Bad shape | SunStar Cebu | Feb. 16, 2010

The two survey leaders talked about the fiscal deficit that will come after our favorite president shall have stepped down and will probably even become House speaker. Manny Villar says the deficit will bloat to P300 billion or about “3.5 percent of GDP.” Noynoy Aquino pegged it at P272.5 billion or “4.1 percent of GDP.” Hold your breath because that’s not what I’ll talk about.

It is pork, which, under my or our current state, is the root of all evil. It is not money. It is that sleek, shivery sliver on your plate. A friend has a name for it, “pork shake,” eloquently illustrated by that ominous morsel of humba shaking at every turn of your lazy suzanne. At other times, it comes as that scheming layer of white underneath your crispy lechon. I don’t know why, the craving for that fatty part could come as acquired taste, much like with sashimi—the taste buds eventually liking the erstwhile incomprehensible gustatory anarchy excited by raw fish and the wasabi. But pork fats are simply, dizzyingly divine on top of a hot haul of rice.

Talisay City, in the Joavanese era, still finds its redemption through lechon. As the food critic Anthony Bourdain said, the lechon is simply “the best pork in the world.” Better than Mexico’s, he said, although Mexicans can very well ignite their pork with fiery jalapeño. But our lechon, in the realm of the senses, is incontestably mystical. In the hollow of its belly transpires the miracle at every turn of the bamboo skewer, it is as though the bamboo itself is secretly exuding the ghosts of Malakas and Maganda into the hog’s fibers and unleashed a brand new creation story. It makes you dizzy.

Indeed, because dizzy is what you will feel at the first instance of reality check compressed in a little document your nurse will hand you. Just last week, I had my first dose of meteorite crashing into my oblivious eating habits. My sugar shot up to borderline and my cholesterol level had the wallop of Mike Tyson. You want political perspective? It’s like looking at a bloated fiscal deficit after an excess of pork. The karmic chain does not exempt physiology, and I hope the same goes, too, to a presidency.

And so there are cutbacks since then. Somebody said a diet is the penalty we pay for exceeding the feed limit. “If it tastes good,” advises one cardiologist, “spit it out.” Does this mean it will all be downhill from here? Not exactly, and while I was plotting out a regimen on the way to the office, I saw Joel Garganera, although for one moment I thought I saw Usain Bolt on P. del Rosario St. in full running gear. Joel, godsend, reinforced the idea, plus here’s colleague Max Limpag, persistent seller of the couch-to-5K formula. So maybe, one of these days, I hope I’ll run out of excuses and finally tread the miles. It’s one fighting chance against blood sugar and cholesterol, certainly. “To run against pork” sounds very political, indeed.

It’s all a test for one’s conscience. To milk or not to milk the country dry, that is the question. Are you going to agree to an immense annual budget and leave the next president with a severe ulcer? Sorry, but let’s get back to my current state.

It’s about a week now with no red meat and no sweet things. I used to coax a friend into partaking on a piece of cake and pass a jeer that should his sugar level rise, he could sing “This time I’ll be sweeter…” Now the joke’s on me, and the doctor said white bread, for which I’m such a sucker, is a no-no, too.

Woody Allen says that when we lose twenty pounds, we could be losing the twenty best pounds we have, that which contain “our genius, our humanity, our love and honesty.” Well, that’s poundage, not blood sugar or cholesterol. Besides, I don’t have the genius. I wanted to run last Sunday, but ended up with a half-pounder burger instead. It had nothing to do with the Philippine economy.

(januarinbox@yahoo.com)