A Difference A Year Makes

A Horrid Sight

Weakened and famished by a continuous gush of Diarrhea, I arrived home a bit disappointed - and amused at what the house help cooked for dinner. It was a mistake on my part. I didn't tell I'd skip my gym workout to recuperate. 

I was disappointed because of starvation. The last meal I had eaten was lunch, and Chowking's Fish and Tofu in Tausi sauce won't keep me running past 10 in the evening. I was given a piece of Mungbean hopia as snack in the office, but given my weak condition, it was barely enough to fulfill my energy needs. I still had two hours before the end of my shift. 

I was also disappointed because it meant buying food when I should be keeping my spending in check. Lack of appetite soured my mood even worse as my limited meal choices made eating more difficult. I no longer bite pork and beef, and given there's only Jollibee and Chowking across the street, I'd end up with Fried Chicken, which is not really a healthy alternative. 

There's no really choice at all.

Grumbling, my predicament was, I still found amusement at how a difference a year makes. Looking at the Menudo barely untouched on the Sauté Pan, a whiff of its aroma precipitate a flashback to a time when I'd ask the same maid to complement my meal with fried egg. Sunny Side Up. I'd require the Menudo to have more raisins and tomato sauce, and less liver, as I didn't like its bitter aftertaste. And when I'm done with dinner, I'd order the same dish to be served the following week.

There seems to be no end to my craving.  

But something has made me turn my back last year. And I would have a slew of reasons for the sea change. At first, the Mousey Incident was to blame. The imaginary sight of ground mice used as pork substitute culled my appetite. Another imaginary distasteful image would be the method of killing those animals have met with the butcher. Worst would be the idea that the pork or beef being digested inside my stomach turns out to be a double dead animal. A rotting, diseased carcass sold in the market to make up for the loss of the hog raisers. 

Kadiri, you say. The suggestions work for me all the time. However, the real trigger for the pork and beef refuse spring from health reasons. I had to cut my unchecked girth expansion.

And cut it did.

I stared at the dish for sometime and took pictures of it for posterity. When I'm done contemplating as to continue with my accomplishments - a feat unbroken in the face of a porky and beefy Noche Buena and Media Noche these holidays - or revert back to my old ways, the resolution remains that its best to decline the call of instincts and embrace the acquired taste still.

So I left the house, went to a nearby Andok's outlet, and ordered roasted chicken instead.