I used to hate having such a difficult last name to pronounce, from gawkily laughing along as my high school vice principal failed to even attempt to say my last name on the graduation stage, to grimacing every time I saw the only red squiggly line under my last name on an electronic assignment in elementary school. Only recently have I really appreciated the fact that Decolongon autocorrects to decolonize, a word that didn’t really mean anything to me while growing up, but one that’s become part of a personal manifesto. I still don’t know exactly where the name comes from, but I like this as a start.
Along with many other Filipino name clichés, my middle name is my mom’s maiden name, and despite the fact that I don’t exactly know where it comes from either, theories of its origins seem slightly easier to theorize: Canaria might denote origins from Spain’s Canary Islands, it could derive from the Filipino word kanaryo which describes a lighter shade of yellow, or it could simply be a less common Spanish-inflected surname from the history of Spanish conquest – or perhaps a combination of these.
Maybe unsurprisingly, as a gay with a blog – or even better – a closeted high schooler whose English teacher was one of the first people he came out to in an assignment, I’ve logged my feelings and ideas for as long as I can remember, including that one phase where I’d whip out my laptop on the way to university in a crowded bus just to type in the smallest font size so no one could see my caffeine-laced thoughts. It’s topics like my names or my identity that I would mull over during these formative years, and it’s always such a trip to dive back into the archives with different lenses to see what’s stayed and what’s gone. There’s a treasure trove (trash trove???) of these journals in my old Vancouver room wedged inside of an old wine crate that I’m dying to revisit.
I’m looking at these flashbacks and they’re equally as full of Disney Channel-level hilarities as much as they are of gay adolescent tragedies: I describe holding back tears while a group of us work on a high school French project because one of my classmates told me to go out for a run which elicited laughter from everyone else. Another describes this shared obsession with awards, unrealistically good grades, and doing advanced courses for what I now understand might’ve been an unhealthy yearning for a particular feeling of validation or a sense of purpose. There’s another entry where I fantasize different parts of myself split into several fully-realized Josh-like humans with different personalities, careers, and senses of style, perhaps as a way to compartmentalize my personality and descend into some kind of tacit acknowledgement that I can’t exist as this complete version of myself I wanted to present to the world. Just describing some of these entries is making me giggle nervously while I sweat, fan myself, and massage my temples, but these aren’t even the worst of them. Phew.
I’ve even come across abandoned novel drafts which I’m surprisingly not cringing at? How?!
It’s not all high school or university angst, though: at the other end of the spectrum, some of my favourite entries describe hopes and dreams in almost delusionally optimistic detail, some describe the questionable men I’ve pined over during college (almost all who I look back at and raise a serious eyebrow), and some are just purely gay thoughts on my impressions of Black Swan or the release of Lady Gaga’s Born This Way. Despite the fact that some of these entries are decades-old, I can still remember the smell of the university’s student union building and my horridly intentional Big Bang Theory outfit when I read about this one blind date where a friend set me up with a guy who he met on an online forum, and hadn’t even met in person. The story gets funnier as years pass, and I’m glad I spent time recording those thoughts as they happened. More on that later. Maybe.
But on the topic of generational trauma, I wonder what past Decolongon or Canaria generations have silently and inadvertently moved my hands – whether it be a stroke of a pen, or a press of a keystroke – during any one of these entries.
Adobong manok dilaw (yellow chicken adobo) is essentially a classic adobong manok (chicken adobo) that forgoes soy sauce for fresh turmeric. While the traditional mainstay worked well with a round and oaked Chardonnay, and with last week’s piaparan manok (Mindanaoan turmeric-coconut-ginger chicken) working beautifully with an Alsatian Gewurztraminer, I wanted to find that intersection of rounded restraint of the former wine while keeping the assertive fruit and subtle bitterness of the latter wine: Alsatian Pinot Gris seemed like the answer. Vouvray and Savennières were close ties for second choices, especially with the mushrooms in this particular recipe, but I decided to go with the Pinot Gris with revelations from my initial experiment where I found out that wines with less insistent brightness went better with the classic adobo sauce.
Hugel 2017 “Classic” Pinot Gris (Alsace, France) Sep 2020. $20 USD.
Right out of the fridge, there’s a fair bit of pear, a hint of nectarine, and the barest hint of green apple skin, all laced with hints of minerality. Off-dry but tautly so, the first sip a bright sunburst that gently fades into a glowing core of fruitiness and then into a soft bitterness which meets a hint of oyster shell. Neatly packaged and even slightly shy: doesn’t seem to spill into anything too funky – which is what I love about some Alsatian Pinot Gris – although the minerality turns towards motor oil as it warms up. Has a slight richness but retains plenty of briskness, especially being at 14.5% (!!!) ABV.
According to the suggestions of the recipe I referenced, I hunted down some fresh turmeric which was surprisingly difficult to do in this city, but it added more subtlety rather than the slightly more aggressive bitter earthiness of its dried counterpart, which is much easier to find. Soy sauce has what I describe as a sharp oxidative character, not unlike some aged reds (Rioja especially comes to mind), but that assertiveness is replaced by this subtle woody herbaceous warmth which almost aims to tame and offset the coconut vinegar rather than lean into it.
The mushrooms not only add to the earthy themes of this version of adobo, but they turn out to be wonderful conduits of flavour and carry bursts of sauce upon each bite. Not only does the coconut vinegar bring out this pleasantly musky side of Alsatian Pinot Gris that I love, but the pairing works in waves, with the earthy and sour flavours of the dish creating a liveliness that the wine easily meets and creates a gentle contrast with. Whereas last week’s combination of piaparon manok and Alsatian Gewurztraminer was more like a lively conversation where each side completed each other sentences, this pairing is more like a silent meeting of the eyes with tacit understanding from opposite ends of the couch: the kind you and your friend make when someone in the room makes a dumb comment.
Apparently adobong manok dilaw gets better in the fridge as leftovers, after the flavours have some time to infuse and intensify themselves. Looking back at my journal entries, I think I can say the same about myself.