Category Archives: Contemplations on New York Life

A non-rushed meal after your friends come 45 minutes late to the restaurant

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A few days ago, I complained about rushed meals and service at restaurants since the pandemic. For the most part, that always seems to happen to me when I’m with a (female) friend somewhere in Manhattan. It’s usually a semi-trendy or relatively new restaurant. There’s rarely a wait, but the restaurant feels a need to kick us out at the 9-minute mark for a party of 2. When I told Chris this, he said he never felt that pressure while we’d be out together; and yes, he’s actually right. When we’ve gone out on the weekends, mostly Saturdays, with Kaia, this has never, even once, happened to us. We’ve never gotten told when seated that we only had x amount of time. We’ve never been rushed to leave when we finish our meal and get the bill. It seems to happen when it’s just a friend and me. Does this mean that women friends are getting targeted to get out of restaurants? Or was this just a Manhattan trendy restaurant thing?

Well, today I got worried because I made a 1pm reservation at a Georgian restaurant in Brooklyn Heights to meet with two of our friends. They ended up running very late because my friend confused the booking time for later. So they showed up 45 minutes after my reservation time. We were, understandably, annoyed, but what I was actually concerned about, other than Kaia being able to sit in a high chair for that long, was whether the restaurant would get mad at us and rush our meal.

It never happened. The service was gracious. In that time, our server finished his shift and our table went to another server. That server ended up being very friendly and accommodating, and he never once told us we had x amount of time left or had to leave after a certain time. I was pleasantly surprised and felt pretty relieved in the end. I’ve come to the conclusion that the rushed restaurant situation happens when a) it’s in Manhattan), b) it’s at a semi new or trendy restaurant, and c) when it’s just a girlfriend and me. Of course, it’s annoying, but nothing can really be done about it.

Crispy bottomed guo tie / potstickers in New York City

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When I first moved to New York City almost 17 years ago, my cousin had already pre-discovered a high quality, local dumpling shop for me in my then new neighborhood of Elmhurst, Queens. It was called Lao Bei Fang and was on a side street along the main Broadway drag of Elmhurst, in an area that you could easily consider like a mini Chinatown. Back then in 2008, the owner hand-pulled almost all the noodles that were sold; he also hand rolled all the dumpling skins while his wife and helper filled them with meat and vegetable fillings. When I’d go during off times, I could get lucky and enjoy my hand pulled noodles or crispy bottomed potstickers while listening to him sing random Chinese operatic songs. The fried dumplings, aka potstickers, aka guo tie, were always perfect: they were crispy bottomed, perfectly steamed, and had juicy, rich fillings, stuffed to the brim. And I still cannot believe how cheap they were: back then, you could get four fat, stuffed, juicy dumplings for just $1! Eventually, they raised the price by a quarter, then two quarters. I’m not sure what they are charging now.

Since then, they’ve gained notoriety throughout New York City. Even tourists go there now. They had to keep up with demand and their growing business, so they started hiring more staff and grew out of their hole-in-the-wall on Whitney Avenue and moved into a much larger, more spacious restaurant along the main Broadway strip. And that, sadly, is when the quality notably declined. Once, I went and got fried dumplings that barely had a crispy bottom and were borderline cold. The noodles were irregular and almost gummy. The owner was nowhere to be seen. My favorite dumpling/hand pulled noodle place had changed forever.

At that point, I wasn’t sure what my reliable hand-pulled noodle/dumpling spot would be. I’ve found a few places in Manhattan Chinatown and Brooklyn Chinatown that do reliable steamed/boiled dumplings and hand pulled noodles. But I have yet to find a really good crispy bottomed guo tie/dumpling spot. There’s a divey spot under the Manhattan Bridge called Fu Zhou Wei Zhong Wei Jia Xiang Feng Wei, and that’s it. There are so many dumpling spots in New York City, almost too many to keep track of, but not all of them are going to have the same crisp and glory that Lao Bei Fang once had for me.

Post-pandemic time limits at restaurant tables are NOT hospitable

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In a post-pandemic Manhattan, one of the many things that has been frustrating to me while eating out, other than the massively inflated costs and expectations of extremely high tips (I have, on more than a handful of occasions, been handed or flipped a suggested tip screen where the default tip is 30 percent), has been the time limits set on tables. When you make a reservation at a restaurant that is a notch above no-frills, whether it’s on Open Table, Resy, or over the phone, you are immediately prompted with a message stating that you will agree to abide by the time limits set on tables. This is usually different depending on the size of the party, but for a party of two, it’s almost always 90 minutes; for a party of four, it’s somewhere between 2-2.5 hours. This is particularly frustrating when you already know, going into this, that you are going to be paying a lot for your meal, and that the expectations for tipping have increased. And it’s a real whammy when you check in at the host stand, and they remind you and your party on the way to your table that there’s a X-minute time limit on your table, and they ask that you respect that. When I go out to eat, I want to enjoy the company of the people I am with, AND enjoy the food and drink. I don’t want to feel rushed to order right away, to stuff the food down my throat, and to barely say hi to my friend before looking at the menu and ordering. It’s completely ridiculous and an unrealistic expectation that restaurants have of their patrons. I understand this if the restaurant has stacked reservations, is in high demand, and people are waiting. But when restaurants are not at capacity and are even nearly empty, it makes zero sense and only makes the restaurant look stupid and stingy with their space.

Tonight, I met up with a friend for dinner at La Dong, a relatively new and modern Vietnamese restaurant in Flatiron that ended up costing over $55/person after tax and tip. So in other words, this was not a budget meal. As soon as we sat down, the server handed us our menus and at the same time reminded us that we had to leave in 90 minutes. It was such a warm welcome — to say hi and in the same breath, tell your guests to get the fuck out in the next hour and a half! And then, with a smile once again, when the server came back and asked if we were ready to order, we told her we were not and would need a few additional minutes. She smiled sanguinely and said, “Of course! Please take your time!” That response was completely disingenuous; given she already told us about our 90-minute time limit, we obviously could NOT take our time and had to get a move on with ordering everything.

As soon as we ordered our two starters, shock of shock: the food came out within minutes. Another reminder to eat quickly. And when the two mains came out, they were swift and took away our starter plates. Even as we were catching up, I could feel the staff’s eyes on us, wondering how long it would take us to eat and if they’d need to remind us again that we had to leave by 7pm, as we were seated at 5:30 on the dot.

Was the service here awful? No. They tried to be friendly and gentle. I think they are all under pressure to abide by their idiot management’s instructions to enforce the time limits on tables. But it really doesn’t go well when you are in hospitality to make your guests feel that they need to rush through their meal and their socializing. What next: are restaurants going to charge by the half-hour for the table/seating space on top of charging you for food and drink? Or will they want to charge you to use their restrooms? What the hell is next?

What was really awful, which happened a few weeks ago when I had lunch with a friend in SoHo, was when twice, I had my plate taken away while I was literally still eating from it. Both times, I had just lifted chopsticks from the plate to put food in my mouth, and servers/bus boys came to clear my plate. The second time it happened, I glared hard at the server and said I was still eating.

Hospitality at restaurants has declined pretty badly across Manhattan since the pandemic. Hospitality is barely even a word with any meaning here in this borough. How can you be hospitable when welcoming someone into your business when you immediately want to chase them out as soon as you can? It’s almost a rarity now to not feel rushed through a meal in this borough and actually feel… relaxed while dining out. Even when the food and ambiance are good, even when the company is good, it’s impossible to forget that you felt you were rushed through your meal and verbally pushed out the door.

Gaeng Jued (“bland curry” soup in Thai) today

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Last year, I wanted to get more into making soups more frequently. They’re nourishing and always satisfying, but I don’t think I got into a decent groove with it until this year. I sourced a place for pork ribs under my nose at the Chinese supermarket I usually go to, and since then, I’ve been looking at more recipes and tinkering with them. The latest soup I made today is Hot Thai Kitchen’s gaeng jued woon sen. In Thai, that literally means “bland curry with glass noodles,” but the only reason it’s called bland is that it’s not spicy at all. It’s meant to be a “wet” component of a Thai meal next to rice and other more spiced / hot dishes. It has a lot in common with Chinese soups I’ve grown up with: it uses pork bones, daikon for sweetness, and has really simple seasonings, such as fish sauce, soy sauce, and white pepper. It’s given more heft with rustic spoon-flicked pork meatballs that are quickly tossed together, different vegetables (I used napa cabbage and “seafood” mushrooms, almost like thicker enoki mushrooms), and even egg (I used egg tofu today). Then, it’s topped with garnishes like cilantro, scallions, and the true flavor bombs: fried crispy garlic chips with its residual garlic oil.

If anyone had this soup and actually thought it was bland, I probably wouldn’t want to associate with them. This is the epitome of Thai home cooking, and in many ways, very similar to comforting, homely Chinese soups I grew up eating, just with a garlicky twist. Variations of this soup will definitely be kept on rotation for us.

The ice cream date that did not go as planned

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Since we have now reached Daylight Savings Time for the year, and as the weather is slowly but surely getting warmer (or so we hope), I thought about how cute it would be if I took Kaia on brief little snack or dessert outings in Chinatown before we head back up to the Upper West Side. It would be a surprise, and given it would include food, she would surely be happy. So when I picked her up from school yesterday, I told her that I was going to give her a surprise. Of course, she lit up right away and got really excited. She eagerly held my hand and walked happily as we crossed Chrystie Street, went across the little park, and popped into an ice cream shop.

I chose Smoove Ice Cream, an Asian-owned ice cream shop with Asian flavors, since it was just over a block away, so it wouldn’t be too far from the train station. I let Kaia look at all the ice cream flavors and let her choose one. Of the ones she pointed at, she decided on lychee rose. We did a split scoop, so the second flavor I chose was black sesame. We got the split scoop in a cup and shared it in the small seating area that Smoove had. She was super happy, sing-songy, speaking all the Chinese I wanted her to speak. Then, when the ice cream was all finished, she got sad and ran up to the counter again with her empty cup. I told her that we were all done and that it was time to go home. She brought her empty cup up to the counter… so she could get MORE ice cream in it. She didn’t understand that this wasn’t like being at school or home — she couldn’t just ask for “more” and get it (without paying for it!).

I told her that we were done eating ice cream, and that it was time to go home. She yelled and said she wanted more and would not stop. So the worker behind the counter felt sympathetic and offered a sample spoon of whatever she wanted. Kaia asked for strawberry, so he gave her a massive sample sized scoop. As we walked out of the shop with it, she nibbled on it bit by bit, but of course, it was melting… and then, like a slow-motion crash, the big blob of pink ice cream slid down, and straight onto the ground. And the biggest melt down ensued. She immediately burst into tears and stomped her feet over and over. She tried to run back to the ice cream shop to ask for more, but I blocked her from walking back. Kaia refused to walk and just kept crying and screaming. I had to carry her into the subway and onto the train. She cried the whole way home until we exited the station.

Well, that was not how I envisioned our impromptu ice cream date going. But alas, things don’t always go as you’d imagine with a toddler, do they?

Exploring SoHo, LES, and Chinatown in Manhattan

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One huge benefit of having Kaia at a Chinatown-based school, as Chris mentioned when we enrolled Kaia in her current school, is that it gives me an opportunity to further explore businesses that are in this general area. Since I now have four coworking space passes to use each month, I am taking advantage of them and working down here about once a week. On these days, I do school dropoff and pickup, and I also try to meet up with friends who are flexible enough for either lunch or coffee/dessert. If that doesn’t work out, it’s still an opportunity for me to be in the area and try new businesses that are on my list.

Today, none of my friends were available to meet up, so I ended up going on my own during lunch time to check out some new businesses. Originally, I attempted to go to a pop-up onigiri stand in SoHo, but when I arrived, I realized that the pop-up… was no more. The entire building was locked. That was fun to find out.

Then, I went to a relatively new Korean spot called Lululala on Hester Street. Their logo is “Finding happiness in little bowls.” They make relatively inexpensive Korean style rice bowls, kimbap, and different types of banchan. I got a beef kimbap roll, which was quite generous at 12 large pieces for $9. I was pretty satisfied with my purchase, especially since I haven’t had kimbap in ages.

I also went to pick up soy milk from Fong On, and on my way back to the coworking space, I also went to an OG Chinese bakery called Ka Wah on Eldridge. Unfortunately, this bakery was a miss: I knew it was grungy and super no frills going into it, as I had originally learned about it in a Manhattan Chinatown Reddit thread. But the lao po bing (old wife cake/winter melon cake) I got had a crust that was too thick, without much actual winter melon filling (that’s the whole point…). The outside pastry wasn’t very flaky and was quite dry. I also picked up a large sponge cake as a treat for Kaia, but until I get home and let her try it, I won’t actually know how good it is. Either way, there are several other reliable Chinese-style sponge cake spots I like for other items in Chinatown, such as Kam Hing Coffee Shop (the original), Spongie’s (spun off by a former employee at Kam Hing), Double Crispy (they rarely go wrong on anything), and Manna House, so I have other places I can rely on for this that also have more variety.

You win some, and you lose some. I am getting through my massive bookmarks list down here, though, which is only growing since more and more new places keep opening!

Why people who read books are the best kind of people

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Ever since I started learning to read as a child, I have loved it. I read voraciously as a child, and throughout my life, I’ve always enjoyed reading and have done it for leisure. Sometimes as a kid, I read because I had nothing else to do; when I was young, my parents never enrolled me in any activities, so I’d just be stuck at home during school breaks and summers. I’d end up reading whatever I could get my hands on. Sometimes, that included home remedy and house repair books. Other times, it included gardening and cookbooks. But even when I did start getting out of the house more, I always, always enjoyed my quiet time reading. When we read, we are able to whisk ourselves away from our current place and time and fully immerse ourselves in the stories, times, and lands where the book’s story takes place. We are able to learn and see through another person’s eyes, and thus, are likely to be more empathetic and understanding of different people’s experiences. Reading broadens our scope of knowledge and exposes us to different aspects of the human experience that we may never have the opportunity to get exposed to, for better or worse. I’d like to think this makes us more capable of deeper feelings. While reading the very best and complex novels, it can feel like a bit of time travel. As the physician/novelist Abraham Verghese says, “You suspend disbelief, and you live through centuries, sometimes, or at least decades, (…) births and deaths, and you put the book down and it’s still Tuesday.”

On top of adding to one’s knowledge of the world, increasing empathy, and just being a form of entertainment and even “time travel,” in its most basic sense, reading helps to improve critical thinking, vocabulary, grammar/sentence structure, and can even help with stress relief. It’s also been linked to helping with preventing dementia/Alzheimer’s Disease. So given this, it’s been really strange and unsettling to hear that to this day, Chris’s dad thinks reading books is not a good use of time, and even mocks his mother for being an avid reader. Apparently, he “learned” this disdain from his own mother, Chris’s Nana, who always thought that a woman’s place was in the home to take care of the household and children, and to never do anything else. She used to mock Chris’s mom’s love of books and tell Chris’s dad to get her to stop. They both failed in this endeavor (thankfully). Chris’s dad has often times made disparaging comments about Chris’s mom’s love of reading, saying things like, “She must get these crazy ideas through the stories she reads!”

Given we’re in the year 2025, Chris’s parents are in their late 60s/early 70s, and Chris’s mom is a medical doctor, this disdain for reading books is quite a primeval and unenlightened idea to have. I never would have thought I would meet someone in my lifetime who would disparage reading books of all things, but alas, the person ended up coming right under my nose in my own father-in-law, someone who has grown up in great wealth, comfort, and access to education and knowledge. I was reminded of this negative opinion while finishing The Covenant of Water by Abraham Verghese this week. It’s a long, long book (over 700 pages) that spans three generations of a family and two continents, but along with Verghese’s Cutting for Stone, it’s likely one of my all-time favorite books I’ve ever read. I love the character development, the interwoven stories of multiple families across countries, and how they all came together. I love the imagery of water and how it brings us together yet divides us, and I even loved all the medical details and how they came to life for me right on the page. Every time I picked up the book, I knew I was in love with it because it would literally feel like I was escaping reality and being transported to another place while I was reading it. While both of Verghese’s novels are rumored to be in film production, like pretty much every time I have seen any book I have read become a movie, it’s never the same. The richness of character development and locations is never quite there. The subtlety of speech and body language always falls far short in a movie than on a page. I have rarely rooted for any character in a movie the way I have rooted for a character in a book.

Coincidentally, and it’s really no shock, most of the people I’ve liked and have enjoyed company with in my adult life are readers. They read fiction and nonfiction, and they love sharing what books they are enjoying (or not enjoying). Readers are the very best kind of people. I don’t think that’s really a debatable point.

Missing brand-new black Uniqlo turtleneck from Japan is found after one year and three months!

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Last year when we were coming back from Japan, we stuffed our car seat case with lots of extra things we had purchased there, which were mostly clothes and snacks. When we came back to New York and unpacked the car seat case, I was surprised to not find the Uniqlo ultra-warm Heat Tech black turtleneck I had purchased. It was brand new, never worn. I turned everything upside down to find it, yet the sweater was no where to be found. I became increasingly annoyed. I kept searching over the course of five days. Chris insisted that if it wasn’t there, it wasn’t there; he had seen me go through things more than four or five times and was pretty sure I had looked at everything. It was the one thing from our trip that was unaccounted for, and it bothered me to no end. I always hate it when I lose anything, even the smallest thing. It’s rarely about the value; for me, it’s about the mere principle of losing something. That sweater retails for about $25 USD in the States, and in Tokyo, I had gotten it for the equivalent of $9-10 USD. But I let go, as in reality, $9-10 isn’t an insane amount of money to lose.

Fast forward to today, and I asked our building porter to bring up our large suitcases in the building basement. I had seen an #ISO (# in search of) post in my local Buy-Nothing group for a car seat case for air travel. Chris confirmed he didn’t want to use ours anymore, so I decided to pass it on to the next Buy-Nothing neighbor. I had generously received ours from another neighbor, who had also only used it for one international trip. I took the car seat case out of the suitcase and fully unzipped it. I remembered the missing black sweater in this moment, and so, for good measure, I thoroughly patted down the inside of the car seat case one last time to ensure nothing was stuck in it. Suddenly, I felt a different cloth texture embedded in a compartment. Then, I turned the case upside down and shook the whole thing vigorously. And out came my black Uniqlo sweater, missing for the last year and three months!! I was so, so happy! I immediately picked it up and put it on, admiring myself wearing it in the mirror. My brand new black sweater was found!!

Sometimes, it’s the little things in life. And I truly do embrace these little things in the daily humdrum that is life. This one surprise find truly made my day today.

When your toddler tugs at your leg (and heart)

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Since my first work trip this year in January when I went to Las Vegas, I decided to start recording short videos of myself to have Chris share with Kaia while I was away. I did the same while in Denver this week, and Chris always says she loves them. Chris also shares videos of Kaia talking about all kinds of things, as well as demanding a “video of mummy.” She was at backup care at her old school today since her current school is closed for parent-teacher conferences today. I got back in time to fully unpack, get dinner ready, and pick her up. She wasn’t expecting me at pickup time, but when she saw me enter the classroom, she wordlessly ran up to me and wrapped her arms around me. Then, she motioned her legs to indicate she wanted me to pick her up. I held her tightly while asking her temporary teacher how her day was, gathered her belongings, and we left.

Pookster didn’t say too much on the way home, but when I asked her if she missed me, she vigorously nodded her head to say yes. And when we got back home to eat dinner together, I had to break the news to her that Chris and I would be going out for a comedy show to see Kumail Nanjiani that evening, so her former teacher/babysitter would be coming to watch her. Unlike last week when she took the news in stride and confidently said she’d show her babysitter her toys and books, this time, she stuck her lower lip out and looked like she was going to cry.

“I don’t WANT mummy to go out and see friends!” Kaia yelled. She always thinks that when Chris and I go out without her, it’s “to see friends.”

Then when the babysitter arrived, Kaia got really upset and started balling. She was sobbing like crazy, demanding endless hugs and kisses from both of us. She kept pulling my leg and saying she wanted to come, too. Chris explained to the babysitter that Kaia hadn’t seen me since Monday morning, and I’d literally just come back about two hours ago. So Pookster only got to see me for less than an hour before I’d leave again. I felt terrible, but there was nothing else to be done. We went out, and Kaia had the evening with the babysitter.

When we got back from our comedy show, the babysitter told us that Kaia eventually calmed down, but she didn’t want to play or read or do anything with her. She lied on our bed for a bit, cuddling “mummy’s sweater.” Then, she demanded the babysitter change her into her pajamas. She got help with peeing in the potty, then went straight to bed alone. I suppose this is Kaia’s way of coping as a three-year-old, when she’s upset she doesn’t get mummy and daddy, but she doesn’t have a say in the matter.

Kaia stayed in her bed until just past 4am, when she walked into our room with her goodie bag and overalls (current obsession, thanks to Ms. Rachel), and tapped my face to wake me up. I pulled her into the bed and under the covers, where she held onto me tighter than she ever has before. It almost felt like she thought that the tighter she held onto me, then I’d never leave her side again. For a while, I just looked at her little face as she peered into my eyes with this huge grin. My baby was so happy to see me and be with me again, and I felt so touched. These are those moments of motherhood where I just feel like I’m going to melt into a pool of joy. These are the moments I look at her and think, wow. I’m just in awe of how someone so small and sweet can fill my heart with such immense love. Kaia Pookie is truly my greatest blessing and joy. I hope she always knows that. I remind her every day before bed.

Later this morning, once Kaia was all ready for school, Chris asked me what time Kaia came over. I told him. “You have to send her back!” he insisted. The last two nights, she apparently didn’t come to the bed at all while I was away. But given it was already past 4am, and given I hadn’t seen her since Monday, I indulged her and enjoyed the moment of snuggling with my sweet baby. Of course, I want to set boundaries with her, but other times, I just want to enjoy the moment and let my Kaia Pookie enjoy her safe place, which is in her parents’ bed, right in between the two people she loves the most.

Fashionista – everywhere in the U.S. except in New York City

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I’ve been called a lot of adjectives, positive and negative, over the course of my life. But “fashionable” or “trendy” are not words that I had ever been called until I started working at my last company. When I used to travel to my last company’s headquarters in San Francisco, I would usually be the most dressed up person in a meeting or conference room. I’d walk through a sea of hoodies, Patagonia fleeces, or North Face pullovers. This was also the case while walking on the streets of downtown San Francisco. It’s almost as though no one even attempted to look nice for work and just wanted to give the “I don’t care what I am wearing” vibe off. Everyone just wanted to look like everyone else! It wasn’t even like I was wearing expensive or tailored clothing; I’d just happen to be wearing a dress or a skirt, and everyone would shower me with compliments on how pretty my outfit was. Then, at my current company, we had a team offsite last year in San Francisco. On my team, I was voted one of the most fashionable, which I found laugh-out-loud funny, as that could not be farther from the truth.

I was reminded of this when I went out for coffee yesterday morning in downtown Denver with a colleague. We were at a coffee shop and grabbed our lattes when they were ready. And as we walked out, a woman almost chased me out to tap me on my shoulder.

“Hey! Sorry to bother you, but I absolutely love your boots!” the woman nearly squealed. “Where did you get them from? They are so cute!”

I thanked her for the compliment and told her that they were from Nordstrom and are actually Nordstrom brand, and I’d purchased them last year during a Black Friday sale. Unfortunately, I couldn’t say I got them from some exotic, foreign place custom made and designed, though I’m sure that would have sounded very impressive. She thanked me for letting her know, and my colleague and I went on our merry way back to our workshop.

“No one ever thinks I am fashionable in New York,” I told my colleague from Texas. “I am only ‘fashionable’ when I go to other U.S. cities!”