Coffee is something that I started drinking only in my mid 20’s – late starter, I know. Sure, I had sips here and there but I was always rewarded with palpitations and the feeling that I was walking on a tightrope. Not fun. Turns out that it runs in the family: my dad only started drinking coffee in his mid 50’s. Now that my heart no longer does the jitterbug, I drink coffee about three times a week, and only 4-ounces at a time. I certainly don’t need it to get up and go in the morning since I’m naturally a morning person, although I admit to listening with some kind of morbid fascination to tales of people who drink four or more cups of coffee a day!Coffee is more of a treat for me than anything else, as opposed to something that I have to have everyday. When I’m at home ready to make coffee, I really think about which cup I’m going to use – I have about 30 to choose from, since I love, love, love cups. I shamelessly admit that almost every kind of coffee tastes good to me, especially the ...

When I was about five years old, there was this chili plant outside the lobby of our flat. (We were living in Hong Kong at the time, so apartments were called “flats,” not condos.) Thinking back on it now, that plant was a scrawny little thing. Barely reaching three feet, it had just enough leaves to avoid being called ‘bald,’ most of which were a combination of green-brown. What was tantalizing to me however, were the shiny little peppers dangling from the branches. Almost the same length as my little finger was at the time, the peppers were cherry red, little beacons of temptation.I remember my yaya (nanny) exhorting me to never touch those peppers lest I wanted a fire in my mouth. To my young yet already food-obsessed brain, I couldn’t imagine anything more delightful. But I heeded yaya’s words until one impulsive day when right in front of her, I picked a pepper hanging at eye’s length and I bit into it. Immediately, yaya’s face contorted into an expression of fright and disquiet. With eyes bulging like saucers, she looked like she was deciding whether to faint or shake me silly. As for ...

In high school, my friends and I had a special activity to celebrate the end of exam week. When the last exam paper was turned in, we changed out of our uniform into what was then called ‘civilian clothes’ and we hied off to Mile Long (is it still called that?) for our quarterly all-you-can-eat Mongolian BBQ feast.While Mile Long today is dodgy-looking with plenty of shuttered offices and even more adult entertainment lounges, in the early 90’s, it was a happening strip of restaurants. There were Korean, a smattering of Filipino, and about four restaurants that specialized in Mongolian BBQ.Mongolian barbeque is basically a “create your own stir-fry” meal in a bowl. It’s a smashing mishmash/hodgepodge of ingredients of one’s own choosing from a great variety of meats, seafood, vegetables, sauces, and spices. Once it’s filled to the brim (and by this time, overflowing), the bowl is then carefully handed to the waiter in exchange for a numbered tag. The food is then stir-fried in a hot pan back in the kitchen. looks like parmesan, is actually ...

In high school, my friends and I had a special activity to celebrate the end of exam week. When the last exam paper was turned in, we changed out of our uniform into what was then called ‘civilian clothes’ and we hied off to Mile Long (is it still called that?) for our quarterly all-you-can-eat Mongolian BBQ feast.While Mile Long today is dodgy-looking with plenty of shuttered offices and adult entertainment lounges, in the early 90’s, it was a happening strip of restaurants. There were Korean, a smattering of Filipino, and about four restaurants that specialized in Mongolian BBQ.Mongolian barbeque is basically a “create your own stir-fry” meal in a bowl. It’s a smashing mishmash/hodgepodge of ingredients of one’s own choosing from a great variety of meats, seafood, vegetables, sauces, and spices. Once it’s filled to the brim (and by this time, overflowing), the bowl is then carefully handed to the waiter in exchange for a numbered tag. The food is then stir-fried in a hot pan back in the kitchen.This eat-all-you-can activity has its roots from who else, but the Mongols. It’s said that ...

Note: In respect for Ivan ManDy’s future street walks, no establishment names and addresses will be given in this post.Our walking tour is divided between two kinds of food stops: a sit-down food stop and a “sup while standing” food stop. One of our sit-down stops is at a restaurant that’s known for its siopao and mami. Having been around since the 1930’s, it underwent a name change when the family corporation decided to split up. Probably one of the few restaurants that refuses to install air-conditioning, ventilation is provided for by the ceiling fans. Ivan tells us that air-conditioning would toughen the siopaos. Typical of many Fil-Chinese restaurants, we’re served golden hot tea in short glasses and our eating utensils are dunked in another glass filled with hot water. As I wipe my spoon and fork with a paper napkin, I wonder if there’s anywhere else in the world where people wipe down their utensils before eating. The house specialty, mami, is served with a side dish of chopped scallions which one adds at will to the soup. The mami is piping hot, its broth cloudy. There are slices of both dark and white ...

Note: In respect for Ivan ManDy’s future street walks, no establishment names and addresses will be given in this post. Binondo is one of those places that terrifies and delights me at the same time. The chaos is maddening, but I revel in everything there is to see (and smell, hear, and taste). My senses are on full-on alert in Binondo, our city’s Chinatown. Today, I have the best person in the world to take me on a tour of this most hallowed – or profane, depending on which side you’re on – part of our city. Our tour guide is Ivan ManDy, an ebullient Filipino-Chinese. Having grown up in Binondo, he knows the area better than the back of his hand, and his zest for this place is truly contagious. With interests in architecture and history, Ivan is unrivalled when it comes to getting people to love Chinatown. We stop at a tsokolate factory, the inside of which smells exactly the way I’d expect chocolate heaven to smell like: smoky, earthy, with the ...

Yup, I’ve gone and done it: Dessert Comes First is now officially a dotcom! This is a project that I’ve been working on for a few months now and it’s exhilarating to finally be here. Like any new home, there are kinks that still need to be fixed, and both you and I will need some time to get used to the new set-up. A lot has changed, but as you can see, a lot has remained the same: the font, the color scheme, the links above. You’ll see more changes as I get into the groove of this new website, but rest assured that Dessert Comes First will be even better than before.My previous posts from 2001-Feb 2006 (all 380+ of them) will remain at my old address and so will the index. For the new stuff from hereon in, look to this new address.Again, welcome to my new home! This is a spectacular birthday gift to myself.

I’m not the type of girl that you can give flowers to. Yes, they’re nice to look at and all but invariably after a few days, those pretty things will wilt. And then they’ll die, leaving nothing behind but patches of brown and some flimsy petals that I’m urged to “press into a book.” Nah, not my thing. I don’t mean to sound so heartless, and on the day before Valentine’s Day at that. While I’m probably even more sentimental and gushy than the next girl, I don’t like flowers simply because their time with me is fleeting. In a word, ephemeral.Until the day these flowers turn up.Their maker is Len Lo, who is fast becoming one of my favorite bakers. She understands my belief that flowers should exhibit some kind of beautiful permanence, and this she does with something she calls: Have your roses and eat it, too.Len has taken the dessert of the moment – that is, a cupcake – and transformed it into something that will last beyond Valentine’s week. She suffuses a cake batter with vanilla ...