Bánh bột lọc: a labor-intensive, finicky, and annoying dish

Bánh bột lọc, a Central Vietnamese (Hue) specialty, is a tapioca dumpling, usually wrapped and steamed in banana leaves, stuffed with seasoned shrimp, pork, and sometimes mushrooms. My mom introduced these to me as a kid, but it was very rare to find them even at Vietnamese restaurants and bakeries in San Jose because these dumplings are so laborious and annoying to make. The “annoying” part is due to the tapioca starch: unlike using glutinous or regular rice flour doughs, tapioca starch is extremely, extremely finicky and difficult to manage. Sometimes, it can feel like liquid sand in your hands, and it’s hard to get the texture just right so that you can actually knead and shape it properly. But it’s imperative that you get it to a bread dough-like stage, otherwise shaping it will be a nightmare.

The last time I remember having these tapioca dumplings was probably over 12 years ago. My mom met and befriended a Vietnamese woman who had an underground Vietnamese catering business. This talented lady made all the Vietnamese dishes we love that require so much effort, dishes like banh uot, banh cuon, banh it tran, and bánh bột lọc. My mom did a massive bulk order of banh bot loc, knowing that I’d be home. And then, she sent me back to New York with a big bag of banh bot loc, all individually wrapped in banana leaves. She ordered me to store them in my freezer and pop however many out for Chris and me, and to then steam them to eat. “And don’t forget the nuoc cham!” she said, before I went back to New York.

So I decided that for my Lunar New Year party this year, I’d finally attempt making bánh bột lọc. I always have banana leaves in the freezer. I just thawed the shrimp. And I had tapioca starch. I was always up for a challenge, right? And well, this was certainly a challenge.. and a real mess. The tapioca starch dough was so finicky and infuriating. But when I finally got it, I was on a roll. A few of the dumplings I rolled with banana leaves had errors, resulting in the “dough” oozing out of the leaves like liquid. So I promptly steamed my “mistake” dumplings to see how the texture and flavor turned out. And I was shocked: even the “mistake” bánh bột lọc looked decent, and the flavor and texture were spot on! The flavor was savory and briny; the texture was nice and chewy, just as tapioca should be.

My mom doesn’t really like that I love cooking, especially laborious, intense projects like bánh bột lọc. She will likely get annoyed when I tell her that I already made a batch of these, and it’s currently sitting in my freezer, waiting to be steamed. But I hope she realizes that it’s one tiny way that I try to keep her culture alive.

Kaia, almond croissants, and Almondine Bakery

We were wandering around Dumbo, Brooklyn, today, finding new places (like the incredible Fontainhas Cafe — what delicious royal chai!), and revisiting old favorites, like Almondine Bakery. Almondine Bakery has long been on the “best of” lists in New York City when it comes to their croissants, and especially their almond croissant. They definitely do not skimp here: they have a really thick, generous layer of almond paste inside the croissant, along with a beautiful sprinkling of toasted, sliced almonds on top. We’ve gone here pretty much every year of Kaia’s existence; I still remember Almondine being one of the very first places where I did a diaper change for her in their bathroom (on the floor, with a mat!). As soon as she realized we were in a bakery this visit, she ran to the glass display cases and started pointing at all the colorful things she wanted to eat. But I told her that we’d get almond croissants (she cannot always choose at her age). She insisted she didn’t want an almond croissant; as of late, she has some mental block seeing almonds and walnuts in any form (even though she’s actually happy to eat them). When I bought the croissants over to our table, though, she immediately tried to pull the croissant out of the bag and wanted to dig in right away. But.. she started trying to pick off the sliced almonds on top and just eat the main croissant.

When we were leaving Almondine, I had her pose with the Almondine sign and take a photo there. Later this evening when reviewing my Google Photos, I did a search for “almond croissant,” and there I saw more photos across the years of Kaia at Almondine. We’ve taken so many repeat shots of her at the same place, year after year, that I could easily do a year-by-year, one after the other, photo slide show of her frequenting our favorite spots across this city. Our old faves may stay the same at the same locations with our same love for them, but our Kaia Pookie just keeps growing and growing. And her smile at these places is only getting bigger and bigger, too!

Vietnamese handmade delicacies

Of all the types of cuisines I like and cook semi-regularly, I probably make far less Vietnamese food than I’d ideally want to have at home. A big reason for that is most of the Vietnamese dishes I absolutely love are pretty laborious. No one is whipping up banh xeo on a weeknight for a casual dinner. And if you want to enjoy central Vietnamese delicacies like banh it tran (sticky rice dumplings stuffed with mashed mung bean, minced pork, and shrimp), or banh beo (steamed bite-sized rice cakes topped with shrimp) — well, that’s going to be a whole weekend affair, with their multi-step process. These dishes are so frustrating because they are so time-consuming and laborious to make, yet they are eaten in mere seconds. The people who eat these dishes do not always understand or appreciate how much love, effort, and skill goes into making these tasty delights.

While enjoying the banh chung from Banh NYC restaurant the last couple days, I watched as both Kaia and Chris excitedly ate their portions. Kaia had her happy drool face on when we put the banh chung, still in its steamy banana leaves, in front of her. Banh chung is a dish that requires a lot of steps, a lot of patience, and a lot of skill. There is required skill for each step, whether that’s soaking the rice or soaking, steaming, mashing, and seasoning the mung beans, or preparing and marinating the pork. But there’s also skill that your hands just need to *know* to wrap and fold the leaves just so, so that the final steamed package is this perfect square. I attempted the tying of the string at the Tet Lunar New Year event hosted by VHC a couple weeks ago; that was super hard! I messed up twice and then finally gave it to our volunteer workshop instructor to help me fix my wrongs. This is one of those dishes I don’t even bother attempting to make; I leave this to the pros. But maybe there would be value in attempting it as a cooking project once or twice, just to see if I could do it. Dishes like these are slowly but surely becoming a lost art. For our Lunar New Year party this year, ‘m thinking about making banh bot loc, which are bite-sized shrimp/pork tapioca dumplings, individually wrapped and steamed in banana leaves. The last time I ate these was when my mom found a Vietnamese home caterer, and she did a private order of these little chewy babies; she even sent me back to New York with some to store in our freezer so that I could steam them for future meals. While AI takes over the world, what it will never be able to do is replace the love and art that goes into crafting special dishes like banh bot loc or banh chung. That really needs a real human touch — even if Chris debates that because he likes to troll my obsession with handmade, homemade things all the time.

The Husband of the Year award goes to Chris on the first day of the Year of the Fire Horse: the mad, spontaneous sprint to retrieve Banh’s banh chung!

A few weeks ago, we had a decadent lunch at Banh on the Upper West Side, which is one of our favorite Vietnamese restaurants in the city. While there, I picked up one banh chung, or banh tet, a Vietnamese savory sticky rice cake that is steamed in banana leaves and stuffed with luxurious mashed mung bean and pork; it’s a traditional food that is painstakingly made for Tet Lunar New Year. Previously each Lunar New Year, I’d pick up a banh chung from the Vietnamese market I usually go to on Bowery off of Grand (assuming I wasn’t back in San Francisco around this time, which would mean my mom would gift me one from one of her favorite Vietnamese bakeries), but this year, I decided that since we were already at Banh that I might as well pick one of theirs up. Plus, the cost of the banh chung had been slowly going up each year at the market and by now was pretty much the same price as Banh’s (what costs aren’t going up?), so it wasn’t like I’d save much money, plus I’d be able to finally try Banh’s rendition, which I’ve always wanted to taste.

Today is the first day of Lunar New Year, the year of the fire horse. So I saved the Banh banh chung to steam today as part of our dinner tonight. I steamed, unwrapped, and cut it up, and I laid it out on the table. And Chris took one bite of it and declared that it was the best banh chung, or really, the best savory steamed rice wrapped in banana leaves, that he’d ever had — period. I took a bite of it and wasn’t totally sure it was the best banh chung ever since I’ve had a lot of these, but yes, it was really, really delicious. Every bite just seemed to melt into my mouth and burst with flavor. We gave Kaia a piece, and she devoured it in seconds, then asked for more. We were all immediate huge fans of Banh’s banh chung. And I immediately said out loud that I regretted not buying two when we were at the restaurant a couple weeks ago; I had contemplated it, but figured I could always get another banh chung another time, maybe even somewhere else.

Chris and I started talking about schedules for tomorrow. I knew that even if Banh didn’t sell out of their banh chung today that I would be very unlikely to go up there given I have an insane number of meetings on my calendar tomorrow. Chris then grabbed my phone, looked up whether Banh was even open today (it is the first day of Lunar New Year, after all), then had me call them to see if they still had banh chung on hand. I called the restaurant, and they said they still had eight vegetarian banh chung and five meat banh chung left. It was about 5:40; they opened their doors for dinner at 6pm. Chris had already gone into the bedroom to change. He grabbed the OMNY card, his kombucha bottle, and the Trader Joe’s canvas bag and was immediately on his way out. And less than 45 minutes later as I was finishing up Kaia’s shower, he walked through the door.

He came back with not one, not two, but THREE Banh pork-stuffed banh chung. Given the timing, I was pretty sure he did a mad dash to and from when he was off the bus or train. He came back, turned on our bedroom fan for his “summer breeze,” and said he needed to cool down. I took photos of Chris and Kaia with the much coveted and delicious Banh banh chung. Banh’s banh chung has likely ruined all other banh chung in the city for me. I do not think I can ever go back to buying the one at the Vietnamese market ever again. Two of these banh chung immediately got wrapped up to feed the freezer, and would eventually feed our bellies at a later date. The third banh chung was prompted placed in our fridge, to be steamed at some point in the next week or two for very-near-future enjoyment. After all, Lunar New Year technically is not a single day celebration as Gregorian New Year is to the West; Lunar New Year is a weeks long celebration of fireworks, endless feasting, and red envelopes!

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how my husband Chris, on the first day of the Year of the Fire Horse, won the Husband of the Year award. He can be super annoying, stubborn, and painful to deal with at (many) times. But in these moments, he proves that his true love language is acts of service. Though… he will still not admit that this sprint to and from Banh to retrieve three beautifully and lovingly made banh chung was not entirely selfless, as he also loves this work of (edible) art just as much, if not more, than I do. And of course, Kaia Pookie will get her fair share, as well. The whole family benefits from this delicious deed.

The toilet mannerisms of my 4-year-old child

When discussing parenting, especially during the early years, Chris used to always say that what people always get grossed out about — changing diapers — isn’t actually gross at all when it’s your own child. Their pee and poops are just like your own pee and poop, so it’s not a big deal at all. You take care of it, you clean the baby’s bottom, and then you move onto the next task. It’s just something that has to be done.

Like most adults, I like my privacy when I am in the bathroom and well, on the toilet. I don’t love it when Chris occasionally walks in to grab something if I am using the toilet. I prefer that he stay outside. But when Kaia comes in, it’s no big deal to me; she’s my baby, and she just wants to be with me. So I embrace that. In her pre- and potty training days, we read that it was a good thing to have an “open door” policy when on the toilet with our child because it would normalize using the potty to her. So we always did this, and we are still like this with her now that she’s pretty much fully potty trained.

What she does a lot when she’s in the bathroom with me while I’m on the toilet is that she loves to hug and be held by me. As soon as she sees that I’m on the toilet, she runs right up to my knees, throws her arms around me, and then holds me tight. And then she usually does this “Hmmm!” sound that is almost like a sigh, but not. She does this while we’re in our home bathrooms. She especially loves to do this with me when we are in bathrooms outside our home. And she is most especially clingy when we are in restaurant restrooms that have a hand dryer (she is still terrified of hand dryers and repeats over and over, “I don’t want mummy to use hand dryer!”).

Then, assuming I am doing a poop (hey, everyone has to poop!), she likes to take a look at the toilet bowl after I’m done and make an assessment of the bowel movement. Sometimes, she will whisper to me, “Is it a little one?” Other times, she will peer into the toilet, giggle loudly, and yell, “Mama, it’s a BIG one!” And then she will insist I flush it immediately, then squeal as she says, “Mama, flush it away! Bye bye, poop! Bye bye!”

Of course, if anyone else did this, it would be completely disgusting and pretty hideous. And well, it would never even be allowed to happen. But with Kaia Pookie, she has her ways with us. So, I let her enjoy her innocence and youth, and I enjoy that she loves to always be with me — even when I’m on the freaking toilet. One day soon enough, she will realize that this is kind of gross, and then she will stay the heck away from me when I’m on the toilet (or even in the bathroom in general). So, I’ll enjoy this type of togetherness while it lasts.

The kindness of strangers continues in the form of Chinese “paper” sponge cakes

After pregnancy, childbirth, and becoming a mother, I think I should start a blog series entitled, “The kindness of strangers,” with each post detailing an exact example of the kindness I’ve witnessed being bestowed on myself and/or my child. Because I think that while the world oftentimes feels like it’s getting worse (and the country in which I am living definitely feels like it’s becoming more backwards by the day, especially with this current Dipshit administration), I am deeply heartened almost weekly, if not daily, by the little kindnesses directed towards Kaia and me.

At Kaia’s school, there is a “doorman” who works at the front of the building — we call him Ah Gong (like a polite term for grandpa, but not actually our grandpa). To be honest, he is probably around my dad’s age, is a grandpa of three, and likely could not be trusted as a real “security” guard in a true emergency, but he is the biggest sweetheart. Every since Kaia started going to this school, he has always been very warm, kind, and friendly with us. It’s clear he loves children: he always greets each of them warmly and enthusiastically, gives them a high-five or a hug when he sees them, and oftentimes will even spoil them with candy from a container I know for a fact he refills with his own money. Oftentimes I feel bad for Kaia contributing to the depletion of his candy stash, especially since we never even allow her to eat the candy; we’re simply stockpiling it in the pockets her backpack. But I know he really enjoys giving the kids candy.

So today we came down the stairs to exit the building. And he saw Kaia and greeted us. They did a high-five, and then out of nowhere, Ah Gong whipped out this big plastic takeout container that has three Chinese “paper” sponge cakes — the Chinese lightly sweetened, chiffon-style cakes that originated in Hong Kong. He said he wanted to give Kaia something very special and gave her the entire box! Ah Gong said she deserves it because she is so cute and “guai guai” (well behaved). Kaia excited took the entire container and thanked Ah Gong, and then in her “hehe, I got something special!” mood, almost skipped out the doorway!

Just last week while I was in Denver, Chris told me that Ah Gong gave Kaia a lao po bing (old wife cake/winter melon cake). I think he’s getting a little too generous and fancy. Kaia took one bite of it and decided she didn’t like it (I ended up eating it since I do enjoy them). So this wasn’t the first time he was dishing out Chinese bakery items to Kaia. I just couldn’t believe that he would be this generous. What are we going to do at the end of this school year when Kaia finally leaves this school, and we don’t get to see Ah Gong every day anymore? It’s going to be a very sad, wistful day.

The necessity of soup at the Chinese dining table: an ode to my paternal grandma

Growing up, I remember there was almost always a massive stockpot full of some kind of broth or soup on the stove. Sometimes, it was a gentle herbal chicken soup. Occasionally, it was a thick and packed jook/congee with lots of different proteins, like chicken, pork, tofu skins, shredded dried and rehydrated scallops. Other times, it was a ginseng-based tonic meant to “cool” our bodies from eating too many rich foods. Regardless of what was in the big pot, I grew up knowing that soup was an integral part of our diet at home. It was rare to have a day when there was no full stockpot on the stove. It was an everyday occurrence to hear my grandma, mom, or aunt insist that Ed and I “drink soup.”

Soup was the antidote to everything. You ate too much fried food? Drink soup. You aren’t feeling well? Drink soup. You’re feeling sluggish or tired? Drink soup. Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) has a soup or tonic for pretty much anything you can complain about.

I started getting back into thinking about soup more regularly after I gave birth to Kaia in December 2021. My aunt had lovingly sent me ingredients to make a specific Chinese chicken wine soup (雞酒湯 ji jiu tang), which she insisted would nourish my body to recover quickly from childbirth, while also simultaneously helping my body to produce more milk for my baby (debatable, but it was still tasty). Two years ago, I started being more intentional about making soup. And this year, I am trying to make soup even more often. It’s delicious, nourishing, tasty, and given it’s been so cold this winter, who could say no to a hot bowl of soup? Soup rounds out any meal. In China, there is a saying called san cai yi tang (三菜一汤), meaning “three dishes and one soup,” which is a foundational principle of a balanced, home-cooked Chinese meal that is meant to be shared. It’s typically a meat/protein, one vegetable, one tofu/egg/seafood dish, alongside a nutritious soup. The soup type can vary depending on how it complements the other dishes at the table, but more often than not at home, the soup is a very simple broth that is lightly flavored and seasoned.

I made a simple home-style soup today called yuanzi tang (圆子汤), or pork meatball soup. I was inspired to make it because this blog post by Xueci Cheng, a recipe developer I follow, talked about how integral soup was to her family’s meals in Sichuan growing up. It reminded me of how I ate with my family growing up. And similar to me, she also had forgotten how soup was always at the dinner table at home, as she had moved away to Germany, and soup had mostly been forgotten as a thing to have at a meal. So she made this same soup, and she said when her parents made it for them all during their visit to see her in Germany, they immediately said at the first sip once it was finished cooking that it “tasted like home 家的味道.” This soup is really simple. There’s no required broth base, as it’s mostly flavored by the fat and flavor from the pork meatballs you make (though I did use a cup of dashi I happened to have in my fridge). But after I seasoned it, it really did remind me of the simpler, light home-style soups my grandma used to make when I was little.

My paternal grandma passed in 1995. If she were alive today, she’d be 109 going on 110 this September. Her only granddaughter just turned 40 last month — that’s me. I wonder how she’d feel knowing that even 31 years after her death that I still think about her and her cooking often. I wonder if she’d be pleased to know how much of an impact she’s had on my life and the way I view food, cooking, and our shared culture. She never thought cooking was that great of a skill; for her, it was just something she knew and did. It fed her family (and around Lunar New Year, it fed her friends), and that was enough for her. But in these moments when I taste things that remind me of her and her cooking, I do find myself missing her and wishing we could share that same taste together.

Bonding over the mental load of deciding what to cook

My friend who loves to cook and experiment in the kitchen messaged me yesterday, telling me that she was inspired to finally browse Mala Market’s website after reading about this chili garlic noodle recipe she wanted to make. The special Sichuan chili flakes needed for the specific flavor of these noodles had to be from this website, the recipe insisted, so she said she would have no choice but to finally make the leap and buy from here. She remembered I originally told her about the website around this time last year, right before the stupid President Dipshit tariffs got announced. I told her I made a big order from the site right before the tariffs would be official to avoid any tariff hikes. I had zero regrets because everything I got was extremely high quality and made all of our stomachs happier.

She said she felt like she had fallen into a rabbit hole with Mala Market. She would browse a page looking for one thing and then eventually want to buy five other things that were linked to that page. “There’s too many things I want to make!” my friend told me, laughing. “How do you decide what to make and when? And then so there are many MORE things to try out and make!”

“The mental load of deciding what to make, when, is real,” I lamented to her, also laughing. “This is a real struggle every day!”

“I think you’re the only person I know who understands this who I can talk about it with,” she confessed. “Whenever I tell this to other people, they look at me like I’m crazy.”

“And that’s why we were meant to be,” I responded back.

I still don’t know how or why it took me until November 2023 to find a friend like this, but these types of conversations always make my heart feel warm. She’s like my kitchen sister, if something like that even exists.

The growing Le Creuset collection

I am now 40 years, two weeks old. For most of my life, I’ve looked longingly and with a bit of foam at the corner of my mouth at Le Creuset and Staub bake and cookware — you know, those glorious enameled cast iron dutch ovens, pots, and stone bakeware, all handmade in France, that you always see in fancy kitchenware sections and shops. Just the variety of bright colors would get to even the most indifferent-to-cookware people. Although I always admired them, I could never bring myself to buy even a single piece for myself. It felt like too much of an indulgence for me. I tend to be a lot more practical with kitchen items. So instead, I accepted a $35 Amazon Basics five-quart dutch oven from Chris’s aunt and uncle as an early Christmas gift in 2018 when they visited us, and I insisted to myself that I never needed Le Creuset or Staub anything. For comparison sake, a 5.5-quart Le Creuset round dutch oven currently goes for a whooping $435! So there’s clearly a massive markup there. So until this past December, I owned zero Le Creuset or Staub pieces. Hell, I bought a five-quart Staub dutch oven for our ex-nanny and never even bought myself so much as a single Le Creuset ramekin!

In December before we left for Australia, Chris presented me with an early Christmas gift: a Le Creuset 3.5-quart dual braiser and grill pan in a Marseille blue color; the grill pan also acts as a lid for the braiser. I was excited at the acquisition of this item, as it would be my very first and only Le Creuset item. I loved the color immediately. But I wasn’t sure how much I’d use it given I have most of the pots and pans that I use a lot. This braiser also seemed quite shallow at just 3.5 quarts, so other than pasta, I am still not sure what I will “braise” in it. But I knew I’d find ways to use it because after waiting almost 40 years, did you think I’d actually consider giving up my first and only Le Creuset…?!

Then we had the funny Shun knife debacle around my birthday. My friend kindly accepted the return of the eight-inch Shun knife. In its place, she got me a four-piece Le Creuset Heritage line stoneware baking set — one loaf pan, one fluted pie pan, one square baking dish, and one oval dish — all in Marseille blue to match my current braiser-grill pan duo. Of all these dishes, I will likely use the loaf pan the most since I make a decent number of loaf breads in a year. But all the dishes are sturdy, gorgeous, and heat evenly. They would all look beautiful simply as serving dishes. And they could easily reheat in different methods. I laid them all out on the dining table after opening them yesterday and just stared at them. I had the same feeling I do whenever we return from a Costco trip: I felt RICH. Once, I was poor and had no Le Creuset. And then, out of nowhere, I have (technically) six pieces! I am rich now!

The mental load of cooking and managing perishable and pantry ingredients, and food as a love language

A few months ago, I told Chris that sometimes, despite the fact that I obviously enjoy cooking and food, it can feel like a burden to keep track of all my ingredients — what we have versus what we need, what we’re low on, and then figure out what we need to top up. For example, because I have food ingredients spread across several areas of the apartment due to limited space and no central pantry, I didn’t realize that I actually still had four pounds of dried Garofalo pasta in various shapes; these packages were hiding behind some of his Australian snacks in the side “pantry” we created by the laundry. So because of this, I went to Trader Joe’s and purchased two pounds of dried Italian pasta in other shapes. It wasn’t a big deal because these are dried pantry staples that don’t go bad, but it still annoyed me. So Chris politely told me in the nicest way possible (which is impressive for him given he can be very blunt and snarky) that maybe, I could consider “making simpler food.”

I stared at him as though he told me that I should “go back to China.” What the hell kind of a solution is that? I don’t want to eat blander food, and I love the fact that we have so much variety in this house. I relish that our pantry is well stocked enough so that I can make various types of Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese, Indian, Italian, American-esque, and Middle Eastern dishes whenever I feel like it and just need to get some fresh produce to make it happen. There’s no way that I could possibly make “simpler” food because I just wouldn’t be as happy or satisfied. Nor would our gut biomes be as diverse.

Since we’ve got back, I scrolled through my camera roll of a few of the things I made (I don’t photograph the everyday things like roasted or sauteed vegetables most of the time because they’re so regular), and this is what it looks like: Sichuan-style stir-fried chicken, mushrooms, and vegetables; lobia masala (Punjabi black-eyed pea curry), Cantonese-style braised tofu and egg; Pork rib and lotus root soup; tahini granola, di san xian (Dongbei-style stir fried eggplant, potato, and bell peppers); kung pao style stir fried lotus root and peanuts; Cantonese-style beef stew with daikon and tofu skins; turkey chili (using my new gifted Burlap and Barrel ancho, pasilla, and guajillo chili powders). Tomorrow, I’ll be making vegan creamy mushroom pasta (with silken tofu as the secret “creamy” ingredient)! The food this month has leaned heavily Chinese, but it’s also because for whatever reason (maybe because I’m officially middle aged now?!), I’ve had cravings for food of my childhood, hence the beef stew and the lotus root/pork rib soup. But even if most of it is Chinese, it’s still a pretty eclectic variety. We don’t do “pasta Mondays” or “mashed potato Fridays” or whatever regular theme that a lot of families I hear about do where both parents are working (or leading a “life of service”) and need to minimize the mental load of daily family dinner. I like that it’s different, and it also exposes Kaia to endless variety to keep her palate guessing.

And at the end of the day, I love cooking for those I love, not just myself. I like knowing I nourish Chris and Kaia, plus any family and friends that come visit us. Food is one of my love languages. So while sometimes friends can make fun of me and tell me they never would guess I’d be such a traditional mom or wife, I’d like to look at it a different way: this is just how I show I care and love, and so I do it because I love.