I’m not all that picky when it comes to food. As long as it’s pulse-free and guaranteed to not cause a sudden and painful demise, I’ll eat it. The only thing I can’t stand is this nationwide campaign to go hot and spicy, a movement that was undoubtedly spawned somewhere within a 250 kilometer raduis of the Mayon volcano. Not that i have anything against it. [side comment #1: frankly, i think people who like it hot tend to be subconsciously sadomasochistic around the oral cavity. Why anyone in their right mind would find the sensation equivalent to that of swallowing a blowtorch pleasurable is beyond me.] Anyways, what’s disturbing about this is the weird way it haunts me despite all efforts. For instance, in the wee hours of a thursday morning, i was drawn to the kitchen by an odd rumbling noise in my tummy area and after a while strategized on how to get there unnoticed. [side comment #2: not a very easy feat as our resident feline friend (yes, i am talking about the infamous Mr. Flypaper) has recently gotten the impression that if humans so much as breathe in the direction of the refrigerator, a delicious treat would be in order. If not, prepared to be harassed to within an inch of your sanity.] So in the span of 5 minutes i managed to dodge the psychotic kitty, snatch a can of what looked like corned beef from the top of the fridge and learn the interesting factoid that we own three utterly useless can openers. my dear friends, witness the downfall of a perfect plan: I ended up struggling to open it “happy camper” style with a kitchen knife while trying to stave off the feline that has clambered up my right leg. So the fiasco finally ended, i sat down and after only the first mouthful did i realize that my mouth was on fire. How very serendipitous this has been. ***insert twittering bluebirds and violin playing cherubim here***

I contemplated sharing my spoils with the psychotic kitty just to see how he would react to this innovative method of torture cunningly devised by our pals from Carne Norte, but he’d never fall for it… DRAT!!  Unfortunately, my little misadventure was not the first and will not be the last. My own best friend has fallen prey to the joys of self-induced pain and for the longest time has been trying to coax me with soothing words like “hindi siya maanghang, promise!“. Even the people over at Tia Marias to whom i have explained several times along with the aid of hand gestures, international marine signal flags, sign language, smoke signals and half a dozen homing pigeons to hold the jalapenos in my taco have proven themselves unrelenting. And so my plight goes on…In the meantime, call the fire department.