Risotto Vs. Udong

I heard my Dad call me a princess behind my back. Any normal papa’s girl would’ve been elated. Not me. For by this, he meant that I was sitting on my ass the whole day, being waited on hand and foot by slaves, leaving him in charge of preparing the food (and serving me, but what’s wrong with that picture, eh?Ü ) 

Okay, so I haven’t exactly been Martha Stewart. I admit, I’m not the chef-y kind who slices and dices with precision and efficiency. I can follow a recipe, but I take forever to peel off onion skin; ergo, the need for a kitchen assistant to do the nitty gritty bit.

I decided I would prove him wrong with the princess status, so I woke up the next day and whipped up brunch from my inner creative cook (and the recipe book I brought from home). I even did all the slicing and dicing myself. My blood, sweat and tears yielded fried rice, basil pesto omelettes and mushroom risotto with tuna. It sounded like a good idea at the time. Plus it tasted fabulous! Even if I do say so myself… which I did.

My dad was a different story. Not a peep from him at breakfast. I think I heard him go “hmm” with a curious look on his face, but that was it. He ate the risotto (out of courtesy?), but he didn’t say much. And from the amount of leftovers, it wasn’t exactly a hit with his palate.

Unfortunately, I was so preoccupied preparing my sumptuous feast that I completely discounted what a simpleton my Dad was when it came to food. So, eager to redeem myself, I gave it another try at dinner. This time, I decided to play it safe and kept an ear out for what he wanted to eat. Udong. Grrreat. Don’t get me wrong, I like that stuff but next to my risotto and omelettes?? Come on! Where’s the challenge?! So after I called our trusty cook from the city, on it went with the slicing and dicing again. And voila, udong!

This time, our farmhands joined us for the meal. I didn’t want to waste my risotto, so I reheated it and set it beside the udong. The udong didn’t last fifteen minutes. They devoured it! It even garnered “Ito ang masarap! Na-master mo na lagi ito!”, from my picky-eater of a father. What?! THAT, you praise?!?! As for the risotto, it seemed I was its only fan. When I asked them why they didn’t want to try it, the answer I got from the caretaker’s husband was, “Aw, abi nako pagkaun na sa iro!” WHAAAAT?!?! I was livid! I was beside myself, my inner creative cook thrashing like a caged wild animal in my head. I could not reconcile how, an entire plate that cost less than P20 (in my guesstimation), could possibly be more favorable than one I got from a ridiculously expensive fancy, hardbound Italian cookbook from Powerbooks.

How?

Dangit. I give up. Risotto- 0, Udong- 1.