In which the joke is on me

There’s this thing A. does. “Hey!” he’d say. “I made [name of dish] today and it was perfect!”

Damn if that doesn’t get my goat every time. For starters, he sounds like he’s channeling Kris Aquino when he says it. The way he tosses off that superlative, squeaking and drawing it out (purr-fehhhct!)… “Krissy,” I’d counter, doing a Boy Abunda. “What did the doctor say? Go easy on the Ritalin.”

But I can’t blame Kris for everything, can I? That would be too easy and I can’t be that shallow. If my friend’s declarations bug me so much, surely that has to do with something other than the way he conveys them, right? Is it — but how could I not have realized this sooner? — is it because, even though A. and I have been friends for years, I have yet to taste his cooking?

Yeah, there’s certainly that. Reminds me of what Ambeth Ocampo, the historian, said: “Take the trouble to notice and reflect, and you get more questions than answers.” No shit. It’s interesting, now that I think about it, how, in the many times I have eaten at A.’s place, it was always his sister who had made this, a brother or cousin that — but nothing by him. Was it coincidence that he never pronounced anything perfect on those occasions?

It’s not like he isn’t capable of appreciating other people’s cooking. A. can be very generous with compliments. At last Saturday’s beach cook-out, he had paused after his first forkful of the grilled fish. Make that my grilled fish.

“This is delicious!” he said.

“It is?” As a matter of fact, it was (see recipe below). The obviously earnest compliment should have been good enough for me — except I was angling for a very specific adjective. Delicious, my ass. You can do better than that. Say it. Say the p-word.

“Are you kidding?” he said. “It’s absolutely delicious! ’Di ba, Boy?”

That had me conflicted. On the one hand, he had thrown in an intensifier — absolutely — which could qualify as an adverb of degree of the first degree (if there is such a thing), on equal footing with totally, definitely, completely — and, of course, perfectly. On the other hand, if I had to summon my inner grammarian to appease my (ahem) uncharacteristic neediness, would I not be, in effect, kidding myself? Who was humoring whom?

Sometimes, people (the younger ones) tell me I think too much — like it’s a bad thing, or, if not quite that, at least as unsavory as picking one’s nose in public. I tell them that I grew up in another age, when the Internet and cable TV and mobile phones were still the stuff of science fiction, and when thinking was actually a way to pass the time. I don’t expect them to understand. I have my friends for that. So what if they get off on pushing my buttons from time to time? Who knows best what pisses you off than your pals? And what better way to do it than to act smug and shrill and maddeningly saccharine?

So it’s not a perfect setup. Nothing that involves Kris Aquino could ever be. But what the heck. Besides, if you have to say it, chances are, it isn’t — ’di ba, Boy?

Aromatic Paste

Marinate fish in this spice blend, giving it a thorough rub. Let sit in the refrigerator, covered, for at least an hour before grilling. Since the paste burns first, the fish gets a nice charred look while remaining moist and tender inside.

• 1 teaspoon coarse salt
• 1 tablespoon black peppercorns
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 red onions, diced
• 2 tomatoes, diced
• 1 lemongrass (bulb only), chopped
• 1 spring onion, chopped
• 1 dried pepper (including seeds), chopped
• juice of 1 kalamansi
• 2 tablespoons olive oil

1. Using a mortar and pestle, grind peppercorns and salt until fine. Add the rest of the ingredients one by one and continue grinding until you get a smoothish paste. (If you use a blender or food processor, add all ingredients at once.) Taste and add more salt as needed.
2. Heat up some oil and fry the paste until it turns a pale brown. Let cool before using.