The day before Jenny’s birthday we went to a barbecue place. It was a little different than places you’d find in the United States as it included many vendors and had no real walls or roof. You get to pick out your meat from the vendor of your choice and they cook it there for you, not in front of you, but nearby. Coming from the United States where microwaves reign supreme, it was an interesting experience although not completely foreign. Lots of restaurants in the United States are similar to this. The big difference here is that it was authentic.
Most foreign of all was how many transsexuals there were working at these different barbecue stands. I think if you stacked them you could reach the moon.
I have nothing against transsexuals. I just thought it was really weird to see so many of them in one place. Like you never see more than one Dave Matthews Band fan in the same room at once except at a Dave Matthews Band concert. Yet, defying all odds, these dozen or so transsexuals were all there ready to serve me up some pig rectum: the one meat I just had to try because I live dangerously.
And yes, I am aware that a dozen or so transsexuals wouldn’t normally reach the moon. Remember, the Philippines is much closer to the sun hence much closer to the moon ergo about 20 tall ones could probably get you to earth’s closest lunar body.
The transsexual army was not even the highlight of this dinner. The experience itself (and the fact that Jenny was there, of course) made it memorable. Not to sound completely racist, but to have no other words other than to sound completely racist, the atmosphere was very Asian. It was hot, tight, and a little chaotic even without a huge crowd. Uncooked meat surrounded the outer rim. In the United States, a record number of health codes surely would’ve been violated because we love getting people in trouble.
The meal began with rice getting delivered to us wrapped in banana leaves. This was the first time I saw this happen. In the Philippines this is pretty common. It’s like dealing with a sassy waitress in the United States: a given. I wasn’t sure what to think of them or what they even were. Jenny had to show me the proper way to open them up which I still managed to screw up.
Also a somewhat unique experience, I ate the meal with plastic gloves on. Typically I associate plastic gloves with rectal exams. This was actually appropriate considering I had ordered the pig rectum. Obviously the purpose of these gloves was to avoid getting any sauce on your hands since silverware apparently is sinful in this type of outdoor establishment. I’m not someone who is weirded out by eating with his hands, but I am the kind of person who eats sushi with a fork. Take that for what it’s worth. Plus, who wants to touch a pig rectum?
When we finished eating our hands were still kind of messy even though we used the plastic gloves. Thankfully, the transsexuals saved us by tabo’ing our hands with what little water they had. This beecation took place during a drought yet they still happily allowed us some water to wash our hands with. This would never happen in the United States. At best you’d get someone to spit on your palms.
Following our meal we went to the mall where we walked around, possibly got some groceries, and shared a lemonade. We also bumped into two people Jenny knew. I’m pretty sure they were frightened of me. The pig rectum breath certainly didn’t help any.
Then we did what everyone should to end their evening: watched a bunch of fat people exercise in public.
What a meal! What a day!