Journaling Journalism; Unofficial Restaurant Week; The New York Noodle Post

Please excuse my absence from the blogging world. I’ve been recovering from my whirlwind trip to New York City and getting back into the San Francisco groove of things.

About a month ago, I flew over to that beautiful Big Apple in the east, NYC, to window shop for journalism grad programs, reconnect with old and new friends and family, and EAT EAT EAT.

The two journalism grad schools I looked at were Columbia University’s GraduateSchool of Journalism and NYU’s Arthur L. Carter Journalism Institute. The professors and students at both universities were quite welcoming, and I greatly appreciated how open and generous they were with their time and knowledge. At both institutions, I sat in on magazine-specific classes and was pleased to find my interest in the mag-world reinforced by the riveting content and exciting rhythm of the class discussions.

At NYU, students shared their “service pieces,” basically lists of briefly described suggestions for certain themes; themes that ranged from Indie Print Magazines to Chicken and Waffle restaurants in NYC. Then at Columbia, I observed a class that produced the university’s online arts and culture magazine, “Starring NYC.” The students went around explaining to the instructor and their peers what new stories they were researching and writing that week, e.g. watching an unusual theatre showing of the cult movie “The Room” and interviewing the fans or attending a pop-up art gallery located in a freight elevator that included the shoe thrown at George Bush Jr.’s head in Iraq. Talking to professors, like Dale Maharidge at Columbia and Meryl Gordon at NYU, was also encouraging. I had almost forgotten how eager professors are to help young, aspiring anyone’s find their way in the world.

Besides grad-school window-shopping, I also did plenty of vintage shopping (major find: a real leopard-fur belt from the 50’s for $50 at a flea market eee!) and restaurant-going. The theme of my eats seemed to be Asian, specifically noodles mmm. Ever since I was a child, noodle soup has been my main comfort food. Slurping up those long strands of heaven in a steaming pool of perfection can satisfy me like no other eating experience, especially in cold March weather.

With Karen, a law school student at Columbia and my little turd of a friend from middle and high school, I tried the Kamo Namban, a bowl of homemade soba with medallions of sautéed duck and Tokyo Negi (Green Onion) at Sobaya, a Japanese restaurant in the East Village near NYU. The duck wasn’t as tender as Chinese roasted duck, but the meal was tasty all the same. Another day, my cousin David and his Taiwanese girlfriend, Ariel, took me on a trek to find the Excellent Pork Chop House, an authentic Taiwanese hole-in-the-wall tucked away in a tiny Chinatown alleyway. I was amazed by the prices, considering it was NYC. For the three of us, it was only $30, and we ordered a ridiculous amount of food due to our hunger from our long journey from the Upper West Side. The pork chops were juicy and flavorful and the Beef Stew Noodle Soup was rich with Chinese spices and beefy goodness. I was glad Ariel, a Taiwanese food connoisseur, knew exactly what to order- her Chicken Leg over Rice was amazingly tender and moist.

Excellent Pork Shop House Meal

Ariel and David

Ramen is apparently a craze in NY, with restaurants like Ippudo and Totto requiring 2- hour-long waits even on weekday nights. Luckily, my lovely friend and old neighbor in Paris, Jessica, and I snuck in early before the dinner rush and got a couple of seats at a communal table in Ippudo. The “original silky ‘Tonkotsu’ (pork) soup” was not falsely advertised. The broth was surely silky, probably from the pork fat, but it also made my brain feel like its synapses were filling with fat. Service was friendly- I chuckled a bit when the non-Asian waiters and cooks yelled greetings at us enthusiastically in Japanese. Finally, on my last night, Karen joined me again for yet another bowl of noodle soup- this time at Jin in Harlem near Columbia. Not quite as silky as Ippudo’s broth, Jin’s ramen noodle soup still held its own with slices of bamboo shoots, chicken, and half an egg on top.

Ippudo's "silky" Tonkotsu ramen (blurry because of the poor lighting or my cloudy vision due to the richness)

Me and Jessica

Miso Ramen at Jin

Karen, my little turd

I filled in the non-noodle gaps with trips to the Shake Shack, Sushi Yasaka, two places I would recommend for a mouth-watering burger and frozen custard or an artful omakase of the sushi chef’s selection. For quintessential NYC food, I went to Bagel Talk, the place where Zabar’s buys their bagels, Ben’s Pizzeria, where the comedian Louis C.K. apparently frequents, and Katz's Deli, known for their famous Pastrami Sandwich.

Mini-Omakase at Sushi Yasaka

Sausage and Egg on an everything bagel at Bagel Talk

Cheese Pizza at Ben's Pizzeria

Katz's Deli, home of the best Pastrami sandwich I've ever tasted

While I love San Francisco and the Bay Area in all its foodie glory, I can see myself living in New York for a while, working on a journalism degree and eating my way through the Big Apple. We’ll just have to see where this long noodle we call life takes me. 

The Age of Understanding Age; The Unbearable Lightness of Dying; The Loss Post

I think I’m going to start diverging from my original subject of cooking and conversations, because there are so many more subjects I’d like to write about- one of the reasons why I’m pursuing journalism. Thank you to all my regular readers for commenting- it means a lot to me and I appreciate your support immensely. You’re the best!

As I’ve mentioned before, the past year of my life has been filled with funerals and thus has spurred thoughts of death in my mind. Death was starting to become so frequent and familiar that I didn’t take it as seriously. It wasn’t until recently, when I visited my parents and cat Sumi-e that I really started to understand the meaning of aging or at least could see and feel it with my own senses. My family has been living with Sumi, a calm, Zen-like black and white cat who loves everyone he comes across, since he showed up on our doorstep one night with his three brothers 13 or so years ago. I didn’t notice how old he was getting until this last visit when I petted him and felt the contours of his skeleton due to his loss of muscle and the oiliness of his fur due to the fact that he was too old and tired to clean himself. I started panicking- I told my parents we needed to take him to the vet and get him bathed ASAP. When did he get so old? When did he lose so much weight?? Is he dying??? Every time I thought of his body deteriorating and the possibility of him dying soon, I broke out into tears. They weren’t the kind of tears I cried at the funerals where I was moved more by the sadness of the people around me than the death of the person I was supposed to be mourning- they were tears of genuine sorrow for the loss of a being who I spent so much of my life with, who I cared about and loved immensely, who I would miss forever.

Then I thought of my parents and how they were also aging, then of family friends, aunts, and uncles. A generation that is burying the generation that came before them and who may not be too far from their own graves. It's especially noticeable now that I have a baby bunny in my life [See The Bean Bun Post]. I don’t mean to sound morbid or depressing, but these are thoughts I’ve been having recently. Trying to grapple with these thoughts has been emotionally exhausting. I want to learn how to cope with loss, but how? After talking about these qualms with different friends and family, I’m starting to realize that it’s best not to dwell on these worries and thoughts. Death is a part of life as The Lion King so spectacularly reminds us in the opening song “The Circle of Life.” Like Simba, I’m going to have to use my grief over the future death of my beloved cat to strengthen my character and resolve to live life to the fullest. As with all the other people who have passed this year, I will learn from his life and honor his memory by being more patient, calm, and loving. Life is too short to worry about death, so live it up, laugh it off, and carry on. “‘Hakuna Matata,’ what a wonderful phrase.”

Dear Blog; A Letter to Writing; The Apology Post

Dear blog and anyone reading it,

I realize I’ve been pretty flaky in the past month about writing and I’m sorry, truly. I guess I fell into a slump of sorts- a slump of uninspired boredom, fear, and laziness. It seems that every New Year’s, resolutions get me pumped up but then comes the challenge of riding on that momentum and I end up losing steam and cascading down. Perhaps it’s the perfectionist in me freezing up in fear of not being able to keep up and follow through with my own promises to myself. Perhaps it’s the daunting number of months and days ahead- how do I live every single one to the fullest? Sometimes, I just want to sit around and do nothing aka watch all 3 seasons of  “Community” before season 4 starts while eating pretzel sticks with almond butter and jam in my bed. Perhaps I just needed to take a little hiatus from writing to really appreciate and miss it. In my month-long writer’s block, I discovered that without writing, it’s harder for me to be eloquent and/or witty in communicating my thoughts verbally. It’s also more difficult to handle my emotions. It wasn’t until I stopped writing that I realized how valuable of a creative and emotional outlet writing is to me. I took you for granted, blog, but I won’t let it happen again… at least I’ll try, really I will.

So, I’ll leave you with this quote from my Jane-A-Day 5 Year Journal gifted to me by one of my life idols, Auntie Terry:

“Oh! Write, write. Finish it at once. Let there be an end of this suspense. Fix, commit, condemn yourself.”

-Jane Austen, Mansfield Park

            Love Always,

            Terry

Round and White; Breakfast at Terry Chi's; The Bean Bun Post

Boy, it’s hard to get back into the blogging groove after a couple months of not writing. I’ve also become “blogged” down with work and preparations for my upcoming trip to NYC (excuse the bad pun, but I couldn’t help myself). Something, or more like someone, else has also been taking up a lot of my time- I guess I should introduce you to him…

Meet BEAN BUN! That’s only his official name- he also goes by Bunbun, Bungee, Bunnicle, Bunzie, Bunjamin Button, Mr. Bean, Beanie, etc etc etc. The bun puns are endless.

Fate struck one night when a desperate-looking woman walked into the Tea Court and asked my manager if he wanted a bunny. He shook his head and pointed her in my direction, knowing that I had been in want of a cuddly companion for a long time, especially after watching Audrey Hepburn living as a single gal with her unnamed cat in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. It was hard to resist the woman’s pleas to take one of her parents’ baby dwarf bunnies, especially since she was on the verge of tears while explaining that they may be put in a shelter where they’d probably be euthanized. I’m no “Mother Teresa of Animals” like the woman n North Carolina with 300 cats, but I’m easily swayed by sad animal-in-need stories. My compassionate side definitely kicked in. 

So before I knew it, I was driving home with a baby bun in the backseat of my car. As I was driving and consoling this little snowball of fur that everything would be ok, I started to get anxious about having another being’s life in my hands. Previous pets of mine were also taken care of by my parents, so this was the first time I was solely responsible for my own pet. It was frightening! What if I forgot to feed him or neglected him or stepped on him?? I had two big black rabbits when I was 4, but my parents didn’t know how to take care of them properly, so the rabbits ended up turning into lethargic, triple-chinned lumps. I loved them but I don’t think I took good care of them or gave them enough attention. Now that I’ve learned to take care of myself, I also have a better idea of how to take care of someone else, in this case, a round white ball with two blue eyes and two-inch ears. This seems to parallel my theory that one must love oneself fully before being able to love others properly.

Anyhoo, I eventually got over my fear of responsibility, visited a wonderful pet store and rabbit shelter called “RabbitEars,” and got on track with my bunny care knowledge. I loved finally having company, waking up to the sound of grass munching and the sight of one of the cutest creatures I’ve ever laid eyes on. Now every time I eat an apple for breakfast, I cut out a little piece and share it with Bean Bun and for the first time in a long time, I feel, without fear or doubt, that I’m sincerely sharing a piece of my heart.

A Clean Plate; Sleepless in San Francisco; The New Year Post

Clearing my plate of the well-gnawed bones of 2012 and piling up some new resolutions and goals...

2013. Thank God it’s not 2012. Jk jk. 2012 was a bit difficult at moments, but it was a year of many firsts, many mistakes, and many lessons. So I guess thank God for 2012.

I must say though, I felt a panoply of positive emotions when 2013 arrived- relief, refreshment, and rejuvenation. I woke up in a bed of freshly cleaned sheets after an exhausting, slightly chaotic and champagne-splashed NYE night, ready to start the new day and the New Year. Last New Year’s Day, I spent a wonderfully relaxing day of fresh air, homemade hummus, and poetry-reading with my dear friend Danika and her sister, Anya, who you may remember from my WestOakland Dinner Post. This year, Danika was in Sweden, participating in an amazing Youth Initiative Project, on her way to making a significant difference in the world, so Anya and I were on our own. We started off with a late lunch of dim sum takeout- char sui baos, baby bok choy, taro cakes, etc., which we ate by a little lake in a lushly green park in the Richmond District.

Afterward, we took a walk along Land’s End, and Anya proposed we do a ritual for the New Year. I wasn’t too surprised, considering she wanted to have a "witchy" party based on the lunar calendar and hosted an all-women séance-y gathering one night (love it!). Her idea was to take an object- leaf, rock, stick- imbue it with something from the past year that we didn’t want to take into the New Year, and hurl it into the ocean. Then we thought about something to invite into 2013.

Once we brainstormed and discussed, she decided to throw away fear and invited in boldness while I chose to throw away weakness and invite in resolve. She hopes to step out of her comfort zone more often and embrace her silly side, and I hope to stand up to people who try to take advantage of my kindness and stay true to goals that I make for myself. As we stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Pacific, with the Golden Gate Bridge on our right and the setting sun on our left, I felt a sudden surge of strength and happiness as I flung my weakness over the edge of the earth.

With the sea air in our lungs and the images of the sun hitting the ocean’s edge in our minds, we ended the day with tasty tacos from the Mission and a cozy movie night, watching Sleepless in Seattle, a cute Tom Hanks-Meg Ryan romantic comedy directed by Nora Ephron about a man (Tom Hanks) who moves with his son to Seattle after losing his wife. Depressed and forlorn, the man worries his son, who seeks help from a psychologist on the radio (so old school!). When the psychologist asks the son to put his father on the phone, the man describes his love for his late wife so beautifully that women all across the country fall in love with him, including Meg Ryan, a woman recently engaged to someone she’s not sure she loves completely. Basically, Tom and Meg barely see each other, but somehow seem to be destined to be together. They don’t meet until the end of the movie at the top of the Empire State Building (like in An Affair to Remember- a Deborah Kerr-Cary Grant romance that served as inspiration for the movie). Though the movie sometimes contains the cheesiness of a typical Rom Com, it was a hopeful story of intuitive love and life after death. I felt moved by it, because it was quite relatable for me. The last year and a half, I’ve attended five funerals of significant people in my life and though they’re saddening, I’ve discovered strength and inspiration in hearing about these loved ones’ lives and a newfound resolve to live my life with purpose and passion and love. Though this may mean some sleepless nights in the city, at least I’ll know that I’m filling my hours with living and loving.