My cousin’s wedding this weekend would be the stuff of a few blog entries for the next few days, but somehow I can’t stop thinking about food.
For me, Chinese cooking cannot be separated from Chinese philosophy. I like to think of the kitchen not as different options, but as different instruments; the only thing constant in cooking and appreciating food is change. Innovation is as much a part of Chinese cooking as tradition; while there are many dishes that are usually associated with Chinese cooking, the goal is to push the borders, and to find as many ways to cook a dish, while still maintaining the traditions behind that dish.
It is not uncommon for a blogger who’s interested in the images of food – or a food blogger, for that matter, to take pictures of food as it is served, and to describe that dish as if the reader was actually tasting it. The problem is I’m not a very good photographer, and I’m not very good at describing food. For this weekend’s megapost, I’ll try to describe and tell a story of a sumptuous, generous meal I had at my cousin’s wonderful wedding.
To food, to love, to words… here we go.
It’s not like I was starstruck, that I was totally interested, or that I marked out on Rustom Padilla movies. I cannot claim to be completely free of prejudices and biases, and meeting a person who represents at least one of those prejudices is not the sudden epiphany that changes my world completely. Heck, it’s not like my whole view of the world – and my whole view of sexuality – changed, just because I met BB Gandanghari.