Tips for Finding Happiness in Your Daily Life
11 years ago
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Can't Twitter or Facebook 10
Today I'm thankful for all those who have spared me the boring details of what they're thankful for.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
More Porridge, Please, Sir
I made jook today. Technically, I started last night. If you know about jook, the Cantonese version anyway, it takes at least two hours of simmering. I usually don't have the patience the day of. Besides, the aroma drives me crazy. Sitting around waiting for it to turn creamy and ready is pure torture.
So I came up with this brilliant idea to get the hard part out of the way. Just the base: rice and ginger. Then, today, I just heat it up, add the rest of the ingredients. You don't want your flavorings to cook too long anyway. You want to retain some texture and taste in them. It's not like what I call the "cook-to-death" method of Cantonese soup-making, very unlike its European counterparts. You literally simmer your pot on low heat for hours and hours until everything in it looks, well, dead. It is believed that all the nutrients will have gone in the broth. You're not even supposed to eat the solids, which are now considered scraps. The frugal home cook may choose to eat them anyway, dressed with a little soy maybe. Humble as it gets.
As is jook. It is the poor man's fuel. It is eaten as breakfast for its simplicity and wholesomeness - just satisfying enough but never heavy. It is eaten to nurse the sick back to health, for its ease to digest. It is eaten at wartime, for it doesn't take much rice to make this grits-like cousin. Ginger is added for its neutralizing quality - in Chinese medicine and diet, it is believed that every victual has a specific nature that affects the human body a certain way. Conventional wisdom has it that rice and water alone is "cold" in nature, and will thereby throw off the balance of the body when consumed. Ginger "warms" up the solution.
I don't care for ginger and I'm not sure I buy into all the ancient theories. I do it with a "just in case" mentality. Of course, the point is not that you'll have a sip of your jook and go, "Oh, ginger!" You're not supposed to notice it's in there (for years I didn't). But I have to admit the hint of it, when you pay attention and are attuned, adds a nice note and harmonizes all the other flavors.
When I was younger, I disliked jook for it was associated with memories of getting sick and being put on a restrictive diet. Oatmeal was another thing they fed sick children. To this day, I cannot have oatmeal. The thought of it makes me gag. However, in my mid-teens I started to appreciate jook. When I'd had a taste of the commercialized version, that is. I couldn't believe how fantastic it was.
"This tastes so much better than homemade!" I remember exclaiming at breakfast with my parents one enlightened morning.
"It's the lard," my parents nonchalantly informed me. By the 80's, old-world fats like lard and butter had been branded as evil. I was incredulous.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Why do you think it tastes so good?" They challenged.
I didn't care and slurped on.
Years later, when I attempted to improve on homemade jook, I decided to improvise. See, there are certain tried-and-true configurations in Southern Canton that everybody knows about and you simply do not mess with. You memorize the combos as there is no way in hell to tell what goes in the concoction by the name. To this day I am still fuzzy on them and several elude me. After all, shortly after I had fallen in love with jook, I left for the States.
But the secret ingredient, lard, never left my mind.
I am aware that, as with many local cuisines, you use what's on hand. For example, if you live coastally, you throw in some seafood. There is no rule as far as I'm concerned. And, true to all cuisines that have been around for centuries, jazz it up with umami. Can't go wrong.
Today for the base I used a handful of dried shrimps and squids. In place of lard I sliced up a Lap Chong. It has worked very well in the past. I don't allow any of these to cook for over 30 minutes. In the last 5 to 10 minutes, I add two kinds of preserved duck eggs, salted and "thousand year". Now, to some this may be blasphemy. In one of the classics, one simply puts ground pork and a thousand-year egg (I adore the latter. The umami is out of this world!). But that's the way my Aunt Teresa did it when I was a kid and that's the way I'm doing it now.
Finish off with (already-cooked) white meat of choice. Fish filets that cook quickly would be ideal, but I didn't have any, so I tossed in some imitation crab and shrimp balls. I found these from Taiwan that have actual shrimps in them! Unheard of, but so delish. At least you know they're using real stuff. Again, totally fucking traditions here.
Last but not least, and this is a step never to be skipped: chop up some scallions to top it all off. Voilà!
For presentation and freshness, chefs add scallions right before they serve it up and never stir them in. The heat of the jook will cook them while one's eating. I don't enjoy the bite of raw onion and tend to let it steep for at least a minute or two.
And it's perfection in a bowl.
As I sit there and savor every mouthful, I am still amazed by how simple the cooking process itself is and yet the resulting flavors are so complex and wonderful. Course, you probably had to have grown up with it. Everyone has his or her own comfort foods.
Food is never about food indeed.
So I came up with this brilliant idea to get the hard part out of the way. Just the base: rice and ginger. Then, today, I just heat it up, add the rest of the ingredients. You don't want your flavorings to cook too long anyway. You want to retain some texture and taste in them. It's not like what I call the "cook-to-death" method of Cantonese soup-making, very unlike its European counterparts. You literally simmer your pot on low heat for hours and hours until everything in it looks, well, dead. It is believed that all the nutrients will have gone in the broth. You're not even supposed to eat the solids, which are now considered scraps. The frugal home cook may choose to eat them anyway, dressed with a little soy maybe. Humble as it gets.
As is jook. It is the poor man's fuel. It is eaten as breakfast for its simplicity and wholesomeness - just satisfying enough but never heavy. It is eaten to nurse the sick back to health, for its ease to digest. It is eaten at wartime, for it doesn't take much rice to make this grits-like cousin. Ginger is added for its neutralizing quality - in Chinese medicine and diet, it is believed that every victual has a specific nature that affects the human body a certain way. Conventional wisdom has it that rice and water alone is "cold" in nature, and will thereby throw off the balance of the body when consumed. Ginger "warms" up the solution.
I don't care for ginger and I'm not sure I buy into all the ancient theories. I do it with a "just in case" mentality. Of course, the point is not that you'll have a sip of your jook and go, "Oh, ginger!" You're not supposed to notice it's in there (for years I didn't). But I have to admit the hint of it, when you pay attention and are attuned, adds a nice note and harmonizes all the other flavors.
When I was younger, I disliked jook for it was associated with memories of getting sick and being put on a restrictive diet. Oatmeal was another thing they fed sick children. To this day, I cannot have oatmeal. The thought of it makes me gag. However, in my mid-teens I started to appreciate jook. When I'd had a taste of the commercialized version, that is. I couldn't believe how fantastic it was.
"This tastes so much better than homemade!" I remember exclaiming at breakfast with my parents one enlightened morning.
"It's the lard," my parents nonchalantly informed me. By the 80's, old-world fats like lard and butter had been branded as evil. I was incredulous.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Why do you think it tastes so good?" They challenged.
I didn't care and slurped on.
Years later, when I attempted to improve on homemade jook, I decided to improvise. See, there are certain tried-and-true configurations in Southern Canton that everybody knows about and you simply do not mess with. You memorize the combos as there is no way in hell to tell what goes in the concoction by the name. To this day I am still fuzzy on them and several elude me. After all, shortly after I had fallen in love with jook, I left for the States.
But the secret ingredient, lard, never left my mind.
I am aware that, as with many local cuisines, you use what's on hand. For example, if you live coastally, you throw in some seafood. There is no rule as far as I'm concerned. And, true to all cuisines that have been around for centuries, jazz it up with umami. Can't go wrong.
Today for the base I used a handful of dried shrimps and squids. In place of lard I sliced up a Lap Chong. It has worked very well in the past. I don't allow any of these to cook for over 30 minutes. In the last 5 to 10 minutes, I add two kinds of preserved duck eggs, salted and "thousand year". Now, to some this may be blasphemy. In one of the classics, one simply puts ground pork and a thousand-year egg (I adore the latter. The umami is out of this world!). But that's the way my Aunt Teresa did it when I was a kid and that's the way I'm doing it now.
Finish off with (already-cooked) white meat of choice. Fish filets that cook quickly would be ideal, but I didn't have any, so I tossed in some imitation crab and shrimp balls. I found these from Taiwan that have actual shrimps in them! Unheard of, but so delish. At least you know they're using real stuff. Again, totally fucking traditions here.
Last but not least, and this is a step never to be skipped: chop up some scallions to top it all off. Voilà!
For presentation and freshness, chefs add scallions right before they serve it up and never stir them in. The heat of the jook will cook them while one's eating. I don't enjoy the bite of raw onion and tend to let it steep for at least a minute or two.
And it's perfection in a bowl.
As I sit there and savor every mouthful, I am still amazed by how simple the cooking process itself is and yet the resulting flavors are so complex and wonderful. Course, you probably had to have grown up with it. Everyone has his or her own comfort foods.
Food is never about food indeed.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Snippet 218
V:
[Upon hearing Alley yelping in agony and RJ repeating, "No! No!", runs to the living room]
What did you do?
RJ:
I just grabbed her snout and told her no.
V:
It sounded like you fucked her in the ass with a cactus.
RJ:
Sadly, no.
(On explaining to Alley that we live in a condo:
If there are people out there, it's okay.
Your jurisdiction is in here.
If someone comes in here and we don't want them here,
Kill them.)
I think she's got it now.
V:
[As Alley lets out another bark]
Doubtful.
[Upon hearing Alley yelping in agony and RJ repeating, "No! No!", runs to the living room]
What did you do?
RJ:
I just grabbed her snout and told her no.
V:
It sounded like you fucked her in the ass with a cactus.
RJ:
Sadly, no.
(On explaining to Alley that we live in a condo:
If there are people out there, it's okay.
Your jurisdiction is in here.
If someone comes in here and we don't want them here,
Kill them.)
I think she's got it now.
V:
[As Alley lets out another bark]
Doubtful.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Splice
RJ is having a vasectomy on Tuesday. For me.
He has three sons from his first marriage and, as he put it, shortly after we'd met, "[does] not need more children", but, since I had none, would gladly conceive one with me if I so desired. I thought it was mighty considerate (and brave!) of him at the time. Doesn't change my opinion, the fact that he doesn't recall the conversation today.
The first three or four years I was on Depo shots, no one warned me of the risks of long-term use. Because no one knew then. The major one is a woman is more susceptible to bone fracture later in life as the drug gravely affects calcium retention.
By the time I learned of the facts I was too comfortable with the convenience and affordability to quit anytime soon. Didn't miss the menstruation that had ceased altogether. Besides, old age seemed so far away.
Took me a couple more years before I'd even be willing to start taking a calcium supplement. I defy reality that blindly.
After RJ and I got married, I started to seriously look into birth control options. Then once-and-for-all solutions. Because I knew full well I was never gonna have a child. It was clear as day. For one thing, we can't afford one. Besides, given our age, that would be downright irresponsible. Not to mention there are lots of things I'd rather not give up.
I came across a meme somewhere in this time frame. It read:
You're having a baby?! Congratulations! I will continue sleeping through the night and spending all my money on me.
It made me laugh. I showed it to RJ, deeming it hilarious. And true.
Last but not least, these are not very good genes to pass along. I'm doing the world a favor.
I investigated tubal ligation. The latest and allegedly most popular methods are devised on the formation of scar tissues by introducing a foreign object. It sounds highly intrusive. With no anesthesia. (I've had my cervix meddle with after anesthesia administration and trust me, that was still no picnic.) Testimonials on the internet include some from enraged women in disbelief, citing that their doctors have grossly downplayed the pain level and long-term adversary effects, including painful intercourse.
"No, you're not doing that," declared RJ. And that was that.
Every woman I have revealed the news to has congratulated me for having a husband so empathetic and selfless.
"It only takes ten minutes!" They exclaim in joy, apparently having done homework on the female counterparts.
As the vasectomy appointment nears, though, I am grappling with guilt. RJ's swimmers will never see the light of day again. They'll get reabsorbed into the system. In some men, a sperm-killing antibody could develop so that, even if the individual opts to reverse the procedure (it is largely irreversible to start with), his sperms will never survive.
A couple of weeks ago, when I brought this up, a concerned RJ asked if there was a smidgen of a chance I may still want to be a mother. I assured him that there wasn't. I had had no doubt in my mind for a long time.
And now, two days away, sadness nibbles at me.
Sunday is the loneliest day of the week. Or can be.
As I reveled in the relief that it was near the end of what can be a long day, I was aware what Sunday meant to me, as it probably does a lot of people: family.
I feel again today, as I have felt many times before, that I have no family. Sure, physically, I do. But nothing to show for it. No parents to take to dim sum, no hanging out in a lazy afternoon, no dinner parties.
RJ reminds me kindly that he has even less family, which may be true. But my predicament is different.
All I have is RJ. When one of us is gone, there will be no "us" anymore. No biological evidence that binds us forever. (Doesn't help knowing this is foolish romanticism and egotistical nonsense.)
I have cringed at the word "legacy", especially coined when someone is dead. As if, by having produced offsprings, you're automatically a valid person. Your flesh and blood live on. You are thereby immortal.
Whereas others leave such an indelible on the world with the work that they do that, when they're gone, they're never forgotten, as the cliché goes.
Neither applies to me.
It hit me, the knowledge: wow, this is it. I'm REALLY not going to be a mother. Ever. Not in this lifetime.
The finality seems so brutal.
RJ is having a vasectomy on Tuesday. And I'm mourning his baby-makers already.
He has three sons from his first marriage and, as he put it, shortly after we'd met, "[does] not need more children", but, since I had none, would gladly conceive one with me if I so desired. I thought it was mighty considerate (and brave!) of him at the time. Doesn't change my opinion, the fact that he doesn't recall the conversation today.
The first three or four years I was on Depo shots, no one warned me of the risks of long-term use. Because no one knew then. The major one is a woman is more susceptible to bone fracture later in life as the drug gravely affects calcium retention.
By the time I learned of the facts I was too comfortable with the convenience and affordability to quit anytime soon. Didn't miss the menstruation that had ceased altogether. Besides, old age seemed so far away.
Took me a couple more years before I'd even be willing to start taking a calcium supplement. I defy reality that blindly.
After RJ and I got married, I started to seriously look into birth control options. Then once-and-for-all solutions. Because I knew full well I was never gonna have a child. It was clear as day. For one thing, we can't afford one. Besides, given our age, that would be downright irresponsible. Not to mention there are lots of things I'd rather not give up.
I came across a meme somewhere in this time frame. It read:
You're having a baby?! Congratulations! I will continue sleeping through the night and spending all my money on me.
It made me laugh. I showed it to RJ, deeming it hilarious. And true.
Last but not least, these are not very good genes to pass along. I'm doing the world a favor.
I investigated tubal ligation. The latest and allegedly most popular methods are devised on the formation of scar tissues by introducing a foreign object. It sounds highly intrusive. With no anesthesia. (I've had my cervix meddle with after anesthesia administration and trust me, that was still no picnic.) Testimonials on the internet include some from enraged women in disbelief, citing that their doctors have grossly downplayed the pain level and long-term adversary effects, including painful intercourse.
"No, you're not doing that," declared RJ. And that was that.
Every woman I have revealed the news to has congratulated me for having a husband so empathetic and selfless.
"It only takes ten minutes!" They exclaim in joy, apparently having done homework on the female counterparts.
As the vasectomy appointment nears, though, I am grappling with guilt. RJ's swimmers will never see the light of day again. They'll get reabsorbed into the system. In some men, a sperm-killing antibody could develop so that, even if the individual opts to reverse the procedure (it is largely irreversible to start with), his sperms will never survive.
A couple of weeks ago, when I brought this up, a concerned RJ asked if there was a smidgen of a chance I may still want to be a mother. I assured him that there wasn't. I had had no doubt in my mind for a long time.
And now, two days away, sadness nibbles at me.
Sunday is the loneliest day of the week. Or can be.
As I reveled in the relief that it was near the end of what can be a long day, I was aware what Sunday meant to me, as it probably does a lot of people: family.
I feel again today, as I have felt many times before, that I have no family. Sure, physically, I do. But nothing to show for it. No parents to take to dim sum, no hanging out in a lazy afternoon, no dinner parties.
RJ reminds me kindly that he has even less family, which may be true. But my predicament is different.
All I have is RJ. When one of us is gone, there will be no "us" anymore. No biological evidence that binds us forever. (Doesn't help knowing this is foolish romanticism and egotistical nonsense.)
I have cringed at the word "legacy", especially coined when someone is dead. As if, by having produced offsprings, you're automatically a valid person. Your flesh and blood live on. You are thereby immortal.
Whereas others leave such an indelible on the world with the work that they do that, when they're gone, they're never forgotten, as the cliché goes.
Neither applies to me.
It hit me, the knowledge: wow, this is it. I'm REALLY not going to be a mother. Ever. Not in this lifetime.
The finality seems so brutal.
RJ is having a vasectomy on Tuesday. And I'm mourning his baby-makers already.
Friday, November 09, 2012
Quote 260
Before I met Stuart, we both had holes in our lives. And now we fill each others' holes.
- Raj, The Big Bang Theory
- Raj, The Big Bang Theory
