Category Archives: Contemplations on New York Life

Cooking mistakes happen in twos – the hot cross buns without crosses

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Since as long as I have known Chris, he has talked about how much he loves hot cross buns at Easter. He’s not a religious person at all, but he did grow up in a Christian family and with Easter traditions. And one of those traditions that exists in both Australia and the U.K. is having hot cross buns on Good Friday. These are lightly spiced, lightly sweetened fluffy bread buns that are usually filled with raisins and dried currants. They always have their unmistakable white crosses on the top. I originally always thought they were like a frosting, but I subsequently learned after reading recipes for hot cross buns that they are actually a flour-water paste that are piped on just for the appearance of a cross. Once the buns are baked, they are then slathered with a light sugar/honey/citrus glaze so that the outside has a faint sweetness.

I researched a few recipes to attempt to make this, but I wasn’t quite sure which one to go with. Chris found a recipe that claimed to be “the best” in Gourmet Traveller. It combined the famous recipes of three different well known chefs, and so I figured it would be a good one to use. Unfortunately, the explanations weren’t very clear as to “why” things had to happen, so I ended up going astray. For one, it uses instant yeast; I only had dry active yeast at home. But I’ve successfully subbed in dry active yeast on many other bread recipes, and I figured this wouldn’t be any different. That is, until I noticed that while the dough was rising, it wasn’t rising as much as I had anticipated. And I started going down a Google/ChatGPT rabbit hole, trying to figure out what I did wrong. And then I found it: milk has enzymes that tend to prevent dry active yeast from fully allowing doughs to bloom, and so it’s best to either avoid using the two together, OR to scald the milk and allow it to cool to a lukewarm temperature. The scalding would deactivate those competing enzymes.

This recipe suggested warming the milk until “lukewarm.” Nowhere did it say to heat it until scalding or why. Other hot cross bun recipes discussed this, but this one did not. I was beyond pissed.

It wasn’t a complete failure, as the yeast did not get killed and was clearly active. The buns were rising, just not as much. So I proceeded with the recipe. The second mistake I made was thinning out the flour-water paste too much for the crosses; it needs to be really thick to hold not just its shape, but also the white look of the crosses through baking at a high temperature. My crosses after piping looked fine. But once I put them in the oven, I could see immediately that the crosses were thinning out… and they eventually faded so that you could barely see them at all!

When the buns came out, they looked like what my friend called “a cross between wanting to be a cookie or a scone.” Chris looked at them and said, “What happened to the crosses? Wow, you really are godless.” But then, we both ate one each tonight, and I happily yet reluctantly admitted that the flavor was still spot on, and while the bun wasn’t as fluffy as I had hoped it would be, it was still pretty fluffy and light. It even had crispy edges and bottoms.

“Good hot cross scones!” Chris declared.

This was even more frustrating that this happened tonight after my garlic chips debacle yesterday. Mistakes in the kitchen happen in twos…

Garlic chips go awry

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About a month ago, I made garlic chips (and its delicious residual oil) for the second time ever, and without intending to sound arrogant, the chips and the oil came out perfectly. The first time I attempted this about three years ago, I burned a lot of my garlic chips and they tasted bitter; I had waited too long and let the garlic brown in the oil, at which point they will get overcooked and thus bitter. This time, I did a proportion of one bulb’s worth of garlic cloves to one-third cup of neutral oil. I heated the oil on medium heat until it got hot enough so that when a garlic piece was dropped in, it would lightly bubble. Then, I dropped all the garlic slices into the oil and let it fry for about 7-8 minutes, stirring occasionally until the garlic pieces turned a faint golden color. I shut off the heat, strained the garlic chips with a fine sieve, drained the garlic oil into a mason jar. And voila, I had garlic chips and oil to add to a Thai soup called gaeng jued that I made! It was really the perfect topping and flavor accent to this soup.

Today, I figured I would double this, so I used two bulbs of garlic to two thirds cup oil. Not thinking straight and trying to save time on de-skinning the garlic cloves individually, I nuked them in the microwave for 30 seconds before adding them to the oil. And well, the extra moisture from the microwaving prevented them from ever crisping up. The rule of dropping things into hot oil and hoping they will get crispy is that you need to make sure whatever you are frying is as dry as possible. And well, I did the opposite since I was clearly not of sound mind at the time and just trying to multitask. So while the oil turned out delicious and fragrant, the garlic “chips” ended up being a huge mass of garlic mush, having absorbed too much of the oil and thus never crisping up at all.

I was really upset with myself. That took a lot of my time and energy, and I ended up with a result I was not happy with. In the end, I’ll likely throw the garlic from this mini disaster into a stir-fry, but it still upset me because I really hate it when I don’t get the result I want in the kitchen; this is when my perfectionist tendencies really come out… So I decided to try it again. And this time, I got distracted by having Kaia around, and the garlic chips got too brown and turned out bitter once again. I think the multitasking didn’t help, but I also think that scaling is just hard. As much as I’d want to double the recipe, maybe I just don’t know my stovetop well enough to scale this up, even if it’s only twice as much. I failed to get the oil temperature right — it was clearly too hot. So next time, I’m just going to stick with one bulb of garlic to one-third cup of oil, and make sure to do this when I do not have my toddler around to distract me. Hot oil needs 100 percent of my attention — sorry, Pookster.

Aziz Ansari at Radio City Music Hall tonight

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One of the greatest gifts and privileges of living in New York City is the fact that pretty much every artist and entertainer will come through here. It doesn’t matter if they were born and bred in New York or if they are coming from halfway around the world. They *will* come here. In the entertainment world, New York City is essentially the center of the universe.

When I was younger, even though my parents would never let (or pay for) me to go to concerts, I used to look at touring and concert schedules of singers and bands I liked, and I always noticed that when they would come to California, the artist would most definitely make a stop in Los Angeles, but they rarely came to San Francisco or the Bay Area. That’s changed a lot now, so more artists come through the Bay Area. But even then, I always thought — how amazing would it be to live in New York, where literally everyone goes!

Aziz Ansari was at Radio City Music Hall tonight. He no longer lives in the U.S. and actually resides in London now with his Danish wife. They got married two years ago and are trying to have kids; it was a big part of the second half of his show, being vulnerable about the “TTC” aka “trying to conceive” journey and how hard it’s been, especially given it is almost 100 percent his wife’s responsibility, and given he is currently on the road for work. He even had to have sperm samples frozen. He said he was so confident he would impregnate her their first time having unprotected sex, and lo and behold, that most definitely was not the case. And after seeing fertility doctors, they were simply told to “just keep fucking.” It’s been refreshing to have comedians and people of our generation be open about their fertility struggles. Hasan Minhaj, Ronny Chieng, and now Aziz Ansari have all spoken openly about their fertility struggles and IVF journeys. Fortunately or unfortunately, this seems to be the “new normal” for people of our generation trying to have kids and give our parents grandchildren. You really do have to “try” to have a baby, and it’s not just something that “happens” very easily anymore.

Grocery bagger’s integrity

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I was at Patel Brothers in Jackson Heights this morning picking up a few Indian grocery staples before getting some work done at a cafe and then meeting a friend for lunch in the area. At the cash register, one worker was ringing all my items up, while a second was bagging my groceries with my canvas bags. The Indian male worker who was bagging my groceries was likely in his 70s or 80s; he was short, had a bad back with his very visible hunch, and was slowly bagging each item into my first canvas bag. After all my items were rung up and I paid, I thought I would help speed things up given there was someone behind me who was about to be rung up, and we could get done quicker if we both bagged the items. The grocery bagger gazed up at me sternly but grandfatherly, shook his head and wagged his finger with a smile on his face to indicate to me that he didn’t want me bagging my items, and motioned for my second canvas bag to fill it with my items. I let him finish slowly bag up the rest of my items, thanked him, and departed. He gave me a slow smile and a wink on my way out.

I don’t know why, but on my walk over to the cafe, I kept thinking about this guy. He didn’t say anything to me; I’m not even sure if he spoke English. But what’s clear is that he took his job seriously and had a lot of integrity. He knew that if I helped bag my own items, it would have been quicker; two is always faster than one. But he really didn’t want me to do it. And it made me think about integrity. I am not sure what he did for a living before bagging groceries at Patel Brothers, but I am willing to bet that as a little boy, he didn’t dream about bagging groceries in his 70s and 80s. Yet what I also think is true is that given this is his current chosen job, he just wants to do the best possible job he can because he actually cares. And frankly, not everyone cares enough to do the best possible job they can at any job today, especially ones that are higher in pay or prestige elsewhere.

Coworking spaces in New York City are not all created equal

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Since I started using my coworking space work perk last October, I’ve only visited one coworking space, which is The Malin SoHo, just an eight-minute walk from Kaia’s school in Chinatown. It has a great location, near lots of food and shopping, and of course, its proximity to Chinatown. The space is clean, premium, with lots of lighting, healthy snacks, proper kitchen setups, a fancy coffee machine, and upscale soaps and lotions in the bathrooms and kitchens. Although initially I found the clientele a bit snobby, I’ve gotten used to the vibe there and found areas that I camp out in, so I’m pretty settled in there. Now, I go about once a week, so the staff always recognizes me.

I was planning to meet a friend for lunch today in Nomad, and I figured I’d check out a new coworking space in the area given the lunch location. I chose a space called Nomadworks, which is walking distance from Madison Square Park, Flatiron, and Koreatown. The booking fee, which my company pays but I can see, is less than half the cost of The Malin SoHo. I took a quick look at its listing on the coworking space booking app, and it seemed fine. So, I booked it on a whim the day before.

I came in and immediately felt the difference. The coworking space is essentially a bunch of open tables with outlets and monitors you can use. There’s an option for standing desks upon request. A handful of phone booths are available for private calls. The “kitchen” has no sink or fridge, though the description in the app said it had a fridge. A few bags of Doritos were at the entrance upon coming in. There’s premade drip coffee for all, which I’d never dare to have because I am 1000% sure it’s revolting. Oddly enough, there’s a variety of several loose leaf teas. There are little compostable paper bags for you to use a teaspoon to measure your tea leaves into, and then you close the bag with a drawstring on top. I used the China jade green tea, and I really think the bags gave an off flavor to my tea. I did not enjoy it and just ended up having hot water because I wanted a hot beverage, but did not want to deal with weird tea bag off-flavor or awful drip coffee.

The space also has rare rooftop access, which I will check out shortly before I leave for the day.

I texted Chris about this, and told him that at least the staff is very friendly and nice, and there’s ample natural light. He responded: “Of course they are friendly. What else do they have when they don’t even have a sink? Sounds like some shitty studio apartment in some dump.”

This type of response is one of the many reasons I truly love my husband.

Yemeni coffee houses in New York City

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Several years ago, Chris and I were walking along Bedford Avenue in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and we walked into Qahwah Coffee House. It’s a Yemeni coffee house originally from Dearborn, Michigan, and they take their coffee very, very seriously. There are endless types of beans and preparations available, and they also had delicious spiced milky tea options. The pastries and desserts on display looked sweet and appetizing, and the space was quite huge for a regular coffee shop in New York City. Since then, we’ve gone in there a number of times; they’ve also expanded and now have a location in the West Village. A few other Yemeni style coffee shops have since opened across the boroughs, and the latest one I am aware of is Haraz Coffee House. They have a location in Astoria, Queens, and a semi-new location on Spring Street in downtown Manhattan.

I went there to meet a friend on Friday for tea and dessert, and I was shocked at how big it was. There were endless seats and tables, mostly unoccupied at around 2pm. They had a really large selection of tea and coffee drinks, plus pastries and sweets. The service was fast and friendly. They had a restroom (yes!), and the Wi-Fi was complimentary. I had a quick Zoom meeting before my friend came to meet me, and we ordered the saffron adeni tea pot and the Dubai (pistachio) milk cake. The saffron tea was just like an Indian spiced chai, heavy on the saffron and cardamom, which I loved. The serving was quite generous and served beautifully on a big tray. And the milk cake was really soft, moist, bursting with pistachios and nutty goodness. My friend, who is a night owl, marveled over this place before we came, because she said that unlike most coffee shops, this spot actually stayed open until 11pm. I told her it was meant to be a Muslim meetup spot since Muslims traditionally do not drink alcohol, so bars would not be the go-to hangout spot. As we were leaving, the coffee house filled up, but it was a comfortable, clean, and fun place to hang out for a few hours. And as a bonus, I never felt like someone was going to come and rush me out.

I could definitely get used to these types of coffee spots opening all over New York. It’s nice to have a coffee shop that has ample seating and isn’t just a to-go counter.

Toddler cuteness elicits freebies and kindnesses everywhere we go

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The very rare times I encounter rude people in public, whether it’s on the streets or on the subway while with Kaia, I always quickly remind myself that those rude moments, those annoying, un-empathetic people, are the exception to the rule. The vast majority of the time, people are neutral to friendly to over the top kind. Once last week, Chris forgot to refill our OMNY card for the week, and I didn’t realize this. When I take her through the turnstiles, I usually have Kaia duck her head and go under the turnstile, and then I quickly tap to enter. But given the OMNY card wasn’t refilled, it gave me a red error message and said that I could not go through. I immediately realized the card wasn’t topped up, and given Kaia was standing all by herself on the other side of the turnstiles waiting for me, I got nervous she would run off and didn’t feel comfortable going out to look for an OMNY refill kiosk. So I just tapped my phone to pay for a swipe and entered. But that entire time, Kaia realized something was wrong. Instead of running off, she just kept peering over at me, saying several times, “What happened? What’s wrong? It’s not working.” And that whole time, a caring woman inside the station, who had observed the whole situation, lightly hovered over Kaia to protect her and make sure she did not run away from me.

Another day on the subway to school, the train was packed. Kaia wanted to sit on an open middle seat. Both men in the two surrounding seats got up and asked me to sit. I told both of them thank you, but that wasn’t necessarily, and I certainly did NOT need two seats for myself!

Another toddler tantrum occurred just a block away from our apartment earlier this week. Kaia sat on the ground and refused to walk. She said she wanted chocolate and that she was “too tired” to walk. I tried every threat and bribe I could think of over five minutes, but she would not yield. Another kind woman came up to us, clearly coming back home from work, and said hi to Kaia, and suggested that she go home with her. When she tried to pick Kaia up, Kaia screamed and yelled. But eventually, Kaia got up and started walking with me.

I guess in some ways, you could say that these total strangers, these fellow New Yorkers, are like the extended “village” that Chris, Kaia, and I have. We don’t know each other. We likely would never recognize the other if our paths crossed again. But at the end of the day, we’re all people just trying to live our lives to the best of our ability, and that means just being kind when we can to others, even if we don’t know each other. I always think of these moments when people joke or actually say that New Yorkers are rude or mean, or that people must just be out for themselves in this concrete jungle.

Today, while we were out exploring another part of Forest Hills we haven’t seen before, we popped into an Italian bakery so that Chris could try one of their hot cross buns. Like many Italian bakeries, this bakery had a huge spread of beautiful cookies that you could buy and pay for by the weight — it ranged from rainbow cookies, jam-thumb print cookies, to biscotti and the related. Kaia got excited when she saw all the cookies and declared she wanted some. Chris did not take well to this and said, “No cookies,” and walked out with his hot cross bun. Kaia was unhappy and started whining. The woman behind the counter, taking pity on Kaia, told Kaia that she could pick which cookie she liked best, and she would get one. Kaia chose the black and white checkerboard cookie, and when I reached into my wallet to pay, the woman insisted it was on the house. “It’s for sweet baby,” she insisted. “No money needed! I just want to make her happy!”

I wonder when the “toddler/young child cuteness yields free stuff” will end, and when Kaia’s freebies and constant acts of kindness on the part of strangers will end. I hope the latter never ends for her, regardless of her age or the chubbiness of her face.

“Startling” laugh

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I was out at a Yemeni cafe having saffron adeni tea and Dubai milk cake with a friend, when out of nowhere she said that she “has gotten used to” my laugh. I wasn’t sure what to say about this and waited for her to continue. “When I first met you and heard it, I found it a bit startling,” she said. “But now it just blends in and I anticipate it now!” I kind of chuckled at this when she said it because I wasn’t sure whether she was saying a good thing or a bad thing.

I told her that I’ve always had a loud laugh, and that in general, people either love or hate it, and if they hate it, chances are high that we won’t get along or be friends. I’m not really one of those Asian women who, stereotypically as Chris always half jokes, “covers their mouth and goes ‘heeheehee!'” really lightly. People should live their lives as their full selves without abandon. And if you cannot laugh comfortably or fully, I”m not really sure you are fun enough for me to want to be around.

This comment, for some reason, reminded me of my one of my best friends from childhood, who is now living here in New York City. I think that if there is just one thing I love about her, aside from her general personality, it’s her laugh. When she is really laughing and finds something extremely funny, her laugh is the loudest, most boisterous thing in the world. She has a laugh that almost makes you want to laugh along with her, even if you don’t find said topic funny. And so when we’re together laughing nonstop about something, I always notice that there is at least one or two tables around us (assuming we’re at a restaurant or bar) that will turn around and look at us. I’ve never gotten self conscious about it or seen that as a way to police us. If anything, I’ve always looked at it as: we’re just here having a good time. And if that bothers you in some way, then the problem is clearly you and not us. Who gets annoyed at other people having a good time in their own respective space?

“This is what it’s like to live”

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Unlike most Mondays, today I went to my SoHo coworking space. I was thinking about doing it anyway since I realized I had one March credit I had to use (I get four credits per month; it’s use-it-or-lose-it), and I want to use whatever perks I can get value out of from work as much as possible. But when a Brooklyn friend said she was taking Monday off and suggested we have lunch together, I decided it would be a good idea to meet semi-half way and meet up in Chinatown. We met up at one of my favorite Malaysian spots, Kopitiam, which she’d never been to before but loved (it’s an easy place to love; I have not brought a single person here who did not like it). Since my work schedule was relatively light, we enjoyed char kway teow, pandan chicken, fried duck tongues, Malaysian style French toast, lychee bandung, and iced Milo over two hours worth of chatter.

I told Chris what we ate, and in his usual snark, he made comments about what a busy work day I had and, “That sounds like a very luxurious Monday lunch!” If there is one thing I can never complain about with my current job, it’s the level of ownership I have over my schedule, as well as the flexibility I have to work wherever I want. I’ve had three managers now over the last almost five years, and every single one of them has agreed on the philosophy of: just get your work done, and no one will bother you about when/whether you are online.

It made me think about my neighbor I saw yesterday, who works as a doctor and is originally from Turkey. Her husband is French from France, and they both sound like they have very intense jobs. After their toddler goes to sleep at night, they both have to be back on their computers doing work and emails. She lamented how grueling it is, especially when she has to prepare all of her son’s school meals. It gets really tiring since she’s in the office five days a week, and her husband is in the office at least three days a week. So when she’s doing food prep for the week on Sunday, it’s almost like battling for time because it’s either she makes food OR she spends time with her son. He’s only engaged in the cooking if they’re making cookies, she said with a smile. The few weeks they go back to France or Amsterdam or somewhere where they have family, her parents will come up from Turkey and siblings will come from other European countries, and they will spend quality time together, 100 percent away from work. The kids will play and have fun together, and they will actually relax. She mentioned how it felt like, “All we seem to do here in America as foreigners is work, work, work. It’s so expensive here, so we don’t have a choice but to work around the clock. And so it almost feels like the only time we really get to enjoy life is when we take these trips together and spend quality time as a (wider) family. These are the times when it’s like a reminder to us: this is what it’s like to really live.”

Sometimes, I wonder if the last 17 years of working has really brought me any actual meaning into my life. I haven’t worked to increase equality in the world. I don’t save lives. I’m not researching cures for cancer or Alzheimer’s. I’m not trying to eradicate fake news and educate the masses. I basically have worked for a bunch of for-profit companies where at the end of the day, I’ve worked hard (well, most of the time) to make rich, mostly White people even richer. But then I realize… I have it really, really good. I met my life partner, husband, and father to my Kaia Pookie through work. I’ve met so many good friends and genuinely good hearted people across all the companies I’ve worked at. And I’ve also had a level of work flexibility that most people I know completely envy and wish they had. Life, I suppose, is all about give and take.

Building play date with a new friend and neighbor

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Just over a month ago, we were in our building pool with Kaia when we met another neighbor, a woman with her toddler aged son, who is about 4-5 months younger than Kaia. We made some small talk, and she suggested that we do a play date since we’re right in the same building. I left my name and number with the lifeguard (since she didn’t have her phone with her), and we went on our way. I didn’t think much of it, but as usual, hoped for the best.

I’ve tried to arrange play dates/meetups with several parents and their children who are near in age to Kaia. For the most part, it has not worked out. One dad, who was very kind and who I liked — he actually was proactive and texted me for a play date. But we quickly realized that his son was pretty aggressive and did NOT like Kaia. So, that fizzled out really quickly. Everyone else has always said they’d reach out for a play date… it’s never happened. It’s always been me, texting to ask, and then getting rejected. What is also common is that we’ll happen to pass by each other somewhere in the building, and they’ll make some empty comment like, “let’s do a play date when you’re free!” And then never, ever follow up on it. Then, you add the fact that most parents at Kaia’s school rarely want to interact with me in the corridor (one dad was shocked I remembered his name. He still can never remember my name), and they’re oftentimes just glued to their phones until the doors open for drop-off or pick-up. Becoming a parent in New York City has certainly NOT opened the doors to new-friends-making, unfortunately. This is especially annoying to think about when I hear about my friends in Long Island or San Francisco, and they say they hang out regularly with the parents of their kids’ friends, even when the kids aren’t there! I can’t help but be a bit envious and wonder why it doesn’t seem as easy for me here.

Well, the neighbor did message me! We ended up having a brief play date (derailed, as per usual, by a nap that went awry) today in the play room and lounge rooms. And we had a pretty nice conversation that was a little bit about everything: New York, how we met our spouses, cultural nuances, parents, parenting styles, cooking, toddler recipes and habits, travel, work, kids, our road to kids (IVF for both, and she’s even a fertility doctor, aka a reproductive endocrinologist!). She was also just very polite and thanked me at the end for always pronouncing her name correctly (she is Turkish from Turkey). She seemed to enjoy our time together and suggested we meet up again once they are back from some spring break travels. We’ve already organized our next play date once they are back. And she suggested that once the roof deck opens up that we all meet up with our spouses for food and drinks on a warm day.

It’s funny being in my late 30s now and seeing how I jive with other “potential” friends. It’s almost like dating, but for friends. You never know if you are going to get along with someone and “click,” and even if you think you both do, they could have a totally different opinion and either never want to see you again or just do the dick thing of simply ghosting you.

So, if I get lucky, maybe I will finally have a real building friend after living in this building for almost eight years now!