February 19, 2010 § 1 Comment
Whenever I miss someone, I tend to eat foods that remind me of that person.
During the entire time I was in LA, I missed my mom desperately, to the point where a part of me would dread my flights back to LA because I would have to leave her and I’d spend my first night back crying. I constantly made a sweet mung bean soup because eating it reminded me of all the times she used to make it for me during the summers because she knew it was my favorite. However, now that I’m home with my mom again, I still miss people.
I drink so much tea because it reminds me of all the times Miri (my GORGEOUS genius) and I would go to different cafes and tea houses in K-town. I like to soak shiitake mushrooms because it reminds me of Chengyee’s (the deceptively sweet hamster) obsession with mushrooms and how she would eat anything I cooked for her as long as there were mushrooms. I adore crème brulée because it reminds me of how last spring I finally, FINALLY figured out what I could make for my Diana (my beautiful picky eater). It was her favorite dessert. Unfortunately, after I realized that she loved crème brulée, I wouldn’t stop making it so there was a month where I made several ramekins of crème brulée each week just for her. I like eating pasta because every time it reminds me of all the nights Momo (my little bunny) would make pasta for dinner and sit with me while I studied. And I make brownies specifically from the box because of all the nights back from the beginning of high school and through college winter breaks when Naomi (my little butterfly) and I would crave gooey chocolate during our sleepovers and she would always have a box handy. While we’ve both graduated to making brownies from scratch, I still prefer the brownies from the box because of the memories.
I miss them all, terribly.
February 17, 2010 § Leave a comment
“It’s true love if you’re still willing to kiss each other when sick.” –Emily
For the record, I’d really like to know how I managed to get sick by not moving for a week. In my head, the story goes something like this: I was so preoccupied with watching little Shiba Inu puppies trample over each other in an effort to get comfortable and fall asleep that I didn’t move very much, if at all, for the majority of the past week (due to the combination of record snowfall and DC’s inability to handle any winter precipitation beyond snow flurries that immediately melt upon touching surface, most places were either closed or operating with only essential employees). All the little germs of the world saw that their moving target stopped moving so they decided to move-in uninvited and definitely unannounced. I’m sure there’s a bustling town. Or maybe a city. Maybe they are so well established that their own Duane Reade is being bought out by Walgreens as well.
During this time, my boyfriend has been really sweet with caring for me: making tea, cooking dinner, and sitting still for hours at a time while I pass out in his lap in my sicken stupor in really ungraceful positions because he knows I like being close to him when I’m sick (Full disclosure: He was playing Modern Warfare 2 while I napped). Unfortunately for him, just as my internal city of bacteria is being attacked my version of Godzilla (antibiotics) and I’m starting to feel better, he’s falling ill.
February 8, 2010 § Leave a comment
So when I ran off to the land of endless sun and smog– Los Angeles–, I was able to successfully avoid winter for four years and nurture my personal definitions of any temperature below 68F as “cold” and any temperature under 50F as “VERY COLD”. When I returned to the land of politics, crabs, and slightly less smog– Washington DC–, I, being my very stubborn self, thought that I could still avoid winter with my mental arsenal of delusion, ignorance, and avoidance of the outside world. In other words, I refused to go outside. Now, had this been a normal DC winter with an annual collection of 2 inches of snow scattered on the ground with a snowflake here, a snowflake there over a period of weeks, or months even, my plans to completely boycott winter would have worked perfectly. However, someone out there who has control over the weather has the same sense of humor that I have– because I find all this hilarious– decided that this winter would be the winter of the snowmageddon with 20-30 inches of snow being dumped on me at a time with each blizzard.
With the past blizzard, grocery stores were raided until not a toilet paper roll or Lunchable could be found. Schools were closed, pre-emptively. And workplaces were closed morning of all due to the snow that fell in an area that sees more snow in summer snowcones. Suddenly my option of boycotting winter by not going outside was stripped away, and I was stuck with a very serious case of cabin fever.
Oh irony. You fucker.
I woke up incredibly early the morning after the blizzard, patiently waited the extra hours of sleep normal people need to function, and dragged my boyfriend out of bed, out of the warm apartment, and through the weather that was well-below 68F just so I could get out (okay, in my defense, he had serious cabin fever as well). We and the little-Civic-that-could journeyed to a tiny tofu house that is roughly 20 miles away. While listening to the radio dj say, “Unless you have to go somewhere, stay home. I know you probably have crazy cabin fever, but, I’m telling you, just go outside and shovel snow. Don’t actually go anywhere, because the roads are still pretty nasty”, the little-Civic-that-could was ungracefully hopping, skipping, sometimes jumping over the frozen iced-over roads and patches of wet slush like a fool trying to walk over hot coals for the first time. After a brief, confused stop at Burger King– we couldn’t figure out how to navigate through the maze of snow to actually get into the tofu house parking lot–, we arrived at Lighthouse Tofu where I was able to finally calm my cabin fever with some soondubu, which is always a hit with me because I adore tofu, seafood, and the color red– some days, I really am that quirky–, but the levels of how much of a hit varies on how brave my tastebuds feel that day and my interpretation of “mild” and “medium.” My misinterpretation is as disastrous as mistaking the tabasco sauce bottle as “that super cute miniature bottle of ketchup” and pouring it on as if it were caramel sauce on vanilla ice cream.
My tastebuds just burned slightly in horrified remembrance.