There is only one thing that can really beat the heat. A bottle of ( okay. make that bottles of) Stella Artois while munching on a bowl of olives in the shade while reading a good book. In summer's past it was San Mig in an amber bottle crusted with ice. But San Miguel the" for export version" doesn't taste as good as the one Nick Joaquin drinks when he was still breathing prose. Who can forget the National Artist for Lit's "May Day Eve" and its heated, throbbing erotic undercurrents of agonized passion. It is Maynila repressed in nocturnal craving with the viel of religion covering the the brown loins.
It is summer, indeed. A time for remembering