Indonesian food: Under-rated, under appreciated

When I lived in Elmhurst, Queens, from 2008-2012, I felt like Elmhurst was always this under-the-radar type neighborhood in Queens that never really got its due. Then, the rents were cheap, the area was safe for families and kids (it still is, in both regards, relatively speaking). And what was top of mind to me was that the food was so, so eclectic. Before I lived in Elmhurst, I had zero idea what Indonesian food was. So to think that I finally lived in a neighborhood where, on a single block, I could pick up Colombian pastries, eat Indian-Chinese fusion, have authentic Taiwanese breakfast, grab some fresh tomatillos for homemade salsa verde, and then have a full Indonesian lunch spread, was just mind-boggling.

We came back to Elmhurst yesterday and stumbled across a coffee shop that turns into a fun wine bar at night called Elm Roastery, right on Broadway, which is the main artery of Elmhurst. We ordered an ube latte and a jasmine lemonade, both of which tasted strongly of what they are made of (you’d be shocked how often this is not the case). The service was very warm and friendly. The decor was modern, sleek, and chic. There are ample tables where you can meet up with friends one on one or in small groups. And they have a large open counter that is designated a laptop-free zone (which I LOVE) where it’s meant for socializing and meeting new people. One of the walls was lined with handmade items for purchase, all made by local Queens-based artists so that locals can buy local. The bathroom was huge, well designed, and even had a European-style changing table (very similar to the ones I used when in Germany), complete with a cushion for your little one and thoughtful little shelves for you to temporarily place things like diapers, wipes, and diaper cream. We used this, and I was so grateful to have a cushion for Kaia and to not change her on the floor. I was stunned; 12 years ago, I would have loved for a spot to be like this in my ‘hood! It’s the time for the rest of New York City to finally embrace Elmhurst now that fun spots like these are popping up!

We revisited one Indonesian spot that I’d eaten at with a friend about ten years ago. Then, it was called Sky Cafe, but it has since been renamed to Sumatera. The owner retired, but the staff, chef, and menu remained the same. When I’d visited here before, I had never been to Indonesia. So coming here now, I actually had something solid to reference. And this meal was just like a meal I’d get in Jakarta or Yogyakarta: we ordered nasi padang bungkus, which is basically a big stuffed banana leaf with a variety of delicious things, like seasoned rice, a boiled egg, beef rendang, savory jackfruit curry, spiced shredded kale, and sambal; mie complit, which is a big bowl of chewy wheat-based noodles topped with ground chicken, bouncy beef and fish balls, a soy-sauce marinated egg, bok choy, deep-fried wontons (fried to order!), with a side bowl of deeply flavored chicken soup; an avocado shake (topped with Milo!!); and while all the above was beyond delicious and flavorful, the biggest highlight for me was the homemade cendol, made to order. The first time I’d ever had gula melaka, this nutty, toasty palm sugar that comes from a specific type of coconut palm found in Southeast Asia, it was in Yogyakarta in a cendol. The flavor was so deep, nutty, toasty, and distinct that no regular granulated sugar could have replicated the same flavor. Here, when we ordered it, the server warned it it would take some time to make. They were literally churning out the cendol jellies to order, which were green from pandan. They added the jellies to a tall glass of ice, coconut milk, and thick, brown gula melaka. And after I had just one sip, I was taken back to Indonesia. The flavor was exactly the same. It was as though I was brought to Indonesian dessert heaven.

Indonesian food is a rare find in the U.S., but I’m grateful to have semi-easy access to it here in New York City, in my original neighborhood of Elmhurst, in my original New York borough of Queens.

Catch ups over black sesame lattes and chamomile mango mousse

Chris always gets annoyed with me whenever I say that I don’t love our general neighborhood (Hell’s Kitchen / Upper West Side) for food. It’s not that I think the food options are terrible here (they are NOT by any standard), but it’s more that when I think of incredible places to eat with a lot of variety (cuisines) at multiple price points, these two neighborhoods that we’re right in the middle of are not within the top 10 (or even 20) across all of New York City for me. However, what I have noticed in the last five years is that a number of places that originally open in areas like East Village (my dream eating neighborhood), Lower East Side, or other great food areas downtown, are now opening their second or third locations in this general area. One of those places is Patisserie Fouet, which has been on my radar for a while. It’s owned and run by a Japanese pastry chef who was trained in French pastry, so the desserts are very much French in technique with hints of Asian flavors here and there. She opened her first location in the Union Square area (complete with a dessert tasting menu), and she decided to open a second location just eight blocks away from us in Hell’s Kitchen, in front of a popular udon spot called Raku. Raku is likely my favorite udon place in all of New York City. I went to their first (and then only location) about ten years ago and was obsessed with the udon and all the dishes I ate there with a friend. Since then, they’ve opened two other locations, one in SoHo and one in Hell’s Kitchen. So now, that’s two popular, fun, and semi-trendy places that are downtown that have now come uptown within short walking distance of us!

I went to Patisserie Fouet in Hell’s Kitchen and met my friend there for a mid-afternoon catch-up. We shared two desserts, while she had a cold brew barley tea, and I enjoyed an iced black sesame latte. I have always preferred one-on-one catch ups over group catchups, but I particularly love meeting with this friend 1:1 because she is so empathetic, insightful, and pointed in her questions and observations. She doesn’t shy away from vulnerable topics and instead, actually invites them. She sees a lot of things in people that most others either never notice or don’t want to point out. The older I get, and the more entrenched in being a parent I become, the harder it is to make real, lasting friendships with people who I find genuinely interesting. And in group situations, it can get awkward very quickly to discuss any touchy topic or anything seemingly exposing of yourself. So I feel thankful I’ve found this friend and we can be totally open and share unflattering things about ourselves, things we’ve done, and our relationships, and that it doesn’t negatively impact how we see each other. In fact, it actually does the opposite: it helps us better relate to and respect each other for being so candid… and being open about the fact that we’re all deeply flawed individuals who are just trying to do their best in life and with others. If anything, we should applaud ourselves for having that level of self-awareness to see that we probably do “wrong” things all the time but do make an intentional attempt to be better and do better.

Doing all the things with your visiting friend that you cannot normally do with littles

A friend of mine who lives in San Francisco is coming to New York for work next week, and so we’re planning to meet up on Monday and Thursday night. She’s extended her trip to stay with us for Thursday night and will leave Friday evening. When I asked her what she wanted to do while in New York or if there were any restaurants or cafes she wanted to check out, she simply responded that she wanted to go restaurants or spots that she couldn’t do with young children or babies… so in other words, speakeasy-type venues, cramped and small restaurants you couldn’t easily roll a stroller into, or places where you’d never even think of asking the server for a high chair at.

It was kind of funny when she responded this way because I could completely relate. I have a growing list (as always) of places I’d like to eat at in New York, but given the weekends are with Pookster, a large percentage of those places are just a no-go with a young child. It’s not to blame your child, but more recognizing that some venues just are not suitable for families or young children. And that’s okay. So we’re planning to do a tiny izakaya meal and have afternoon tea during her time here. Even though we’re both mothers now, we still enjoy and crave adult time and time to catch up one on one… without the constant injections of screaming and toddler questions that would happen if our kids were around and we tried to converse.

Giving away breast pumps and supplies – the end of a (motherhood) era

This week, I took a look at my closets and decided that now was the time to finally give away my two breast pumps, their associated supplies, and my maternity clothes that don’t fit right now that I’m no longer pregnant. It was a weird feeling. At first, it felt uncomfortable, but when I packed them up and brought them downstairs to our security desk to facilitate pickup from eager members of our local Buy-Nothing group, I got over it. I always hoped to have another child, but I’ve come to terms with the fact that Chris won’t budge on his ridiculous “one-child policy,” and that unless I divorce him and miraculously meet someone else suitable ASAP, I’m probably not having another kid. So there’s no reason to keep extra stuff in our space for something that is a highly unlikely future.

It’s like a semi-official closed door to that stage of my life: recovering from child birth, breast feeding and pumping, and all the anger, frustration, tears, and hope that came with it. It’s a little funny to think about exactly how much time and energy I devoted to breastfeeding: the 1,430 hours over 14 months that I recorded having my nipples connected to a breast pump doesn’t even capture all the time that I spent researching, reading, testing, discussing, measuring, storing, and cleaning all my supplies. And THAT does not even include all the head space time I spent actually thinking and obsessing over it all. While there was a lot of pain and frustration during this phase, I also had a lot of highs and times when I’d stare into the fridge and be amazed at all the full breast milk bottles lined up. I remember the nanny phrasing my milk production and all the effort obsessively extended into feeding my baby. And for a few moments, I’d just look at all the bottles and smile, proud that my body was finally capable of producing so much milk… more milk than I thought I’d produce when that idiot lactation consultant at the pediatrician’s office insisted (with no evidence) that I had low milk supply. I’d daydream about potentially freezing the milk and using it for things like diaper rash or even in Kaia’s solid foods, like oatmeal or smoothies. It seems very far away now even though it was just over a year and a half ago when I weaned. That’s what motherhood is, though: lots of highs and lows that are quickly forgotten once you move into the next stage of your child’s development.

It’s okay, though. Although I do miss a lot of those moments in Kaia’s development and my own motherhood journey, I love her stage right now. I love that we can communicate in two languages, that she can surprise me with new things she can do and say every single day. I love how affectionate she is. I hope she is always this affectionate. I hope she always knows how much I love her.

After bedtime stories each night, I always say the exact same lines to her: “You are the best thing that has ever happened to… mummy. Mama loves Kaia more than… anything. Mama is grateful for Kaia… every day.” I also tell her in Chinese that I will always love her, no matter what. In the last two weeks, when I have said this to her before bed, she finishes my sentences with the last word. And it warms my heart. The very first time this happened, I teared up and just squeezed her and laughed, which elicited big smiles and giggles from her. I always said it her entire life, but I wasn’t sure if it was registering with her or if she understood me. But this just made my day the first time she did it. I just love my baby so much and am so grateful I have her.

Summer for the City Festival Orchestra at the Lincoln Center

One of the greatest things about living in New York City is the ease of access to the arts and live performances and theater. We have historic venues and theaters to go with some of the most up-and-coming performers, some of the most talented artists in the world. It would be unheard of to be a singer/major music group, do a tour in the U.S., and NOT stop in New York City; some artists even have multiple dates just in New York City. We’re even luckier on average because we live just a few blocks from Lincoln Center and minutes away from the theater district, Carnegie Hall, and other major performance venues. So when I started subscribing to Lincoln Center’s email newsletter last year to keep an eye out for low/no-cost performances for littles, I also got email notifications regarding Lincoln Center’s annual Summer for the City series. The series consists of lots of different free or pay-what-you-wish performances and events. There’s a huge summer stage that has been built in Lincoln Center Plaza for things like swing nights. It’s definitely been popping. And it’s even more inclusive because the events are low or no cost.

I got pay-what-you-wish tickets for two orchestral events. The first one was tonight at David Geffen Hall for Huang Ruo’s North American premiere of City of Floating Sounds, followed by Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6 (“Pastoral”). A friend drove in from New Jersey to have dinner and see the show with me. Act I was the modern “City of Floating Sounds” piece, while Act II was Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6. I’ll be honest and say that City of Floating sounds… was a bit too modern for me. For the first ten minutes of the piece, I genuinely thought they were all tuning their instruments. But as the music heightened and became more intense, it became more enjoyable towards the end. The real highlight, as un-modern as this may sound, was Beethoven’s “Pastoral.” It was familiar and soothing, and I loved the way the sound of the violins and cellos grew more and more intense. The flutes were also a highlight of the performance.

Lots of theater and arts experiences are expensive in New York City, but we’re very lucky in that many more are also low-cost or free thanks to generous donors. The last few times I’ve seen live orchestral performances was during free NYC events: one was a jazz event at one of the open public spaces owned by Lincoln Center, another was at Damrosch Park (two blocks from us, and just steps away from Lincoln Center Plaza), where Yo-Yo Ma was the star performer, and the other was to see New York Philharmonic perform in the summer “concerts in the parks” series at the Great Lawn Central Park. The one paid instrumental performance I saw was Lang Lang and friends at Carnegie Hall. Before that while in college, I’d seen the Boston Philharmonic perform once. And before that… I honestly can’t remember. I remember seeing the symphony regularly while in elementary school, as these were field trips that were covered by school. In the last year, I’ve thought about things that I enjoy, and live orchestra music is definitely one of them and something I’ve kind of forgotten about over the years, regretfully.

While working during the day, while I do play Spotify occasionally, I realize that my focus is not great if I listen to music with words. So instead, I’ve switched to classical music and sometimes even sound scapes. I find it very soothing. I added the Chinese song “Butterfly Lovers” to a separate “Chinese instrumentals” playlist. It reminds me of my time in Shanghai in the summer of 2006, when I learned about the Chinese legend, the tragic love story of Liang ShanBo and Zhu YingTai as butterfly lovers… and their untimely demise.

“Sleep training”

I suppose as first time parents, we kind of didn’t do a proper sleep training with Kaia as in… we never taught her how to sleep on her own. We got her to sleep through the night when she was about 12 weeks old. But we never taught her that to sleep, she should do it without us constantly coddling her and being by her side. We should tuck her in at her bed after reading together, kiss her good night, and say “see you in the morning!” But, we didn’t do that.

Well, in some ways, it’s kind of blown up in our faces, as bedtime nowadays can take 1.5-2 hours from end to end, without even factoring in the bedtime stories. And that is a true time suck when you have to do things like… work, clean the house, prepare and cook food, and all the usual tasks that need to get done in a day. And you know what this really, really takes away time from? Time to ourselves… to watch a show or movie, write on this blog (!), read articles and books, or enjoy my too-expensive candle in peace.

This last week, Chris insisted that we not lie down with her until she falls asleep. She needs to know that we’re serious, that this is bedtime, which means… she has to SLEEP. No playing, no stalling, nothing else. Go to sleep, or else. She especially is manipulative of me and pulls my hair, smushes my face, and everything in between. So we are trying “baby steps.” We sit in the chair at my desk (or at least, one of us does, usually Chris since she whines endlessly when it’s me for whatever reason), and then she eventually falls asleep on her bed. We’re doing well if we start reading at around 7:15-7:30, and she’s asleep by 8:30. If she isn’t asleep until 9… well, we need to try again the next day.

My baby isn’t a baby anymore, even if I keep calling her that. She’s over 2.5 years old now. And although she is very independent in some ways, she loves playing us and keeping us around when we probably shouldn’t be around, for our sanity, and for her own future sanity and growth.

11 years.

Dear Ed,

Can you believe it — somehow, I’ve managed to get through 11 years without you earth side. Eleven years ago, I had no idea what life would be like today, without you, but alas, here we are.

Some things are still the same and have not changed: our parents are still miserable and still not treating their only living child very well. They have zero relationship with their one grandchild, your niece. But they seem to think this is all okay, and that they must be doing exemplary work!

Kaia is here, though. Even during her “terrible twos” tantrums and whining, I still look at her and see her as my life’s greatest gift and blessing. She makes me unbelievably happy and gives me hope for the future. She is adorable, smart, cheeky, and very opinionated. I still can’t believe that at age 2.5, she has opinions on what she wears! If you were here, you’d likely spoil her rotten with all her favorite dresses. She far prefers dresses to shorts and t-shirts this summer. She especially loves the big twirly skirts and tutus.

I told you, but I skipped going home last year because I didn’t want to deal with our parents’ drama and constant anger and resentment. This year, I am going back to San Francisco for a work offsite and extended it to the two surrounding weekends. I still haven’t spoken with our parents about the visit. I’ve only texted them because I really cannot stomach listening to our mom speak. I already know she’s going to be rude and nasty when I eventually have to call. Part of me is just wondering what it would be like if I went home for nine days and just didn’t have any contact with them at all. It might actually be glorious, but I’d eventually feel guilt and cave in. Our mom accused me of not calling her as often (this was back in February) because she said she “knew” the reason: it’s because she didn’t send money to Kaia. It was unbelievable — completely false, and just filled with venom. She doesn’t understand how poisonous her brain is. And since then, I have refused to call her. She is never going to understand that she cannot just say and do awful things to me and expect zero consequences. I first texted our dad to let him know we were coming back. He simply responded, “Aren’t you supposed to notify mom?” Typical, emotionally immature, idiotic response. What else did we expect, anyway?

Luckily, as I reflect back on the last eleven years, I realize that I have grown emotionally in terms of how I deal with our parents: I am better able to compartmentalize my anger against them. I don’t let it seep into all my thoughts throughout the day and before I go to bed the way I used to. Isn’t that amazing – I have grown! So when I don’t have to or want to think about them, I just don’t, and I feel completely fine, of sound mind, and healthy. But when I do think of them, I just wish they didn’t exist, as sad as that is to say. They have caused so much anger, sadness, and disappointment in our lives, not to mention damage, that I’ve had to spend most of my life trying to get back on course and fixing it all.

And then, there’s you: they try to go on with their lives as though you never existed. And that angers me. Granted, they treated you horribly when you were here, so it’s not like they would venerate you after death, but come on — deal with the fact that you had two kids, and one of them died by suicide. They are emotionally and psychologically incapable of accepting that they make mistakes and taking responsibility for them.

So while we are connected by family and blood, you and I are also connected by our wounds. As the great Japanese writer Haruki Murakami once wrote: “One heart is not connected to another through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds. Pain linked to pain, fragility to fragility. There is no silence without a cry of grief, no forgiveness without bloodshed, no acceptance without a passage through acute loss. That is what lies at the root of true harmony.” But Kaia Pookie gives me hope for the future… not for them, but for the future. When I look at her face, especially her nose, I see you. And I know I have to do right by you and try to be the best mother I can be to your niece. I at least owe you that much.

I miss you. I hope you are doing well wherever you are up there. I thought about you when I watched the Snoopy show on the plane ride back from Buenos Aires. In my mind, you and Snoopy/Peanuts/Charlie Brown are forever interconnected. Can you believe I am in my 39th year of life? Chris very nicely reminded me a couple times this past week that I am “middle aged.” It’s strange, though. When I thought about aging when I was a teen, I never thought that I’d be aging without you. You’re supposed to be turning 45 this year. But that will never happen. I am still aging, though. These stupid sun spots on my face keep reminding me of my aging process. I do not like them and am considering getting them removed. But that is a story for another day for you. I thought a lot about death when we were doing our will and estate planning earlier this year. And I thought a lot about what I hope Kaia will remember about me once I’m gone. I try hard to be good to her and to be a good human so that I can be a good role model to her. Anyway, as far as I am concerned, while I may be in my late 30s, I feel quite spritely and know that my health is that of someone much younger. And I suppose in my head, I’ll always feel a bit like a child — not sure if that is a good or a bad thing, or maybe a little of A and B.

See you on the other side… and I do hope that the other side is quite far from today. I need to see Kaia Pookie grow up and become her own person. Wait for me patiently, will you?

With all my love,

Yvonne

Running hugs and kisses – Pookster’s latest favorite pastime

Every stage of babyhood and toddlerhood is amazing in itself when you are literally watching your child grow every day. I’ve been so fortunate that I had a long (by U.S. standards) maternity leave and have a flexible schedule that allows me a good amount of time with Pookster. Watching her little changes day to day has always fascinated me. And I love seeing the things that she really gets into that seems to change week to week.

While we were in our Santiago hotel, one thing I would do is open my arms wide from about 5-10 feet away from her, and she’d get excited, start giggling, and run at full speed into my arms. Usually, it would be quite an impact, so part of me might even fall back a little, and I’d yell out a little “oomph!” as she dug her face into my chest and neck. But that would just add to the effect and her excitement, as she’d want to do it again and again. If I don’t initiate it and Pookster wants to do it, she’d say, “I wanna hug.” And that would be a cue for me to back up, open my arms wide, and wait for her to run into me. She also has taken a liking to smushing her face into mine and even biting my lips. Pookster can get quite aggressive sometimes with the face smushing. I just hope I don’t get a black eye with all this affection.

Sometimes when we are doing little activities like this, I get a little sad, thinking that one day, she will not be this easily amused, want to hug or kiss me, or even want to be anywhere near me. She may want to spend all her time with her friends and little to no time at all with me. But it’s just a reminder to me to soak up all the cuddles now when I can and she allows me to; to continue trying my best to create a safe space for her to be herself, voice her thoughts and opinions, and let her be who she wants to be. Every now and then, I look back at older photos and videos of her, and as trite as it sounds, I just can’t believe how quickly she is growing; even just 3-4 months ago, she had chubbier cheeks that I loved to pinch and hold. And now we’re getting into the next “big kid” phase of potty training, which is another reminder to me that every day, as much as it makes me sad, my baby is less of a baby, and far more of a growing big kid.

And hopefully with these intentions, Pooks will still want to cuddle and kiss me, even when she’s 10, 20, 30, or 40-plus years old.

First Saturday back from South America means… spicy food!

For the last two weeks, while we’ve enjoyed the food in South America, one thing that was blatantly missing in every single meal was… spice. There wasn’t much spice in almost anything we ate. Sure, there might have been cinnamon in some of the desserts we ate. But there wasn’t anything even remotely hot spicy. There were times we thought we might get it, like when we had a ceviche in Santiago or even ordered a lamb curry at a tapas restaurant in Montevideo, but there was literally no heat in any food we ate whatsoever. Towards the second half of our trip, Chris started making comments about this.

“This could be spicy… but it isn’t,” he’d comment. “If this just had a little heat, this dish would be even better!”

There were a few times I thought something would be spicy, and it wasn’t even a smidgen. The two times we had chimichurri sauce (a delicious oil based sauce made with blended parsley, coriander, and garlic, oftentimes served with steak) in Argentina, the chimichurri was not green as I anticipated, but red. I later read that these were red because the restaurants added smoked paprika and likely some red bell pepper. Unfortunately, neither of those ingredients are spicy-hot. They are tasty… just not spicy. Oh well.

Chris loves the food almost anywhere and everywhere we have visited in the world. But he definitely likes his spice. And he is generally a bit disappointed when he doesn’t get it for too long. So when we got back, I knew he’d be craving spicy food. And I had a big, big hunch that he’d choose a Thai spot for our Saturday afternoon outing. And if it wasn’t Thai, it would be Indian, but I was doubting that. I was almost certain it would be Thai.

And Thai it was. We went to Bushwick and ended up at Chiangmai Diner and Bar. It was a beautiful corner restaurant, with lots of beautiful green tiling, fun decor, glowing lanterns in the back of the restaurant with full floor to ceiling murals. Even the bathroom matched the restaurant’s chic decor and smelled heavenly (I even noted the candle that was fragrantly lit in the bathroom for futur reference). We had spicy papaya salad with a fermented fish sauce that we’d never had before, which made the salad far more pungent than usual; a fried fish fritter appetizer known to be popular street food in Bangkok, sai oua spaghetti, and boat noodles. Everything was delicious with lots of complex flavors dancing in your mouth all at once, and other than the fish fritters, everything was spicy. Chris’s favorite thing (and Pookster’s) was the sai oua spaghetti, which had a really addictive umami spiciness along with nice al dente noodles for a fun fusion Thai dish; the sai oua was most definitely house made with fresh galangal and makrut lime leaf, with a nice soft texture. But for me, it was a pretty close tie between the boat noodles and the sai oua sausage noodles. I’ve been listening to Hot Thai Kitchen’s Sabai podcast on Thai food and culture, and in one of her episodes, Pailin says that if she could have just one noodle soup for the rest of her entire life, boat noodles would be it. But when she said it, I doubted I’d ever had a really good or authentic bowl of boat noodles (no, I definitely have not. And I knew I hadn’t as soon as she said that authentic boat noodles are enriched with pig’s blood, which makes for a more intense and rich soup). But this boat noodle soup… I could definitely have this again and again.

So yes, this is one of many signs that I absolutely know my husband. He always loves to say that he knows me better than anyone else… At the same time, I would also like to say that I know him better than anyone else… regardless of whether he wants to admit that or not (out loud).

Summer fruit excitement: longans, lychees, and rambutans

From March to July each year here in New York, we get excited for our ataulfo mangoes, all yellow, plentiful, and sweet coming from Mexico. If you come to our apartment during this time, you can expect to see at least 5-10 of them, all lined up by our living room/kitchen windows, socially distanced comfortably to prevent over ripening too quickly and all at the same time. But once July hits, the supply of mangoes starts to dwindle. There are less sales for the ataulfos. And then eventually, we have to bid farewell to yellow mangoes for the summer. If we get lucky and see some nice green/red or Kent mangoes at an Asian or Indian grocery store, we may pick them up, but usually July is the last time we will have mangoes in the Northern Hemisphere for the year.

When we returned from South America, I was sad to see that the mangoes were no longer on sale at Whole Foods and regular priced. So this was an indicator to me that we would no longer have them regularly this summer. Then, my focus switched to summer exotic fruits we can get in Chinatown, like longans (my fave!), lychees, and rambutans. I went down to my favorite street vendors at Mulberry and Canal yesterday, and it was like a galore of all my favorite Asian fruit all lined up. I got three pounds of lychees (3 lb for $10!), one pound of rambutans ($4/lb), one pound of longans ($5/lb), and two pounds of very sweet red cherries (two pounds for $5). I had just bought seven pounds of fruit for $24. The fruit vendor at that stand was likely very, very happy. My shoulders were heavy carrying all that fruit, plus all the other goodies and groceries I picked up yesterday. But I know my stomach (and Pookster’s and Chris’s) will be full from all these seasonal exotic fruit delights!