I’d rather roll around in a bed of broken glass shards than listen to a Pop song.  I can’t think of anything worse.  Oh wait, I can —  singing and dancing along, to the tune of a cheesy Pop song.

In that case, I’d rather roll around in a bed of broken glass shards, and then jump into a pool of lemon juice.  Then rub my skin vigorously with rock salt.


That I was belting out to a whole play list goes to show how intoxicated I was last night.

After unearthing a bottle of red from the pantry, Dita decided we needed to celebrate, and proceeded to hook up her iPod to the portable speakers in the lounge.   My eardrums were immediately assaulted by her Dance Party Mix collection, which was an odd assortment of 80s New Wave greatest hits, and the latest in Popular music.  And by latest, I mean just right before the Zombiepocalypse.


We kicked the evening off with a boisterous rendition of Pump Up The Jam by Technotronic, and The B-52s’ immortalized single – The Love Shack, directly trailing behind.


After my third glass of Merlot, Dee declared that a dance party wasn’t a dance party unless someone was, well, dancing.

In my inebriated state, she had a point.  Her sprained ankle prevented any sort of  cavorting or prancing on her part, even with crutches, so it was left up to me to do the cavorting and prancing while she lay prone on the carpeted floor.


I was a lousy dancer as much as I was a lousy drunk, but I more than made up for the lack of coordination with shit loads of enthusiasm.  I grooved to Lipps Inc’s Funky Town with the classic Putting-Groceries-In-Your-Shopping-Trolley move, then accompanied Miley Cyrus’ Party in the USA with a Dandruff-Off-Your-Shoulders motion.

By my fourth glass, I was a wild animal — a lean, mean, discotheque machine.  I was Jennifer Lopez on steroids.  Justin Timberlake in skimpy shorts and a red tank top.   I was hot, hot, hot, Baby!

But mostly because it was a scorching summer night.  31 degrees.  Slightly colder than hell, but a bit warmer than purgatory.  My clothes were sticking to my skin like cello tape.  But it didn’t matter, because awesomeness cannot be contained!


By the time Finn arrived and entered the front door,  I was doing a high-spirited execution of ABBA’s Dancing Queen.  A song I hate with the magnitude of a thousand suns.

“What the fuck, Rae?! You’re drawing a crowd of Twitchers outside, for god’s sake! I had to fight my way through!” He looked around the lounge, incredulous.

“Wo-hey!” I swayed from side to side, wondering why there were two Finns in my vision.  “I’ve got the moves!  I’ve got the moooooooooves!”

“Hate to break it to you, Wilder, but you’ve got none whatsoever.”  He snorted.  “Elmo’s got the moves.  Barney the Purple Dinosaur has got the moves.  You?  Not so much.”

“You know nothing, Finnegan Blaise!  I am the bestest ever,  hippity-hopper empress of the whole universe! BOW TO YOUR QUEEN!”

“Dude, the Bananas in Pajamas look sexy in comparison to when you boogie.”  The asshole had the gall to snicker, as if he wasn’t being insulting enough.


“What?” I screeched, outraged. “I’m a sexy dancer, I’ll show you!”  To prove this point I started off with some Running Man, followed by a Moon Walk – which was hard to pull off in bare feet – so I switched to a series of Hammerdance moves.  U can’t touch this, Yo.

“Hey, can you stop that MC Hammer shit?  You look like you’re having a seizure.   I’m gonna have nightmares!” Finn said, just as Dancing Queen ended and Venus by Bananarama started.


“Wait, hold on, I’m gonna make this sexier!”  I pulled my shirt over my head, revealing a black sports bra, printed with smiling cartoon pandas.

“WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING?  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!”  Finn covered his face with his hands, screaming,  “MY EYES! MY EYES!”

“I’M TOO SEXY FOR YOUR EYES!” I yelled, waving my tank top above my head like a ranch hand about to lasso a cow.


Dee cackled while Finn bristled. He looked so disgusted I thought it was freaking hilarious. So I threw my head back, and I laughed and laughed and laughed.

Until a wave of nausea hit me.  Then I ran to the kitchen and vomited in the sink.  After which, I crawled back to the couch and passed out.


When I came to, it was mid-morning.  I was still sprawled on the couch, feeling like someone was stabbing my head with an ice pick.  The back of my throat tasted like bile and alcohol.

I caught a whiff of soy sauce, vinegar, and garlic permeating the house.  The demoness enabler was making her trademark Pork Adobo,  a Filipino dish that she craves when hungover.  The aroma suddenly triggered hunger pangs.

I forced myself into some semblance of a standing human being, and stumbled my way to the kitchen.  Dita was humming some godforsaken melody that I, quite possibly, choreographed a performance to last night.


“Please tell me I didn’t sing and dance to Call Me, Maybe like a raving teenybopper” I said.

Without missing a beat, she said, “You didn’t sing and dance to Call Me, Maybe like a raving teenybopper.”

“I did it, didn’t I?” I was beyond mortified.

“Yep, like a lunatic.  It was glorious, I wish I took a video.”  She was grinning when she added, “By the way, Finn went home to wash his eyeballs.  He said he’s gonna double-bleach them for good measure.”

“As god is my witness, I’m never getting drunk ever again!” I vowed dramatically.


Then I remembered I’m an atheist.

















There are probably more variations to Adobo than there are islands in the Philippines.  Considering the country is an archipelago with just a little over than 7,000 islands, that pretty much gives an idea how impossible it is to pin down a one, true Adobo recipe. 

This is one of many that I've used for years. 

Servings:: 4
  • 2 tablespoons OLIVE OIL or CANOLA OIL
  • 1 kilogram PORK BELLY, chopped into bite-zized pieces
  • 125 ml (1/2 cup) MALT VINEGAR
  • 125 ml (1/2 cup) DARK SOY SAUCE
  • 250 ml (1 cup) WATER
  • 1 tablespoon GARLIC, crushed
  • 1 1/2 tablespoons GROUND PEPPER
  • 1 teaspoon 5-SPICE
  • 2 tablespoons BROWN SUGAR
  • 3 medium-sized BAY LEAVES
  1. Grab the slab of pork belly and hack into bite-size pieces.  Place in a container and marinate in soy sauce and vinegar overnight in the fridge.  Or for at least 3 hours.

  2. When ready, pour oil in a medium to large pot (or a pan, but I go straight to the pot to avoid the extra washing).  Separate the meat from the marinade, and set the latter aside. 

  3. Sear the pork chunks on high heat. Don’t move around – let it form a nice, brown crust before flipping over. Don't over-crowd either, cook them in 3 or 4 batches.  Set aside.

  4. Deglaze the pot with the cup of water, followed by the soy sauce/vinegar marinade.

  5. Bring back all the pork pieces into the pot, cover, then bring to a boil. 

  6. Decrease the temperature of the stove to a low simmering heat.

    Add the garlic, ground pepper, brown sugar, 5-spice, and bay leaves.

  7. Put the lid back on, slow-cook for 3 to 4 hours.

  8. If a thicker sauce is preferred, set the stove back on high, and boil with the lid off, until the liquids evaporate into the desired consistency.  I tend to take out the meat before doing this, then bring back again so it doesn't dry out.

  9. Serve with white rice.


*  Use chicken or do half & half with chicken and pork.

Add Quail or Chicken Eggs on the side.





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