Roasting “whole” chickens, bones, and stock

After 2.5 years of never buying any whole chicken, I finally got a whole, organic, air-chilled chicken from Whole Foods this past week since it was on sale. Nowadays, I always chuckle a little to myself thinking about “whole chickens” in the U.S. because when you buy a “whole chicken,” it is never really whole unless you are getting it alive or directly from a farm and asking for it to be presented to you in a certain way. What I mean is: if you pick up a whole chicken at Albertson’s, Whole Foods, Trader Joe’s, or a related grocery store chain, your “whole chicken” will have no head, neck, or feet attached. All the organs will be removed. And of course, it will be completely de-feathered. If you buy a non-kosher bird, you’ll likely have a little wax packet on the inside cavity of the bird that contains its heart and neck. Our experience of buying a “whole chicken” in the U.S. is so far removed from, say, how people buy “whole chickens” in Asia. I remember going through different markets in countries from Vietnam to Thailand to Cambodia and actually seeing the legs, claws, necks, and heads still attached. People would freak out here if they saw those things. While I don’t necessarily have any desire to gut or defeather a chicken I am cooking, I would appreciate having things like the feet still in tact or at least included; all those chicken feet could be gathered for some collagen rich chicken stock, which I always like to make after I roast at least two chickens, save all the bones, and have enough vegetable scraps gathered in my freezer. 

I spatchcocked my chicken, removing the back bone and flattening the body, and roasted it for 45 minutes undisturbed. While it roasted, I made an au jus with the chicken neck I cut up, along with some mirepoix, water, and my remaining dry sherry I use for cooking. I reduced it and strained it. And we had the chicken. I forgot after all this time how satisfying it was to roast a whole bird (“whole” in the American sense). I realized how much I missed doing this more semi-regularly and accumulating all my roasted bones for stock. Most of the stock I’ve made this year have been vegetable or bean based, plus a couple dashi batches I made from seaweed and bonito I got from a Japanese market. I made a mental note to make chicken stock more regularly next year. 

Friends you make in your youth vs. friends in your adulthood

One of my good friends from my last company has been in town this week for work, so I met her for breakfast this morning after over a year of not seeing her. We talked a lot about work, the tech industry in general, layoffs and disguised PIPs (“performance improvement plans”), health insurance, politics, and family. I still remember when I met this friend over a Zoom call for the first time about seven years ago. I had been at the company for about six months; she had started a few months after me. But as soon as we started talking, I knew we clicked. It was like love at first conversation. I remember loving the sound of her boisterous laugh and loving how unrestrained it was. We were both loud, opinionated, laughed a lot, and loved food, cooking, and travel. She was like my West Coast equivalent on my team at the time. And since then, we’ve always confided in each other regarding all the work bullshit and hypocrisies around us. We no longer work at the same company, but we’ve stayed in touch. She’s one of a small handful of former colleagues from my last company who I still chat with and see. 

I was thinking a lot about friends I’ve made in my adulthood vs. friends I’ve made in childhood (K-12), and especially thinking about friends I’ve made in the last seven or so years of my life. The friends I’ve made in adulthood, as you’d predict, have values that more align to what I have. Relatively speaking, they are no-nonsense, ‘say what they think and mean’ people and don’t really tolerate much bullshit. They don’t say something to your face and say something different behind it. My good friends from childhood avoid confrontation like the plague; my adulthood friends confront stupid shit head on and stop it before it spirals out of control. They’re all striving to do something important with their lives and contribute to society. A lot of the friends I have kept from my childhood days are friends because of legacy; if I met them today, we’d unlikely “click” and become good friends. But I think all that is to say that different friends serve different purposes in your life. The friends you meet today and spend at most a couple hours a month with are less likely (due to time constraints) to reach the same comfort level of friends you’ve spent literally hundreds of hours with during your childhood; the context is just different. I’m lucky to have a happy and healthy selection of friends from both childhood and adulthood to keep me grounded. 

New friends in your 30s – an investment of time and energy

This late afternoon, I met up with a new friend I met at the Sambal Lady’s Rendang Hang in mid October. While that event was fun and the food was delicious, I had to balance all the food and the bits of socializing with running around and making sure Kaia didn’t get her hands on anyone’s beer or ended up tearing all of Auria’s plants up. Kaia’s silliness and running around led me to the table of this friend that I ended up meeting with today. She clearly liked children, seemed friendly and outgoing, and like she could be someone I’d get along with. So after some chatting interspersed with running after Kaia, I suggested we exchange contact information (on Instagram first, just in case she thought I was some freak) and maybe meet up in the future. 

We met at a cafe in Nolita and had house-blended ube lattes while discussing the election, politics, life in multiple parts of the world, familial expectations, mental and physical health, college, work, family, and travel. We really packed a lot into almost 2.5 hours of conversation. I found the conversation really stimulating, like the kind of conversation I wish I had more of but don’t have the opportunity to have as much as I’d like given my remote work situation, child rearing, and general life responsibilities. Part of it is that I find it refreshing and stimulating to chat with people who work outside of my tech industry bubble; I learn about industries I have little to no exposure to, and that is always enjoyable and humbling to me. But the other part of it is that I love meeting people who have had very different experiences than my own in general. My friend has lived in four different countries throughout her life, and so she brings an interesting perspective to U.S. politics and also just life philosophy. 

I’m turning 39 in a couple months, and many would already consider me “middle aged.” As I’ve gotten older, especially into my 30s, I’ve realized how much harder it’s been to make friends. We don’t have the endless amounts of leisure time we once had while in school or during summers or school breaks. So now, when I meet people who I find genuinely interesting, even if it’s for just a few minutes, I’ve realized I should take the leap and suggest meeting up for a coffee or meal. The worst thing that could happen is they say no or ghost me, and well, I’m tough and confident enough in my own skin now to not let that bother me if it were to happen. Life is short, and I’ve thought about that more so at two specific junctures of my life: when Ed died, and then after I gave birth to Kaia. Our time should be spent with people we care about who we respect and want to spend time with, people who make us feel full and full of life. So, that’s what I am trying to do with the few new friends I have been lucky to make in the last several years — make a real effort to be in touch with them and spend time with them, getting to know them deeply. 

Losing hair – the areas of concern for aging men and women

While on a customer call with a colleague this morning, we waited for our customer to join and made some small talk. My colleague asked how Kaia was doing since I told him that I had to pick her up early at school the previous day due to a fever she had. I shared with him that she was at home with us today, and Chris and I were tag teaming between meetings to care for her. He laughed and said, “Yeah, it never gets easier. And my kids are the reason I have bags under my eyes that won’t go away and far less hair on my head!” 

I told him that while all that may have a hint of truth to it, he and the male species were not alone in their hair loss. While men lose the hair on their head, women start losing hair in our eyebrows, I lamented. I was certainly not immune to this. In fact, I remembered that at some point in my mid-30s, I started plucking my eyebrows far less frequently… because the hairs just weren’t growing back, or were growing back far more slowly. I’d never had thick, well defined eyebrows in my life, but once my mid-30s hit and then pregnancy and childbirth, it’s like it’s been all downhill for my eyebrows ever since. 

He chuckled at my comment. “Yeah, but at least with women, you can just draw them back on and it can still look natural. Men can’t draw back the hairs on their head and make it look believable!” 

Well, touche. He wins. 

Kaia jumps into the water

On Sunday and Monday, Kaia had swim lessons on back-to-back days since we had to schedule a makeup class from last month. I took her to class on Sunday while Chris had a dentist appointment, and Chris took her to the makeup class on Monday. In the last month, she recently graduated from level 2 swim to level 3 swim, which some people remark and (half) joke that it could be considered more of a “graduation” for parents than the kids: once level 3 starts at British Swim School, the caretaker/parent no longer needs to be in the water with the child. The child has to clear several requirements, though, including being able to float on their back unassisted (the instructor keeps their hand under their back just in case) and being able to not cry/be content without the caretaker/parent in the water. 

Chris got a really good video of Kaia jumping into the water on Monday. The instructor asked her to jump in, and seconds later, without even a hint of fear on her face, she simply jumped in, then rotated onto her back on command from the teacher. Her usual teacher was doing admin work that day at that pool, but he’s in the background of the video watching. When she eagerly jumps in, his whole face breaks out into a huge grin. Clearly, Chris and I are not the only ones proud of Kaia Pookie! 

I played the video several times and marveled over her bravery and eagerness in the water, and she’s not even three years old yet. I feel so happy and proud that she’s done so well with swim lessons so far and that she’s quite fearless overall. I was never as lucky as she was when I was her age to have swim lessons this young. I didn’t even learn to swim until I was 15, and to this day, I’m still terrified of open and/or deep water. In my summer swim classes I took after sophomore year, I never graduated from free-style swim strokes to diving. So I’ve never properly learned to dive either. Even though I didn’t have those things, I’m so happy to give Kaia the opportunity to have what I didn’t have. I can live vicariously through my baby. And I’m also grateful she has teachers who are clearly passionate about her achieving swimming mastery. 

Bo kho and lemongrass

I had two pounds of beef chuck leftover in the freezer from a Costco run back in the spring from an original bulk purchase of four pounds of beef chuck cubes. I used the original two pounds for beef rendang using the Sambal Lady’s rendang spice blend. The second two pounds were TBD what I wanted to use it for, but after being reminded of bo kho, or Vietnamese beef stew with lemongrass and five spiced powder, I decided that this would be my next stewed beef dish. 

I’ve had bo kho a few times in restaurants, but I’d never actually made it before despite it being fairly straightforward to make. It’s made with beef chuck cubes, five spice powder, whole spices like star anise, clove, and bay leaf, aromatics like garlic, ginger, and freshly pounded lemongrass, and fish sauce as seasoning. You add carrots and pureed tomatoes for additional flavor and body. It’s braised for several hours until the beef is fork tender and the liquid is reduced down into a thicker liquid, great on top of noodles and rice. Oftentimes, if you order this dish in a restaurant, it will be served with a fresh baguette to dip into the stew juices. 

While I was preparing this dish, I realized that I actually hadn’t purchased any fresh lemongrass since we lived on the Upper East Side. I had forgotten how aromatic and delicious it was. The reason I haven’t bought it is that lemongrass is pretty annoying to prepare. It’s hard, woody, and annoying to chop properly so that you can actually eat it. In this stew, you don’t eat the lemongrass pieces; they need to be plucked out because they’re used just to flavor the stew. I ended up having to spend all this time manually picking out all the pieces after braising so that I wouldn’t have to annoy myself or Chris later with picking it out while eating. 

After several hours of braising and reducing the stew liquid down, I tasted the stew and decided it was done. As I started ladling it into my storage containers last night, I realized that in a time when I feel like I have little control over the world and life events, the few things I do have control over include what I cook and eat. And cooking is something I enjoy all the time, and it especially provides comfort during a time when I feel like the world is loveless. So I will savor this stew tomorrow and try to hope for a brighter tomorrow. 

The reasons to keep fighting

It would be easy to write off the 74 million-plus people who voted for Dipshit and just sit here and be disillusioned… if I didn’t have a child of my own who has to inherit this world and live in it. But now, I’ve been sitting here, reading headlines, different publications, points of view that outline what the Democratic Party potentially did to create the total annihilation it has experienced this past week. Lots went wrong. A lot needs to change with the Democratic Party. A lot needs to change with education and disinformation and how it’s handle and addressed that will not be fixed in the next two, four, or 10+ years. But we have to keep fighting the good fight… even when those against us are just trying to kill us all.

I had the day off from work today for Veteran’s Day, as did Kaia from school. So this morning while Chris was on a call, I took her down to our building’s play room and brought along her favorite bubble machine (which I procured from my local Buy-Nothing group). I watched her gleefully run around with it and spread bubbles everywhere. She giggled, squeaked, and ran around endlessly to spread bubble literally all over the freaking room. I documented her joy through photos and videos. I stopped and just watched her in all her youth and innocence. And I just thought… she deserves a much better world than this. When she is older, how are Chris and I going to explain to her that the first presidential election she was around for, this country elected a convicted felon with a track record for spewing hate? Is this going to teach her that you can get away with literally everything you want as long as you are some rich White man?

This last week, my limbs have all felt heavier. Yet when I check my weight on the scale, I’m the exact same freaking weight. Even walking around and doing day-to-day tasks feels like it’s all been such an effort. But I have to throw myself into life and the future for the sake of my Pookster. I have to set an example for how she should be. The last thing I want is for her to repeat the line that I’ve said about my parents, the line that I read in Julia Child’s book My Life in France, which she wrote about her own regressive father: “He is an example of how not to be.” I’ve done a bit more cooking and food prep. I started reading a book that I’d been on the Libby / NYPL wait list for, for nearly five months, called Against the Loveless World, by Susan Abulhawa. It documents the life of a young Palestinian woman who lives as a refugee in Kuwait, then Jordan, then goes back to Palestine and becomes “radicalized.” I thought the title of the book was quite fitting for my general sentiment the last week, if not moving forward.

The internal family relations continue to deteriorate

My cousin has spent the last several days texting me constantly to complain about our Trump supporting uncle and how consumed with disinformation and conspiracy theories he is. While my cousin is obviously angry and in strong disagreement with our uncle’s political (and well, intellectual) stances), the part he is most consumed by is how he believes our uncle talks to all of us like we’re imbeciles and don’t understand anything about the world. He’s stopped responding to my uncle’s political rants talking down to him and my other cousin. He said he’s likely going to cut him off completely. It’s a fair thing to be upset by, and for the most part, I’ve chosen to ignore it and avoid topics pertaining to politics as a result of it with my uncle. Because like with most of my family, while I love him, I do not like him as a person. Any unbiased bystander who knew what my uncle has done in his life would say that he’s not a good person, as unfortunate as that may sound.

His sexism stems back to his hatred of his mother. He’s made many generalizations about the intelligence of women over the years. For some reason, this is one that stood out to me as the stupidest and most inaccurate: He once said that when a car crash happens, a man and a woman will never have even remotely the same account of the events that led to the crash. A man will tell you how the accident happened, who hit who, from which lane/side, approximate speed. A woman will focus on what the person was wearing, what kind of makeup or hairdo they had, and all the superficial details that don’t have anything to do with the crash. I remember making the comment that I had never heard of anything like that, and he brushed me off, saying I hadn’t experienced enough of these situations.

My uncle has also repeatedly made comments about how much I shop at stores and malls, even though I’ve repeatedly told him that I actually detest shopping and trying on clothes. If you know my shopping habits even remotely, you will know that I hate in person shopping for clothes. And he has repeatedly laughed me off and said, “Suuure, you don’t! All women love to shop!”

As for how he treats other women? He once intentionally poured boiling hot oil over a sewing job that my grandma had worked on for weeks, simply to spite her. He once threw a knife at my grandma. While my grandma spent six months laying on her death bed, he declined all our invitations to visit her. He claimed he went to see her alone just one time in that six months. She was paralyzed on the left side of her body, and he said that when he tried to hold her hand, she barely responded (maybe that’s because she was… paralyzed and could not speak???!). He has accused my mom of stealing with little proof. And the one girlfriend we know lived with him around the time of my grandma’s funeral confided in my aunt and told her that he was verbally abusive to her. He constantly belittled her, told her what to do, and eventually, as everyone saw coming, the relationship ended and she moved out. When I was an adult, I asked my uncle why their relationship didn’t work out. He told me that she was an illicit drug user, and while he tried to get her to quit, she refused. Who knows – that may have been true, but I am sure that the part his ex told my aunt was also true, as well.

My cousin is 17 years older than me, so this year, he is 55. While I’ve always looked at him as a kind, generous, good-hearted person, I have not always looked at him as a particularly deep, introspective person who can see nuance. I saw all these flaws about my uncle ages ago, yet it took all this time for my near-retirement cousin to see all of this just now. I suppose late is better than never.

Family and politics: The nasty gets nastier

People oftentimes wonder why politics divide families. I think it’s quite simple as to why: politics cannot simply be separated from the rest of life unless you identify with an extremely privileged and wealthy class. You may consider your politics personal, but are they? Your political stances reveal what matter to you as a person and how you see yourself in the midst of a society of people. That is telling of your psychology, your sociology, and ultimately how you treat other people in your life and other people you work with and pass by, and in the world. And in many ways, your political stances reveal your life view and your morals.

So when I think about my paternal grandma’s three living children, as in my dad and his younger sister and brother, while they are all very different personalities, they do have these elements in common:

  1. They always assume they know everything and are the smartest person in the room and want to assume you know far less. They can be pretty condescending and make it seem like you have the intelligence of a rock.
  2. They are all wealthy and are extremely cheap, yet all in their own ways.
  3. They are racist and really look down on Black and Brown people in general. My uncle is likely the most racist since he’s extremely anti-immigrants and has spent part of his career oppressing immigrants coming into this country, something he has truly relished and happily shared awful count-by-count anecdotes of during awkward family dinners.
  4. They are all right-leaning/far-right on the political spectrum.
  5. They all had a far less than ideal relationship with their mother.

My aunt and uncle voted for Trump in 2024. My aunt explicitly told my cousin she voted for him for her financial portfolio. I think she is planning to be buried in her coffin with her millions. I am uncertain whether my dad voted since he’s sat out the last couple elections, but if he did vote, it also would have been for Trump since he used to audibly complain about Kamala Harris as San Francisco district attorney.

When you do enough therapy, read about therapy, and interact with enough people who have done therapy, you find out that the majority of people’s ills can be traced back to one thing: their childhood and upbringing. My aunt and uncle hated their mother so much that they decided that they would hate immigrants and people of *other* color than Asian as much as possible. They grew up poor, barely had enough food to eat, and had to take care of themselves because my grandma and grandpa were always working during the day. They are deathly afraid of losing all their money, so that’s why they barely spend any of it and are all sitting on massive cash piles. So, once you combine the woes of a traumatic childhood with a poor education and even worser media literacy, it’s a disastrous equation when it comes to future politics. They will always want less for others than they have for themselves. They see the world as a zero sum game: if others thrive, that must mean I will starve? If others gain, I will have to lose.

My aunt told me many times, over email and in person, “One day, when you have accrued enough wealth and earn enough income, you will also come to your senses and vote Republican.” She admonished me on this topic many times, and I insisted to her that was unlikely to happen. While it may be easy for me or anyone else to simply vote in my own self interest, I recognize that as a citizen of this country and world that the world and this country do not fucking revolve around me or my family. We cannot simply vote for our own self interests, as we all coexist in one world. We all have to contribute to the world to make it a better, kinder, healthier, cleaner place. We have to care about our neighbors, those around us who are different and have less than we do. Because if we do not, then what kind of world are we bringing our children into – a place where everyone simply fends for themselves and we can no longer trust anyone? Who the hell wants to live in a world like that?

I keep seeing people saying that it’s hard to care about the world when you are living paycheck to paycheck and barely able to afford your rent and mortgage. Do these people think that Trump will make them wealthier? Really?!

When your mother decides she has an opinion on politics

I hadn’t called my mom in several weeks. The truth is that I really dislike calling her because we never have anything that is truly substantive to say to each other. We check in on things like health, my work, Kaia, and then… that’s it. The conversation rarely lasts more than five minutes. But it’s five minutes of inanity that I always feel either bored or annoyed by.

When I think back to all the conversations I’ve had and enjoyed with friends’ parents who I respect, with former teachers who I keep in touch with, with people who are a generation or so ahead of me, the conversations were always so fun and thought provoking because there was some semblance of an intellectual exchange, a discussion of ideas. On their part, they always treated me like my opinions mattered, like the things I was learning about and sharing with them were fascinating to them. They made it seem like they also had something they could learn — from me. I never felt like I was being spoken down to, as though my thoughts, opinions, or knowledge were lesser than simply because I was younger. But that’s generally how my parents, and especially my mom, make me feel on the majority of conversation topics. And the most ridiculous thing is: my mom is not educated, worldly, well traveled, or well read. If you gave her a copy of a world map and asked her to identify where the continent of Europe was or even where her home country of Vietnam was, she wouldn’t be able to answer the question. Yet somehow, she always insists she knows more about pretty much *everything* than me simply because she is older and “has wisdom.”

My mom is a Vietnamese American woman, born into a family as the youngest of ten children who was never wanted because she was the youngest and a girl. Because she was a girl, she was seen as worthless. Her mom (her dad died when she was 6) refused to pay for an education for her. She experienced the terrors and pains of the American (Vietnam War), married into a Chinese American family where the matriarch oppressed her and made her feel ashamed for being Vietnamese, and then experienced endless racism, sexism, and classism at her office job, which gave no opportunity for growth, for 26 years. So, while I do not agree with my mom’s internalized sexism and racism, I see where it all stems from. She has experienced so much hatred and oppression from White people who are “above” her on this so-called race ladder that she eagerly delights in putting down anyone “below her” on said ladder who is Black or Brown.

After talking about a bunch of nothing on Tuesday when I called her, she asked me, point blank, if I voted for Trump. “Why would I vote for an incompetent, racist convicted felon?” I responded.

“Why would you vote for that idiot Black lady and not Trump?” she retorted back. My mom doesn’t vote and has never cast a single vote in her entire time being American. And frankly, given how little she knows, it may actually be better she does not vote.

“You know, she’s not an idiot. And why do you have to be so racist and call her an ‘idiot Black lady’?” I said back, as calmly as I could.

“Why can’t I call the Black lady an ‘idiot Black lady?” my mom cackled back. “She’s an idiot Black. She’s stupid. She does no good! She has no face now. NO FACE! What is she going to do now? Nothing! Trump won because he’s better than her! Who wants a Black running this country?”

I have oftentimes thought about the things I would say to my parents if I truly, truly wanted to cut off all contact with them and go nuclear. And in this context, what I would have loved to have said, but refrained from and simply told her that this conversation was done and hung up, was this:

“At least ‘that Black lady’ never drove any of her (step)children to suicide like you did. You are really the one with no face.”

I may not have said it, but I mean every word of that statement.