
When my kids had their birthdays, I had to prepare their “birthday” basics, which was always a combination of barbercue, spaghetti, ice cream and cake. Often, I would ask my children to invite only their favorite friends over for merienda. But then, I would prepare much more than the number of servings requested. It’s because in the Philippines, when you invite one child, you’d expect the whole entourage of mothers, yayas, other family members including the extended ones would come. After all, it is our custom to be polite and welcome the uninvited, and expect they don’t each as much.
As my children grew older, they were given the choice of a party or some equivalent preferred gift . If we were in no position to afford a birthday, the family would just have an intimate dinner at a restaurant.
One time, my son Isaiah was going to have his 7th birthday and he had wanted to have a party in school. I can still remember ourconversation.
“mommy, I like you’re spaghetti with the fresh vegetables in the sauce but can I have the real spaghetti, please?" he inquired.
"Sai,what do you mean by real spaghetti?" I asked
" you know, the one with the red sauce and only hotdog and it’s sweet.”
His concept of the real spaghetti was the McDonald or Jollibee type, but mine was the gourmet of roasted veggies with home made tomato sauce, and he called his kind “the real spaghetti”. If my friend Iliana the Italian heard of this, she would be flabbergasted and insulted.
Nowadays, I have replaced the noodles for pasta as a birthday dish. Sometimes the thin spaghetti, linguini or fetucini replaces the pansits. Or if I will be too busy to cook, I make a quick lasagna dish. With the availability of ingredients at the grocery, I can make lassagna in less than half the time I normally make with my usual recipe. All I need are 4 ingredients.
½ lb. Ground beef
1 bottle spaghetti sauce (Cecco brand is good. Check what kind you like. Some are spicier than the others)
2 packs of shredded mozarella (see! They come in already shredded. the 227 g per pack)
1 pack oven-ready lasagna noodles (there is such a thing..you don’t have to soak them in water)
Directions:
1. Brown beef. (no oil, it will just sweat itself)
2. Discard the juice.( I always thought that the juice gives it flavor, but found out the juice causes the dish to water and besides, I don’t like the rancid smell that it creates)
3. Pour the spaghetti sauce into meat. Mix well. Cook for 15 minutes then turn off heat.
4. Assembling: pour little sauce on bottom of glass dish.
Place lasagna noodles over sauce. Make sure that noodles don’t touch the sides of the glass dish. Then pour in 1/3 of sauce. Sprinkle generously the mozarella cheese on top of sauce. Then repeat the process until the final step is having the cheese on top. Cover with aluminum foil. Bake for 30 minutes, then take off the foil. bake for another 15 to have that golden look.
----------------------------------------
My daughter is going to culinary school next year. What I have failed to continue doing, she will now accomplish. I am proud of her and will support her in her endeavor.
My cousin Fran is a very talented and good pastry chef. It is because of her that I attend the fancy food shows in San Francisco, Chicago and New York. She has been doing designer cakes for several years and used to sell gourmet chocolates. When I asked her what is the number one tool that a cook should have in the kitchen, she said, "A fire extinguisher?"
"Fran," I said, "It's a good set of knives!!" And with that, we both laughed.
During my elementary years in St.Theresa‘s Cebu, when a classmate had a birthday, she would distribute lolly pops, chocolates or candies . Everyone had to be good to the birthday girl,even for just a day. You’d never know she might include you for that intimate “blow-out” of preferred friends.
When my kids had their birthdays, I had to prepare their “birthday” basics, which was always a combination of barbercue, spaghetti, ice cream and cake. Often, I would ask my children to invite only their favorite friends over for merienda. But then, I would prepare much more than the number of servings requested. It’s because in the Philippines, when you invite one child, you’d expect the whole entourage of mothers, yayas, other family members including the extended ones would come. After all, it is our custom to be polite and welcome the uninvited, and expect they don’t each as much.
As my children grew older, they were given the choice of a party or some equivalent preferred gift . If we were in no position to afford a birthday, the family would just have an intimate dinner at a restaurant.
One time, my son Isaiah was going to have his 7th birthday and he had wanted to have a party in school. I can still remember ourconversation.
“mommy, I like you’re spaghetti with the fresh vegetables in the sauce but can I have the real spaghetti, please?" he inquired.
"Sai,what do you mean by real spaghetti?" I asked
" you know, the one with the red sauce and only hotdog and it’s sweet.”
His concept of the real spaghetti was the McDonald or Jollibee type, but mine was the gourmet of roasted veggies with home made tomato sauce, and he called his kind “the real spaghetti”. If my friend Iliana the Italian heard of this, she would be flabbergasted and insulted.
Nowadays, I have replaced the noodles for pasta as a birthday dish. Sometimes the thin spaghetti, linguini or fetucini replaces the pansits. Or if I will be too busy to cook, I make a quick lasagna dish. With the availability of ingredients at the grocery, I can make lassagna in less than half the time I normally make with my usual recipe. All I need are 4 ingredients.
½ lb. Ground beef
1 bottle spaghetti sauce (Cecco brand is good. Check what kind you like. Some are spicier than the others)
2 packs of shredded mozarella (see! They come in already shredded. the 227 g per pack)
1 pack oven-ready lasagna noodles (there is such a thing..you don’t have to soak them in water)
Directions:
1. Brown beef. (no oil, it will just sweat itself)
2. Discard the juice.( I always thought that the juice gives it flavor, but found out the juice causes the dish to water and besides, I don’t like the rancid smell that it creates)
3. Pour the spaghetti sauce into meat. Mix well. Cook for 15 minutes then turn off heat.
4. Assembling: pour little sauce on bottom of glass dish.
Place lasagna noodles over sauce. Make sure that noodles don’t touch the sides of the glass dish. Then pour in 1/3 of sauce. Sprinkle generously the mozarella cheese on top of sauce. Then repeat the process until the final step is having the cheese on top. Cover with aluminum foil. Bake for 30 minutes, then take off the foil. bake for another 15 to have that golden look.
----------------------------------------
My daughter is going to culinary school next year. What I have failed to continue doing, she will now accomplish. I am proud of her and will support her in her endeavor.
My cousin Fran is a very talented and good pastry chef. It is because of her that I attend the fancy food shows in San Francisco, Chicago and New York. She has been doing designer cakes for several years and used to sell gourmet chocolates. When I asked her what is the number one tool that a cook should have in the kitchen, she said, "A fire extinguisher?"
"Fran," I said, "It's a good set of knives!!" And with that, we both laughed.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Flay-vorful and Flay-sant
I am so excited. This is my very first blog...Hopefully I can now write my thoughts. I may falter in my words (being Bisdak and all, have my thoughts go wayward and write nonsense, but at least I tried.
A few years back, when visiting my brother in California, He gave me his calling card. I was caught by surprise at the bold letters CIA right below his name. I thought he was working for the bureau, only to find out that the fine prints beside the bold ones were written as 'Cebuano In America.'
Since cooking is my passion, I have thought of Cuisine-nera in America as a cute name. Then also, I can consider myself as a CIA, and the only bureau I can think of is the word: bureaung talangka...bureaung mangga..bureaung whatever....(from the tagalog rootname 'burro' meaning pickled)
Every other weekend, I go up to New York to visit my son and his family. On this particular weekend, Mike and I decided to have an early dinner before spending the night at my son's . Dinner was at 5 pm at the Bar Americain located between 6th and 7th avenue in Manhattan. And yes! this is the restaurant owned by Bobby Flay, a famous iron chef from the Food Network.
We entered through a revolving door right smack into a receptionist table with 2 LCD computers on each end. A bald guy in dark suit, probably in his mid thirties greeted us and asked for the names on the reservation. After confirming, the coat lady who was waiting on the side, took our coats and gave us identifying stubs.
Right behind the receptionists was a glass wall where several tables are visibly seen. At the far end was a drinking bar with 4 bar tenders criss crossing one another oblivious of the wall behind them which was filled with different liquors. We entered the area on the left side where a long bench type couch in padded black leather sat perpendicularly to the bar and had about 5 small rectangular tables with 5 corresponding individual seats . The maitre d' motioned us to the table nearest the bar. He pulled out the table so I could get on the couch. Once seated, the maitre d' pushed it back and allowed Mike to sit accross me. He then gave us two album like folders, one that contained the drink menu and the other, the food.
A minute later, a head table waiter appeared to take our orders. Since we were not ready, he inquired about our drinks. Not a moment passed by, and he suggested, "how about iced water, while you're looking in on the menu". After several nods, and several seconds later, he reappeared with water goblets. A few minutes later, he came back and got all our orders, and in less than 3 minutes he came back with our cocktails.
I cannot say how impressed we were with the attention we had that evening. Waiter no. 2 brought our appetizer of 6 pcs. oysters that lay on frozen ice in a white bowl transparently revealing reddish green leaves at the bottom. A tiny ceramic cylindrical cup with pesto sauce was placed at the center of the plate. Front Waiter no. 3 , presented us with our individual appetizer plates and oyster forks. Busboy no. 1 took away everything on the table when the appetizers were gone. Busboy number 2 came over and in 5 seconds flat was done with brushing off any remnants on the table.
Waiter number 4 came with our bread pcs on a wire basket, along with the bread knife and plates. Busboy no.3 came over to replenish the water in our goblets. I can assure you, everyone who came near our table was a totally different server.
The wine was so good, fruity and mild, and I was feeling light headed. Mike ordered a refill of the wine from our head waiter, who also brought our second appetizer of chips with bleu cheese dressing, simply fantastically crispy and creamy to the bite. Not long after, waiter number 5 came over with our entrees. They must have a system because Waiter number 5 came just out of the kitchen, walked straight to our table,placed my order of New York Strip Steak in front of me and Mike's lamb chops on his side.
The steak was perfectly seared, and the inside was perfectly pink. However, it was a little dry to my taste even with the mustard sauce that went with it. An outer layer of an onion was boiled til soft but not mushy. And I guess the inner portions of that onion was sauted with butter and placed right back inside the boiled onion skin. Simple presentation of steak and an onion on a round white plate.
Mike's order of lamb chops were cooked to pink perfection with an artistic flow of couscous, sauteed veggies and nuts. The presentation was enough to satisfy you, and the taste was as expected, juicy and soft to the bite.
When we were done, busboy number 3 took away our plates. Several minutes later our dessert of figs and cream cheese tart was placed by dessert waiter number 6 .
If I'm not mistaken this is what you call the assembly line of the restaurant industry where different servers and clean up crew had designated assignments. Excep for the receptionist, hostess and maitre d' who whore dark suits, every server wore white long sleeved shirt , black pants and black aprons reaching their ankles.
Since we made the reservation at the last minute, the receptionist was kind enough to give us the first hour when they open for dinner that night, but we needed to leave by 6:30 as it was already reserved for some guests. Oh well! it was just as good!
Over all the meal was good, and the service was great. Moreover, we had met new friends, the servers, the next seat diners, and best of all, Mike and I had great conversation by just being together.
For a probinsiyana like me to experience such a treat, it was indeed a wonderful experience.
Why? Because I have been romancing with food for several years now, and in America, this is just part of the journey.
A few years back, when visiting my brother in California, He gave me his calling card. I was caught by surprise at the bold letters CIA right below his name. I thought he was working for the bureau, only to find out that the fine prints beside the bold ones were written as 'Cebuano In America.'
Since cooking is my passion, I have thought of Cuisine-nera in America as a cute name. Then also, I can consider myself as a CIA, and the only bureau I can think of is the word: bureaung talangka...bureaung mangga..bureaung whatever....(from the tagalog rootname 'burro' meaning pickled)
Every other weekend, I go up to New York to visit my son and his family. On this particular weekend, Mike and I decided to have an early dinner before spending the night at my son's . Dinner was at 5 pm at the Bar Americain located between 6th and 7th avenue in Manhattan. And yes! this is the restaurant owned by Bobby Flay, a famous iron chef from the Food Network.
We entered through a revolving door right smack into a receptionist table with 2 LCD computers on each end. A bald guy in dark suit, probably in his mid thirties greeted us and asked for the names on the reservation. After confirming, the coat lady who was waiting on the side, took our coats and gave us identifying stubs.
Right behind the receptionists was a glass wall where several tables are visibly seen. At the far end was a drinking bar with 4 bar tenders criss crossing one another oblivious of the wall behind them which was filled with different liquors. We entered the area on the left side where a long bench type couch in padded black leather sat perpendicularly to the bar and had about 5 small rectangular tables with 5 corresponding individual seats . The maitre d' motioned us to the table nearest the bar. He pulled out the table so I could get on the couch. Once seated, the maitre d' pushed it back and allowed Mike to sit accross me. He then gave us two album like folders, one that contained the drink menu and the other, the food.
A minute later, a head table waiter appeared to take our orders. Since we were not ready, he inquired about our drinks. Not a moment passed by, and he suggested, "how about iced water, while you're looking in on the menu". After several nods, and several seconds later, he reappeared with water goblets. A few minutes later, he came back and got all our orders, and in less than 3 minutes he came back with our cocktails.
I cannot say how impressed we were with the attention we had that evening. Waiter no. 2 brought our appetizer of 6 pcs. oysters that lay on frozen ice in a white bowl transparently revealing reddish green leaves at the bottom. A tiny ceramic cylindrical cup with pesto sauce was placed at the center of the plate. Front Waiter no. 3 , presented us with our individual appetizer plates and oyster forks. Busboy no. 1 took away everything on the table when the appetizers were gone. Busboy number 2 came over and in 5 seconds flat was done with brushing off any remnants on the table.
Waiter number 4 came with our bread pcs on a wire basket, along with the bread knife and plates. Busboy no.3 came over to replenish the water in our goblets. I can assure you, everyone who came near our table was a totally different server.
The wine was so good, fruity and mild, and I was feeling light headed. Mike ordered a refill of the wine from our head waiter, who also brought our second appetizer of chips with bleu cheese dressing, simply fantastically crispy and creamy to the bite. Not long after, waiter number 5 came over with our entrees. They must have a system because Waiter number 5 came just out of the kitchen, walked straight to our table,placed my order of New York Strip Steak in front of me and Mike's lamb chops on his side.
The steak was perfectly seared, and the inside was perfectly pink. However, it was a little dry to my taste even with the mustard sauce that went with it. An outer layer of an onion was boiled til soft but not mushy. And I guess the inner portions of that onion was sauted with butter and placed right back inside the boiled onion skin. Simple presentation of steak and an onion on a round white plate.
Mike's order of lamb chops were cooked to pink perfection with an artistic flow of couscous, sauteed veggies and nuts. The presentation was enough to satisfy you, and the taste was as expected, juicy and soft to the bite.
When we were done, busboy number 3 took away our plates. Several minutes later our dessert of figs and cream cheese tart was placed by dessert waiter number 6 .
If I'm not mistaken this is what you call the assembly line of the restaurant industry where different servers and clean up crew had designated assignments. Excep for the receptionist, hostess and maitre d' who whore dark suits, every server wore white long sleeved shirt , black pants and black aprons reaching their ankles.
Since we made the reservation at the last minute, the receptionist was kind enough to give us the first hour when they open for dinner that night, but we needed to leave by 6:30 as it was already reserved for some guests. Oh well! it was just as good!
Over all the meal was good, and the service was great. Moreover, we had met new friends, the servers, the next seat diners, and best of all, Mike and I had great conversation by just being together.
For a probinsiyana like me to experience such a treat, it was indeed a wonderful experience.
Why? Because I have been romancing with food for several years now, and in America, this is just part of the journey.
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