Boston and other reunions

I visited Melissa and her 2 1/2 year old son Jimmy in Boston just for a weekend when I realized that I was kind of doing a little high school reunion tour during my travels. I didn't go to any of the formally planned ones (what is it, 5 yrs? 10?) but that doesn't mean I'm not interested in what's going on. Of course, because I'm not on Facebook (I know, I know) I was meeting boyfriends and husbands and babies and children for the first time.

Jimmy's one of the older kids in the group, and I measure that by the number of words he has in his vocabulary, which are 3 million. This is one talkative boy. I've included a clip of us waiting at the train station, where he's keeping us updated on the status of the train. The other pictures are from Aug-Sep, where I met up with Sonja, Misty, Kelly and Melyssa somewhere in California.

I also realize that I'm very fortunate to have so many friends who openly trust me with their kids, as I usually shower them with a very no-nonsense sort of unabashed aunty love.

Best thing I've heard so far? From Melyssa T's son Marley: "I love you all day."

see more impromptu reunion pics here

New York, pt.2 September 2010

I find myself to be a confident woman in New York. I am assertive, throw flirty glances, and find myself striding assuredly with a smile for everyone.

I came to New York City determined to look and act like a city girl. I packed only 3 pairs of shoes: cute heels, leather boots, and non-skid work shoes. No slippers, and you know I love my slippers. But honestly, I don’t know how these city girls do it. A full day in heels and I’m ready to cut my feet off. Did I mention that I have flat, wide feet? These heels don't allow for swelling. And then the next full day in boots. Ugh. The skin is being polished off of my scrunched up pinky toe, exposing raw flesh and causing shoe chafing, making me walk slower in hopes that the rubbing will be less painful. Guys, whenever you think some chick in heels is walking by "seductively", it’s probably because her feet hurt. A lot. I swear it.

I came to work the International Chefs Congress, a solid lineup of famous people demonstrating famous things and sharing some of their famous philosophies. I was the lead kitchen volunteer, which basically means I had to coordinate all the ingredients, supplies, and equipment that the various chefs and presenters would need to do their segment. It’s nice to be recognized for working hard and doing your job well, and I got a lot of personal thank yous which gives me such internal satisfaction. I had fun, most definitely, but you know I love running the kitchen. My defining moment, of course, was hearing Suzanne Goin (God, I love her) talk about the balance between chef and mother and wife and boss, and how you’re always going to let someone down. Those are her exact words. She said you’re always going to miss a soccer practice, or not be able to cook at a friend’s wedding, or something, and that’s just part of the deal you accepted.

Is this industry still for me? Hell yes.

All this she was explaining as she was doing a cooking demo of pork confit, chorizo cornbread stuffing, and cavolo nero. I love her style, I love her philosophy, I love the way she carries herself and her carefree, sassy yet confident demeanor. My kitchen partner asked why I don’t try working for her if I love her so much, which made me stop and think. Why don’t I? It’s never even crossed my mind. But I think I’ve already put her on too high a pedestal bordering on semi-idolatry. I would create an equally idealistic view of what working for her would be like. What if it doesn’t measure up to my expectations? I don’t want to lustily crave what might not exist because I’m starstruck; it would be a crushing blow to all of the illusions I’ve created for myself. So in this particular case, I think I’m better off with my dreams intact.

After I got my cookbook autographed, that is. After all, I still love her.

The last time I was in New York was ten years ago as a sophomore in college, when Manhattan was the biggest city I’d ever been in. I remember being frustrated by the crowds, blinded by big lights, and simply overstimulated by all of the attitude and energy that is the big city. After 2 weeks, I was done. New York City was not for me.

Now that I look back on it, I think it’s more accurate to say that Manhattan is not for me. I’m staying in the outer borough of Sunnyside in Queens, which is what I would call a legit neighborhood. I have easy access into the city by bus, train, or subway, and feel normal walking around, eating out, and doing laundry like a regular person. I’ve been treated fairly well by everyone, and generally have only encountered nice, helpful people. As long as I don’t have to live in the city city, I heart New York. I think I heart it a lot.

People of note: Shauna is doing her medical residency out here, and I was lucky enough to be in town at that same time as her sister Christa and boyfriend Ben, both in from Paris, their dad Paul from Hawaii, and the now-husband Matey (who was just the boyfriend when I first met him). Valentina (one of Soaf’s classmates from Stanford) squeezed me into Brooklyn, and gotta love Mark (my ICC partner-in-crime and drinking buddy). I couldn’t be a happier girl with life right now. Things seem to be going so right.

see more New York City/ICC pictures here

New York pt.1, September 2010

There is nothing like the sight of Manhattan’s skyline greeting you as you approach the city from the top of a double decker bus. It is truly glorious, even if you’re not a big city kind of girl. I exhale and smile, sitting up straighter in my seat, knowing that I am getting close.

Through the tunnel and then the big city is upon me, our huge bus squeezing itself between delivery trucks tucked curbside in alley ways, cars honking, people speedwalking, and cigarette smoke billowing around us.

But the pictures are telling a different story. The story about new city love is the not the story you will be reading about today.

I am one of the youngest in my generation of cousins, and I’m about to meet Yeounkyung near the subway station, who’s in the upper strata of cousins. I don’t know anything about her. She says she remembers meeting me when I was about 10, which I feel like should be old enough for me to remember something. But no, when I see her, I don’t recognize her face. I know nothing.

Unbeknownst to us, we would have lots of time to get to know each other.

Briefly stopping in Queens to drop off my luggage, we boarded a train to Chinatown for street food and produce shopping. It looked a bit overcast but we didn’t really give it much thought. We quickly got into asking questions about family, who’s aunty’s sister or brother’s daughter we were, what we did (me Cook, her Architect), why we were doing it (we like it), what we’re doing here (me=looking, her=came and never left) and then we noticed droplets on the windows and very soon after, a heavy rain. Looking out, angry trees were violently being silhouetted by lightning, thunder was drumming and my fellow passengers were joking about how no one had brought umbrellas.

From the inside of the 7 train, it was quite a little storm show. Our train stopped and we were told to move towards the front to evacuate because of debris on the tracks. A large piece of metal siding had been torn off the roof. All train operations in either direction were halted because of fallen tree branches and other big, blown-away objects.

We decided to walk the rest of the 10 blocks into Flushing and was greeted by traffic, flooding, fallen lightposts and flagstaffs, more large trees cracked broken, and jam-packed buses trying to get orphaned train riders nowhere anytime soon. What a mess. With no public transport options and cabs rendered useless by resigned drivers, we surrendered ourselves to walking home…a far, far walk away. Over a freeway kind of far. Only here would they have a pedestrian walkway by the freeway.

This is my first day in New York City.

see more pictures of the storm damage here

read New York Times article of what happened here

Musings...

I was offered a last minute "observer" position for Slow Food's Terra Madre conference in Torino, Italy. I had applied for a delegate position in May (all in-country expenses paid), was turned down in June, applied for the observer position (pay my own way completely), was denied in July, wait-listed in August, and then just this week was told I had 4 days to claim a last minute spot. The conference takes place in October.

I turned them down. I hope I'm not making a mistake.

30 years alive!

I'm fortunate to have friends who love seeing me make it another year in life. Apparently this year is supposed to be the "big 3-0" for me, but I don't feel that way. I don't feel old. I don't feel rushed, and I don't feel like I'm wasting time doing nothing. There's nothing I can't do now that I haven't legally been able to do since I turned 21, unless we're talking about renting a car, in that case, 25. In fact, I don't think my next big birthday should be until I turn 50. But again, my friends love me. Below are some slideshow pictures of two birthday dinners (at Gary Danko and Cafe Claude) that I was priviledged enough to be a part of before I left San Francisco:

Here in central Pennsylvania, Ginger has been promising me fried chicken for my birthday since a month ago. Seeing how I've apparently made my sentiments about birthdays clear, this is what I found waiting for me when I woke up:

So Ginger says that since I'm turning 50, we're allowed to celebrate the birthday tonight. Yay party! To the left, that would be John Deere gummies, a whoopie pie, and a 6-pack of birch beer, my new favorite soda. I'm a simple girl.

Back story on Ginger -- we met during her Kenyon College days late 1998, and I say it like that because she left the school after a freshman semester to take some time off. She came back to try it out again sophomore year and decided she still hated it and left again. Somewhere in between all of that we became friends and stayed friends although neither of us remember when or how it all started. We do have some funny stories though, and I often call her the funniest person I know. She's the only one who came to visit me in Nicaragua, and one of the few people who took me up on the offer to visit Hawaii...twice. I'm finally repaying her the visit, and the family treats me to this homemade birthday dinner:

Chicken liver pate with pickled green tomatoes, twice brined fried buttermilk chicken, double macaroni and cheese, sweet amish corn, fresh shelled peas, sour cherry pie with pecan streusal, and peach custard made with goat's milk and coconut cream. Crazy, I know, but the best part about that chicken is that it's fried in bacon fat, butter, AND lard. Just so you know that we're serious here. It was goooood fried chicken.

Am I Leaving My Heart in San Francisco?

My time here has come to a close. I've worked a bunch of food festivals, cleaned up some beaches, volunteered at events, and read a lot of books. Soaf and I went to lots of dinner parties, watched So You Think You Can Dance with Senait and Ilya, harassed other people's dogs, and discovered the city during all of its festival season splendor. I've participated in some interesting, um, "things", and have met some rather interesting situations. I began cooking for my friends again, and towards the end, I was even hanging out with some boys who make ramen (haparamensf.com). Cooking is still fun.




The verdict? I can't decide yet. I've made no promises or committments to anyone. I've had a good time, honestly, and the entire Bay Area has been really good to me. But enough to call me back? I think it might be too cold, too cluttered, too concrete. But I can't say that without having left and seeing something that's not. Maybe the opposite will be too little for me. So know this. If you made me smile, thank you. If you made me laugh, I probably know your name. In the past four months I've been affected in a positive way, and I feel like I'm leaving this city as a happier person. Positive energy is infectious.

Vallejo Jun-Aug 2010

Brad and Abby were agricultural Peace Corps volunteers in 2003, a year after my group started. An epic 2 weeks of either being in my desert village or their rainforest community solidified our insta-friends status. Fast foward to now, and they've added one more to our clan, little Sophie, who just turned one in July. In the short time I've known her, she went from crawling to walking to sprinting around, along with developing teeth and going from mushed up food to candied ginger (that discovery was my fault and more of an accident...and we're really happy she didn't choke on that one...oops...). We're already super buddies and she can't even say my name yet. But I'll wait.

And no promises have been made yet, but really, as soon as she's allowed to fly on her own, I get to have her for 2 weeks out of the year, wherever I am.

see more pictures of vallejo

Portland/Seattle July 2010

Sophia and I agreed on a quick little roadtrip and decided to stop off at both Portland and Seattle, where either one or both of us had friends we could stay with and people we wanted to see. Our first stop in Portland was Mike, a guy I've known since my college days out in Ohio. He was such a perfect host, packing in a whirlwind of eating, drinking, and sightseeing of roses and waterfalls within a day and halfs worth of time. We then got transferred over to Naomi, a high school classmate, who hooked us up with our room in her brand new townhouse. Ditching them a day later to head north to Seattle, we met up with Soaf's UW med school classmates, and also just happened to catch the Bite of Seattle festival while we were there.

It was such a short, fun, happy, radio pop filled time. We got to meet everyone else's best friends, boyfriends, husbands, babies, fiances, and roomates, and remembered why we're still friends in the first place.

Then we drove back down. All that in less than a week. Oh, and a stupid speeding ticket in Corning, California. The cop didn't believe that we were just "following the flow of traffic". Whatever.

see more portland/seattle pictures

Los Angeles June 2010

I met Jonathan in 2003 as a Peace Corps volunteer in Nicaragua. Although we both worked in the agricultural sector, we never really got the chance to work together as his service ended a year before mine. Fast forward to now, and Jonathan is now a licensed vetinarian in the state of California. Seeing how I was volunteering for the LA Wine Fest anyway, I called to arrange a visit and see what's up.

Even though enough time had passed between us to create that weird, semi-tense rift (you know, those fake "Hi! How are you!" moments), I'm so glad I came. With the exception of a brief moment of awkwardness, I walked away with no doubt in my mind that Jonathan and I have a complete and comfortable friendship. Vetinarians, by the way, don't keep normal pets. Jonathan himself has 2 chinchillas and a bearded dragon, which I never got myself to pick up on my own the entire time I was there. Other vet friends had dogs, a corn snake, and turtle.

Nam Soon, my favorite cousin, lives and works in downtown and looks great. I'm not sure why everyone hates on LA so much, because I'm having a great time here with this great weather. I also had the chance to meet and eat with Dan and Alex, getting to experience Animal, Pizzeria Mozza, awesome dive bars, and both Lucques and A.O.C, where I got to meet and have my picture taken with Suzanne Goin! There was Secret Service everywhere because Michelle Obama and the kids were having dinner there too, but I was more excited to know the chef was there! I'm such a nerd.

see more los angeles photos