Weekend chow

When it comes to food, I always have a say ;-)

This weekend past, I witnessed a wedding, a birthday bash, and a baptismal party crashing. It was gastronomically overwhelming!

I was a "legal" (I've got that pink invite others don’t have…hehehe) guest over at my officemate's daughter's wedding. It was a traditional Catholic nuptial. Surely a bride's dream come true and a wedding-coordinators' success story; as I saw not one flaw in "logistics", from the wedding ceremony down to the reception. However, what really rang true to me was the saying, one may forget about the festivities, but not the food (or something to that effect). The food was lip smacking! For a while there I had this dilemma as to which overflowing buffet table should I ransack first. After (watch out for the operative word) carefully studying out the tables (oh, and I sound so O.C.), I decided to not go for a plateful of rice this time around, BUT: nicked about 70% of the showcased delights. So there. My plate consisted of (in no particular order) fettuccini in white sauce, mixed veggies, a drumstick of roast chicken, shrimp tempura, beef in mushroom gravy, and a platito of lechon (roasted pig, is it?). And then (not shown here) a bowl of mushroom cream soup plus watermelon slices for my fruit dessert. Of course, caffeine magic (translate: brewed cup) to "calm" my bulging tummy.

I thought of going straight back home from the wedding banquet, since I was really looking forward for a restful siesta (Yes, getting that sought-after nap to substantiate a hearty chow. I know that full well!). Finding our house all locked-up and no spare key under the rug (so to speak), I realized that all household people were at my nephew's birthday party. To make a short story even shorter, I had double Dutch ice cream while watching Meg Ryan on TV.

The following day, my cousins stood Godparents to our neighbor's kid. I hissed and then guffawed in amazement at how they – my blood relatives (my right fist now pounding my chest!) – made our house an extension of the baptismal feast, withstanding the fence that would have defined territorial bounds. I later broke my other cousin's record of being the last woman sitting at the lunch table, as I painstakingly nipped and savored the orange crustaceans.

My right thumb's now injured with shell-cuts. Thank heavens for the inventor/s of Band-aids.