Being in New York City, we are completely spoiled when it comes to the sheer variety of food, as well as the food trends that either take off or come here quickly from other far away, beautiful lands. Artisanal flavored ice creams, Thai rolled ice cream, salted caramel everything, bubble tea in many, many forms (Boba Guys is here now!) — it’s all here, and it’s freaking everywhere. One of the latest and greatest to arrive in the city is Taiyaki NYC, a Japanese-inspired dessert spot that opened in Chinatown just yesterday that is pretty much everything I could possibly want in a dessert: a cute, fish-shaped Japanese pastry  made from a pancake/cake batter, filled with your choice of filling (looks like custard and red bean are options), then topped with Asian flavored ice cream (hello, black sesame and matcha!), mochi, fresh fruit, and a wafer stick. As soon as I saw this in my Instagram feed yesterday, I knew I had to drag Chris downtown to try it. The last time I had a taiyaki was from a taiyaki stand in Kyoto last summer, after Chris and I were headed back to our ryokan after the night’s first dessert. He was completely full and didn’t want a taiyaki, but the rich scent of taiyaki in their fish-shaped cast iron molds beckoned me, and I knew I couldn’t leave the area without buying a couple. I had no idea I would be able to get another one a year later right here in New York, as I’d never seen them here.

Well, today was a complete failure: we walked to Baxter Street to find an insanely long line that was almost half a block long. My stomach had a sinking feeling when I realized that it had to be coming from the taiyaki store, and there it was: Taiyaki NYC. Chris refused to wait in the line, so we had to leave Chinatown without my beloved taiyaki and ice cream. At least I got to pick up a moon cake for Mid-Autumn Moon Festival.

I’m not giving up, though. I’m determined to get back there and succeed within the next four weeks.

The VP of our sales team wanted to organize a big revenue team get-together on his rooftop in the Meatpacking district this late afternoon/early evening as an ode to the end of summer for the sales and customer success organizations, so our teams left the office early today to say goodbye to summer with burgers, vegetarian hot dogs, a whole lot of booze and margarita, and shot roulette. I’ll be honest when I say that I didn’t really want to go and just wanted to go home to see Chris since we’ve both been traveling (he’s been away in London, Cologne, and Bonn this week for work), and I hadn’t seen him since Sunday. But I guess my life at my company is a little different now than it used to be: now, I actually have semi-new hires who report to me, so I really need to make sure my team morale is high and make sure they feel like their boss is at these events and wants to mingle and get along with everyone. It’s part of the life of being a manager: it’s not always about what you want, but it’s also about what your direct reports would want at a company that makes them happy and feel like they are loved and nurtured. It’s actually funny that I went because our VP of sales, who knows I rarely go to these events (but has surprisingly seen me at the last two) greeted me with a hug and said, “Hey, Yvonne! I didn’t expect you to come, but I’m happy you made it!” Yep, his expectation was in line, but I am capable of surprising.

I actually stayed over an hour longer than I had intended for two reasons: one, we played shot roulette, a game I’ve never played before but I knew I’d do well in (as an FYI to you in case you have never met me, I’m a 5’3″ slim Asian American with a very high alcohol tolerance who never gets “Asian glow”), so I knew I had to participate. And two, our VP of sales brought his dog to the rooftop named Bentley, aka “the poops,” who was really the sweetest, most trusting little Pekinese I’ve ever seen. I immediately lit up and ran up to him. I picked him up right away and he stayed in my lap, eating bits of my burger and constantly licking my fingers. I don’t think I’ve ever met a dog so trusting who wanted to be touched and picked up by anyone and everyone. Clearly, this dog has lived a perfect, privileged dog life.

This is why people have dogs and cats, I thought as I fed the poops bites of burger and stroked his beautiful, soft hair. They’re so comforting and soothing, and when they are this loving and trusting, all they do is give you extra warmth and love. They take in your attention and presence, and they ask little to nothing else of you (other than the food on your plate). You don’t have to explain yourself or talk to them or tell them when you’re unhappy or happy or mad or disappointed. They’re just there for you and love you; it’s truly unconditional.

This is also why I wish I could just rent a dog for a few hours every week. It would be so comforting for me to have this loving, soft animal to stroke and hold and feed, and would probably alleviate my own annoyances and anxieties about life.

It’s my first real weeknight being back since my trips to San Francisco and Tampa have ended, and so I decided to stop by Whole Foods and Fairway near the apartment after work to see what specials were happening and what groceries to stock up on for the next week or two. As usual, I bought all fresh fruit, vegetables, and three different types of protein based on specials. I couldn’t make up my mind whether I wanted to make chicken, beef, or shrimp this weekend, so I got all three, figuring I could just freeze the other two for future use. Chicken was on sale, the beef tenderloin was, too, and since I’d never used the tenderloin in cooking, I figured now was a good time to test it out.

While standing in the Fairway line, I was discreetly looking at what everyone else in line was buying. One woman mostly had prepared food from the hot bar packaged in her basket. Another woman had tons of processed packaged food in her basket, half of which was frozen. A third woman had a mix of both of the above, along with a bag of apples and carrots. Whenever I see grocery baskets full of processed, frozen, or packaged food, all I can think to myself is… this is what is wrong with the American diet today. These food companies are killing us with all the added colorings, flavorings, fats, sugar, and salt in all these foods we’re purchasing because Americans are deluded into thinking they have no time to cook.

And then I thought: the only time I’m really buying pre-packaged processed foods is when Chris tells me to buy his beloved British Digestive biscuits..

It’s strange to be living in New York City without having lived here or been to this city to know what it was like pre September 11, 2001, right here in this great big metropolis. I’ve never known what this city has looked like with those twin towers that went down that sad day. The first time I visited New York was in August 2004 on a day trip from Boston right before beginning my first year of college at Wellesley. I remember thinking, one day, I’m going to love this city, and one day, I hope to live here, too. But I’m sure the love for this city is even more nuanced and special for those who lived here during the 9-11 period, who have seen this city before and after that awful terrorist attack.

My bitter cousin who lives in Brooklyn texted earlier today to ask when 9-11 tributes and memorials would end every future September 11, which is just so callous. He doesn’t understand why we’re still honoring the victims. Maybe he has no connection to or love for this city, but that’s because he has no perspective or empathy or understanding to know how many people to this day still suffer from the tragedies that that event brought, whether it’s through loved ones lost, injured, or still suffering health ramifications from being in the area of the smoke and rubbish. I can’t even fathom it. I think it terrifies all of us to some degree that we could lose our loved ones at any time, but in events like 9-11 where they are an intentional form of violence — it’s heartbreaking to think of even 15 years later.

I went out to lunch with a group of colleagues today for a going-away celebration. The one who is leaving — she’s my age and in a semi-long-term relationship with a guy that so far, has lasted eight months (I say that because she said she doesn’t know how long this will last, and their upcoming five-day trip to Iceland together may be a maker or breaker of their relationship). An Australian colleague of ours asked if she thinks he may propose during the trip. My colleague responded and said she highly doubted it and would be completely shocked. In addition, she didn’t really care to get married anytime soon.

“The greatest thing about New York City is that you can be 48 and single, and no one cares!” the Aussie exclaimed, who is around 32 or 33. “You don’t need to get married! It’s so great here!”

We talked about friends or friends’ friends of ours who have gotten married much younger, anywhere from 18-25, many of whom are already divorced but with kids. “I just got bored of those people back home (in Brisbane, Australia) and outgrew them,” my Aussie colleague said. “That’s not the life I wanted, and I never want to go back, ever.”

To contrast this, I had dinner with a good friend of mine who is 38, single, and having really terrible luck finding someone just to date regularly. “What is wrong with women?” he said to me over dinner tonight. “They are so hard to read.” This friend really wants to get married…. like, five years ago. I wish had some normal, single girlfriends to set him up with, but unfortunately, my network is too small.

The last girl he saw is now officially history. They had two seemingly strong dates, which ended with her making comments like “I had an amazing time” and “That was the greatest date ever,” which somehow transformed in a few days to “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Sometimes, I would think it would be harder to be single and female given societal norms that men have to initiate everything from the first date to the marriage proposal. But when I see my friend flailing, I feel so sad for him and don’t know what to do. He’s a great guy — ultra successful in his career, progressive and egalitarian, has many hobbies including world travel and film producing, donates and contributes personal time to charities he is passionate about. To add to that, he’s also white and pretty darn tall (as sexist as this sounds, what woman doesn’t want to be with a tall guy?). There’s my Aussie colleague on the one hand, 33, single, and loving the New York City dating scene. Then, there’s my Pittsburgh-raised male friend, 38, single, and about to swear off women forever.

Human relationships are way too complicated. Maybe arranged marriage wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

My boss is on vacation this week, which means I am taking over most of her usual tasks and responsibilities, including approving last minute paid-time-off requests from her direct reports. One of them came to me today asking me if it would be all right to take two days off next week when he originally planned to work remotely. He gave a long-winded rationale as to why he needed to take the days off instead of working remotely, and I paused for a second, thinking in my head, why is this guy coming to ask me if it’s okay? And why does he feel the need to tell me a long explanation? I don’t care what the explanation is — just take the time off!

I’m clearly a product of my generation. In my parents’ active working days, they always had a very fixed (ten days, yep) number of days off in a year, and they always had to give a reason to take time off. Working remotely was not an option then (how do you cut a client’s glass remotely, in my dad’s case?), and in my mom’s very traditional company, she could never have done her secretarial duties from home. From an intuitive perspective, we’re all adults here, so why do we feel a need to explain why we are taking time off to our employers when it’s a right to take time off? It is so strange to me, and I always feel a little strange when people who report to me feel like they need to explain every single day off. Sure, if you want to tell me you’re going away for a wedding or for an African safari for conversational purposes or because you want me to get to know what you’re up to, I understand that. But to tell me as a reason because I need to think it’s “valid” is so odd to me. Everyone knows what work they have and don’t have and how much time they have to get things done. I just don’t think managers should make their employees feel like every day off needs that level of scrutiny.

When I was little and got sick (which was pretty often, sadly), my mom and grandma would prepare a host of different things for me to eat that would soothe and nourish me that I now look at as comfort foods, which include jook, plain clear Chinese soups, hot ginger-honey-lemon “tea,” and oddly enough, chicken noodle soup. Chicken noodle soup is the all-American comfort food, the one that Campbell’s soup commercials always featured on TV. The smell and taste of it were always so satisfying when I had it, regardless of whether my dad prepared it from scratch or if it was made the short cut way via store-bought chicken broth and fresh pieces of chicken and vegetables my mom would cut up. And then all my happy thoughts surrounding this soup were destroyed when Chris called it “absolute shit.”

His hate for chicken noodle soup is not against chicken or the broth itself; he claims he doesn’t like it because it’s so “bland and boring” compared to all the other soups out there in the world. However, when you’re sick, you don’t necessarily want super spicy, complex soups or cream-laden dishes, as these may unsettle your stomach. So despite knowing he claimed to dislike it, I still went to Sable’s this morning to pick up a quart of their homemade chicken noodle soup for him. He whined and whinged about it, but after I insisted it would be good for him and he tasted it, he said he wouldn’t mind having it again the next time he might get sick.

I love changing people’s minds about food. 🙂

Chris’s cousin is in town from London this weekend, so tonight we took him to the Comedy Cellar. It never fails to be a fun night that leaves my face hurting in the end from all the laughing that we do. One of the comedians in the line up was actually Ronny Chieng, who is a correspondent from The Daily Show who I really like. He spoke a lot about his initial confusion about Asian stereotypes… since in Malaysia, where he’s from, pretty much everyone is Asian, so why would they all make fun of themselves? What really made me think for a bit after his routine was an idea that he brought up that maybe one day, there could be a Chinese American president, and then Asian kids around the world could think, hey, maybe one day, that could be me!

It was a big deal when Barack Obama became the very first (half) black president of the United States. So many people were emotional and crying when he won the election, and then again at his inauguration. And today, it’s a huge deal now that Hillary Clinton is the first female presidential candidate of a major party in the U.S.; if she wins, I can imagine myself getting emotional about it because I could potentially have children who will be raised in a world that has already seen a female president of the U.S. So they may take it for granted. But a Chinese American president of the U.S. — that’s a hard one for me to see happen in my lifetime. Yes, Asian Americans do well from a socioeconomic stand point, but to have that type of visibility is generally not one that Asian Americans as a group seek out. Who knows — maybe it could happen, but my pessimistic side doubts it. In a world post having our first black president inaugurated, the tea party came about, the political parties have been more divided than I can remember in the last 30.5 years of my life, and Black Lives Matter is coming out against all the discrimination blacks face in our society. And then there are real people who believe that Donald Trump would be a great leader and take our country to a better place. This is a candidate who got the endorsement of the American Nazi Party. I don’t think the world (or really, the U.S.) is ready for an Asian American president.