Confessions Of A Rock N' Roll Idiot

If this sounds like a big bowl of alphabet soup to you, I apologize. I had a sudden impulse to write. However, my patience for editing was left in the subconscious.

ON FRIED CHICKEN AND LIFE

I tried my hand at cooking fried chicken yesterday. I didn’t get the result I wanted, but I learned a lot about life and myself just because of it.

Last Saturday, I bought Ted Allen’s (of Queer Eye fame) cookbook, “The food you want to eat: 100 simple recipes), which contained a recipe for “killer” fried chicken. After reading it yesterday, I went to Rustan’s and blew around 300 php for the chicken and the other ingredients: flour, full cream milk, thyme, cayenne pepper and butter. Apparently, the secret to fried chicken is soaking the meat in buttermilk, which makes the chicken more tender. Since no buttermilk was available at the store, I decided to improvise by mixing Dari Crème butter with the milk. Other than that, there were no other substitutes for the recipe.

I came back to the condo, prepared the marinade, soaked the chicken for a few hours, and went to an ACTM meeting. After that boring meet, I immediately went home, eager to cook the said dish. For the first five minutes, the chicken looked good, adopting a golden-brownish color.

However, the chicken started to adopt a dark color after five minutes. The cooking time allotted for the recipe is 15 minutes, so I started to get worried. And when it was done, well, it tasted like crap. I’m not sure what had really gone wrong. I followed the recipe to the letter, except for the milk, but that wouldn’t have made much difference (or could it?). So in effect, 300 pesos went straight to the trash can, but not before my roommates Jeff and Red had a taste of it. They said it was OK, the chicken was alright and the skin was “excellent”, but for me, it wasn’t. I wanted it to taste great. I was convinced that by doing exactly what the book said would bring a big smile to those who had a bite of the chicken.

And that’s when I paused to think.

That unfortunate episode of frying chicken said a lot about life. You do the exact things you’re told to do, follow the tried-and-tested recipe for success, but somehow, the end product doesn’t come out the way you expected it to be. While other people tell you you’re doing OK, that things aren’t that bad, inside you think, it’s not enough.

Funny to think that when you try to conform to life’s “true” recipes, somehow something inside tells you there’s something more. Or maybe you’re something less that what people perceive to be enough. I don’t know, but it seems that what works for Ted Allen’s chicken won’t work for me. Either I can’t be content with what other people tell me is right, or maybe I need to put more of myself into the recipe.

The only way to get it right is to do things my own way. And even if I do, it may not match up to what other people deem fit.

Does it mean the voices and opinions of people aren’t correct? I’m not sure on that. For quite a while, I’ve been reading and quoting the biographies of my heroes: John Lennon , Paul McCartney, Bono, Mick Jagger, and their messages, I cherish wholeheartedly. But I guess, I have to live through an idea to find out what works and what doesn’t. Follow your heart, make yourself present, do what you want. Only when you’ve suffered mistakes or reaped fruit from these ideas, can you start to own them.

The next time I cook the damn chicken, I better put in a few slices of ampalaya. Maybe having a bitter-tasting chicken might interest me more. Allen’s sweet and buttery recipe doesn’t say much about my life. Or maybe boil it in water, as I still face a blank horizon.

BIOGRAPHIES AND OLD SCHOOL ROCK

I’ve been reading a lot lately. A few minutes ago I just finished reading The Beatles by Hunter Davies, an exhaustive, first-hand account of the fab four’s rise to iconic status, and their eventual demise. About two weeks ago, I had finished Conversations with Bono by Bono and Michka Assayas. Conversations is a series of interviews revealing the legendary U2 frontman’s take on life, Africa, music, religion and the true spirit of music. Broken Music by Sting and The Rolling Stones by Geoff Boyd are up next.

My taste for music has gone backwards in the last few months. I’ve pored exhaustively over the music of The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Beach Boys, The Who, Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, Sting, ‘80s U2 and the other rock n’ roll gods of time past. I am rediscovering a lost youth, taking me forty years back into the glory days of fun rock.

I simply got sick and tired of the current emo scene, where all they do is sing three things: 1) I suck 2) You suck 3) Life sucks. Rock ain’t supposed to be that way. It’s all about freedom, fun and excitement, taking you to heights beyond your wildest dreams. Maybe emo can do that, but I guess I’m fed up with all that teen-angst and broken-hearted crap. ‘60s rock captured a feeling of elation, beauty and exhilaration that I don’t think can ever be reflected in today’s rock. And I dare say anyone who thinks Good Charlotte makes better music than Mick Jagger and The Rolling Stones is a BIG, FUCKING IDIOT. Listen to Exile on Main Street and you’ll find out why. And if you can’t tell the difference, you’re simply not a mature listener. If you disagree, pardon the let down, and refer to the previous story.

OTHER SHIT

-Started picking up my electric guitar after 3 months of letting it catch dust.
-Will cook a big bowl of corned beef later.
-Evangeline Lilly (Kate in “Lost”) rocks!
-Got to know two lovely girls this afternoon at Seattle’s Best. They noticed that I was reading the Beatles biography, which they said it was a really cool book. I do believe it better now!

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY