The elusive chai I keep chasing in NYC

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Ever since I had my very first sip of chai as a high schooler, I was in love. There are many delicious hot drinks you can have, but I think chai — the Indian spiced milky tea, not just tea, is one of the most comforting ones. There was a period several years ago when I splurged a bit and would buy The Chai Box chai (their Punjaban Party blend is my all-time favorite!), but that ended up becoming very expensive. So, I decided to start trying to blend my own. It’s actually worked out pretty well: I’ve gotten to the point where I add just enough ginger, cardamom, fennel, and clove to my tea (mostly CTC, with a little Ceylon BOPF) and have been able to replicate the exact flavor I want. The chai is always double boiled; it’s not chai to me unless it’s double boiled. And I add about half a teaspoon of sugar per cup of liquid to help even out any bitterness that comes from the tea being so vigorously boiled.

Unfortunately for me, I have yet to identify a single place in New York City that makes chai the way I want it. I’ve found places in Melbourne that do it with the flavor I want, but not here. Kolkata Chai, which has expanded quite a bit, is good, but the flavor is still not the way I want it. The flavor I am chasing is like the one we had all over India, which definitely leans toward Punjabi style chai, like The Chai Box’s Punjaban Party blend. The biggest problem is that the chai made at shops all over here are just too strong on the cinnamon. Cinnamon is fine in chai, but I find it very overpowering to the point where I pretty much never add it to my own at home. I want a dominant ginger and cardamom flavor, first and foremost, with fennel and clove humming in the background. That’s my perfect cup of chai.

While I was at my friend’s house yesterday, she made all of us chai. She said it was mostly ginger, with a “hint” of cardamom. And it was absolutely delicious. I would personally prefer more cardamom, but I was just extremely thrilled and touched that anyone would take the time to double boil chai for me. In that moment of sipping it with the strong flavor of freshly grated ginger, it suddenly dawned on me that this was the very first time anyone has taken the time to double boil chai for me — ever . And I just felt so much gratitude in that moment.

Today, I took Kaia out on a play date to the Brooklyn Children’s Museum with our neighbor friend and her son. We had lunch together at an Indian-ish cafe nearby that I had been wanting to try. Even though I had that delicious homemade ginger chai yesterday, I still wanted more chai today (well, I want it every day, but that’s not realistic). So I ordered the signature masala chai at the cafe. It came out… and once again, it was too cinnamony. It was not as cinnamony as the last place I went to for chai in the Lower East Side, but it was just too much cinnamon. And then someone topped it with even more ground cinnamon just before it was handed to me! Can these places please stop doing this…?

I will keep trying and searching because I refuse to give up hope that my perfect cup exists out there in some shop in New York City. But in the meantime, I will also continue making my own perfect cup of chai at home about once a week. I deserve that little time for myself to indulge.

Hanging out in a real house in New York City

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Other than the Sambal Lady’s almost-annual backyard cookout event, Chris and I have never really been in a real house in the city limits of New York. I’ve been to some very spacious, near palatial condos and co-ops owned by much older Wellesley alums when I used to attend college alumnae events more often, but even then, they were still apartment buildings — not standalone houses. I know no one who owns a brownstone or full-family house in New York City. If someone I know owns a house nearby, it’s likely in Staten Island, Long Island, Westchester, or New Jersey. To date, no one I personally know, am related to, or am friends with owns a real house in New York City. People can barely afford apartments here, so who can really afford a standalone house?

Today, for the first time in my almost 18 years of being here, I visited a friend at her actual house that she moved into about 1.5 years ago, just shortly before we met. She invited the three of us over for a close friends get-together, which we subsequently found out was for one of the friend’s birthdays. The home is a standalone house in Prospect Lefferts Garden, Brooklyn — a four-bedroom, three-bath home with backyard and a backyard patio. There are four levels in the home, and before they moved in, it was gut renovated with mostly new flooring and appliances. As we got the house tour and I marveled over all the interesting fixtures, paintings, and knick-knacks in the house, I just kept thinking how impressive it is that they own a real house in New York City. They have clearly done well for themselves, and I could see their personalities and little touches of each of them all over the home. It felt very welcoming and homely.

One of the questions I asked my friend, given that previously, she’d always lived in an apartment, was obvious (at least, for me): how the heck do she and her husband manage the cleaning? I live in a two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment in Manhattan, and I already find the cleaning so infuriating: I wipe the dust off the toilet tank in the beginning of the morning. By the end of the day, if I were to run my finger across that same tank surface, there would be a tiny layer of dust! The dust is just never ending in New York!

Prior to moving to New York, she lived in various countries, and her family always had hired help. She was never expected to clean; the most she said she ever did was make sure clothes were removed from areas like her bed or sofas. So she said the answer was obvious: hired help! Every other week, she has a housekeeper come and spend almost the whole day cleaning the house, from top to bottom, floor to floor. She said it would be completely untenable otherwise because they’d just be constantly cleaning everything.

The more house, the more cleaning; I know that sounds a bit crazy that I’d think of that first, but this is what happens when you have an anal-retentive clean person looking at the sheer size of this space…

When your child-free friend befriends your child

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I invited a friend over for dinner tonight. She’s about to start a new job, so her schedule will soon no longer be as flexible as it once was to hang out with me. Plus, she wanted to try some of my fancy Chinese vinegars I got from Mala Market before forking the money over to buy some for herself, so I thought it would be a good time to have her over. I made Malaysian chicken satays with peanut sauce and sliced cucumbers, coconut rice, a Vietnamese cabbage salad, steamed beets, and roasted Georgian eggplant rolls with walnut paste (with my khmeli suneli!). It was a pretty tasty pan-Asian meal that everyone enjoyed.

Even though my friend is child-free and has pretty much decided she doesn’t want kids, she actually really enjoys spending time with littles. Not too long ago, she actually taught muay thai to young kids (mostly elementary school through high school) age, so she says she really enjoys the energy and honesty they bring. She says she enjoys kids, but just doesn’t want any of her own — that’s fair enough and pretty easy to understand. My friend spent a good amount of time entertaining Kaia before our Lunar New Year party began a couple weeks ago, so Kaia still remembered this auntie, and was very excited that she was coming over for dinner. Kaia practiced some martial arts moves with our friend, and also made sure she got her cardio workout in by chasing her back and forth in the apartment. Kaia was so pooped by the time our friend left that she passed out within minutes. The next morning, she kept asking about this auntie — how she got home, where she went, etc.

I’m lucky that most of my child-free friends genuinely enjoy spending time with Kaia and humoring her demanding, occasionally princessy side. A lot of people around my age complain about the child-free friends they have, saying they don’t want to spend time with their kids and just don’t enjoy children at all. I get that. But it’s also nice when your friends accept that your child is part of your life, and sometimes, hanging out with you also means by default at times, they’ll also have to hang out with your kid. I love that Kaia is building these relationships with my friends in my life — she has no idea how lucky she is to have so many aunties and uncles, not blood related, who care about her so much.

Khmeli suneli

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One benefit of being on the east side for my mammogram appointment earlier this week was that I had an excuse to go to Kalustyan’s, a popular spice shop on Lexington in the east 20s. I took the 6 train down to 28th Street, along the route I was already planning to take to pick up Kaia from school later that afternoon. While there, I forgot how overwhelming all the different global spices can be. It’s two floors of spices, sauces, and treats from around the world! My goal was to pick up khmeli suneli, the Georgian spice blend I learned about during my Georgian cooking class last month. The earthy and fragrant flavor would absolutely be needed if I wanted to make any Georgian dishes in the near future. The spices that are included are usually blue fenugreek (not the same as Indian fenugreek!), coriander, marigold, savory, dill, amongst others. The blend I picked up, the only version Kalustyan’s had for khmeli suneli, had about 12 different spices in it. Since I was already there, I did some more browsing and also got a little packet of salted kombu, which I was inspired to get from a recent Japanese restaurant we ate at.

My first use for khmeli suneli would be Georgian eggplant rolls with walnut paste, or nigvziani badrijani. The walnut paste is made with toasted, ground walnuts, khmeli suneli, lots of garlic, vinegar, salt, and pepper. Then, you take long, wide strips of roasted eggplant, add the walnut paste in, and then roll them up. They’re usually topped with pomegranate, as well, for a finishing touch. The interesting thing about this paste is that there’s no oil in it; it all comes together by combining hot water. The hot water makes all the ingredients come together, and it also does an added (or included) step of “cooking” the spices. I guess that’s the water way of “blooming” spices the way you do with Indian spices and oil. I love this technique! It’s so interesting how different cultures came up with their techniques for cooking and coaxing out as much flavor as possible from the ingredients they have. It comes together really quickly, and the only other thing you have to do is slice and roast the eggplants!

I’ve got 60 grams of khmeli suneli to use, so I definitely will be finding more ways to use it in the near future!

Mammogram – a first time experience

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After the annoying ordeal with the front desk worker regarding health insurance and coverage yesterday, I was at least relieved that all the lab technicians who worked with me for my mammogram and breast ultrasound were very polite, friendly, and professional. While I’d had the experience of breast ultrasound twice before (my first one being in 2013, annoyingly), I’d never had a mammogram before. A mammogram usually takes anywhere from 10-30 minutes and is essentially a low-dose x-ray procedure where a technologist uses this massive machine that is ceiling high to compress each breast between two plates to capture clear, detailed images, from both top and side angles of your breast. It wasn’t anything like what I was expecting; I thought I was going to be put into a CAT scan type machine (not sure where this idea came from, but this is how I envisioned it!). You stand the entire time. The technician angles your body, chest, and breasts into the right positions, then asks you to hold your breath for about five seconds for each angle so they can get the right snapshots. Oh, and the other fun (not really) part: they apply these small patterned band-aids on your nipples, each with a tiny little metal bead where the tip of your nipple is!

The technician during the mammogram was very empathetic and caring. She kept asking me throughout if I felt okay, if I was dizzy, or if I needed a moment. I felt fine; I just wasn’t used to having my breasts squeezed in every which way by a massive machine! The breast ultrasound procedure was what I expected it to be based on prior experiences: you lie down on a table while they squeeze jelly all over your breasts, then they run the ultrasound machine all over your breasts and under your arms to get every possible view inside.

At the end, they told me that it would take about three business days to upload my images to my portal; then, either they or my doctor would call me with any results that needed follow-up. If everything looked fine, I should expect to not get contacted. So, it sounded pretty straightforward and normal.

All I have to say is: I hope both breasts are doing just fine. They both got me through fourteen months of breastfeeding, so I think they did a pretty good job!

The stupidity of American healthcare strikes once again

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When I made my mammogram appointment over a month ago, the provider I was referred to by my OB-GYN had an online portal that had you fill out the usual paperwork in advance online, so I was able to do things like upload my driver’s license, front and back of my insurance card, and fill out any personal and family history ahead of time. What it also did was give me an estimate of what my out of pocket cost would be at the time of appointment check-in. This was a rude awakening: it said based on my health insurance that my out of pocket cost should be around $350 for a mammogram and breast ultrasound.

None of this sounded right. Mammograms are standard and covered by pretty much every health insurance for women over 40. Breast ultrasounds are covered in New York state (and apparently… not in Kansas, where a friend of mine lives, and where she had to pay $300 PER breast out of pocket). I called my health insurance, who confirmed to me what I suspected: I should have zero out of pocket costs, no co-pays, for either procedure. They gave me a reference number to give to the provider. I then called the provider, gave them the reference number, but they said they could not tell me the cost until I came into the office, which seemed not only completely inefficient, but just plain stupid. “If you ask me to pay for this out of pocket when I come in, I will decline the procedure and walk out,” I said sternly to them over the phone. “I am asking if you can correct this ahead of time so we don’t waste your time or mine?”

The person on the phone seemed totally unfazed, like she didn’t care (and frankly, probably wasn’t paid enough to care). She told me there was no way to confirm until the day of the appointment when I came in (which seems false the way health insurance works, but whatever). So she told me to just come in, and she doubted I’d have to pay anything out of pocket.

Well, I came in this afternoon, and lo and behold, that same $350 amount showed up as what I owed at the time of service. I insisted to the receptionist I wasn’t paying it. I gave them the reference number once again, and she made a flippant response: “Breast ultrasounds are not typically covered, but okay, we’ll call your insurance.” Her associate called my insurance. Twenty minutes later, they confirmed that I was correct, that I did not owe them any payment… but, I would be required to pay $20 copay for the breast ultrasound.

“Copay – is just for the breast ultrasound?” I said to her, still skeptical. I made a mental note, planning to call my insurance to contest even this amount after I paid it because this still goes against what my health insurance stated to me on the phone, which I wrote down with the reference number.

“Yes, that’s what I said,” the front desk person said, clearly annoyed with me. I’m not sure what her problem was — it wasn’t like she was getting the money. Their office was the one who screwed up, not me.

I paid the copay, then had both the mammogram and breast ultrasound done. I walked out of the office much later than I estimated I would, so the whole experience was pretty frustrating, especially since I tried to prevent foreseeable problems way in advance, which this office obviously thwarted. But this is just one of many stupid, frustrating and senseless examples in my personal experiences of why our healthcare system in the U.S. is so fucked — an example of what not to be. I also made a note to ask my OB-GYN for another radiology provider because I definitely do not want to go back here at all ever, ever again.

Springing forward in New York City

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After having a particularly cold start to the new year, today, the high is 69 F. The sun is out, skies are blue, and it seems like a no-heavy-coat kind of day. Yesterday also marked the beginning of Daylight Savings Time, so we “sprung forward” an hour, which also resulted in my being super groggy when I woke up to my alarm at 6:35 this morning. I had to haul Kaia out of bed at 7:20 (when we normally wake her up at 7) because it was clear her body also wasn’t sure what time it was.

Most people look forward to spring. I look forward to the warmer weather, the cherry blossoms, the nearness of summer. I get excited about the spring and summer produce. I also look forward to shedding all the winter layers I hate so much and wearing lighter clothing. I am very much in my early 40s stage of life, embracing looser, more relaxed fit clothing, but am also staying hyper focused in keeping my exercise regimen pretty rigorous. This morning for the first time in my life, I tried on “loose relaxed fit” jeans in grey, and I was shocked how comfortable and flattering they were. I also got a package of loose summery clothing to keep me feeling airy but breathable this summer, while also having the added bonus of UV protection (yes to summer lightweight cotton and linen pants!). I did not always feel so great about wearing “loose fit” clothing, as I was never quite sure if it was flattering on me. But now, I fully embrace them all!

“It’s okay. You can buy me another one.”

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Being a parent has endless infuriating moments, like the table toppling over yesterday at the cafe with two hot drinks, but it also is balanced by endless sweet moments, as well, that make me gush and feel so thankful for the privilege of being a parent. Lucky me — since she was a baby, Kaia has always loved endless cuddles and kisses. She is extremely affectionate and loves being touched. One of my friends lamented to me that neither of her daughters leta her cuddle with her, that they actively avoid it and try to get out of their mom’s arms when she attempts to hold them. So every time Chris grumbles about Kaia’s moments of neediness, I always remind him that we should be grateful that our little one is so openly loving and affectionate. One day sooner than we think, she will want to have nothing to do with us in public, and will certainly not let us cuddle with her.

Like all little kids, she is slowly but surely growing into a big kid. And she’s demonstrating a greater understanding of how things work. For example, she knows that if we want to go to the bakery next door to her school that mama needs to have cash in order to buy bao (Double Crispy is cash-only, like most Chinatown bakeries). She also knows that when packages arrive, they are either gifts, or they are things that mama and daddy paid money for. End understanding: things cost money. When one of my friends came to visit in January, she presented Kaia with a new gift: a Disney princess necklace beading kit. Kaia was really excited, as she thoroughly enjoyed the beading stations for endless necklaces at Space Club the two times we went last year. This afternoon, we were beading the necklaces together and probably putting too many beads on the necklaces when it dawned on her that we would not have enough beads for all five necklaces; we had enough for about four. She started frowning when she realized the dilemma we were in. How could we finish beading a fifth necklace?

“It’s okay,” Kaia said finally with a little smile on her face. “Auntie Rebecca will buy us more beads the next time she comes.”

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud when Kaia said this. She started laughing and giggling nonstop when I laughed. But we laughed for different reasons: she loves it when we laugh and always wants to join in on the fun. I was laughing because I found it quite presumptuous that she just assumes that when Auntie Rebecca comes next that she will buy her beads — or anything at all! It’s almost as though she thinks that her mere existence grants her some endless stream of gifts from her endless aunties and uncles!

When your 4-year-old topples over an entire table of hot chocolate and tea

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Dining out with young children can be anxiety-inducing — so much to the point that a number of my colleagues have explicitly told me that unless they are dining out at a chain restaurant or McDonald’s, their kids are not coming with them. We’ve been dining out with Kaia at least once a week since she was about four months old. We’ve made it a point to expose her to lots of different neighborhoods, foods, and cuisines from a very young age, hoping this would make her adaptable not only to different foods, but also many different dining environments. And so far, while she has certainly had her number of tantrums, outbursts, and meltdowns at restaurants, for the most part, she’s been pretty “good” by public dining standards. Until today, she had never had a major spill or broken any glasses or plates. Yes, that is — until today.

We were at this small, quaint Thai-fusion cafe called Blue Brown Cafe in Williamsburg late morning today. It was the first stop during this Saturday’s food crawl. They had a small, narrow seating area, so we sat down at a tiny little table and ordered a Thai tea with steamed milk and homemade cardamom ginger syrup, a raspberry hot chocolate, and a pandan cream-filled croissant. Kaia was acting a bit unruly, insisting that she sit in a certain way and potentially grab the marshmallow off the raspberry hot chocolate. Chris was trying to move her so that she didn’t get too close to knocking over the table, but she kept resisting him. I had just taken a single bite of the pandan croissant — the pandan cream was delicious, but the croissant itself was not great and reminded me of Costco croissants. Just as I placed the croissant down on the tiny table, Chris got our hot drinks and put them down. Then, Kaia proceeded to push against the seats. And just like that, her back knocked over the entire table — hot drinks, croissant, and all. All it took was about three seconds and we had the messiest, stickiest hot chocolate and Thai tea spillage all over the place. Luckily, nothing spilled on or hurt/burnt anyone; and also luckily, the drinks were in to-go paper cups, so we didn’t break any mugs. One of the employees quickly came from around the corner with multiple wet towels to wipe up the floor. I instinctively jumped up to grab a ton of napkins from the counter to help the cleanup. Kaia knew immediately she had done something very wrong; she burst into tears and kept saying she didn’t mean to, that it was an accident and she was sorry. At that same time, a number of people were in line for coffee… and likely took theirs to go given the sticky mess and the sobbing 4-year-old situation.

When the employee finally finished cleaning our mess, I looked at Chris and said in a monotone voice, “So, do we want to do a re-order?” And the employee gave me a sympathetic look and said they’d remake our drinks then. It was a very kind, generous gesture given that they’d obviously already made the drinks that got spilled, plus we inadvertently made them do extra work with the spillage. So this time, we got the same two drinks, and the employee put tight lids on both of the drinks — probably just in case. This time, Kaia was super obedient, sat very still while we had our hot beverages.

These are the situations that you never want to have when going out with a young child. We were *that* family today with the unruly child who made a total mess at a cafe, and likely scared away other patrons from sitting down and enjoying their morning coffees and teas. Accidents happen, and honestly, I was always curious when something would get broken or spilled in a major way when we dined out with her; that finally happened today, at age 4 years, 3 months. But if nothing else, I hope that Kaia remembers this and knows that when she’s told to sit in a certain place and not kick or move too much that she realizes what could happen if she’s disobedient and doesn’t listen. We definitely do not want a repeat of today happening ever again.

A hidden head spa sanctuary in the middle of Manhattan Koreatown

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When my 40th birthday came around, Chris let me know that he was going to book me a “mega deluxe” spa treatment for a later date as my gift. “The Service,” as he calls it, ended being scheduled for this afternoon. He wouldn’t tell me what the service was or where it was, other than noting the approximate location, Koreatown, and the time (2pm). About 15 minutes before I was supposed to leave, he finally gave me the actual name and address of the place, and instructions for how to enter (e.g. you have to show ID to enter the building).

The thing about living in a concrete jungle is that lots of interesting things and places exist all around and above you if you know where to look and go. Koreatown seems like a very chaotic place with lots of restaurants, eateries, cafes, drink spots, and karaoke bars. But if you go up many of these buildings, there are hidden sanctuaries and places of respite, like this Mio Head Spa where Chris booked a “Japanese head spa” for me. I walked into the spa, and it was like I was in another world: there was quiet piano music playing. The decor was clean, sleek, and minimalistic, the lighting dimmed just enough to entice you into a mid-afternoon nap. There were several special chairs for head treatments, plus another room for blow drying and styling. I didn’t even know what I was supposed to be doing there, so the head spa person explained the treatment to me.

Japanese head spa is considered a luxury treatment in Japan, one that is quite popular when you are feeling indulgent and want to spend some extra money on self-care. It focuses on scalp health and combines deep cleansing, steaming, and massage to detoxify the scalp and promote hair growth. It’s supposed to be a therapeutic experience that reduces stress and improves blood circulation. My spa person did a really nice job on my scalp and neck massage, and I loved the different layerings of heat, steam, and pressure on my head. I had a heated eye mask on the entire time that felt calming and luxurious. It ends with what they call a “signature waterfall,” which really does feel like what it sounds like: they put a huge, wide stream of water over your entire scalp for several minutes, like a seemingly endless waterfall going over your hair and scalp.

After we finished the cleansing and hair wash, my spa person delicately dried my hair, then ushered me into the hair drying and grooming room. She pulled out the sleekest, most beautiful little blow dryer I’d ever seen, and then proceeded to blow dry my hair. But the sound that came out of it even sounded really soothing. It wasn’t loud and obnoxious the way most blow dryers are; it actually sounded much softer, and in a weird way, calming. But the air was definitely blowing out of it rapidly, so you knew this contraption was very high powered.

At the end of the full session, almost two hours later, my scalp is feeling very massaged and clean, my hair is extremely soft and shiny, and it smells… expensive. It smells like the types of hair treatments I would never, ever splurge on, since I’ve generally always been very low maintenance with my hair. The treatment Chris got me came with four hair mask treatments for at-home use, to be used once every other week, she advised.

I wonder if this treatment will actually promote hair growth. Given I am in my forties now, I guess that is something women in my age range are concerned about — hair thinning and even falling out. I guess it’s another reason to spend even more money, isn’t it…?! Now, if only we had all the money in the world…