My company, in an effort to be equitable to all, is giving “Wellness Days” throughout the year as days off for everyone, likely to support us and acknowledge that “life is not normal” in a time of a global pandemic. This Friday is a Wellness Day, and given that Monday is President’s Day here in the US, that means everyone who works in the U.S. for my company will have a 4-day weekend, which will be much welcomed. It’s a really nice gesture, but it’s one that makes me realize that to date, I have not taken a single vacation in the last year, AT ALL. At most, I’ve taken only one day off here or there outside of national holidays or these Wellness Days. And that was just a really depressing thought in my head. Outside of COVID, I always only took time off to travel, and now we cannot really safely (or unselfishly) travel anywhere. It made me further wonder when the heck I’d ever be able to travel for leisure at all… this year or in 2022. That thought is just so sad. We all have so many lost experiences, lost time, lost adventures to mourn. Even if you take out global travel for fun, there’s lost time with our loved ones around the globe, whether that’s in Melbourne or in San Francisco. Each day that passes is another day we could not spend together at all.

I was looking up some recipes to make for another episode of Tastes of Asia, and I decided that Korean kimchi mung bean pancakes would be a relatively easy and straightforward recipe to film, as I already had all the ingredients available at home. What I actually did not realize, though, as I was researching mung bean pancakes, is that this dish is a very common dish that is served during Korean New Year during the Lunar New Year period in Korea, as it’s considered auspicious to eat mung beans to welcome in the new year. I had no idea about this, as while mung beans are certainly eaten in China and in Vietnam, they’ve never really been on a “list” of things that you “must” eat during the new year period in either of my native cultures. But that actually makes it even more timely to film and upload because this can be considered a new year’s dish to make!

I filmed part of another video for my channel today that will be part of the Grandma’s Recipes series. In this episode, we’re making Chinese turnip cake, or Luo bai gao in Mandarin. It’s a common dim sum dish in dim sum/yum cha houses around the globe, and it’s a dish my grandma used to make for us around Chinese New Year growing up. I haven’t really been in the mood to do any videos until today. Lunar New Year is in just two weeks, and I wanted to post a video for the Year of the Ox ahead of schedule.

I think part of the reason I was excited and eager to film this video today is because somehow, even to this day, even when I feel upset or annoyed or just not in the mood to do anything, thinking about the comfort food of my childhood still uplifts me. It’s remembering a simpler, more naive time when my worries about the world were far fewer and less significant, and I somehow was sheltered from most of the ill in the world by family. Those were the days when I could just be excited about food and that was really it. And that was totally fine.

Years ago, when I used to work at a digital agency, I became friends with someone here in New York who eventually moved to Seattle and still resides there now. A generous soul, she would always come back to New York to visit family and friends, and she’d pack bags and bags of Chukar Cherries — these delicious, chocolate/cocoa-covered dried cherries that were locally grown in Washington state. There were the Black Forest cherries, the truffle cherries, the alcoholic chocolate cherries; she wanted to spread the love and deliciousness of this small business in Washington state and all the glory of chocolate covered cherries.

Chris immediately liked these when I brought these home when my friend gave them to us seven years ago, and every time I’d see this friend, he’d inquire about “cherry girl,” or just ask, “Cherries?” So given they were having a Black Friday/Cyber Monday special, I decided to indulge (because, what else is there to spend money on during COVID other than food?!) and buy a box of these cherries. We indulged in them this evening after they arrived, and they tasted just as good as we remember them. It’s my Seattle friend’s lasting legacy with us.

After visiting Ayat NYC yesterday in Bay Ridge, I wanted to attempt to make their baby eggplant dish at home. While in Bay Ridge, I picked up some baby eggplants as well as some Lebanese tahini imported from Lebanon while visiting Falahi Farms market, also owned by the same family that runs Ayat NYC. I’ve always loved tahini, but given we’ve always had limited pantry and fridge storage space, I didn’t want to buy it until I had specific things in mind that I wanted to use it for. And now that I cook more with the current pandemic, it made sense to buy this ingredient, as I’d have more time and opportunities to use it.

But the more I thought about tahini, and the more I spoke with the woman who worked at Falahi Farms, the more I realized that tahini is as versatile as you want it to be. For the Falahi cashier, she shared that she has tahini every single morning on her toast with honey. It’s almost like her peanut butter. But it’s also great in sauces with meat, as well as in salad and vegetable dressings. In the eggplant dish, all you need to do is literally drizzle the tahini over the eggplants, and you’re done. The tahini just needs to be mixed since it tends to get thick on the bottom of the jar.

I posted on Instagram stories that I bought this Lebanese tahini, and someone direct messaged me, insisting I mix the tahini with some olive oil, lemon juice, salt, pepper, and parsley to make “the best salad dressing ever.” That’s the beauty of food: it unites people everywhere.

I’ll be honest and say that I have not always been that open minded about all foods — I’d like to say I’m a work in progress with how I see the world, including food, since I’m always learning new things. For example, I wasn’t always a fan of the concept of “Asian fusion.” Initially, it seemed, in my mind, to be a way to white-wash traditional and delicious Asian dishes, and if it’s not broken, why try to “fix” it? Then, as time passed, I started realizing that “fusion” is not necessarily a “bad” thing, that a lot of our favorite and most beloved dishes, without us realizing it, actually are, by definition, “fusion.” Dishes like banh mi (French married with Vietnamese), hu tieu noodle soup (Vietnamese + Chinese + Cambodian), or ramen (while people like to say it’s Japanese, “ramen” in the Japanese language actually comes from the Chinese words “la mian,” which mean “pulled noodles”) are all things that are actually fusions of different cultures’ foods. Things that are more in-your-face fusion, like Korean bulgogi tacos or Vietnamese burritos, are also just delicious, so why not eat delicious food?

But there is one thing that has really been driving me crazy lately, and that’s seeing quinoa included in everything… like literally everything. I was ready to embrace it when it started becoming popular years ago as a rice/carb replacement, especially since it has a high protein, low carb profile overall. I started making it over the stove initially with broth, then now, in my Instant Pot (in just one minute!). I’ve used it in sweet, breakfast porridges (it’s delicious), and have tried using it even in a higher protein version of masala dosa. Even Chris begrudgingly admitted it was tasty (“but the regular version is better,” he said. Well, he *is* right; when you replace the rice with quinoa, the dosa actually ends up less crispy and more soft).

I was strolling through Whole Foods this late afternoon and noticed it being used as a replacement in “chocolate crispy” treats. For some reason, this really set me off. WHY DOES IT NEED TO BE IN EVERYTHING? WHY? Why don’t we just eradicate bread and rice and just eat all quinoa then??? I’m sure the South American countries who have been eating quinoa for decades or centuries are probably looking at us like we are not only stealing foods from their cultures, but also wondering why we are so insane about what we eat.

So I made Pai’s pumpkin coconut pie… sans the crust, so it’s really pumpkin coconut custard. I really could not be bothered with making a crust, especially since it’s just the two of us, so I stuck with the custard base. Oddly enough, when I put the custard in the oven late this afternoon, it immediately started bubbling like mad, and when I removed it from the oven, craters had developed all over the top. It certainly was not beautiful and glassy like the pie top that Pai had made. I guess I could have used a water bath, but didn’t really think of it at the time. The custard smells heavenly, though; the palm sugar is super caramelly and toasty and comes out even in the scent!

I messaged her via YouTube, and her cameraman got back to me. He confirmed through her that I probably should have used a water bath to ensure even cooking of the custard since I didn’t’t use a crust, plus… apparently, the temperature of the oven was not correct on her recipe. 😀 It’s still an incredible flavor though: I just love the pumpkin with the coconut, and the pandan really sings at the very end. Plus, that palm sugar flavor is unmistakably nutty and caramelly! This is definitely a keeper… once I make the right tweaks to prevent the cratering. At least the coconut chips hide the holes!

One interesting thing about being home all the time now is that we obviously spend a lot of time eating at home, which means I end up having to cook a lot more. Before, when a bottle of soy sauce or fish sauce lasted years, now, it seems like they are getting depleted at lightning speed. I’ve already had to replace my light soy sauce, dark soy sauce, fish sauce, and sesame oil bottle this year, and the new light soy sauce bottle is only half full now.

The plus side, though, of eating more at home is that we do have more control over what we are putting in our bodies since we’re preparing all these things from scratch. We’re likely consuming a lot less salt, fat, oil, and sugar. I’m definitely light handed on the salt in general, and I rarely add as much oil as any recipe calls for since I think it’s usually unnecessary. You’d think that if I were cooking more that I must be happier, but I think this past week, I’ve fallen into a bit of a cooking slump. This week, I feel like I’ve been cooking just to use up random scraps or leftovers rather than because I’m actually enjoying the process. This pandemic could definitely be worse, but the number of COVID cases increasing by day in this wretched country is truly terrifying. I can’t really see the light at the end of the tunnel.

I don’t know why, but unless you are at an ethnic/Asian/Latin grocery store, you probably won’t see hachiya persimmons in the produce section. Maybe it’s because the average Westerner doesn’t have the patience to wait for hachiya persimmons to ripen before eating — who the heck knows? Because of this, for the most part, the only persimmons I’d usually buy each fall would be the fuyu persimmons; these are smaller, flatter, harder, and are eaten skinned and crunchy. These are good, and I do enjoy them, but fuyus really do not hold a candle to hachiyas.

But hachiya persimmons are truly the gem of all persimmons… or rather, the custard or pudding of all persimmons. Persimmons can be much reviled because their skins and flesh are full of tannins, so if you attempt to eat them before they are ripe enough, your mouth will be stung dry, chalky, and surly — not enjoyable or fun. Hachiyas can ONLY be eaten if they are ripe or overly ripe, pretty much mushy inside. You eat them by popping off the green top and cutting out the core in the center, then spooning out all the gooey, deep orange flesh. The flavor is extremely sweet, cinnamon-like honey. Hachiya persimmons are like nature’s (vegan) custard or pudding. It’s no wonder my grandma always loved these each fall season, as she had quite the sweet tooth. She’d buy bags and bags of these from her Chinatown trips, bring them home, and once ripe, dig in. She’d also spoon out plenty of the pudding-like flesh for me to enjoy, too, when I was young. In my mind, I always associate hachiya persimmons with her.