The nerve of some people. I was eating a banana, and someone actually took time out of their day to point out to me that I peeled the banana wrong. That I’m supposed to peel from the bottom up, which is actually, anatomically, from the top down. She said that monkeys and chimps have been eating bananas correctly for ages, and that only now did we humans find out that we were wrong.
Oh. I’m sorry, Jane Goodall.
…What the fuck is so wrong about peeling a banana from the stem down? It’s how I’ve done it since I was a toddler, and it’s kept me content ever since. This isn’t fugu. I’m not going to die from peeling a banana incorrectly.
And as far as I’m concerned, I’m not peeling the banana incorrectly. Why? Because at the height of human achievement is a working hoverboard. The height of primate achievement is the ability to pee into its own mouth.
I’m real freaking sorry that I choose to believe my own actions over that of a monkey.
I ate pizza for an entire school week.
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There’s a Vietnamese restaurant behind the In-N-Out on Mission Dr, right across the street from Rosemead High School. It’s called Nem Nuong Ninh Hoa. It has a fairly established reputation around town, and much of it is positive. I’ve never been there. One, because I really like my family’s nem nuong, and I’m not really out on a mission to destroy my preconceived notions.
It was also a few footsteps from a cemetery. Though, death need not be represented by a tombstone. Besides, only organic lifeforms receive such ceremonial tributes. Nem Nuong Ninh Hoa is an unwanted trespasser on a burial ground of its own. What stood before Nem Nuong built its foothold was something special.
It’s been a while, and I vaguely remember the place. I was around 7 years old, and my dad was working a pretty grizzly shift from 3:30pm to 1:00am. So dinner was often just with my mom and my brother. On days when she couldn’t eat meat, we’d go to the Vietnamese vegetarian restaurant located where Nem Nuong Ninh Hoa stands today. I remember it was very dimly lit, and the entire restaurant had a blood red glow. Without a clear vision of the place, I’m sure this establishment sounds extremely foreboding. You’re not alone in those sentiments.
However, what I do remember vividly was the food. I will never forget the deep fried mushrooms. There was a beautiful crackle crisp from the exterior, shielding the tender demi-flesh from harm. I don’t know how its foothold on my imagination has remained so resilient. I haven’t eaten at this restaurant for about a decade, if not longer. The most magical, however, was their vegetarian reinterpretation of Ca Kho, a braised fish dish simmering for long hours in fish sauce, and a sort of molasses, used as a darkening color agent. C0ils of bean curd and gluten did its best flesh interpretation, and a “skin” made of seaweed provided a taste recalling the sea. In harmony with the dark, rich sauce, it was Ca Kho as far as I was concerned.
I don’t remember the name of that restaurant, nor does my brother, nor does my mom. We all have fond memories though. Ever since, it has become the gold standard, to which all subsequent vegetarian restaurants would be compared to. None have surpassed it, though many have sufficed. Recently, we found a new one to make up for the ones we’ve lost.
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(Pt. 1)
With approximately 2 weeks left of class left, this is probably the best time to reflect on the year. More specifically, this is a good time to detail what my second semester of college has taught me.
While I feigned poise in my first semester, the truth is, the new experiences did rattle me. I mean, some days I didn’t eat at all. How uncharacteristic is that? Looking back, those were perhaps my dumbest moments. Those hours upon hours of moping about being hungry and being immobilized by stomach pains could’ve been spent concocting something vaguely edible. [More on that in Pt.3.]
I have grown over the past 3 months or so. The uncertain future is constantly weighing on my mind, because I lack the passion for food journalism. I don’t lack the passion for food, but there is no mystical ascending staircase for me to just glide up from.And while I’ve all but made up my mind about food journalism, I’m still a disciple in terms of the concept of it all as a whole.
With that, I present some of of the main things I’ve learned:
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