Category Archives: Contemplation

Winter Storm Fern on Sunday, a Snow Day (no school) Monday, and evolving views on snow

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In the winter of 2004, it was my first real, snowy winter that I’d ever experienced in my life. I was 18, in my first-year at Wellesley, and we had a beautiful snow fall that blanketed the entire suburban campus. I was preparing for my first real New England winter: I had bought a thick winter coat and a pair of big, bulky, waterproof snow boots. I was so excited to see the snow fall. My first time watching the snowfall, I really did feel like I was in a snow globe. And when the snow fall stopped, my friend and I immediately went outside to Severance Green, this vast lawn with a huge hill, for some sledding (using dining hall trays we temporarily stole from inside). We had to take advantage of the snow while it was still light and fluffy, and before it froze over into hard (and uncomfortable) ice.

I couldn’t believe how much fun it was to be in the snow for the first time. I was giggling like crazy. A friend and I made snowballs and threw them at fellow classmates. We all made snow angels and went down the hill “sledding” more times than we could count. My friend took lots of photos of my first real snow experience. She’s originally from Arkansas and had seen snow countless times, so she was thoroughly amused at how child-like and glee-filled I was to experience this all for the first time.

Since then, I do not have the same excited feeling about snow. I do enjoy watching it fall… while I am in the comfort of my heated home with a hot beverage in hand. I have very little desire to go outside and play with it. I get grossed out by how the snow is plowed in New York City and how that prevents me from getting into cars when I need to, and the black ice is terrifying to me. I know several colleagues who have had very painful falls from black ice in New York; one of whom actually broke her femur and had to have a very intense (and likely expensive) surgery that kept her out of the office for almost two months. But I do know Kaia likes it. I like how she gets excited by snow, creating snow balls, and getting snow thrown at her. It’s cute and funny. But outside of her enjoyment of it, I stay away from it. Maybe that’s just me getting old and senile. Or, what is more likely the case: I just want to avoid freezing temperatures as much as possible. And if I am making snowmen or snowballs, my hands are just going to freeze over.

Winter Storm Fern came as expected yesterday. The Department of Education announced early on Sunday that schools would be closed the next day (today). Given Kaia is in 4K/Pre-K, she has no ‘remote learning’ option, so this just meant we were with her the whole day and had to find ways to entertain her between work.

I tried to make a couple snow balls and throw them at her this early afternoon when we came back from lunch. It was cute to see her laugh and try to escape. But my hands got so frigid so quickly that it almost felt like the numbness was going to lead to frost bite in seconds. But even with Kaia, while she gets amused by seeing snow falling and seeing snow piled up, we can tell she doesn’t love it. She has said repeatedly she hates the cold. And how can we blame her given we 100 percent agree with her hatred of the bitter cold?

Winter is cold, and getting even colder, plus a secret love of boots

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For years here in New York, winter hasn’t been a true “winter.” We haven’t had much snow relatively speaking due to global warming. December through March has been a milder weather period; it has always been cold, but just not as freezing as we expect. Snow has been sparse, so Kaia has had very few times to make and throw snow balls or build a snowman. But this winter, it has most definitely been cold. It snowed last weekend; the temperatures have been in the ‘teens and low twenties Fahrenheit. And Kaia is NOT a fan. As she is becoming more and more verbal by the day, she’s definitely making her opinions known.

She has protested almost every other day of boot wearing. “I don’t wanna wear boots! I wanna wear shoes!” She hates the high-top nature of the winter boots I bought her; she probably dislikes how her ankles can feel trapped in them. I can relate to that feeling, but I have since gotten used to wearing boots since moving to the East Coast.

Kaia told us multiple times this past week, “I don’t like winter. I want spring and summer. I want to wear sandals! I want it to be warm!” We agree with her; we also tell her that neither of us likes winter much, either. But winter does not last forever, and before she knows it, spring will be here, and she can shed all her thick layers and boots and wear regular shoes and dresses again.

I’ve adjusted to living in a four-season part of the country and world. I actually don’t mind it much. It does require more different types of clothing (and a very different skincare regimen in winter due to dryness!), but now that I’ve been here almost 18 years, this is my long-time current “normal.” One thing I have secretly embraced but never said out loud is that the best thing about living in a four-season place is that… I actually love boots! For someone who doesn’t like winter, this sounds kind of funny. But to be fair, most of my boots are autumn/winter boots, so it doesn’t necessarily have to be freezing cold to wear them. I still remember back in 2003 when the Wellesley recruiter came out from Boston to San Francisco, and she told me that she had at least ten pairs of boots — all for different types of cold/weather, occasion, and environment! My mind was boggled at the time when she shared this, but now, I completely understand. I myself have three different pairs of dressy boots, along with one pair of super casual, long Uggs (which I basically live in when it’s cold but not wet outside), one pair of rain/waterproof boots, and one pair of fall duck-style boots (which really need to be retired, after ten-plus years of wear, because I found out while in Denmark that one shoe has a hole in it!). So I have seven pairs of boots myself, which is kind of hilarious. I love all types of boots: I like the leather boots, the suede ones, the heeled ones, the flat ones. I like the Chelsea style boots, the tall knee-high ones, the slouch style boots, and even the chunky combat style ones. I could easily waste an hour on Nordstrom’s website staring at all their boots and wondering which ones would be comfortable and still look good in whatever weather. But then I think that if we end up moving to a warmer weather place, how often would I really wear all these boots, if at all?

Kaia doesn’t currently share my love of boots, but who knows — maybe she will embrace them as she realizes that you absolutely need these in cold weather climates. Or maybe she will shun them and refuse to ever live in a cold weather place ever again.

“Maybe you can do this every year now!”

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I was telling a colleague about my birthday party after she asked. She saw the pictures and videos I posted on Instagram and was telling me how amazing the food presentation looked, and she said she wasn’t surprised I’d have such a crazy spread given it was my 40th. I told her I’d actually never thrown myself a real birthday party before this past Saturday; it took only 40 years for me to plan and host my own birthday party. I told her that planning it was so easy and fun, made especially smooth by the restaurant manager at Patok by Rach. And so she said to me, half jokingly, “So, this means that you’ll do a birthday party every year now, right?”

It’s not an awful idea. Though I would be unlikely to book out an entire restaurant in the next year or so for a non-milestone birthday year.. or pay for it all. But when I think about it, the focus would be less on the fact that it’s my birthday, but more an excuse to get people together. Whenever Chris or my friends would groan about things like bridal or baby showers, my response would always be that it’s far less about “showering” someone with gifts, and much more about just having togetherness, which no one does as much of anymore. Since the pandemic, people have led far more isolated lives, whether it’s because they live farther from people they care about, or because they simply have no desire to initiate get-togethers. Vivek Murthy, the former U.S. Surgeon General and an internal medicine doctor, has said in a podcast I listened to that the biggest epidemic he’s worried about… is loneliness. And it would be so easy for us to resolve that by being less formal or rigid about having our houses perfectly cleaned or planning get-togethers with extensive menus or programming months in advance; we can be more spontaneous with some friends and family and just lay out some crackers and cheese or pizza, and get people together just for the sake of it. And it would create warmth and connection just like that.

So who knows – maybe I’ll do something more casual and simple like that for a future birthday of mine if I am so inclined. It could even be a cupcake party — Kaia would love it!

The odds of getting the exact same birthday gift from two different people

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As the years go on, gift receiving isn’t as exciting as it once was when you were a child. As a child, getting gifts was what made Christmases and birthdays so sparkly and exciting. You’d always wonder if your parents, siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, and other family friends would give you things you actually wanted (or never even realized you wanted!). There’s the excitement in the anticipation, then even more excitement in the unwrapping or unveiling of gifts from fancy gift boxes and bags. And then, you’d finally get to enjoy your presents!

As I’ve gotten older, I also have gained more power and control over what I have and own, as well as what I can afford to buy for myself — whether that’s everyday essentials, the occasional indulges through experiences, or true splurge/indulgent items (the latter of which I pretty much never do because… well, Asian guilt/practicality). If I really want something, I can just buy it now. I don’t need to wait for a special occasion or nudge a good friend or Chris to buy it for me. That’s the beauty of earning your own money! Plus, as I’ve gotten older, naturally I’ve just gotten fewer and fewer gifts. I no longer exchange Christmas gifts with almost any friend; I give some very close friends (and their kids) birthday gifts, or treat them to special (higher priced) birthday meals. We don’t really “need” as much stuff as we get older.

So when I decided to have this 40th birthday party for myself, I wasn’t sure what anyone would get me, if anything. I figured some close friends would give me some splurge-worthy items, but I wasn’t sure what. One friend got me a very expensive ticket to see Maybe Happy Ending on Broadway, which I very much appreciated. Another friend got me my favorite Burlap & Barrel spices and Rancho Gordo beans (how could I not have appreciated these?!). But then something unexpected happened: a best friend and Chris’s friend got me the same high-end Shun knife: my friend got me the 8-inch, and Chris’s friend got me the 6-inch. I was floored not only at the generosity of the gifts, but also: how the heck did two people totally unrelated to and unaware of the other get me the same fancy gift…?!

They are technically not the same knife because one is two inches longer than the other, but for me, they are essentially the same. Given my hand size, I am more comfortable using a 6-inch santoku-style knife for everyday cutting and chopping needs. So I felt bad, but I think I will have to ask my friend if she can return the 8-inch she got me… and perhaps replace it with something else splurge-worthy I’d normally never get myself. Maybe it could be a Le Creuset bakeware set? I’m truly grateful for my gifts, especially these really pricey ones that no one ever needed to get me. And I know the way my friend thought about it: she specifically wanted to get me a gift that she knew I’d never buy for myself, but would really appreciate. I’m so grateful and genuinely touched.

Embracing middle-aged-dom by organizing all my Chinese herbs

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Yesterday, I spent about an hour labeling glass jars in Chinese and English, and then emptying all my Chinese herbs out of their plastic bags and into the glasses. My herb bag was becoming a total mess, especially once I started buying more around the time my best friend had a baby, and I wanted to make her a few tonics. So I promised myself that once we got back from our month away that I’d finally set aside time to get all these organized. I hated the feeling of disorganization and clutter: I feel like as I’ve gotten older, I’ve gotten more annoyed and disgusted by clutter and dirtiness.

Once I got all the labeling done and the herbs into their appropriate jars, I felt this deep sense of satisfaction. This is what it means to get older: to feel satisfied about organization and cleanliness. In some way, it kind of reminded me of all the endless glass jars my grandma used to store in the cupboard at home. She had an even larger and more complex herb collection, which she used very frequently for soups and tonics for all of us. I never thought I’d ever be like her, but here we are with a growing Chinese dried herb collection that resembles hers!

I’ll be using some of these dried herbs for pork bone lotus root soup today — also a soup that she made fairly often when I was growing up. It’s a soup that reminds me of home — soothing, homey, and almost medicinal in a happy, nourishing way.

Oldies but goodies in Manhattan Chinatown: Super Taste

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In the last several years, my bookmarked map list of places to try and eat at in New York city has exploded. And especially since Kaia has been in school in Manhattan Chinatown for the last 1.5 years, I keep running into interesting things I want to try. This then presents a very (first-world) conundrum where my old favorites battle with trying interesting new places because you can have only so many meals or snacks in a given day. One place that I’ve neglected for the last nine to ten years has definitely been Super Taste on Eldridge Street. Once upon a time, it was this tiny long hole-in-the-wall with just a handful of tables and the skinniest kitchen you can imagine. They had a small menu specializing in Lanzhou hand pulled noodle soup, a dry noodle version, as well as dumplings. Their signature dumpling was a bit unusual in that it was minced beef, celery, and cilantro (the usual tends to be pork and cabbage, or pork and chive). The last time I remember going here was before I moved to the Upper West Side, in 2017 with my friend, who loves cheap noodle joints.

This friend mentioned to me a couple months ago that Super Taste had exploded on social media a while back, and so all the food influencers were hyping it up. Now, they actually accept credit cards (they were always cash only before!), and they’ve even expanded their menu to have more options, including dishes like Mount Qi noodles, dan dan mian/noodles, and chicken (gasp!) dumplings and fully vegetable dumplings to accommodate people who don’t eat red meat or meat at all. This made sense to me because the few times I walked by it on Eldridge Street, I noticed a small crowd around it. I was never used to seeing this before.

Before I picked up Kaia from school this late afternoon, I decided to finally stop by Super Taste again to pick up some dumplings and noodles. And it was a challenge to get in: every single table was taken, and the majority of the people eating there were not Chinese! It’s a world difference from 9-10 years ago. I put in my order, paid by credit card, and waited for about ten minutes for my order. In that short time, there was a constant stream of people coming in and out to dine as well as to order/pick up takeout. I was happy for the growth of their business, but honestly, I was also a little sad that the secret was out about this place.

I took the food home and shared it with Chris and my friend who came over for a quick dinner before we were scheduled to head to the opera. We all concluded that the dumplings were excellent. They were having Super Taste for the very first time, but this was my third or fourth time having it. I am happy to conclude that they have not deterred from their original quality, and all the dumplings are just as good as I remember. This just means I’ll have to add them back into my rotation for northern style dumplings and noodles and stop neglecting them!

The road to paradise is not always paradise

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Before we arrived in Boracay, I was skimming reviews of our resort hotel we’d booked for our three-night stay there. One reviewer wrote, “If you’re here (in Boracay), you know you’ve made it in life.”

So, I’ve “made it in life” if I’ve come here, huh? Well, I don’t think you get that feeling at all when you are en route to the island of Boracay. The entire experience felt rushed, chaotic, and crowded. It did not feel like I was in the lap of luxury — I can assure you that.

First, we landed in Caticlan Airport. From Caticlan Airport, you have to take a shuttle to a boat to another shuttle/van to get to your hotel; Grab does not exist here. Boat transport is required to get from the airport to the island of Boracay. At the jetty port, you also have to pay tourist/nature conservation fees, and so ideally, you’d want all of these fees plus transport costs covered in one go. Chris rushed out to book our transport to the hotel while Kaia and I waited for our one checked roller bag. We got our bag and eventually came out to a shuttle van, which was going to whisk us off to a jetty port. At the jetty port, we had to wait until our group name was called before they’d load as many of us (and our luggage!) as they could onto the boat. Kaia complained multiple times: “Why is it taking so long?” By this time, it was past dusk, so everything was quite dark. It was hard to see clearly, but you could tell right away that the water was not calm when we were walking towards the boat. So we all crammed ourselves like sardines into these small boats and hoped for the best despite the trashing waters and limited visibility. We finally made to Boracay Island, where we all offloaded from an unsteady boat, got into yet another shuttle van, and then finally got dropped off at our respective hotels after what felt like an endless journey.

Chris remarked that this is how it feels in transit to nearly every tropical island resort that he’s aware of. Throughout the entire journey from mid afternoon to evening, I kept thinking about that online reviewer saying that “we’ve made it in life” since we’re here. I kept chuckling in my head over the irony of that statement. Welp, I always thought “making it in life” would mean never having to be pushed into a jam-packed van or boat and then being rushed from point to point. And I’m positive that reviewer had the same miserable, frantic transfer experience to the hotel we did!

By the time we made it to our hotel, none of us had any desire to go anywhere for food. So Kaia and I showered while Chris went out to a nearby mall and got some chicken inasal for us. And thankfully, that meal was very satisfying and tasty — exactly what we needed after a chaotic transport experience to “paradise.”

Lounge hopping at Heathrow Airport – a new experience for the Pookster

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We woke up extremely early this morning to catch an early morning flight from Copenhagen to London, where we had an over six-plus-hours long layover. While it did initially seem like a long time, the time really flew by quite quickly. We tried to go to the Cathay First lounge, but because they had first class passengers waiting to board a flight in about 90 minutes, they asked that we come back when they left (which made sense since they’re prioritizing their own passengers first). So while we waited, we hung out at the Qantas lounge next door. We eventually went back to the Cathay lounge, had breakfast in their formal dining room, hung out by the windows and watched planes come in and out. We had lunch (another delicious meal!), then I took Kaia to have a shower with me. We spent about 30 minutes showering, drying, moisturizing, blow drying our hair, and getting ready to board our flight back to New York. I think this was our very first lounge shower together, as previous times when I’ve showered, she usually sits outside the shower and waits for me while singing. This time, she enjoyed the shower thoroughly, making up stories of ducks playing and jumping in “puddles during the rain.” Every time I told her we were almost done, she kept on insisting that she wanted to play with the ducks more in the water.

As I dried her off and applied lotion on her, I kept thinking about how all of this will come to an end. One day, she will no longer need me to shower her, to dry her, to moisturize and dress her. One day soon, it will be considered inappropriate to take her into a shower or bath with me. Kaia is already slowly but surely dressing herself already. Every day she gets older, closer to the point of eventually leaving me and not being as close to me. I feel like I am just soaking these moments up with her needing and wanting me this much. I love watching her imagination run wild in the these fancy lounge bathrooms. I also love seeing how much she enjoys the lounge and overall travel experience. She has experiences at her age that I never got to have until my mid to late 20s. I wonder if she will look back one day and remember any of these experiences and think about what a lucky little Pookie she was, and how much fun she had with her daddy and mumma.

Food waste and the problem of having plenty

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A friend and I were at lunch the other day, and she was telling me how she was trying to re-mold her semi-new boyfriend into repurposing different foods and leftovers, and to stop throwing out perfectly good food. Like me, she loves cooking and is constantly intrigued by new ingredients and produce she comes across. And also like me, she’s very anti food waste and always trying to make sure she uses everything she has and doesn’t let things go bad. So, it makes sense that she was a bit disturbed when her boyfriend would cook, and he’d throw perfectly good ingredients into the trash bin without a thought. If a recipe called for one cup of diced potatoes, and he happened to have an extra half cup, without hesitation, he’d take the leftover half cup and toss it into his compost bin. He said he didn’t want to “create imbalance in the recipe” by adding too much potato. She immediately told him he was crazy and wasting food, and he could either add those remaining potato cubes into the pot, or just repurpose them for another recipe the next day or so.

“But I don’t have plans to eat anything with potato in it the next day or so,” he countered to her.

“Then throw the potato pieces into the pot!” she raised her voice at him, clearly getting exasperated. “Recipes are just guidelines, but you’re supposed to adjust and tweak as you see fit!”

When I was growing up, I was constantly told I had to finish every last grain of rice on my plate because if I didn’t, I was ungrateful and didn’t realize how hard my parents worked to provide this food. I was also told that when cooking, we should waste nothing — there was always a use for some food we had, and we had to make use of it before it went bad. Letting food rot was not an option. Food cost money, and money was hard to earn. We always ate all our leftover food; if Ed and I didn’t, then our parents would take the leftovers and eat them for lunch at work. I cannot remember a day when either of my parents went to work and actually bought lunch because I always remember seeing them pack their lunches for themselves the night before a work day.

That memory ended up influencing me as an adult: when I was working in an office, I rarely bought lunch out and always brought homemade food in, unless we had a scheduled colleague or team lunch, or at my last in-person company, where lunch was provided and comped by work through Seamless. So, this really ran deep with me. Plus, because I am passionate about food and cooking, I feel personally hurt when I hear about people wasting food thoughtlessly. It feels like money literally going into the trash or drain, which hurts my heart. I also think about all the real people who labored to grow that food, how likely underpaid they all were, and how their work just goes to waste when their perfectly good food is thrown out. That money could have been spent on something else, or that food could have fed someone who really needed (and would have appreciated) it. One friend said to me, “Do you really need to eat that a third day in a row? You make enough money to not have to worry about that and can eat something new.” I retorted back that it didn’t matter how much money I make or have; I am anti food waste. It is the principle that is bad, and food waste is a huge problem in our overly privileged society where food is seemingly plentiful. I don’t want to contribute to society’s problems more than I already inadvertently do.

Vir Das in “Hey Stranger” at the Claire Tow Theater, Lincoln Center

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Oftentimes, when people think of the Lincoln Center, they think of huge theaters like David Geffen Hall or David Koch Theater. But there are smaller theaters within Lincoln Center that perhaps have less name recognition that are fun, classy, and intimate, with a seating layout that ensures you are pretty close to the performers and would have zero reason to squint to see them. Vir Das, one of our favorite comedians from Mumbai, is here doing his “Hey Stranger” show at the Claire Tow Theater at the Lincoln Center. He’s the first Indian performer to star in a show at Lincoln Center, so this was a pretty big deal. We went with my friend and her husband to see his show last night, and it was ninety minutes of near-crying laughing, but also with lots of serious moments spread throughout.

One personal thing he revealed during the show was that given the topics he covers in his comedy, he’s more and more not welcome home in India by the government, so he feels like he has no choice but to leave. And the U.S. has offered him a green card. Many people would see this as incredible, but for him, he’s quite torn. Moving to and living in America would mean… he’d ultimately become a different person. His comedy would not be the same. His identity would change. And he wasn’t sure he would like it that much. And we all know he’d end up being grouped with other brown comedians like Hasan Minhaj or Russell Peters, who are definitely talented in their own right, but their comedy is not the same as his. His jokes are what they are because he’s not in America living an American life. He can be critical about America from an outsider’s lens. And his comedy is all that much smarter for it because he has a bird’s eye view of how crazy and insane this place really is. Where you call “home” really defines us in ways we may not fully be aware, but he’s thinking about it long and hard now.

I honestly don’t want him to move here because I love what he says and produces just as he is, where is is from. He provides an intelligent, authentic voice that would not be the same if he lived here. But hey, what does my opinion matter? I’m just another fan of his living life in the U.S. He has his livelihood to consider, and he also has to pay bills and try his best to stay out of jail just for simply having opinions and speaking. Being a comic is hard, and he’s showing exactly how hard it is to do that job while living in India and having Indian citizenship.