Since I got back from Sydney, Iana and I had probably tried a dozen ways to marinate and bake chicken. With our first recipe, we rubbed garlic, rosemary leaves, and olive oil all around the chicken. I sliced small holes in the parts that were thick with flesh and inserted garlic bits and rosemary inside. This is what my cousin-in-law Phuong taught me to do with the beef, so the flavor will permeate the thick meat. I thought it would work with the chicken, and indeed, it did. I love the smell of rosemary, and the taste it leaves on food, so I enjoyed that experiment. We baked it for a little over an hour. Our timer doesn't work normally, so we gauged how it was doing in the oven by the strength of the smell of the chicken wafting out of the oven. Seriously. Only when the air was thick with the smell, we decided it was ready.
The chicken above is another variation care of my sister Iana. We ran out of rosemary leaves (which we realized would make any dish really good, whether it was really good without it or not), so Iana made do with only margarine and the ever-reliable garlic. She sprinkled the top with peppers to give it color. It worked!
Bake for over an hour, or... well, just trust your sense of smell.
This blog is a sigil of my self-handover, though almost unwillingly, to Ormoc. Many years I allowed my dreaming to wander away from it. Though I may have left my heart in this sleepy town at the nape of the mermaid-shaped province 2 Supercat hours from the queen city (not to any boy, mind you, as is the case of many damsels in confusion, but to my family), I paddled against the tide drawn towards it. I refused to acknowledge even the slightest probability that I could find myself here. Well, fate makes amends in ways that catch you, including me in my almighty “I don’t want to based in Ormoc ever again,” unawares.
Because here I am. Since I cannot spread out the two years ahead on a table in front of me like God could, I am left with either perishing along with this subjective loathing for its seeming monochromic tendencies, or to make the most of it and, bless me and my attempts, find Ormoc as the exact opposite. It should be easy to figure what would make the next two years – quarter way celebrating my 24th year – forgivable and worth a run along the memory lanes several years from now.
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