From Chili to Coffee

The upside to living with three men (two sons and a husband) is you don't do groceries, nor drive.

The downside is, you never get to choose where to eat.  In group activities, the majority rules. 

Hey, I am not complaining. It so happens that all these men love to cook  (I don't) and are food connoisseurs (I am not).  I claim to be a foodie because I am basically adventurous when it comes to food; I gobble up everything served on my plate.     

Except hot cuisine and brewed coffee. 

First, the hot cuisine.  They have a favorite Chinese restaurant on a side street just off Makati Ave. called LSQ.  It serves northern Chinese food, mostly Beijing home recipes. Meaning, very, very hot.

 

Yes, those red things are chili peppers.  I choke and cough just by looking at them. Most, if not all, of the dishes are so hot you have to nag the waiter to please beg the chef to go easy on the chili.
The rest of the orders are less spicy, but hot nonetheless, and absolutely unfamiliar territory.  Guess which is the curdled blood with onions? Or the shredded pork ear?

Halfway through the meal, my tongue goes into a coma and therefore can take on whatever is force-fed into my mouth.   

Now, the coffee.  These gourmets have this idea that the brewed black drink is the perfect beverage to wash down all the chili.  Their choice on this occasion is Blenz in a mall. I take a sip from each of their cups, then drink my ice water, which  rouses my tongue back to life.

I'd drink the brew if I could, but my doctor has made me swear off coffee because of my recurrent tummy troubles.

After that, they allow me a couple of hours to go from store to store. Then we head home. 

Days like this are as rare as men standing up for old ladies in a bus.  My boys each have their own packed schedules with what to them is important, but once in a while they make time for mom. 

There, chili and coffee are not really bad, are they?  They're part of a special package so precious it can't be anything but grace.