Last week, we lost five of our employees in our office. We’re gaining a new employee soon, but she’ll be a remote employee who won’t be working out of our office. She may not be adding to the racial diversity of our office, but at least she is adding another occasional female to the office.

For the longest time, everyone on our enterprise east sales team has been a white male. We didn’t even have one female… until now. When I was in high school, I used to blend in because I went to a school that was probably 80 percent Chinese. Now, I kind of stand out because I’m one of just a few women and one of just a few non-white employees.

One thing I’ve noticed in my most recent trips to Hong Kong Supermarket in Manhattan Chinatown is that every time I peruse the aisles, I seem to encounter more and more non-Asian customers. When I first moved here back in 2008 and would shop in any Asian area, whether it was in Elmhurst or in Manhattan Chinatown, it was very rare to see non-Asian shoppers picking up produce or jars of pickled and preserved vegetables. Now, I actually regularly encounter white customers with little shopping lists or photos on their phones in hand, trying to find authentic Sichuanese pepper and a specific type of Chinese green for a stir-fry. Others shop by looking at Chinese characters that they don’t know how to read, but recognize the strokes in an attempt to identify whether they are choosing the right jar. It gives me hope that despite all the racism I read about that has been made more “justified” by having President Dipshit in the White House that people really are still trying to branch out and experience cultures other than their own. And the easiest way to do that is through food.

Ever since my dad shared his Costco membership with me this past August, I’ve been so excited. I grew up doing family trips to Costco, so in some ways, my love and attachment to this massive store and corporation is for nostalgic reasons. I even have fond memories of my parents picking me up from the airport when I’d return home from college, and because it would usually be around lunch time, my dad would have a Costco chicken-bake ready for me, stuffed with big chicken chunks, little bits of bacon, cheese, and Caesar dressing, all in a baked crispy bread casing.

But living in Manhattan, there are many challenges to having a Costco membership. The Costcos nearby are not very close — the closest one is in Spanish Harlem, and the second closest one is in Long Island City. The Spanish Harlem location isn’t anywhere as well stocked with the variety that I was used to at the South San Francisco location my parents used to take me to, and it’s also challenge when you live in a relatively small apartment that can’t easily handle, say, 72 rolls of toilet paper, since everything you buy is in bulk from Costco.

I still managed to spend a whopping $177 there today, which I never, ever spend even in two or three weeks on regular groceries at our local grocery stories near the apartment. I guess I did just stock up on the next year and half’s supply of oil and toothpaste, not to mention what is probably the next five year’s worth of turmeric and red pepper flakes, but there’s so much satisfaction in getting good value and high quality at the same time. I know there are haters out there who think that Costco is evil, but you know what… there’s nothing wrong with getting excited about value at a good price in today’s day and age when the gap between the rich and poor is just getting bigger and bigger. It reminds me of the time when I took a fashion design course at the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising in San Francisco one summer, and the designer teaching the class scoffed at all of us for buying our clothes from places like Macy’s or H&M where a t-shirt would cost $10 or a jacket $100. She said that at those prices, they were made with sweatshop labor and that we really should be spending $200 on a t-shirt and $1,000-2,000 on a proper coat to ensure fair wages. Really? Do we all have the budget for that? We’re not all as privileged as she may be with that type of clothing budget.

My friend and I were at dinner tonight discussing the latest house guests that he and his girlfriend hosted. The couple they hosted also brought their ten-month-old baby with them, and so for a long weekend, it was all five of them in my friend’s one-bedroom condo in Long Island City altogether. While my friends were never with the baby alone for too long, they did have many hours when they did babysit the child, and it gave them a quick glimpse into what life as parents would be.

“You can’t just hang out with the kid and check your phone,” my friend said. “It’s like every second you have to be watching him to make sure he doesn’t bang his head or grab something fragile off the table! It changes everything about how you look at the world and everything you’re focused on!”

We both looked at each other with that understanding look of “shit, being a parent is hard.” We can’t be as into ourselves as before. I probably wouldn’t be posting as many Instagram photos of what I am cooking and eating. My friend wouldn’t obsess with his camera and the shots he’s taking as much. We definitely wouldn’t be able to see as many things when we’re traveling because of the needs of a child. All these superficial things would change for us.

I still want children, though. I’m excited for what’s in store in our future… assuming I still have some viable eggs left. I seem like I’m mentally closer to being in that mindset than my friend is after this conversation, though.

It’s one of those sad days where your company takes a different direction, which results in many of your colleagues involuntarily leaving. I can honestly say that I’ve been through a lot of layoffs over the last nine-plus years, one of which directly affected me, but I’ve never felt as sad as I felt today, probably because I never cared as much as I do now — both about the people and the company. We let go of some extremely smart and talented people in our office today.

And because our office in New York is already so small compared to San Francisco, it’ll be a drastically different place to come to work to tomorrow.

Even though Chris would be leaving for a work trip today, I still wanted to make use of the leftover potatoes I had from a few weeks ago and make an egg curry, but I felt it was probably going to be too much food for just me to eat on my own. So I decided to invite two of my friends over to join me. Since I had more company, there were more things I could make, like the garam-masala roasted broccoli and cauliflower dish using my own mixed and roasted garam masala, and the Indian-style roasted eggplant that turned out really good and super spicy. The more people you have, the more variety you can have because more mouths will eat it. Otherwise, I’d be eating egg curry every single day this week.

We’ve been discussing flight plans at work, which also asks questions about what you’re generally passionate about outside of the “work place.” I love preparing food for people, and I really like seeing their reactions to my cooking. I get a kick out of their facial expressions, and oftentimes, even with my closest friends, I’m surprised by what they really really love vs. like. One of my friends who came over tonight said his favorite thing on the table was the mashed eggplant. I wasn’t expecting that at all from him, but I think he said it was because of how many spices there were in it, and how hot it was (it used fresh chilies and chili powder).

Our team is going to unite with our San Francisco counterparts the last week of November for a “glamping” team-bonding retreat. What this means is that we will all be driving about 1.5 hours south of the city to a retreat camp, and sharing bedrooms with about four beds each.

As soon as all three of us learned this in the New York office, we looked over our monitors at each other and grimaced a bit. We’re city people. We like our own spaces, the limited amounts that we have. The idea of sharing a room with anyone not a close friend or Chris makes me a bit uneasy, especially now that I am in my thirties. I embrace my alone time and my time away from “outside people,” as my mother says.

This just means that in my single night hotel stays between the glamping outing, I will be savoring my room even more now.

And the day after having our friends over for dinner and too much drinking, I have woken up with massive body aches. This is just a sign I am getting older and cannot recover the way I used to.

Or maybe this is a sign that I should have followed my doctor’s instructions to stay away from alcohol, especially in the evenings, two weeks after I stopped taking antacids and Tums for my laryngopharyngeal reflux. My body is rebelling against all this alcohol, and now it’s making me feel decrepit and achy everywhere.

I’m a sneaky friend. I will never, ever serve you food that I know you are allergic to. If you are pescatarian, I will never give you food that has chicken broth or pork bits in it. If you are deathly allergic to crustaceans, there’s no way I’d sneak it into the food I serve you because I don’t really want anyone dying or dialing 911 while at my apartment.

But if you claim to dislike something when I know there’s a strong possibility you would like it, especially when it’s made a certain way, I’m probably going to try to serve it to you. Why? Do you know how many people everyday utter statements like “I don’t usually like <lamb or insert some other food they think is gross>, but I had it at <fill in the restaurant name>, and it was soooo good!” Isn’t that a sign that you probably could like it if it was prepared a certain way?

So I made banh cuon, a Vietnamese steamed rice crepe traditionally filled with minced pork, shrimp, wood ear mushrooms, and shiitake mushrooms tonight — a very laborious dish that takes a lot of time and preparation, and I decided, what the hell, I’m going to keep in the shrimp even though my friend coming tonight says she refuses to eat it. When I described all the dishes at the table, I left out the fact that this dish had minced shrimp (she’s probably going to read this blog post now and call me out on my trickery). I felt a little guilty, but I did it anyway.

So she served herself, and she ate it. And she went back for seconds and thirds. And then she raved to me afterwards and even after she left via text how amazing the food was.

She just happily devoured shrimp. I wonder if she had any clue or inkling. I’m wondering if I should tell her this, or if I should just keep it a secret.