Monday, November 10, 2008

Guinataang Sitaw at Kalabasa, Crispy-Fried Tilapia, and Oven-Baked Chicken Pandan

As chronicled by Glenn Ala at 3:25 AM
Had some friends over for dinner after the holidays soon as I recovered and got back to cooking. Thought I'd do something Filipino and whipped up a smashing combo: guinataang sitaw at kalabasa, crispy-fried tilapia, and oven-baked chicken pandan.

This is the guinataan dish, which is stringbeans and squash, sauteed with ground beef, and cooked in coconut milk. Guinataan, of course, means cooked in coconut milk, or gata in Filipino. Very flavorful.

Crispy-fried tilapia. Crunchy and tasteful.

Got this from the grocery ready to cook. It's marinated chicken thigh meat wrapped in pandan leaves, which I cooked in an oven toaster for about 20 minutes. It turned out really tender and juicy, not to mention yummy.

I was originally intending to consume all these by myself, but I thought, hey, this is too good not to share, so I called on friends, Jay and JM.

They swear, of course, to the very pleasant gastronomic experience we all shared. 'Til the next dinner!
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The Chronicler's Creed

Where there's water and sun, where there are friends to see or new people to meet, where there's something new to learn, experience, or do, where there's life, there I will be.

LA POESÍA

Y fue a esa edad... Llegó la poesía
a buscarme. No sé, no sé de dónde
salió, de invierno o río.
No sé cómo ni cuándo,
no, no eran voces, no eran
palabras, ni silencio,
pero desde una calle me llamaba,
desde las ramas de la noche,
de pronto entre los otros,
entre fuegos violentos
o regresando solo,
allí estaba sin rostro
y me tocaba.

And it was at that age... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I do not know, I do not know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I do not know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

- An excerpt from LA POESÍA (Poetry) by Pablo Neruda