Emeges op my new neybors.

I don't know about you but I so want to stroke the local pussy...

It dawned on me like a wet dream (you don't want to but you know you'll like it) the stressful but exciting realisation that after moving all my shite from the old place to this new home that in 4 months or so I'll have to move again.

Anyways, I cycled home early yesterday to explore my new 'hood and drink at the local public house. There weren't a lot of parokyanos, maybe because people are still recovering from last week's floods or the fact that the chef hasn't turned up yet, hence no food to go along with the tipple. Anywho, I introduced myself as the new bagong salta to the barmen. There's always a certain gravitas when you say "The usual, please" when ordering a drink so this ritual is essential.

Oh wait, I also got a call from my bank yesterday, via a call centre from Ortigas and finally! A call centre agent without a naff accent! She pronounced my name correctly and her vowels were clear and the enunciation crisp. She also flirted with me which was kinda sad because I told her that if she looked at her computer screen, she'd see that my credit card is nearly maxed out. I'm not exactly the Knight in Shining Armor who will save her from dreadful Starbucks capuccinos and late night shifts.

Today however, I got another call from another service provider, also via a call centre in my beloved Pelepens. Now, He was frigging annoying. Well, not him personally but his faux Beverly Hills 90210 accent. Now, if one has a Spanish surname, wouldn't it be safer to assume the Spanish pronunciation ? Do you have to say "Luzviminda Min-dowwww- zaaah??? To get even, I put on my best islander accent:

Agent: Sow, how aRRRe you tuh-day Mr. Tuh-leeee-dowwwwww?
The Nashman: Ah, yis, to-deh I went to charts to prey den apter dat, I go to et petsa pay....


Now that the floods have receded, my canoe has been stranded. Dang it, I need to drag it over those nettles.

Da saykel pat to my new pleys. Dat es Iplee (Iffley) lak, site of one of da perst turnpike locks along da River Thames (1632)

Da pub were yu can go to get sam drenk, yu no?...

Insayd da pub wet da bar on da lep.

I normally don't drenk lager but et's sats a waste to order a botel of Chatow LaFeet wen yu es alone.

Me making wiwi in da CR op da pub.

Da mathematical bredge, copied prom Cambridge. Op kors, when I was en Cambredge I also pointed out dat ALL bredges are mathematical, so da label es redondant.

Emeges op my new neybors.

I don't know about you but I so want to stroke the local pussy...

It dawned on me like a wet dream (you don't want to but you know you'll like it) the stressful but exciting realisation that after moving all my shite from the old place to this new home that in 4 months or so I'll have to move again.

Anyways, I cycled home early yesterday to explore my new 'hood and drink at the local public house. There weren't a lot of parokyanos, maybe because people are still recovering from last week's floods or the fact that the chef hasn't turned up yet, hence no food to go along with the tipple. Anywho, I introduced myself as the new bagong salta to the barmen. There's always a certain gravitas when you say "The usual, please" when ordering a drink so this ritual is essential.

Oh wait, I also got a call from my bank yesterday, via a call centre from Ortigas and finally! A call centre agent without a naff accent! She pronounced my name correctly and her vowels were clear and the enunciation crisp. She also flirted with me which was kinda sad because I told her that if she looked at her computer screen, she'd see that my credit card is nearly maxed out. I'm not exactly the Knight in Shining Armor who will save her from dreadful Starbucks capuccinos and late night shifts.

Today however, I got another call from another service provider, also via a call centre in my beloved Pelepens. Now, He was frigging annoying. Well, not him personally but his faux Beverly Hills 90210 accent. Now, if one has a Spanish surname, wouldn't it be safer to assume the Spanish pronunciation ? Do you have to say "Luzviminda Min-dowwww- zaaah??? To get even, I put on my best islander accent:

Agent: Sow, how aRRRe you tuh-day Mr. Tuh-leeee-dowwwwww?
The Nashman: Ah, yis, to-deh I went to charts to prey den apter dat, I go to et petsa pay....


Now that the floods have receded, my canoe has been stranded. Dang it, I need to drag it over those nettles.

Da saykel pat to my new pleys. Dat es Iplee (Iffley) lak, site of one of da perst turnpike locks along da River Thames (1632)

Da pub were yu can go to get sam drenk, yu no?...

Insayd da pub wet da bar on da lep.

I normally don't drenk lager but et's sats a waste to order a botel of Chatow LaFeet wen yu es alone.

Me making wiwi in da CR op da pub.

Da mathematical bredge, copied prom Cambridge. Op kors, when I was en Cambredge I also pointed out dat ALL bredges are mathematical, so da label es redondant.

Bagong Karanasan sa Rio Part 7: Alternative places to eat

"Vilma Santos..." exclaimed my classmate "was at the Baguio Country Club yesterday."

"I was her waiter!" he continued.

"She ordered 'Orange Juice' and before I served it to her, I dipped my fingers in the glass and gargled a mouthful." he grinned. (I'm trying to rack my memory here, I think it was actually his penis he dipped into the orange juice.)

High fives all around and we congratulated him for his daring feat. We were also impressed that Vilma Santos can drink liquid of a dubious nature like the masses.

I never got to ask why he did it. Maybe at that time, Vilma Santos, was being a diva. Or maybe my classmate was just having a bad day. The dining public can heave a sigh of relief, my friend eventually graduated with an engineering degree like I did and no longer waits tables. (I hope so!)

Anyways, I'm not surprised that such things happen to our food on its short journey from kitchen to dining table. That section is truly a blind spot. The famous restaurant critic AA Gill admitted in this week's column that once upon a time when he was just a wee kitchen assistant, he and all the kitchen staff, including the chef, coughed out emphysema oysters to an unpleasant diner's vichyssoise before serving it. (As AA Gill pointed out, saan pa ba madaling itago ang malagkit na plema kundi sa potato soup?)

Moral of the story: Never be rude to the people who serve your food.

Which brings me to street food. I love street food. There are some very excellent grub that can only be sourced from makeshift food stalls. Out there in the open, it's easy to chose which to patronise and besides, it's not in the best interest of the vendor to have bad personal hygiene. You can easily inspect how your food is prepared and cooked. Rio de Janiero has lots of outdoor places to feed the voracious straggler.



It is not advisable to be in the vicinity of Largo da Carioca very late at night. But one should at least visit during happy hour on a Friday when the office workers spill out into the streets eating and drinking. I was led to a particular barbecue stand that serves the best cut of beef for its price. It's not wagyu but gaddam it, it's so tender and juicy. Plus you can get a bottle of ice cold lager to go with it. I was told that these were actually stolen meat. I was assured that the hijackings are not violent and the big ranches acknowledge this as a minor irritation. The income supports one or two families for months. The revelation made the beef even more delicious.


You can also get drugs, prostitutes, dodgy men, and vegans who love porno at Largo da Carioca.I think the safety issue is overblown. I went there a couple of times past bedtime and I survived.

Another good source of food should you be hungry at 1am in Sta. Teresa is this stall which sells pizza. He has a makeshift woodfired oven on wheels for crying out loud! You can't get anymore authentic than that!


The long queue for proper woodfired pizza.

Now that is an ingenious oven with matching chimney!