Am back at 120 pounds!!!

All this frickin’ effort to get right back to where I started, right?

You’d think I’d just eat less. It would be so much easier than trying to kill myself at CrossFit, no? No, actually, it wouldn’t.

In case you haven’t noticed, I LOOOOOOOOOVE food.

I love experiencing new tastes and flavors. And I’ll try most everything once. Let’s see… I wouldn’t brag about crickets as they are common fare in the Philippines, as are frogs and snails, which are common in France as well. Eel and sea urchin are no biggie to the Japanese. But I have eaten snake and monitor lizard. And I’ve dug out live worms from the bark of a tree in Palawan, dunked them in vinegar and swallowed them whole. I’ve retched on goat bile on the ride home after doing a surf story in Baler. And I’ve tried the flesh of various endangered species (that shall go unmentioned lest I draw the ire of animal rights activists) and, all I can say is, I understand why they are endangered.

But I don’t particularly relish food for the Fear Factor aspect of it. I eat for pleasure. One of the things I especially love is fat. Beef fat, pork fat, fish fat, chicken skin… For instance, it boggles the mind that kitchens trim the fat off of steaks. Are they kidding!!! That’s the best part of the meat. Diners should be given the choice of having the fat trimmed or not. And I would only ever consent to having mine trimmed if the chef promised to refry it till crispy before serving it back to me. Oooohhhh…

At a dinner a long time ago with good friend, Chiqui Mabanta, back when she wasn’t a full-fledged vegetarian and was still vaguely toying with the idea of what would eventually become Corner Tree Cafe, she eyed my order of bagnet disdainfully.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to eat that,” she sniffed, “There’s about x centimeters of fat on that.” (I forget how many centimeters she said as I wouldn’t know a centimeter if it was an inch away from me. – Rim shot and lame joke alert.)

“That’s why I ordered it,” I replied matter-of-factly, and then dared her to watch me as I crunched down on a spoonful.

And if anyone ever told me that I would live a long and healthy life if I gave up foie gras today, I’d say thanks, but I’ll take my chances. I don’t see the point of a long and healthy life if it’s one that is devoid of the pleasures of eating, especially that beautiful, supple morsel of the gods… Whoever first thought of overfeeding a goose till its liver bloated was totally inspired.

While I love eating out, I also love the whole process of preparing food, especially when I am doing it with friends. I love being in a kitchen, cooking, drinking wine and laughing with some of my best friends in the world. Some of my best moments in San Francisco involve exploring the markets with BFF, Alan Montelibano, and then cooking a quiet meal together.

I don’t fancy myself a talented chef. I’m not even sure I’m that competent a cook. I come from the school of If You Can Read You Can Cook. Sometimes, I still dream of going to culinary school – to learn things properly – but it seems like a waste of, well, more money than time (since I do have a lot of time) given that I have no desire to cook professionally.

But I do like to cook. Never for myself but for others. Given my lack of a kitchen in Manila, I sometimes offer to cook at friends’ houses. I’ve cooked for three to more than a dozen guests at one time. But I prefer sharing the kitchen with friends. One time, Spanish BFF, Teba Orueta, and I cooked up a lovely Thai dinner for Chiqui and her then British boyfriend, Al Dingwall, and one of his ADB (Asian Development Bank) colleagues at his Rockwell apartment. Teba and I often fantasized about opening up Chiqui’s North Syquia apartment, which I was renting out at that time, to diners with advanced reservations. (Unbeknownst to Chiqui, of course. Till now. Oops.)

I was actually just renting out Chiqui’s spare bedroom at North Syquia in Malate, but I was often alone as she spent most of the week with Al at Rockwell. On Thursdays though, she would do yoga somewhere nearby, then sleep over at the apartment. The first time she woke up there, I was so pleased to have someone to cook for, that before she could leave the house, I must have fed her five different dishes. At some point, she had to tell me, “Stop cooking already!” I did, then promptly packed a lunch for her.

Although I prefer to cook and eat with friends, I do, on occasion, like to treat myself to a nice meal alone. The first time I did this, I had a room at the InterContinental Hotel and was due to check-out that afternoon. I called down to Prince Albert Rotisserie to ask if they would allow me to have lunch there in the only clean clothes I had left: jeans and a T-shirt. They were kind enough to assent. Needless to say, I drew a lot of curious stares, in my jeans and T-shirt, wining and dining alone. Cyrille Soenen was still Prince Albert’s chef and, at that time, he was doing a special Filipino-French fusion menu with Margarita Fores and I remember going to the kitchen afterwards and congratulating them before heading back to my room to check-out.

The last time I spent a small fortune on a meal for myself was in Bali last February when Michelin-starred chef, Hubert Obendorfer, and his Bavarian team were cooking at the Jumana Restaurant at the Banyan Tree. Again, the curious stares. Although I was a bit more dolled up this time, but I’m not sure if that made the other diners any more comfortable than the ones at the Intercon Hotel in Manila.

So, yes, I do love food and I do like to indulge. And I would be as big as a house by now if it weren’t for my vanity and my love for clothes.

I first noticed my metabolism slowing down when I turned 28 – which was, what, two months ago? 😉 And because I wasn’t sure of what was going on, I didn’t know how to handle it. I refused to buy what I would call “fat clothes” and would alternate wearing three of the only loose shirts that I owned. I’ve seen pictures of myself during this time and I’ve wished to every god known to man that they would spontaneously combust. (Please?!)

After a while, I figured out that, the older I got, exercise alone wasn’t enough. I had to cut down on food intake as well. If I was lucky, I’d remain at my usual weight. If I wanted to lose a little bit of poundage, however, that was an altogether different matter and would involve, not only cutting down portions, but giving up certain food as well.

Noooooooooooooo!!!

Goodbye Frito Lay’s Classic crips. Goodbye Corner Tree Cafe’s egg salad sandwich and Toblerone chocolate mousse. Goodbye spaghetti bolognese. Goodbye garlic fried rice.

WAAAAAIIIILLLLL!!!

It’s true what they say, isn’t it? That the best things in life are illegal, immoral, or fattening.

As I write this, there is a tub of ice cream in the freezer that I ordinarily would have gulped in one go. There is also a box of dark chocolate truffles in the refrigerator that I am allowed to have, but am rationing for when I need a sugar fix.

But, stupid and shallow as it may sound, whenever I fit nicely into clothes that I absolutely love, whenever I can wear whatever I want without feeling embarrassed or ashamed, whenever I feel good about myself, I understand what Kate Moss meant when she said, “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.”

Of course I’m not going to give up carbs forever. Kate Moss probably never had a mango sticky rice.

But it’s a constant struggle and I have to pick my (bad carb) battles well. I don’t know that I will ever achieve my foolish notions of perfection, given that I am up against a most formidable foe called Time, but I’ve already told the universe that I will continue to defy its laws for as long as I can.