That bloody bee is back at it again, tugging at all our heart strings with a trilogy of Valentine’s Day ads. I salute the evil genius behind the Kwentong Jollibee Valentine campaign. Well played, sir. As if I don’t struggle enough to curb my emotional eating, this comes along and convinces me true love tastes better with an an upsized glass of pineapple juice and an extra box of Peach Mango Pie.
While “Date” is emotionally shattering and “Vow” is unintentionally hilarious (all I could picture after that twist was Jorah Mormont in the friend zone), it’s “Crush” I enjoyed the most.
Continue reading “Bee My Valentine”
WOW! 😱 Check out the line for the #1stJollibeeInCanada! These guys are all geared up and ready to go! Stick around for exciting updates on the warmest, jolliest reunion in town! 😊
Posted by Jollibee Canada on Thursday, December 15, 2016
The first Jollibee in Canada has opened, and I’ll finally have an answer whenever Le Hubs says “Manitoba? What’s in Manitoba?” I really, really thought Toronto had dibs, but I was wrong. You go, Winnipeg.
I can see why they’d brave the cold just to have Chicken Joy. Anything that reminds you of home is always worth lining up for. Do I know anyone from Manitoba? Can I please have a care package of nothing but Peach Mango Pie?
The heart is highly overrated. It’s easy enough to assuage loneliness and homesickness in the age of Skype and Facetime, but the stomach isn’t as easy to please. Forget the heart, home is where the stomach is. My parents know this, which is why they welcome me with open arms and loads of fresh mangoes, cuchinta, bud-bud and puto each time I come home. Food figures heavily in our hearts.
Most days, I end up making my own home-cooked meals. Not fun when you’re used to buying it at a carinderia but a necessity when a piece of fried bangus is easily $6. A bag of malunggay leaves costs $2.50 + tax. It sucks because it’s mostly ice (they freeze the leaves in water) and I cry in the shower when I realize I’m ponying up $2.50 for a bag of leaves I used to pick off a tree in our backyard at home. But there’s only so long I can go without having Filipino food and if I have to cook it myself, I will. Needs must. Our neighbors are Filipino, and sometimes the hallway smells like chicken tinola. It’s all I can do to stop myself from knocking, bowl in hand.
They have plans to open a Jollibee in Toronto next year. Continue reading “A Moment on the Lips”