back to culinary roots

This photo reminds me of how cute bunnies are. Especially when they are munching on greens. It's from a food blog I stumbled upon today, writings of a smart, 27-year-old, Asian-American woman fast on her way to a culinary career. I dig her personal musings and also her about page- having recently subscribed to The World's Healthiest Foods newsletter, I have been reading about cruciferous vegetables and their amazing health benefits (see Cabbage). For more than a year now I have secretly lamented that even though I am 100% Chinese and grew up eating Chinese cuisine 95% of the time, I can't make any of the Chinese dishes that I love. A 5 year hiatus of college introduced me to a mostly American, Tex-Mex, Thai and basic Italian diet. And on top of that, I have never really experienced a strong desire to cook and experiment.

It helps that I have B around; he loves cooking and eats more Asian food than I do, using dashi in our noodle bowl broths, praising the tastiness of thousand-year-old eggs, and often suggesting dim sum for after-church luncheons. My appreciation for his openness towards food grows each time I encounter white Americans who are either ignorant of, wary of or disgusted by certain ethnic cuisine. Heck, even I'm picky about certain Chinese foods (like anise, the aforementioned thousand-year-old eggs, pigs blood, some kinds of tripe, to name a few). And I have always been acutely aware of void between the instructions of Chinese immigrants who cook (like my parents) and authentic recipes in English of the dishes they make. Of course I should've assumed that by now the latter exist, thanks to the Internet, and today discovered a couple of well-written food blogs that bridge the culinary gap for 2nd generation Chinese-Americans (or rather, Americans who are Chinese by blood), it is a good time to return to Chinese cooking.

Oh, and happy Chinese New Year! I should mention that eating nian gao, low boh gao, jiu liang tang yuan, and various other dishes in our exceptionally tasty family dinner this weekend (and lunch the next day at Jengchi Bakery, best green onion pancakes) also contributed to this rethinking of what I cook and eat.

Last note, I know it has been 2009 for a while, but recapping all the helpful and kind comments I receive from Flickr members who graciously comment on my halfway-there photos, I resolve to focus more on the quality and not quantity of my consumption. Meaning, I will think about what I have to say, and why, and be specific about my comments on others' art especially. And practice using proper capitalization again; sentences for sure, phrases maybe. A hundred "nice shots" and "prettys" do not amount to one thoughtful and personalized reflection. Somehow this slowing down will also reflect in other areas of my life.

Currently listening to Small Sur. It is introspective, stripped-down, nature-inspired folk music with soft male/female vocals. I wouldn't be opposed to making such music with B and company. Try: Second Chances, Small Stones.

I think your bruise was understated (pt. 2)

And so begins the stealthy act of blogging at work..

"So this is the new year
And I don't feel any different
The clanking of crystal
Explosions off in the distance

So this is the new year
And I have no resolutions
For self-assigned penance
For problems with easy solutions"

The moment I popped out of bed yesterday morning (and without a hint of hangover, mind you - yay for B12) I took out Transatlanticism and played this song to usher in 2008. My favorite part is when it gets jaunty, but when it did, it was disappointing this time, as the lyrics change tracks and plunges into relationship territory. That never gets old, does it? Anti-climactic, just like the actual new year. Due to a dry run of new songs I've downloaded (they aren't sticking), I've returned to the soundtrack of my high school existence. But what greets my ears is less than picture perfect. Speaking specifically of Death Cab for Cutie's first few albums, the ones before Ben Gibbard got a bit older and hopped on the pop train, I've realized that their lyrical matter is much more sexual, depressing, and violent than I never imagined. All that rolled into one. I can say the same about the world, and some of my friends. It's not really reassuring. So grow up already, right? Shock, demystification, acceptance. I hate acceptance.

How does one make an impression using art these days? In some ways, I hate our day and age, where technological advances have pushed consumption over the human speed limit. Today it is practice in discipline being still and focusing on one thing for more than a moment (for more than fifteen minutes?). We forget how to process and digest. Artists of the not quite genius variety have it hard these days, as talent is easy to come by. Living simply is obsolete. And you don't need a magazine to tell you how to do it. Ridiculous. Maybe it's just me; I'm always on the move, hunting for the next big thrill. I'll wait for it, but it had better come. All this makes me anxious.

And somebody should do something about all the world's problems!