A taste of Mongolian
February 10, 2006 | 12:00am
There is a famous saying that goes, "Man cannot live on bread alone." When work’s-a-piling and papers-a-cramming and life’s getting pretty a-nnoying, it’s sometimes best to kick up one’s heels and catch up with his friends. It’s a liberty free from trying to satisfy unsteady acquaintances and callous friendships in a society that gets smaller and smaller with every nth degree connection drawn between people. While there’s an imperative need to branch out and explore, it’s never a pickle to go back to one’s roots and be those "birds of the same feather that naturally flock together."
For many years now, I’ve known a most endearing set of friends who have stood by me through thick and thin. Each with their own set of quirks and unique qualities, we have formed an unfathomable bond since braving the "sin city" that is Bora and graduating to the college realm. Up to now, I’m still quite amazed at how our friendship has sustained past high school – that it still feels right even if some have deviated to pursue education in other schools of fancy. While some migrate and others find themselves frolicking in entirely new worlds, a common history and a broadband of memories can glue certain friendships together amidst a whole lot of new ones.
Weeks ago, the gang held its annual "Mongolian Barbecue" in my friend Tanya’s house. Since starting this tradition a little less than two years ago, it has become customary for us to embellish ourselves in merry green and red apparel to follow suit with the barbecue’s annual Christmas theme. Glaringly rutilant and refreshingly verdure, the mix of red and green concocted the perfect after-spirit kick to our Christmas hang-over.
I arrived at Tanya’s ahead of the others since I was let off early from Foreign Filipino. There and back were my friends Tanya and Lisa, two of the friendliest Northerners there are. Catching up over the most random facts of life, tragedy, smut, and absolutely everything under the almost summer sun, the tranquility of the Gisbert residence had ultimately evolved into a heartwarming orchestra of friends striking their own unique beats. Catching up, you begin to appreciate the gift of gab and realize that fun can genuinely be achieved outside of the night scene. And don’t forget, being the early bird, I got the royalty to be the first to concoct a Mongolian Mix – one that was unfortunately too salty and loaded with soy sauce. But nothing a hungry guy can’t handle.
Free from a tumultuous score of conversational shouting, loud music, spending a whole lot for one fleeting cocktail, and the ever-so-tiring nocturnal lifestyle, the gang gradually amassed considerable proportions with every new arrival. From the latest supermodel, to the bohemian Amazona, to the Oriental Usher, to the petite pimpette, to the Hamlet of our times, people hooted and howled to every swing of the front door – brandishing every new entrée with the flare for anatomy. This has seemingly achieved great heights within the group – pouncing and hooting without fail as though it had been ages since we last saw each other. Complemented with merry smiles, tight hugs, and signature "Oh mee gawds" from these animated folk of different strokes, the merry threesome of Lisa, Tanya and yours truly became just about the wildest bunch there is.
After a few servings of Mongolian and a little more for some of us happiest-when-eating bunch, it was time for our annual picture-taking. Cam and I had passed on this opportunity last year as we were both miles away from home. This time, however, we got to see for ourselves the stories behind the photos that were taken the year before. Last year’s photos professed a Von Trapp, orderly family of individuals clad in yuletide colors and pearly white smiles. As I expected, these angelic snapshots were extremely farfetched from the long process of taking them – assembling so many individuals together in front of the Christmas tree amid the unstoppable conversations, the laughter, and good company – getting the jovial group to beam at the photographer’s 1-2-3. While this may have been a challenging feat, it was a huge consolation to be amongst friends who have withstood diversity, distance, and individual inclinations that may at first, deem these associations and friendships very unlikely.
As soon as the last shot was taken, we hurriedly burned some holes through the couch area in anticipation of Julo’s always delightful performance. Our home-grown usher had prepared some signature moves in a spontaneous rendition of his idol’s catchy tunes. While the room was bent on laughter and amazement at Julo’s incomparable bring-it-on personality, I had inevitably glanced around and pondered on the many individuals that sat about the dance floor, remembering the very first time I met each one back in high school. Some were admittedly baduy back then; a few others were then jiving to a different beat. Glancing around, I realized that we’ve all changed — not only physically but emotionally as well. After journeying to the moon and back, this merry bunch had evolved into a family that has stuck together all these years. As laughter and applause filled the air, I took to an esteemed fondness that was coupled with a smile.
Cam and I left Tanya’s at quarter past four. The Makati people had tagged along in our undisputable "Whatever happens in carpool stays in carpool" sessions. The Hollywood chatter as though Brad and Angelina were their very own friends went on through EDSA while I reminisced with each picture taken in Cam’s new camera. Each one seemed to capture the fond memories that eddied around our four-hour eating fest. Navigating through the Exilim, I just had to watch the video of Julo again, blundering with one move but managing to maintain his cool. Then scrolling to a photo of me eating at my behest, happy as a guy can be in the company of his friends, my thought bulb lit up. It’s just so true that man can’t live on bread alone. Sometimes, he needs Mongolian.
Catch your breath and let me know what you think at chasingtoff@yahoo.com .
For many years now, I’ve known a most endearing set of friends who have stood by me through thick and thin. Each with their own set of quirks and unique qualities, we have formed an unfathomable bond since braving the "sin city" that is Bora and graduating to the college realm. Up to now, I’m still quite amazed at how our friendship has sustained past high school – that it still feels right even if some have deviated to pursue education in other schools of fancy. While some migrate and others find themselves frolicking in entirely new worlds, a common history and a broadband of memories can glue certain friendships together amidst a whole lot of new ones.
Weeks ago, the gang held its annual "Mongolian Barbecue" in my friend Tanya’s house. Since starting this tradition a little less than two years ago, it has become customary for us to embellish ourselves in merry green and red apparel to follow suit with the barbecue’s annual Christmas theme. Glaringly rutilant and refreshingly verdure, the mix of red and green concocted the perfect after-spirit kick to our Christmas hang-over.
I arrived at Tanya’s ahead of the others since I was let off early from Foreign Filipino. There and back were my friends Tanya and Lisa, two of the friendliest Northerners there are. Catching up over the most random facts of life, tragedy, smut, and absolutely everything under the almost summer sun, the tranquility of the Gisbert residence had ultimately evolved into a heartwarming orchestra of friends striking their own unique beats. Catching up, you begin to appreciate the gift of gab and realize that fun can genuinely be achieved outside of the night scene. And don’t forget, being the early bird, I got the royalty to be the first to concoct a Mongolian Mix – one that was unfortunately too salty and loaded with soy sauce. But nothing a hungry guy can’t handle.
Free from a tumultuous score of conversational shouting, loud music, spending a whole lot for one fleeting cocktail, and the ever-so-tiring nocturnal lifestyle, the gang gradually amassed considerable proportions with every new arrival. From the latest supermodel, to the bohemian Amazona, to the Oriental Usher, to the petite pimpette, to the Hamlet of our times, people hooted and howled to every swing of the front door – brandishing every new entrée with the flare for anatomy. This has seemingly achieved great heights within the group – pouncing and hooting without fail as though it had been ages since we last saw each other. Complemented with merry smiles, tight hugs, and signature "Oh mee gawds" from these animated folk of different strokes, the merry threesome of Lisa, Tanya and yours truly became just about the wildest bunch there is.
After a few servings of Mongolian and a little more for some of us happiest-when-eating bunch, it was time for our annual picture-taking. Cam and I had passed on this opportunity last year as we were both miles away from home. This time, however, we got to see for ourselves the stories behind the photos that were taken the year before. Last year’s photos professed a Von Trapp, orderly family of individuals clad in yuletide colors and pearly white smiles. As I expected, these angelic snapshots were extremely farfetched from the long process of taking them – assembling so many individuals together in front of the Christmas tree amid the unstoppable conversations, the laughter, and good company – getting the jovial group to beam at the photographer’s 1-2-3. While this may have been a challenging feat, it was a huge consolation to be amongst friends who have withstood diversity, distance, and individual inclinations that may at first, deem these associations and friendships very unlikely.
As soon as the last shot was taken, we hurriedly burned some holes through the couch area in anticipation of Julo’s always delightful performance. Our home-grown usher had prepared some signature moves in a spontaneous rendition of his idol’s catchy tunes. While the room was bent on laughter and amazement at Julo’s incomparable bring-it-on personality, I had inevitably glanced around and pondered on the many individuals that sat about the dance floor, remembering the very first time I met each one back in high school. Some were admittedly baduy back then; a few others were then jiving to a different beat. Glancing around, I realized that we’ve all changed — not only physically but emotionally as well. After journeying to the moon and back, this merry bunch had evolved into a family that has stuck together all these years. As laughter and applause filled the air, I took to an esteemed fondness that was coupled with a smile.
Cam and I left Tanya’s at quarter past four. The Makati people had tagged along in our undisputable "Whatever happens in carpool stays in carpool" sessions. The Hollywood chatter as though Brad and Angelina were their very own friends went on through EDSA while I reminisced with each picture taken in Cam’s new camera. Each one seemed to capture the fond memories that eddied around our four-hour eating fest. Navigating through the Exilim, I just had to watch the video of Julo again, blundering with one move but managing to maintain his cool. Then scrolling to a photo of me eating at my behest, happy as a guy can be in the company of his friends, my thought bulb lit up. It’s just so true that man can’t live on bread alone. Sometimes, he needs Mongolian.
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