Claude’s nightmare

Bato-bato sa langit, tamaan ay huwag magalit. – Filipino proverb

You can’t submit that," admonishes my wife Mary Ann. "And why not?" I counter. "Well, for one, you’re supposed to write only about food and travel," she continues. "Secondly, Millet (our dear Lifestyle editor) has enough Business Life writers to solve everything wrong with our economy. Too many cooks will spoil the broth," she says with finality.

"So there you are, it’s still about food (for thought)!" I counter triumphantly. (In our family of three, it’s always the same battle fought every night on who would have the last word. Ay, naku [Sigh!]

You see, a funny thing happened on our way to the City Hall, so to speak. If you’re planning to open a business in this country, read on. Otherwise, still read on if you just don’t have anything else to do.

It started one fine day. Mary Ann woke up with a bright idea that would equal a winning lotto combination.

"Why don’t we bottle and sell the sauces you make?" she said, which sounded more like a command than a suggestion.

"Okay," I answered (what can one do when the missus orders it?). "And under what label do we sell it?"

"Well, since someone beat you to Claude’s Dream (ako ang nagsaing, iba ang naghain – another Filipino proverb), why not Claude’s House Specialties?" she said.

"Hmmm, not a bad idea," I said.

So, off we went to this government agency where one is supposed to register a trade name.

"This can’t be," said the bespectacled lady behind the counter sardonically, referring to Claude’s House Specialties. "Didn’t you say this is a food line? People might think you’re selling house furnishings and decor," she said with much authority.

"Ah, ganoon ba ho?" I said, with my eyes making an involuntary upward roll. "What about Bale Dutung Products?" naming our little baby after our house which Mary Ann christened.

"That can’t be also," went the verdict beyond reasonable doubt.

"And why, may I ask?" I appealed.

"Well, it means wooden house (in Pampango) and people might think you’re selling houses. You’re not in the real estate business are you?" she declared with a tinge of sarcasm.

My eyes made another involuntary roll, this time a double somersault. Arrrrrrgh! I feared our budding food empire would collapse right there and then. I wanted to jump out of the window, but Mary Ann restrained me with all her might. Lucky for her, the office was secured with iron grills.

My more patient better half continued the parry, "You mean to say, Bale Dutung is unacceptable just because we’re here in Pampanga, right? But if I apply it somewhere else, say Iloilo where they wouldn’t understand the phrase, it’s okay?"

"Well, you can try applying there if you wish," went her parting shot. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!!!

A few days later, after my blood pressure (and vision) had normalized, I headed to another august hall where we’re supposed to have our fingernails inspected if they’re clean enough to handle food. Having traversed two expressways and the C5 road for nearly four hours, my bladder was close to bursting when we got to that majestic building. I headed straight to the CR.

Oh boy, was I in for a big treat! I should just have done it in the open parking lot. But of course, being a good citizen, I had to do it in the proper place. I turned blue and nearly fainted holding my breath while relieving myself.

Wishing to scrub my hands before the inquisition, I was in again for another treat – the spring had run dry.

When I finally got down to business, the clock struck 12, and understandably, a skeletal staff manned the office. Actually, most of the staffers were still seated behind their desks. One was combing her hair while another next to her was showing her how to do her fingernails using a two-tone polish. For a moment I thought I wandered into a Ricky Reyes beauty parlor. Not far from where we were standing was a stocky man in barong. Judging by his clothes, I thought he must be the chief barber, I mean supervisor. He put his feet up on the table and covered his face with the Philippine STAR as he stole a nap.

Ah, at last here lies (pun intended) a learned man. (Sipsip!) Maybe, I said to myself, I should not be here at this ungodly hour disturbing their moment of peace.

Just when I was about to leave and thought of coming back after the lunch break, a side door swung open and came in a jolly lady. Aha, I said, this one looks recharged and eager to work. Her steps were almost in leaps.

"How may I help you?" she asked merrily. Eagerly, I narrated the purpose of my visit while going through the papers. But just when I looked up, I saw her face so contorted, with her mouth gaping as she tried to pull out something that got stuck in between her molars. I stopped, looking the other way feeling rather embarrassed for her. But she looked at me and prodded "Cawwee on, ummm listenin."

"Oh my Gawd, tell me this isn’t happening," I mumbled, pinching myself, having my first twitch for the day.

When she finally extracted it out (at long last!), she asked successively in a friendly deliberate manner, while shuffling through my papers, "Were you held by traffic? So, how’s the weather out there? Did you have a hard time parking your car?"

My eyes involuntarily rolled (methinks I was starting to have a tick) and led me to wonder where all this small talk was leading.

Suddenly, she turned serious and scrutinized every detail of my papers that could rival the trial lawyers at the impeachment proceedings.

"So, what’s this balo-balo?" firing her opening salvo.

I had to explain it’s a Pampango sauce made of fermented rice and shrimps.

Then she asked how long I ferment it.

"But that is my trade secret," I protested, as the length of the fermentation will make or break the sauce.

"But I need to know," she insisted.

"Okay, 10 days," I said assigning an arbitrary number.

"All right, write it then," she ordered.

"Why, does it matter how many days I ferment it?" I inquired.

"Yes, because it might have bacteria," was her rebuke.

"But the balo-balo has passed the DOST test," I rebutted.

"Still you have to indicate it," went another rebuke.

"Sige na nga," I mumbled, jotting it down.

"Hmmm," she moved on, eyes squinting, "it says here you sterilize your blender in rapid boiling water. Why?"

"I just want to make sure it is sterilized before I use it," I answered confidently wanting to impress her.

"But this can’t be true," she objected.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my world collapsing again.

"Your blender will crack. It’s made of plastic," she declared with much certainty.

"But mine is made of glass," I assured her.

"Ah, meron ba non? Di ba lahat ng blender plastic lang?" she asked puzzled.

"Dios ko ’day," was all I could muster. Arrrrrrrrrgh!

"And what is this pisto (pesto)?" she asked, regaining her composure.

"That’s an Italian sauce for pasta," I answered.

"So why did you indicate pisto, eh pasta pala? Ilagay mo pasta. And here (underlining the word with a red ballpen), you used the wrong word again. What is this "sift cheese"? Baka ibig mong sabihin "grate." You can’t sift cheese. Ang sift para sa powder, like flour and sugar," she reprimanded, giving me a refresher course in elementary English.

"Hindi, kasi Parmesan cheese ho yan, grated na at nakalagay sa plastic container, pero buo-buo minsan," I had to plead.

"Par– ano? Keso ba yon o pandesal?" she queried reprovingly.

I looked around me, trying to hyperventilate 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10 (with my eyes twitching again) looking for the nearest fire exit. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!!!

"And this XO chili sauce," she proceeded without missing a beat, "if it has hibi (dried shrimps), it might cause bacteria."

"What do you suggest I do?" I solicited.

"Remove it," was her answer.

"I cannot do that. That’s an essential ingredient," trying my best to illuminate her.

"What if it causes bacteria?" she asked.

"But it has passed the DOST test," I said showing her the certificate.

"Still, it might be a problem," she insisted.

Then I pose her a hypothetical question, "If I do not put hibi in my XO chili sauce and it fails the DOST test, what will you do?"

"Of course, it will be rejected," she replied.

"So, ang DOST test pa rin ang may final say. What I am trying to say is what you are telling me is just a probability. The DOST approval should be enough to clear any doubts, tama ba ho?" Aha, finally, she couldn’t mutter a word.

Unruffled, she continued her tirade with the next one, talangka. It went through the same undue process. "So, how much salt do you put when you ferment the talangka?"

"I do not measure that, but enough to cover all."

Then write "covering with salt" instead of "sprinkle with salt." I readily agreed, just to assuage her.

"Also in your preparation of ingredients, it should be ‘peeling and chopping of garlic’ not ‘peel and chop garlic.’ It should end with ‘-ing’ as in the example given you," continuing her refresher course in English.

Nearing the end of my wits, I asked her pointblank: "Since all my sauces have been previously approved by the DOST, can you just please tell me exactly what you want to read on my procedures and I will write exactly the way you want it."

"Okay, put ‘-ing’ in all the steps. And one last thing, change the ‘mince garlic’ to ‘chopping of garlic,’ because you chop it with a knife, right?" giving me a mise en place crash course this time.

Thank heavens, I had no knife with me then. I might have ended in the penitentiary nearby.

Just when I thought the worst was over, the inevitable happened – I snapped. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!!!!!!!! My body shook uncontrollably, my eyes fluttered to a non-stop spasmodic contraction. A commotion ensued. With one sweeping motion, I shoved off the counter all my documents causing them to fly all over place. I grabbed the (poor) lady by her arm and dragged her to the emergency exit. As I was about to plunge the both of us off the ledge, I suddenly realized one small hitch – we were on ground zero. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

God, help me out of this road to perdition, I implored the high heavens. At that instant, Mary Ann shook me awake, as I struggled out of my deep slumber with a cold sweat. I awakened with my lovely wife by my side, assuring me everything was all right.

* * *

(The author is also known to be a handy chef. When he’s not chopping garlic, he’s mincing words on his keyboard dishing out stories just like the one above [note all the "ings"]. Any similarity to actual persons, government agencies, or events is purely coincidental.)