As I'm just getting things started on this food-and-travel blog of mine (read my other blogs to find out what's been keeping me busy from starting it all this time), allow me to share the very first food-related blog post that I made which I posted in my World's Greatest Underachiever blog.
My Ratatouille Moment...
You've probably heard of, or if you've got little kids like I do, even seen Pixar's rat-who-dreams-to-be-a-chef animated movie, Ratatouille. I know, I know, this post/review seems way too late for a movie that came out a little over a year ago, but there's actually a point to all this, which I'll get to in a little while.
Now, I'll step out on a limb here and say that Ratatouille isn't my favorite Pixar movie. As a matter of fact, let me go out even further by saying that Ratatouille was their least appealing, least kid-friendly, animated film ever. After all, their market - the kids of course, unless you're a child at heart or just plain childish, like me - couldn't care less what the difference is between a chef de partie and a sous chef. To a child, a chef is a chef is a chef. A child wouldn't give a damn what a particular chef's role in the kitchen is - if you're in the kitchen and you're cooking or preparing food, then that means you're a chef. It's that simple. Add to that the fact that the movie just plods along at a very slow pace, much unlike the movie's main character's frantic, save-me-a-rolled-up-newspaper-is-about-to-hit-me speed doesn't help the movie move along, with the plot only building up tempo over an hour into the film already. And let's face it, what may be an hour for adults is an entire lifetime for kids.
Now, going back to the point of this Ratatouille-centric post of mine; in the movie's climactic scene (which came way too late, with less than half an hour to go until the movie's end credits roll) there's a scene where the contemptuously demanding, notoriously hard-to-please food critic, Anton Ego, who, after his first taste of Remy the chef-who-just-happens-to-be-a-rat's traditionally French, un-haute-cuisine-of-a-dish called ratatouille (basically a stewed vegetable dish, much like our own pinakbet according to Wikipedia) he relives a childhood memory of his mother making the dish for him.
So, what's the point I'm trying to make here? You see, just recently, something very similar happened to me a couple of days ago. And although it may not be as romantic as Anton Ego's, it's definitely just as nostalgic.
It happened while I was at work. It was way past lunch time, you see, so I wasn't surprised to find that the neareast Jollijeep that I patronize had no more food left, save for a couple of sandwiches. And since I was really, really hungry that day, and since I remembered seeing a poster in the nearest 7-11 branch near my office advertising their new microwaveable, ready-to-eat Penne pasta with tomato meat sauce, I decided to try that since pasta is a SERIOUS weakness of mine. And much like what happened to Ratatouille's Anton Ego, with my very first bite of the pasta, I was instantly transported to a cherished childhood memory of mine - and that's of me and my family having lunch in Ali Mall's food court during our weekly after-Mass Sunday trip to Cubao. And while my Mom and Dad tried different restaurants and stalls every week, everytime we were there, I only patronized one stall - the old, pre-commercialized, pre-Jollibee-owned Greenwich restaurant.
Because to me, 7-11's Penne pasta became more than just another pasta. It became a time machine of sorts. Because in an instant, I could not only recall my childhood, but I could also recall a life that was both carefree and yet secure. It was like Harry Potter's Mirror of Erised morphed into a pasta dish, because I was able to relive a fondly cherished childhood memory, my heart's desire of being a little boy again without a care in the world while eating my favorite pasta dish with a mother who I'll never see again and to whom my last words before she slipped into a coma and passed away a week later before my very eyes were, "I've been here since yesterday," and with a father who, just as we were becoming close, both as father-and-son and as man-to-man, had to migrate to the US with my new stepmother.
So as much as I hate Ratatouille the movie - whose only saving grace was Peter O' Toole's deliciously venomous portrayal of Anton Ego - I will now always associate it with a precious childhood memory of me with my family, not to mention Greenwich's baked macaroni and 7-11's Penne pasta in tomato meat sauce.
Damn, I'm hungry. Hungry AND all teary-eyed, to boot.
