Noche de Leche

I am anything but a “foodie” (do people even still use this term?), but when my sister said that she would take care of the noche buena preparations and all I needed to do was finance it then she could buy some pretentious deconstructed Algerian-Milanese fusion degustation for all I care. The key is just sit back and not do anything. I’m not the biggest eater. As I told AnthroLaw, if there’s roast pork on the table and no one’s going to prepare gravy or vinegar then I’d eat it bare no matter how dry it is. Preparing the condiments would take longer than actually eating the meal. Laziness trumps hunger and sophistication anytime.

As it turned out, my sister had ordered a cochinillo set in Alabang. Jerman drove over to get it, and it took him 3 hours of waiting and dealing with complaining customers and a bunch of apologetic staff to get the damn thing. By the time he had driven back we were already full from junk food and coffee. I had the honor of breaking the young pig’s crispy skin with a plate, but by that time it was already a bit, uhm, makunat. I could still break it with the plate, but eventually resorted to using a chopping knife. We each had a taste and consumed about half of the pig. An hour later my mum was turning the damn thing into paksiw.

Drove over to Lipa on Christmas Day to water the plants, but slept through most of it. Entertained myself with an instagram video that has been making me laugh for two days now, of a fat cat jumping up to a window and falling on the floor. Reminds me of Lucifer, the cat in Cinderella, and my dearly departed cats from childhood: Smi, Sleek, and Hazel.



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