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Noche buena mano | Inciting to seduction

Noche buena mano

THE manufacturing sector of the nation’s economy is looking glum. Consumers aren’t on a buying binge. Stocks begin to gather dust and hardly stir. And this Christmas is about to turn a bit more of famine than feast.

Rather than sulk at dire prospects of an unkempt, unkept Christmas for most Filipinos gnashing their teeth— dentures and gums, too – at a more probable coup coming to pass than a cheerful Pasko, rosy-eyed polyannas are a-busy to keep the season’s spirits alive. And kicking.

And cooking up whatever’s for picking should bring joy to this glum part of the world.

Look at the goodies that we can gladly sink our teeth into. Call ‘em yummies. Call ‘em whammies.

This eight-curse, oops, we meant eight-course feast of sorts ought to make Christmas tables groan, liven up the traditional noche buena. Dig in. Enjoy. Weep.

Daing ng bayan – something kippered, sun-dried and ought to last for a long, long while, this dish is ersatz jamon and comes with piquant notes of tears.

Queso de Bolante – no matter how thinly sliced, this now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t item smells like properly cured cheese and costs over P700 million composting time.

“I am curry” – of Hindic note, this kahindik-hindik serving is dished out with rising pilafs in judgment.

Puto bumbong Pineda – Just a whiff of this would make one exclaim, “The lord put me here.”

Ililibibingka a la Gloria ratings – Fire above, fire beneath, fire in the hole. That’s what this native fare portends of as it is served with cheese economic meltdown and pinakulong Cha-cha.

Adorobo antigo. A blend of choicest pork barrel cuts with chicken guts.

Hello Garcirelleno. This finely stuffed meatball with fish flakes will talk but won’t tell.

Sala-VAT. Very potent brew that ranges from 10% to 12% and is meant to please foreign creditors and usurers. One sip makes you feel like a million bucks—poorer. It’s meant to drain pockets.

There. It’s supposed to be one of the bleakest Christmases we’ll have in years. But we’ll have a lot to chew on between our ears.

Inciting to seduction

A BEVY of Viva Hot Babes or Sex Bomb Dancers could have been tasked to shock and awe octogenerian ex-defense secretary Fortunato Abat—with results that would be suited to the public’s liking, say, a senior citizen’s cardiac arrest.

That bit about inciting to seduction ought to be fun to watch.

It was evident for most people to see. The gravest threat and imminent danger that the extant Army chief and his cohorts posed was non-payment of food and drinks. And Club Filipino waiters could have dunned ‘em in utmost efficiency.

There was no need to throw any book at ‘em geezers. Why, they must have ached for a zarzuela. Or something like old-fashioned vaudeville. Probably burlesque or moro-moro they haven’t seen in ages that they opted to mount one, acted therein with gusto, and enjoyed themselves immensely.

What else could we ask from ‘em oldies save an encore?

Think about it. Moses himself had turned a gray and creaky 80 years old when Divine Providence set him to work to head a nation of nomads into the promised land flowing with milk and honey. And with an ambulant relic like that leading the people, all they ever got to was rove around in circles for 40 years. They never got anywhere, did they?

Think again. The average life expectancy in these god-forsaken parts is 75 years old. Abat and his buddies are past their prime, over the hill, into the twilight of their lives beating the life expectancy average by a few years. They won’t be around for long.

Mull it over. Osteoporosis or bone loss sets in at age 35—the wear and tear on bones goes unabated at 0.2 percent per year. At age 80, it would take more than grim resolve to even stand up, stretch out as locomotion turns more of loco than motion. What we’re saying is that Abat and the dramatis personae he has gathered in that San Juan watering hole are more creaky than cranky. They can’t be saber-rattling-- what we heard was a ratting of their bones.

We’d rather humor ‘em old geezers.

We’d rather ply a bevy of well-stacked, drop-dead gorgeous Viva Hot Babes, Sex Bomb Dancers, or a platoon of belles from Pegasus to haul ‘em ole geezers out of their watering hole.

Then we can book ‘em.

Inciting to seduction.


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