Martini Gans

November 11 is Goose Day. Goose what? Goose Day, you heard it right. There is Labour Day, Independence Day, All Saints Day, and so on, so why not Goose Day?

In Austria, at least, when St. Martin with the Goose (or better of the Goose?) becomes once more the saint of the day. The day when you get Martini Gans (Martini Goose) for lunch or dinner, served with red cabbage, potato dumplings, and best consumed with the young wine produced the same year.

Legend has it that the Holy Martin hid himself in a goose stall when he was summoned by the church to become a bishop. Ostensibly he didn't apply for the new job and was quite happy and contented with the old one he had been doing so far. Not willing to learn new tricks, eh? I could perfectly understand the feeling. Eventually he was found and proclaimed a saint later and went down in church history as a saint featured with a goose -the same way that other saints are fondly associated with something that distinguish them from the other holy men...and holy women, as well. I am just being politically correct, lest I find myself suddenly confronted with hate mails (and femails, most likely) for being such a sexist pig, so there. Anyway, think of St. Francis of Assisi, what does he remind you of? What do you associate him with? Birds, what else! Talk of a more fitting association!

There's this one legend I like best about St. Martin and the goose. It has been told time and again that he hid himself from the Roman soldiers pursuing him -for some reason beyond me, so don't ask. The place he chose to run for cover was a goose stall - of all places! Very clever! Need I say that the birds gave him away? No goose and gander was spared that day. Not by the soldiers but by the village people who were loyal to the holy man. I can just imagine the violence and blood shed that ensued later, when the poor birds were beheaded and sent straight to the kitchen oven. Too vivid for my imagination -they give me goose bumps...

And goose down -precious fluppy stuff in my winter blankets and pillows that keep me warm and cozy all night long. Hey, this could be the reason why Martini Gans is available only during the cold season, in November when the weather temperature could suddenly drop to minus! Goose meat is heavy in fat so you don't really go for it in the summer. You don't mind it in winter, when you're freezing, when you couldn't care less if it's the goose that lays golden eggs.

I was invited to a Martini Gans dinner that Saturday -the 11th of November. Waiting for us was a 5-kg goose -stuffed with apples and red onions- still roasting in the oven. I had with me three bottles of freshly minted white Jungwein (young or early wine) from Burgenland. A wine aficionado advised me to get those. The new wine -launched in autumn- goes very well, he said, with the rich flavour of Martini Gans. Thanks and kudos to him for this valuable piece of advice. Our dinner host and the other guests were delighted with the young wine I got for dinner. The aroma resembles apples and pears freshly picked from the garden -a perfect match indeed to the crispy goose and side dish of red cabbage and potato dumplings.

Burgenland is one wine country of Austria that is famous also for its migratory storks with nests ensconced on chimney tops of rustic houses. In mid-autumn, locals and visitors alike celebrate harvest with a festival that begins with "baptism" (wein-taufe in German) of the early wine by a Catholic priest -a tradition that is also shared and practised by other wine producing regions in Austria. I dare to say that this is one tradition that goes back perhaps to the day a holy man called Martin was betrayed by his flock. His flock of geese I mean. It is only after the wine has been purified through some kind of baptism (remember Austria's wine scandal of the '80s when wine producers diluted their wines with glycol?) that one is allowed to say Prost (cheers) when proposing a toast to health...or to the Jungwein. Or to the goose? Hick!

photos: Martini Gans; Potato dumplings and red cabbage

Of Marilyn, Stress, and Apple Pie

Marilyn was very much the picture of stress that particular day -the day she invited Imelda and her General to dinner at her place. That she was stressed-out is not new to me -she is, after all, the poster girl for stress.

Marilyn is my neighbor and my favourite victim when I do experimental cooking - fantasy recipes, you know! She lives alone and, like most of my career-minded friends, she is single and she is constantly in stress. Forever, it seems. She could get stressed out just by eating what I cook. I love spicy foods and when Marilyn is around I just get frustrated; I cannot be generous with my spices. She freaks out, I freak out - a prelude to stress.

Marilyn was scheduled to fly home to Manila in a couple of days, in time for All Saints Day. Her widowed mom is now 81 years old, getting more depressed every day, ever since the day her only son and his own family moved to Canada a couple of months back. Soon after, the other daughter - a career diplomant - followed suit when she accepted her latest foreign posting. LA this time. At long last! Like in the movie, Mom is Home Alone -empty nest syndrome creeping in. All Saints Day would soon be here and Marilyn knew her mom would feel lonelier and isolated each passing day. One has to keep her company even for a few days at least until All Saints Day is over. If neither one of her brother and sister could make it home for Todos Los Santos was no big deal. Marilyn could. She is, after all, single and single girls have all the time in the world -no family, no obligation. Might as well keep them busy, right?

That particular day though, Marilyn had bigger worries. Her boss went on holidays and she was left in charge of the office, which meant representing her boss -among other tasks- to the annual office-retreat (brainstorming, bull-session? search me!) outside the city. And that was two days before her flight - barely little time left to pack her suitcase! Again, no big deal. Marilyn, you can do it. You are single, remember? You are Wonder Woman! So, girl, do your laundry now before you leave,change the linens in the guestroom. And while you're at it vacuum the whole place, do the bathroom and give the toilet a good scrubbing, check the fridge for mouldy tomatoes and whatever there is that is decomposing. Your guests would be grateful to you forever! And, oh, don't forget to run to the commissary shop for those much coveted corned-beef in cans your cousins asked you to get for them. And, yes, you have yet to cook dinner! For Imelda and her General.



Imelda is a work-colleague of Lyn's friend in Manila. Imelda's husband, a General in the Army, now retired, has been invited to attend a symposium in Vienna so Imelda asked her friend if Marilyn who lives in Vienna, could book a hotel room for them. Panic was in the air; I could smell it the day Marilyn told me about that infamous email her friend wrote her. Location and room rates were two major factors Marilyn had to consider - a big challenge! But Marilyn, several phone calls and thousand emails later, actually found one. Surprise! Never mind if her computer almost crashed down in the process.

And Now Marilyn had to think of what to cook for dinner that won't take so much effort and preparation. Oatmeal, may I suggest? Oatmeal would be her prompt reply each time I ring her up and ask what was cooking. "Need something to eat before taking my medicines", her refrain.

I was coming to dinner, too. I'd take care of the dessert, I told Marilyn. Apple Pie! "Again? We have yet to finish that apple pie you baked the other day!" My first attempt to bake applie pie. It wasn't bad. I was just simply not happy with it so I gave it to Marilyn. My fridge was full, I lied, and convinced her that apple pies are best when chilled. She showed up the next day at my place for dinner -with the dreaded apple pie.

The apple pie I bought for dinner was frozen so she she asked if we shoud not put it in the oven before the guests arrive. It would not take long to bake it; most is 1o minutes, so we can do it later. I wished she had been more insistent. The label said otherwise -50 to 60 minutes! That someone really bothered to read the instructions was sheer genius. This was after the guests were seated at the dining table and some Jamie Oliver wannabe got curious about my frozen apple pie. See, I told you, said someone in the kitchen, horrified. Enough time between the soup and the dessert, so what's the big deal! That was me. Preheat the oven, me again, eat your Bolognese! Yes, Marilyn served Spaghetti Bolognese. It was good -a significant deviation from her perennial baked chicken in mayo, and...oatmeal! Imelda and her General were impressed.

The apple pie never made it to the dining table "'cause it took so long to bake it, and I'll never have this recipe again, Oh, no!", laments Richard Harris in his version of McArthur's Park. I could only sympathize with him. So could Imelda and her General and the other guests who came to dinner. The oven was running hot for 60 minutes, fine; the frozen applie pie was sitting in the kitchen and "melting in the dark". Someone forgot to put it in the oven. Sheer genius, you bet!

Photos: Marilyn picking at her food; with Imelda and her General (Romero, Ret.)