Another place I go to when I finish eating my week-old left-over adobo is In and Out burger. I swear every time I visit one there's a line of cars at the drive-thru and a choir of angels singing.

On top of all that, there's always a beautiful woman in line waiting to order or eating with her friends in one of the booths. But like 90% of all computer nerds, I never try to talk to such women. Now only if I was a tall, light-skinned, basketball player who could break dance and juggle could I ever have a chance with these ladies. Unfortunately, im a short, dark-skinned, X-Box player who breaks things when I dance. Don't bother asking me to juggle.

Damn, there was one day I was waiting to be called to pick up my food when all of a sudden a girl who looked exactly like Kristin Kreuk from Smallville got in line. If a look-a-like of Kristin Kreuk can be so heart-tugging in person, just imagine the REAL Kristin Kreuk standing in line. Actually you can't, it's UNIMAGINABLE.

So that's my review of In and Out burger. Join me next time as I analyze the social and gastronomical ramifications of Jack in the Box and Scarlett Johansson.

Photo of Kristin Kreuk courtesy of whoever took the picture of Kristin Kreuk. Lucky bastard I hate you. But don't sue me.

At my house, all you'll find is Filipino food on top of the counter and in the fridge. Whether it's the 5-day-old adobo on the stove or the 1-month-old leftover pansit palabok from my cousin's birthday in the fridge, it' be there waiting for me to eat it. It's when I actually leave the house that I go and get something besides month-old leftovers, like carne asada freaking fries. I don't care what cuisine I get, Serbian, Thai, Martian, I don't care. Cholesterol-filled food, no matter who makes it, is food to me.

Wait a minute, did I say carne asada fries? Am I talking about flavorful carne asada mixed with guacamole, mixed cheeses, sour creme, and onions plopped on top of freshly fried, warm and crisp french fries? Yes. Yes I am. You may die now.

When I had my first bite of carne asada fries I lost my carne-asada-fry-virginity and exploded. Since then i've been on carne-asada-fry pilgrimages, searching for the best to-go box of carne asada fries. I've tried carne asada fries from Oakland's late night taco trucks on International to Vacaville's Mexican fast food drive-thru spots. I plan on finishing my pilgrimage in San Diego where the elusive carne-asada-fry golden calf lives.

To me, the best box of carne asada fries depends on only one thing: the fries. I myself enjoy shoestring fries the best. Just imagine the carne asada fixin's on top of warm, crisp McDonald's french fries. Yeah, imagine it. It's like yak on a haystack. Other variations include crinkle-cut fries, you know the one's you get from the frozen food section of a supermarket. And last and certainly least (they suck the most), are the potato wedge variation. Damn, you might as well throw mashed potatoes in there. Boang!

Don't you hate it when you have kulangot, muta, or a white piece of crap on your mouth and no one tells you that it's there? Or even worse, after talking to a beautiful woman, or a priest, you go to the bathroom mirror and find out you had a lechon hoof in-between your teeth the whole time?

Well, I don't hate it at all. It's all about the inside that counts; beauty is only skin deep bla, bla, bla. So if you look past my ashy and pimply dark skin, you'll find an ashy and pimply dark young man who feels and loves just like you. Now give me lotion quick!

I hate okra. I hate string beans. I hate bitter melon. But tell me why all these ingredients united in a dish called pinakbet tastes like Jessica Alba?

The pinakbet photo above is like a group picture of the Superfriends. You know the Superfriends, that group of super heroes that band together once a year for the greater good? And when separate, are only annoying silly people in costume? Well, pinakbet is a mix of food I don't respect in it's separate parts, but eat up like a pig's last meal when united as one to save the earth.

I think the ingredient that holds it all together is the bagoong. Yeah, like Batman. I always thought Batman was the one who held the Superfriends together in the cartoon show but never got the respect he deserved. He's so cool. Sometimes I forget he's dressed up as a ninja/bat with his underwear outside his tights. Batman and pinakbet are supercool.

Happy mother's day to my mom, Tita Sara, your mom, and gay dads.

It's a double KO.

One slow-roasted pig: $135. A town fiesta banner made in the Philippines: P2000. One night's rent for a community hall: $1000. A once-in-a-year opportunity to chill with folks from a town thousands of miles away: priceless.

There are some things money can't buy, for everything else, rob somebody.

A Filipino fiesta happens once a year in almost every town in the Philippines. Too bad in the US I can't kill a pig, get drunk on the street, cut off the heads of chickens, and catch fresh fish in my neighbor's backyard without going to jail. Because of this, I was pretty bored at our town fiesta the other night, but I think it was because no one wanted to talk to me. I guess that's what happens when you eat like a pig. Yeah, the fiestas back in the Philippines are way better.

Yo i'd like to give a shout-out to the TANOCAL cuzos, my pinay Jo Anne, my pinoy John from the UK, and to Filipinos away from home. Maholla back! (Hoy to big D for the photos).

This is Maria y Pau, two cool Spanish folks from, well, Spain. Since Filipinos we're named after and colonized by A spanish king, I asked them to apologize in his behalf. They looked at me weird so I just asked them to get me some jamón and help me find a new name for the islands and the Filipino people.

I first wanted to come up with something catchy, like "Super Race," or "Brown Supremacists," but Pau didn't think it would bode well with the rest of the world. I agreed. So I tried more humbler names like "We're cool, but not too cool to hang out with other races" race, or the "Love-anos."

After a while Maria told me that Spain itself was named by a bunch of Romans dancing around in togas. Either that or she seduced me with a flamenco performance. I think she did both at the same time. After we went our separate ways, I realized (warning: corny part) that the term "Filipino" is part of our culture and identity, and that it symbolizes our history; which should be embraced instead of forgotten and shared instead of stigmatized. And like all other nations and people, over time it isn't all about the name's history, but what we make of the people behind the name in the future that is important.

Then again, if we want to go even deeper into history, it might be possible to call ourselves Malay. Going back even more, we're basically all African. Research even further, ... oh fuck it.

¡Viva Cinco de Mayo! (¡Y dieciséis de Septiembre! And July 4th!)

Yea I said it, chocolate-flavored suman with peanut chunks. Have you ever had a wonderful dream and then woke up and had that same dream come true? I haven't, that'd be crazy.

But I was fantasizing about chocolate suman with peanut chunks when I realized that we still had some frozen suman from 1986. When I opened the last steaming rod of sweet-riceness fresh out of the microwave I realized it had chocolate swirls and little nuts. I peaked back into our bag of "frozen suman suprise" and realized that we only had 25 "choco-suman" left. So I finished it all. Sayang!

I was reminiscing on iphoto again and found photos of a python who was fed dogs and cats. Welp, that's it with that.

But if someone calls you a "dog-eating Filipino" your response should depend on your opinion. If you're an informed dog-lover, you respond with a clarifying, educational lecture on the background and misconceptions of dog-eating in Asia. If you're just an angry person, you respond with a jump kick to the lip.

Some French eat snails, some West Africans eat termites, some Asians eat dog, and I eat chicken feet. Who cares? These are delicacies enjoyed by people who grew up on certain dishes, not because they have weird fetishes, worship the devil, and eat each other. As long as you don't take a sip of my sea-monkey water, I won't eat you myself. Maybe.

I haven't had dog but my uncle has a plate once and a while at my family's disgust. Then again the final product doesn't look too bad either. Here, try some Thịt chó. (Westerners and dog-lovers, click at your own risk.)

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