Grocery bagger’s integrity

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I was at Patel Brothers in Jackson Heights this morning picking up a few Indian grocery staples before getting some work done at a cafe and then meeting a friend for lunch in the area. At the cash register, one worker was ringing all my items up, while a second was bagging my groceries with my canvas bags. The Indian male worker who was bagging my groceries was likely in his 70s or 80s; he was short, had a bad back with his very visible hunch, and was slowly bagging each item into my first canvas bag. After all my items were rung up and I paid, I thought I would help speed things up given there was someone behind me who was about to be rung up, and we could get done quicker if we both bagged the items. The grocery bagger gazed up at me sternly but grandfatherly, shook his head and wagged his finger with a smile on his face to indicate to me that he didn’t want me bagging my items, and motioned for my second canvas bag to fill it with my items. I let him finish slowly bag up the rest of my items, thanked him, and departed. He gave me a slow smile and a wink on my way out.

I don’t know why, but on my walk over to the cafe, I kept thinking about this guy. He didn’t say anything to me; I’m not even sure if he spoke English. But what’s clear is that he took his job seriously and had a lot of integrity. He knew that if I helped bag my own items, it would have been quicker; two is always faster than one. But he really didn’t want me to do it. And it made me think about integrity. I am not sure what he did for a living before bagging groceries at Patel Brothers, but I am willing to bet that as a little boy, he didn’t dream about bagging groceries in his 70s and 80s. Yet what I also think is true is that given this is his current chosen job, he just wants to do the best possible job he can because he actually cares. And frankly, not everyone cares enough to do the best possible job they can at any job today, especially ones that are higher in pay or prestige elsewhere.

The world of chicken soup

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Every culture on earth likely has their version of the restorative, soothing, and homey chicken soup. In the U.S., it’s oftentimes made with a mirepoix (carrots, celery, and onion), lots of shredded chicken, and egg noodles; this is what you picture when you think of a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. A Jewish version may basically be this, but instead of egg noodles, it would have large, fat, airy, fluffy matzo balls (which I love and even craved while pregnant with Kaia). In China, chicken soup has endless variations, but the most basic ones just simply have some ginger or garlic added; the version made for postpartum confinement is made with rice wine, Chinese red dates, lots of ginger, and plenty of chicken and collagen from the bones. In Vietnam, pho ga is extremely popular, flavored with charred onions, ginger, and whole cilantro stems, spiced with delicate fennel seeds.

And then there is Thailand, where, when westerners think of Thai soup, they immediately think of tom yum goong, with its red tinged broth and big prawns. What’s actually more common in Thai home cooking, though, is the favored and beloved tom kha gai, or Thai chicken coconut galangal soup. I’ve been trying to make more soups this year, and this soup naturally seemed to fit on the list of things we’d like to enjoy at home. Other than having a strong chicken stock base and coconut, the soup primarily relies on fresh herb infusions, primarily thinly sliced galangal (of course, given the “kha” in the name), pounded lemongrass, bruised makrut lime leaves, and sliced chilies.

I had all of these items except for the galangal stored in my freezer. So I went down to Chinatown to look for galangal, knowing this would be harder to find. I popped into Hong Kong Supermarket, where very occasionally I had seen galangal before, but it was usually a rare item. When I couldn’t find it, I asked one of the workers in Chinese if they had galangal (in Chinese, it’s pronounced “gao liang jiang”). He responded, “Galangal? We’ve had it before. But I don’t think we have it today. Why don’t you use ginger instead?” and then pointed over to the massive ginger pieces on the shelf.

This guy was clearly Chinese and not southeast Asian at all. No Southeast Asian would ever, ever say that galangal could be replaced by ginger. It’s a totally different world of flavor!! I ended up going to a small Thai shop on Mosco Street to source my galangal instead. And that trek was worth it.

I made the tom kha gai soup today, which came together really quickly, and it was even more delicious than I had envisioned. It tasted soothing, comforting, creamy, and very fresh because of all those fresh herbs. This soup was like the embodiment of everything I love about Thai cooking. As I was sipping it and picking out pieces of woody galangal, I thought about how my Thai cooking journey started, and it was all because of Hot Thai Kitchen. When I first moved to New York and lived in Elmhurst, I was surrounded by endless authentic and delicious Thai restaurants. I marveled at all the different herbs and spices and thought it would be too complicated to make at home. And now 17 years later, with Hot Thai Kitchen’s guidance and expert explanations, I’m making Thai food semi regularly now, and it’s not daunting at all! It’s the evolution of my cooking knowledge and skills thanks to some amazing sources like Hot Thai Kitchen’s Pailin that make their cuisines so approachable and easy to understand.

“Nosey, facey, huggie, kissie”

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Since Kaia was a baby, she’s always been affectionate and craved affection. We’ve been giving hugs and kisses often and always, and we’ve always communicated that via English and Chinese. When she crawls into our bed in the wee hours of the morning now, she will demand “Cuddle! Cuddle!” to me, which I find very sweet and endearing, but Chris insists is controlling and manipulative. Well, potato, po-TA-toe!

But what is really cute is that she’s also embraced what I call “face kissing,” “nose kissing,” and “eye kissing.” “Face kissing” is basically what you see lions do with each other — they rub their cheeks against their young or loved ones as a sign of affection. “Nose kissing” is rubbing one’s nose against the other, as though you are shaking your head, just with your noses rubbing. And “eye kissing” is getting your eye closed and close to the other person’s eye and rubbing it. I am working on getting her to do “eyelash” kisses, but we’re not quite there yet. She loves doing these three types of “kissing” along with regular kisses and hugs. And she’s even gone ahead and renamed them: nose kissing is now “nosey,” face kissing is “facey.” She also added an “eee” sound to hugs and kisses, so when we are leaving each other, she asks for “huggie!” and “kissie!”

I love her excitement at these little signs of affection, and I love even more how she renames them to things that she likes. I thought about all the words she has mispronounced since starting to speak at about age 9-10 months, and I think about the bits of sadness I felt when she started saying the words correctly. It really made me feel this one Instagram post that said this:

“One day, they mispronounce a word in the cutest way, and you never want to correct it. Then, without a warning, they say it right. And just like that, a tiny piece of childhood slips away.”

I still remember (and luckily, have video recordings of her saying) words like “bluey” for blueberry, “manga” for mango, and even the way she used to say, “ah- MO!” for “more.” I don’t even remember the time she switched from “ah-MO!” to a properly pronounced “more?!” But I loved every minute of it. And now, I love that she actually knows she’s not saying the “right” words, but in fact, she’s aware we’re “making up” words for these cute things we do together, like “facey” and “nosey.” These little moments make me unbelievably happy, like so happy sometimes that I feel I could burst. Sometimes, I really just cannot believe how lucky I am to have these sweet little human in my life. Every time I think that, I realize (and think) how crazy that is given people get pregnant and give birth to babies literally every single day. But I know I am still lucky regardless, because knock on wood, Kaia is healthy and happy and growing, and I am privileged to be her mama.

King Arthur flour on sale at Whole Foods

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Before my love of cooking was my love for baking. As a young child, I baked lots of breads, cakes, and cookies with my aunt in her warm upstairs kitchen. When we made bread, it was oftentimes “healthy” quick breads like zucchini bread or carrot bread. At some point during my childhood, my dad got a bread maker, and he’d occasionally make a rounded loaf and have it be part of our dinner. It was always a similar flavor and texture, and while I liked it, I always preferred homemade bread that was a bit more free form. When I got to my teen and college years, I started experimenting with commercial yeast and would make a number of different breads, ranging from sweet Portuguese bread, fougasse and focaccia, challah, brioche a tete, cinnamon rolls, and even sticky buns. I always felt very enthralled and stimulated during this process. There is something very magical that happens when you can see your yeast bloom, and then watch as your bread dough grows and rises and bubbles. It’s almost like your little yeast baby that you made from a bunch of flour, water, and yeast. It feels as though you are giving “life” to something.

Although my pandemic era fascination with sourdough starters was very short lived, as I didn’t have the patience to nurse a starter (and had even less patience to deal with the starter discard, as I didn’t want to throw food away, nor did I want to eat as many bread products as using up starter discard would warrant), I realized that for me, homemade bread would always require commercial yeast. I love the freshness and flavor of naturally leavened bread, but I’d have to leave that to the pros. After making my last two loaves of challah in the last couple weeks, I realized my all purpose flour supplies were dwindling, and they needed to be restocked. And then this week, Whole Foods had a King Arthur flour sale; I hadn’t bought King Arthur flour since the pandemic! They are known for having some of the highest quality, unbleached flour in the country, and for having consistent and higher protein levels, which produce greater gluten development, which results in higher quality bakes. I picked up their organic bread flour and organic all-purpose flour today — five pounds of each. As I walked home, I felt excited and alive knowing that more delicious bread and baked goods would come as a result of this ten-pound haul.

The “right” way to make stock/bone broth

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If you do a quick search online for how to make chicken stock/broth/bone broth, you”ll see that there are endless tips and tricks, recipes, and recipes that claim to be the “best.” What very few of them will do is share that, well, there’s really no “best” bone broth recipe. Is it really necessary to add vinegar to your bone broth process to further “pull” out the nutrients from the bone marrow into your stock? Do you need to do a mirepoix (combination of chopped carrots, onions, and celery) to make the most flavorful stock base? Are onions a “must” in any chicken stock? The answer to all the above is “no,” and “it depends.” All global cultures have their version of bone broth/stock, and every version brings a different type of “delicious” to their culture’s food. When I was recently reading about the popular Thai soup tom kha gai or Thai chicken galangal coconut soup, Hot Thai Kitchen warned to absolutely NOT use chicken stock from a can/carton from your average Western grocery store because it would not have the right flavors for a Thai soup. Instead, she suggests making your own very simply with a few ingredients. A lot of people would be confused by what she means. What she’s saying is that the mirepoix mentioned above, which is usually considered key in ideal western chicken stocks, would not work here, nor would flavorings like oregano, thyme, rosemary, or the related that are oftentimes added to western stocks. Typical Asian-based stocks would be nothing more than the chicken itself, occasionally garlic and ginger, sometimes some onion, daikon, cilantro and scallion stems, and that’s it!

I made my Asian-based stock just like this today, with chicken bones, some chicken drumsticks, slices of ginger, a few smashed cloves of garlic, some frozen cilantro and scallion stems, daikon, onion, and peppercorns. And it turned out the way it always turns out: rich, golden, full of collagen, and fragrant. I’m planning to use it for tom kha gai, maybe some future tom yum goong, and likely a third Chinese or Thai soup. Stock is the basis of all good cooking, and in this house, we definitely lean Asian with our flavors.

Coworking spaces in New York City are not all created equal

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Since I started using my coworking space work perk last October, I’ve only visited one coworking space, which is The Malin SoHo, just an eight-minute walk from Kaia’s school in Chinatown. It has a great location, near lots of food and shopping, and of course, its proximity to Chinatown. The space is clean, premium, with lots of lighting, healthy snacks, proper kitchen setups, a fancy coffee machine, and upscale soaps and lotions in the bathrooms and kitchens. Although initially I found the clientele a bit snobby, I’ve gotten used to the vibe there and found areas that I camp out in, so I’m pretty settled in there. Now, I go about once a week, so the staff always recognizes me.

I was planning to meet a friend for lunch today in Nomad, and I figured I’d check out a new coworking space in the area given the lunch location. I chose a space called Nomadworks, which is walking distance from Madison Square Park, Flatiron, and Koreatown. The booking fee, which my company pays but I can see, is less than half the cost of The Malin SoHo. I took a quick look at its listing on the coworking space booking app, and it seemed fine. So, I booked it on a whim the day before.

I came in and immediately felt the difference. The coworking space is essentially a bunch of open tables with outlets and monitors you can use. There’s an option for standing desks upon request. A handful of phone booths are available for private calls. The “kitchen” has no sink or fridge, though the description in the app said it had a fridge. A few bags of Doritos were at the entrance upon coming in. There’s premade drip coffee for all, which I’d never dare to have because I am 1000% sure it’s revolting. Oddly enough, there’s a variety of several loose leaf teas. There are little compostable paper bags for you to use a teaspoon to measure your tea leaves into, and then you close the bag with a drawstring on top. I used the China jade green tea, and I really think the bags gave an off flavor to my tea. I did not enjoy it and just ended up having hot water because I wanted a hot beverage, but did not want to deal with weird tea bag off-flavor or awful drip coffee.

The space also has rare rooftop access, which I will check out shortly before I leave for the day.

I texted Chris about this, and told him that at least the staff is very friendly and nice, and there’s ample natural light. He responded: “Of course they are friendly. What else do they have when they don’t even have a sink? Sounds like some shitty studio apartment in some dump.”

This type of response is one of the many reasons I truly love my husband.

Marriage longevity: what also makes you take your partner for granted

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When I think about relationships, life, and the longevity of relationships, I think a lot about evolution. Yes, a lot about people, perspectives, and relationships remain the same, but what is more interesting to me is how people in long-term partnerships evolve together and somehow still manage to stay together — and actually stay happy together. Plenty of people stay in marriages and long-term partnerships and are miserable. Some stay because of the appearance of being coupled up or for financial reasons. Others stay due to laziness of restarting a new life. But regardless, the ones who remain together and are happy are always the ones I think about.

In the beginning of romantic partnerships, you’re generally trying to be on your best behavior. You don’t fart in the other’s presence. You tread lightly when calling out the other’s foibles or things they are absent minded about. Then as your relationship progresses, you get more comfortable being more honest and blunt with each other. You transition to becoming more open to disagreeing freely with them and arguing. You don’t hesitate to call out their mistakes and flaws, in hopes that they will realize how this impacts you and change… and then you get frustrated because instead of seeing how whatever quality/trait/habit negatively impacts you or your shared space, they double down and get defensive, attacking back. In the beginning, you’re always thanking each other, openly expressing gratitude, greeting each other warmly. Once you get comfortable, maybe even too comfortable, you barely say “thanks” in any noticeable form when they do something thoughtful for you, and you’re lucky if they greet you warmly and even look you in the eye when you enter the home after a while apart. This is what happens as you spend too much time with each other; you naturally just take the other for granted and just expect they will always be there for you — just like you do with your parents or siblings.

So, all of this is funny to me because while Chris has definitely improved with getting constructive feedback from me (I mean, it only took about 13 years…), to this day, he still does not seem to comfortably accept compliments from his wife. He always denies or deflects, says he’s a “regular person,” or sometimes just flat out tells me that I must be out of my mind. Here’s a case in point: I was discussing a story about a friend who is in a relationship that I think is like a slow-moving car crash, and there was nothing I could do to stop or help it. I was expressing that they had no plan. And Chris said to me, some people just follow others blindly and just don’t think or plan for the future at all. And that’s just sad, he said. We’re all adults living in the same world, so why do people do this?

So then I thought about it for a bit, and then I responded, “Well, Fuzzy, I love you. I know that you think through things a lot. So, I’d trust you wherever you took us. If you suddenly decided that you wanted to get up and move to a remote farm somewhere in the middle of France, then I’d be up for it.” Fuck this dumb ass country and these dumb people here!

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” Chris exclaimed in response. “If I get to that point of insanity, you better get a gun and just shoot me in the head!”

Then, he paused, realizing how abrupt his reply was, and said, “That’s a very sweet sentiment. But it’s still insane and would never happen! I would much rather move to Staten Island than move to a fucking farm!”

Welp. It doesn’t seem to matter if I bring up constructive criticism or compliment. Either way, my chosen life partner will not accept it.

Kaia drags her friends and cow costume around all over the house

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Since Kaia was just shy of two years old, she started developing an attachment to her Peter Rabbit stuffed animal. Prior to that, she did not care about any stuffed animal at all. Peter Rabbit traveled with us to multiple places, always at Kaia’s side. Then, she eventually got bored of him and stopped caring. She goes in and out with attachments to random stuffed animals she has, whether it’s Lychee, her rainbow build-a-bear, Irene, her teething bunny stuffed animal, or Simon, a monkey that Chris’s friend got her this last Australia visit. But I’d say that since October of last year, when Chris introduced her to her cow costume for Halloween, that’s when she REALLY got attached to something. That cow costume goes all over this apartment, and she oftentimes will snuggle and sleep with it. When she comes over to our bed at some point in the night, she always, always drags the cow costume over, as well.

Last night, she dragged the cow costume to our bed but forgot about Irene at around 5am when she came over. And she started whining, “Irene! Irene! I want Irene!” She says this expecting that I will go grab it for her. So, I do the mommy thing and go to her room and grab Irene. And then she snuggles both and falls asleep in our bed, right between us, until about 7am.

It’s really cute and sweet to see her attachments to these objects, these “friends” who give her comfort. It’s always a little adventure to see what attachments she has, lets go of, and what she moves onto. It’s one of the little joys of watching her grow up and evolve that I love observing.

Yemeni coffee houses in New York City

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Several years ago, Chris and I were walking along Bedford Avenue in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and we walked into Qahwah Coffee House. It’s a Yemeni coffee house originally from Dearborn, Michigan, and they take their coffee very, very seriously. There are endless types of beans and preparations available, and they also had delicious spiced milky tea options. The pastries and desserts on display looked sweet and appetizing, and the space was quite huge for a regular coffee shop in New York City. Since then, we’ve gone in there a number of times; they’ve also expanded and now have a location in the West Village. A few other Yemeni style coffee shops have since opened across the boroughs, and the latest one I am aware of is Haraz Coffee House. They have a location in Astoria, Queens, and a semi-new location on Spring Street in downtown Manhattan.

I went there to meet a friend on Friday for tea and dessert, and I was shocked at how big it was. There were endless seats and tables, mostly unoccupied at around 2pm. They had a really large selection of tea and coffee drinks, plus pastries and sweets. The service was fast and friendly. They had a restroom (yes!), and the Wi-Fi was complimentary. I had a quick Zoom meeting before my friend came to meet me, and we ordered the saffron adeni tea pot and the Dubai (pistachio) milk cake. The saffron tea was just like an Indian spiced chai, heavy on the saffron and cardamom, which I loved. The serving was quite generous and served beautifully on a big tray. And the milk cake was really soft, moist, bursting with pistachios and nutty goodness. My friend, who is a night owl, marveled over this place before we came, because she said that unlike most coffee shops, this spot actually stayed open until 11pm. I told her it was meant to be a Muslim meetup spot since Muslims traditionally do not drink alcohol, so bars would not be the go-to hangout spot. As we were leaving, the coffee house filled up, but it was a comfortable, clean, and fun place to hang out for a few hours. And as a bonus, I never felt like someone was going to come and rush me out.

I could definitely get used to these types of coffee spots opening all over New York. It’s nice to have a coffee shop that has ample seating and isn’t just a to-go counter.

Toddler cuteness elicits freebies and kindnesses everywhere we go

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The very rare times I encounter rude people in public, whether it’s on the streets or on the subway while with Kaia, I always quickly remind myself that those rude moments, those annoying, un-empathetic people, are the exception to the rule. The vast majority of the time, people are neutral to friendly to over the top kind. Once last week, Chris forgot to refill our OMNY card for the week, and I didn’t realize this. When I take her through the turnstiles, I usually have Kaia duck her head and go under the turnstile, and then I quickly tap to enter. But given the OMNY card wasn’t refilled, it gave me a red error message and said that I could not go through. I immediately realized the card wasn’t topped up, and given Kaia was standing all by herself on the other side of the turnstiles waiting for me, I got nervous she would run off and didn’t feel comfortable going out to look for an OMNY refill kiosk. So I just tapped my phone to pay for a swipe and entered. But that entire time, Kaia realized something was wrong. Instead of running off, she just kept peering over at me, saying several times, “What happened? What’s wrong? It’s not working.” And that whole time, a caring woman inside the station, who had observed the whole situation, lightly hovered over Kaia to protect her and make sure she did not run away from me.

Another day on the subway to school, the train was packed. Kaia wanted to sit on an open middle seat. Both men in the two surrounding seats got up and asked me to sit. I told both of them thank you, but that wasn’t necessarily, and I certainly did NOT need two seats for myself!

Another toddler tantrum occurred just a block away from our apartment earlier this week. Kaia sat on the ground and refused to walk. She said she wanted chocolate and that she was “too tired” to walk. I tried every threat and bribe I could think of over five minutes, but she would not yield. Another kind woman came up to us, clearly coming back home from work, and said hi to Kaia, and suggested that she go home with her. When she tried to pick Kaia up, Kaia screamed and yelled. But eventually, Kaia got up and started walking with me.

I guess in some ways, you could say that these total strangers, these fellow New Yorkers, are like the extended “village” that Chris, Kaia, and I have. We don’t know each other. We likely would never recognize the other if our paths crossed again. But at the end of the day, we’re all people just trying to live our lives to the best of our ability, and that means just being kind when we can to others, even if we don’t know each other. I always think of these moments when people joke or actually say that New Yorkers are rude or mean, or that people must just be out for themselves in this concrete jungle.

Today, while we were out exploring another part of Forest Hills we haven’t seen before, we popped into an Italian bakery so that Chris could try one of their hot cross buns. Like many Italian bakeries, this bakery had a huge spread of beautiful cookies that you could buy and pay for by the weight — it ranged from rainbow cookies, jam-thumb print cookies, to biscotti and the related. Kaia got excited when she saw all the cookies and declared she wanted some. Chris did not take well to this and said, “No cookies,” and walked out with his hot cross bun. Kaia was unhappy and started whining. The woman behind the counter, taking pity on Kaia, told Kaia that she could pick which cookie she liked best, and she would get one. Kaia chose the black and white checkerboard cookie, and when I reached into my wallet to pay, the woman insisted it was on the house. “It’s for sweet baby,” she insisted. “No money needed! I just want to make her happy!”

I wonder when the “toddler/young child cuteness yields free stuff” will end, and when Kaia’s freebies and constant acts of kindness on the part of strangers will end. I hope the latter never ends for her, regardless of her age or the chubbiness of her face.