Cooking, shooting

Cooking, shooting.

Hello everyone, from now on, all my posts will be written in English. I really regret that I didn’t do that from the beginning. The only reason why I posted in Swedish, was that two of my presumed readers have some problems understanding English. Since I’ve haven’t heard a single word from them during the weeks I’ve been posting, it feels a bit pointless to continue posting in Swedish.

Hej igen, från och med nu kommer jag att skriva alla inlägg på engelska. Jag ångrar verkligen att jag inte gjorde det ifrån början. Den enda anledningen till att jag skrev på svenska var att två av mina, förmodade läsare, har det svårt med engelskan. Men då jag inte hört ett ord ifrån dessa två, under de veckor jag postat inlägg, känns det aningen meningslöst att fortsätta skriva på svenska. Ok, problemet kanske är tekniskt, att ni inte kan posta kommentarer. I så fall ber jag om ursäkt. Men om så vore fallet, kunde ni ha skickat ett e-mail till mig.

Here goes. A couple of days ago, Joy and me cooked dinner for the family. At first we were thinking of cooking something Swedish, but then I realized that I really don’t know anything about Swedish cooking. The only Swedish cooking I’m familiar with is prefab, and Swedish prefab, is a bit difficult to find in the Philippines. As a result, we ended up cooking a chinese wok. To compensate we made Swedish dessert though, Negro balls/Chocolate balls, negro referring to their colour, which is black. Negro balls, is the original name, from the time when there were no black people in Sweden that could take offence. Now when there are black people that might be offended, they are also called chocolate balls. The amount of chocolate in these balls though, is really insignificant, although I admit that it’s still greater than the amount of Negros in them. How anyone can be offended by the connection between negros, as in black people, and negro balls, as dessert is bit strange though. For one thing, I don’t think that the balls are made to resemble black people. Another thing, if negro balls and negro people are connected, is black coffee and black market also connected then? Well, in reference of colour, yes, but the connection stops there. Perhaps it’s the colour then, but how about Finish people and Finish sticks (another common dessert), I mean, they are booth generally white? The people that find the old name offensive are, in my experience, usually white middleclass. I’ve still not met a black person that has been offended by the name, the black people I’ve met have all found the old name a bit humorous. As usual, it’s the people that talk the most that do the least. “Oh, we are soo politically correct, we loove immigrants, but we really don’t want them in our neighbourhood, although we would never say so in public”. Even though I feel the old name, negro ball isn’t derogatory I usually use the modern term chocolate ball myself, just to be safe. Its after all also common, and you can be sure that you don’t upset anyone, almost. This is perhaps a bit hypocritical I reference of my statements above, but very few people act exactly in accordance with how they think. Hi, Petri, I know that our opinions in this matter differ some. I apologize to you if I brought it up in public, I just felt for it. Not a good reason, I know. Just so you know, I respect, and I think I understand your view on it also.

Back to the dinner. The disputed balls are supposed to be rolled in desiccated cocoanut. We couldn’t find any such in the local supermarket. Instead, we had to pick a coconut from the garden, chop the innards out, put it in a blender and roast it. A lot of work, but the result were great. The wok was also appreciated. Snaps was also consumed, in an attempt to create that ‘Swedish feeling’ to it. I think it worked.

The following day, we meet up with Alex Topacio, the gunrunner (see previous post on the gun show), at Ateneo, early in the morning. From there we went to Rizal province and the mountain village of Antipolo. There, in the middle of the jungle, some friends of the Topacio family has a shooting range. After waiting for the heavy rain to subside, we started taking down the clay pigeons. We shot a lot that day. Did I hit anything? Not so much in the beginning but in the end I hit somewhere around 2-3 clay pigeons out of 5. We were all equally bad at it though. Alex, was as me, more used to rifles, and that really doesn’t give you any particular advantage when it comes to clay pigeons. This was my second time shooting clay pigeons, and it was even better this time. We went home with blue shoulders and big smiles on our faces.

Shooting in the Philippines really differs from shooting in Sweden. During our time at the range, people constantly served us with everything. They held the weapons when you weren’t shooting, they unpacked and packed our weapons, they carried ammo, they carried umbrellas, clay pigeons, well, everything you wanted. They even picked up our spent shells and cleaned our weapons for us. I feel uncomfortable when unknown people do things for me I could easily have done myself. We could easily have done all that ourselves, but when you’re in Rome… Another thing, a lot of birds lived at the range. Without noticing us, they walked fearlessly, just under where we were firing. The lived dangerously though. During the time it was raining the most, we really hade some serious thoughts of sacrificing one of the to the weather gods.

When we got home, Joy’s parents had an interesting story for us. Attila, one of the cats had, unknown to us, sneaked up in the engine compartment of one of the cars to take a nap. After two hours of driving, Elias decided to check the oil. When he opened the hood, he was met by a very terrified and a very dirty little cat, Attila. Attila was really frightened, and he was shaking during the whole ride home. Things didn’t get better for him at home either. Catwash followed, in order to get the oil and road dirt out of his fur. Perhaps this will teach him to stay away from the car. I doubt it though.

That’s all for now!
/Marcus

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