At Adarna

Yesterday, Ice and I drove to Adarna Restaurant at Kalayaan Street for lunch. Alas, de Botton speaks the truth: destinations are better in photographs, if only because when I travel, I take myself along with me.

And so, yesterday, confronted with a vintage full-length mirror nestled in a corner of the restaurant, I looked not at the intricate details on the wood but into the glass and at myself where stress had robbed a patch of hair from my forehead. The sight caused me great worry, and I struggled to immerse myself in my surroundings, which I was determined to enjoy. The place, I thought sadly, could be lit more dramatically. The background music, I also observed, did not quite match the ambiance exuded by Adarna's publicity photographs scattered on the web. The food, too, cradled in lovely china and artfully styled, looked better than they tasted-- and perhaps, I considered, this is because I am hardly a connoisseur of our local cuisine. The restaurant, after all, boasts of a topnotch kitchen staff. I, with my emotional baggage and predilections grossly incompatible with the restaurant's chef and interior decorator, had ruined the image of the quaint, cozy, and perfect little restaurant I had in my mind. Nonetheless, as de Botton consoles, my memory selects the finer points of my experiences, and soon I will remember only those which were beautiful.

Perhaps, in time, my remembrance of yesterday will look like this:



I will remember that the place was lit like so and that Ice ate away happily and that the adobo was just right.



This one, though, I know this happened for real.