Early on in my time in New York City, I realized that I was in a neighborhood (Elmhurst, and next to another one, Woodside!) that had excellent, authentic Thai food — Thai food that wasn’t extra sweetened with sugar or chili-reduced, but was actually true to the flavors of Thailand. The Thai restaurants of Elmhurst and Woodside do not just have the standard pad thai, pad see ew, or tom yum soup dishes (some actually do not have any of these dishes!), but dishes that regional, super spicy, and unforgiving when it comes to whether you have been exposed only to Americanized Thai food or not.

Today, I went to Elmhurst to have lunch with friends who live in Queens, and we met at a spot called Khao Nom, which I had wanted to try for a while. Part of the reason I wanted to check this spot out was due to its extensive takeout selection for Thai desserts. For the longest time, I had no idea what Thai desserts even were outside of sticky rice with mango, but after living in Elmhurst, I realized that Thai desserts overlap so much with what I was exposed to with Vietnamese desserts — lots of coconut, pandan, palm sugar, fresh exotic fruit (jackfruit! Mango!), and lots of rich flavors. Khao Nom has a large counter in the front where they line up all their desserts which you can take to go. Every day, they have anywhere from 8-12 varieties, and when I entered and saw all these lined up in neat rows, I felt like a kid in a candy shop: I had no idea how to even start narrowing down my selection! All I knew was that I couldn’t leave without fewer than three types.

Today, Khao Nom had kanom buang, which I’d seen frequently on Mark Wiens’s food videos in Thailand: Thai crispy, thin pancakes usually filled with coconut, sweet egg yolk, and even dried shrimp. They had pandan cendol, a cold summer soupy dessert with rich coconut milk and pandan. And just in time for Mid-Autumn Moon Festival at the end of this month, Khao Nom had Thai-style mooncakes. They are very flaky and buttery, filled with mashed mung bean or taro, as well as a small salted duck egg yolk. After much deliberation, I ended up choosing three desserts after our delicious lunch: Thai style taro mooncakes, Tokyo pandan (rolled Thai style pancakes filled with pandan custard), and pandan coconut mini jellies. I loved all three of them.

I was thinking about the vast variety of Thai desserts as I left the restaurant, and I thought: yep. That’s how you know if the area where you are has a high concentration of legit X-cuisine: if they have a BAKERY (or multiple, for that matter!) that can give you these types of treats!

Living in New York City, we are spoiled to have almost every ethnic cuisine on earth represented in this great, big metropolis. Chris and I are also just inherently curious about cultures other than our own, and especially their food, as food is the easiest gateway into learning about another’s culture. While there are certainly many cuisines we have yet to really try, one that we finally tried today was Albanian. And funnily enough, it was in Belmont right off of Arthur Avenue in the Bronx. As I was reading about the restaurant we visited (called Cka Ka Qellu, named after a proverb meaning “what we happen to have”), I found out something funny that I hadn’t even though about before: over 20 years ago, a number of ethnic Albanian refugees fled a genocidal conflict in Kosovo, and a lot of them ended up in New York City working in pizza parlors all over town. This explains why a number of the city’s pizza parlors had other side items like cheese and spinach bureks on their menus; it was the Albanians’ way of introducing a taste of their home to New Yorkers who were originally coming in for a slice of pizza.

We had our main Saturday meal at Cka Ka Qellu and had an assortment of delicious dishes, from tarator, like the Albanian version of tzatziki; fasul, a rich white bean soup; and mantia, which are veal meatballs with a choice of being served in a thick, white yogurt sauce (which we, of course, asked for). This quaint, farmhouse-like restaurant even had a pizza oven up front, baking all their fresh breads from scratch. The bread here was soft, pillowy, and incredibly delicious!

Most people wouldn’t guess we’d trek up to Arthur Avenue for Albanian food, but on this trip, we did. We did make sure to pick up some Italian staples, though, like dried pasta, canned San Marzano tomatoes, Italian pork sausage, and fresh mozzarella.

There are so many delicious things to eat in the world, yet so little time. If only we could try something different and new every day!

A lot of people speculated that after the height of the pandemic was over, people would tire over “athleisure” wear, like sweats, yoga pants, and gym shorts. While I have noticed on the streets that there are certainly more people dressing up, whether that’s for work, meetings, or fun evenings out, I still notice lots of people who dress exactly like I do: t-shirts, workout shorts, sweats (in the colder months), and really DGAF. Because I work from home full time, the most I will do to “dress up” is to wear a little makeup and perhaps change my top into something that is a little less casual. For more “serious” meetings or when there are higher level people on calls, I “dress up” by putting on a collared shirt or a slightly fancier blouse. That’s usually how you know I am making an “effort.” On the bottom, since no one on a Zoom call can see this, I will always be in shorts in the summer, or sweats in the winter. This is how I roll.

I’m very cognizant of this when I go to Kaia’s school for pickup. I notice the other working parents coming in, likely from an office, in their business or business casual attire. I also notice the ones who likely work from home or freelance wearing t-shirts and shorts like me. The owner of the daycare asked me if I worked remotely full time or was hybrid when he first met me. He obviously knew it was one or the other, and I definitely was not full time in the office just based on how I was dressed — then in shirts and a very casual t-shirt. But now that I work from home and am a mother at that, I genuinely will always prioritize comfort over fashion.

I was excited about my pizza outing with my friend visiting last night, but what could have equally gotten me just as excited was the fact that I knew Scarr’s had crazy long lines, but I had somehow snagged a dinner reservation at a prime dinner time. Most of the people who want to eat here are just getting a slice since Scarr’s was originally a slice shop, but hey: who DOESN’T want a place to sit down and enjoy that slice? So when I took the train downtown and walked a few blocks to the restaurant, I was eagerly anticipating a long line, which definitely was in front, when I entered the restaurant. I immediately bypassed the line and tried hard not to make eye contact with anyone in line and walked right in to the host. She asked if I had a reservation, and I told her my name, and to my surprise, she actually seated me right away even though my friend wasn’t with me (she was running late). I took a look at the menu and at the people dining around me. It was actually quite empty, so I wasn’t sure how “booked” this place was according to Resy. A couple of two tops had couples dining around me, plus one family with kids in the single-digit age range. My friend finally came about half an hour later, and she was so ecstatic at the fact that she ignored the long line snaking outside and joined me so quickly. “This is the best New York pizza experience!” she exclaimed.

Ten to fifteen years ago, I would have been happy to wait in that line. I figured then that it was just a right of passage, something you did when you wanted to eat the latest new, trendy thing in New York City. But now, having been in New York over 15 years and having a little toddler running around, my patience has waned. If I can get a reservation, I will check way in advance if I need to so I never have to wait in some crappy line. Many restaurants won’t allow reservations when they are new, but eventually, they will cave in and allow them. And when that does happen, you can count me in on checking the reservation list.

A friend of mine is visiting from San Diego from work for a meeting that was last minute, so I’m meeting her for dinner on the Lower East Side tonight. Since Pookster was born, I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve actually gone out for dinner without her. So it always feels a little funny when I think about “going out” at night. I’m so used to being a homebody, both given I work from home full time, and I have a young child, so it’s not unusual for me to not only eat dinner by 5:30, but be in my PJs by 6:30 or 7, and be in bed or on the couch after she’s asleep by 8:30. We’re not meeting late by anyone’s definition, as our dinner reservation is at 5:45, but somehow, it still feels a bit novel to me.

I am excited for where we are going, though. After a few months of reading about them, I’m finally going to try Scarr’s Pizza, which is supposedly one of the best pizza places in all of New York now. As I made the reservation and reviewed the menu, I started remembering that this used to be my weekly life: I’d spend so much time reading about restaurants and what was interesting and planning where to go, but I don’t do much of that anymore. In fact, now I feel very behind when it comes to knowing where all the new or “trendy” places are. So now, I get to do a little bit of what I’ve always loved — tonight!

About three years ago, these strange, large, spotted black and red flies started appearing in Manhattan. I started noticing them during my walks up to Trader Joe’s. They were hard to miss: they were literally flying everywhere in droves, and oddly, they love to hang out low to the ground. As I’d pass by our sister building two blocks away on my walk up to 72nd Street, I noticed that there were splatters of dead bodies all over the sidewalk. You knew they were the bodies of these dreaded spotted lantern flies because the black and red stains were huge, like a mix of some black who-knows-what and blood, or perhaps even appearing like ketchup. Porters of buildings would be cleaning the sidewalks, attempting to sweep and scrub these corpses off their sidewalks and off the walls of their properties. It was absolutely hideous.

These little scum flies came to New York from Pennsylvania and then New Jersey, but they are originally from China. While spotted lanternflies are harmless to humans, they are an invasive species that can apparently cause widespread economic harm by damaging some of our most beloved plants. They feed on the sap of more than 70 plants, and so they pose a huge threat to species like vineyards. They are also not going away anytime soon; they reproduce at ridiculously fast rates and in large numbers at a time. Spotted lanternflies are essentially the cockroaches of flies. Every single day I leave our building, I constantly am watching people dodge them, squash and kill them, and wipe and scrub them off buildings and sidewalks. It’s this never ending state of nastiness of these disgusting bugs and their invasion onto our daily turf.

After my haircut this morning, I went down to Chinatown to pick up some groceries and goods. Whenever I go to specific stores or street carts over the last 15 years of living in New York City, the vendors and workers have always addressed me the same way by calling me “mui mui” or “moi moi” (Cantonese or Toisan for “little sister,” which is how a younger woman/girl is addressed in a semi-affectionate/friendly manner). Usually when you get older, people will either call you “jie jie” (big sister) or even “tai tai” (married woman). But that’s never happened to me in any Chinatown I’ve visited, whether it was 15 years ago or now. The funny thing I did notice between 2008 and 2019 when I visited Vietnam was that in 2008, everyone addressed me as “little sister” there, but in 2019, everyone addressed me as “big sister,” so clearly in their eyes, I was “older” the second time around.

I was meeting Chris for lunch and wanted to try a place that had been on my list but I hadn’t eaten at yet, so I chose S Wan Cafe, a hole-in-the-wall Hong Kong style cafe that had been around forever, but was a true “locals” joint; everyone in there was speaking either Cantonese or Toisan, and they were all older than me. There were barely four tables in there, and the vast majority of people ordering were doing takeout. When Chris came in, he realized how “local” and no-frills it felt, and he said he was adding diversity to the place as the only non-Chinese person there. I told him that I was adding diversity because I was younger. He kind of scoffed at me and said that I wasn’t actually much younger than some of the women in there, who could easily have been in their mid forties if not even younger. I retorted back, okay, maybe, but I look younger than most of the people here!

That’s the thing, though. Even though at heart, I don’t feel old, and I certainly look and sound younger than I am, the truth is that yes, I am getting older every day like everyone else. I’m 37 years old and quickly approaching “middle age.” In Chinatown for whatever reason, I rarely think or feel this because of how I am treated and addressed. But then I thought: how would I get treated if people actually did realize I wasn’t some 20- or early 30-something year old person, and I was actually in my late 30s and quickly approaching my 40s? Would the treatment actually get better or worse? Would there be any deferential treatment at all? I’m not sure.