So I connect through Austin on my way back to LA from Dallas. While I’m waiting for my first outbound flight at DFW, there’s suddenly loud applause all around. I look up and see a stream of soldiers coming out of two different gates. Young, older, white, black, Hispanic, Asian, male, female–they all walk out in their fatigues, a bit (but pleasantly) sheepish from the cheers. This is the face of America. I’m happy they are coming home, walking on their own two feet.
My flight into Austin is late due to rain but luckily the airport is tiny and my plane to LA is also late. I make my connection without too much effort. The picture taken above is of one of my favorite traveling companions, the mute kind. You know how it is, as much as I enjoy interesting conversations with strangers on the plane, sometimes I just want that down time alone to read or clear my head. The flight is empty, for a change, so I have unobstructed views to my left and my right. And as there’s no one blocking my view ahead, I get a glimpse of the blue sky when the cockpit door opens and I wish I had learned how to fly. Is there anything cooler than the view pilots get to enjoy on the job? Well, you might say yes if you happen to be an astronaut.
See you back in LA.
Today is my second Sunday in Dallas on this trip and it’s totally different from the last one. This afternoon I’m hanging out with my sister-in-law T and her three girls at a pottery art studio in Plano called Art & Soul:
I’d give this place a little plug but they don’t want photos taken of the studio so the first pic is of the tile that I hand painted. It will be glazed and fired this week and when it’s done, I will post a pic of the finished product. It’s been ages since I’ve done any ceramics work, and I wonder why I ever stopped. Looking at my work you think I should stop, but it is a lot of fun. Whenever I get into any kind of art studio I feel grounded. In a good way.
Being the middle of 3 girls myself, I always have a soft spot for any trinity of sisters. Three is the ideal odd number to break ties. And when you fight with one sister you still have another to campaign to side with you. Here is the Texas triumvirate I got to enjoy today at craft time…
and then at dinner…
But my favorite all time moment of this Sunday? Catching K-bear with her dad S:
Every language has a similar expression of “live to eat or eat to live.” In my mom’s kitchen we definitely practice the former, as my previous entries have proven.
During this particular visit of mine, we have already attempted twice to use the small electric pizzelle iron (which looks similar to the waffle iron) to make the Italian thin, crispy waffle cookies.
Pizzelle comes from an Italian word that means round/flat. I wish there were a word that could describe how heavenly the kitchen smells as you pull each waffle off the griddle.
I’m definitely better at making reservations than dessert, lunch, or dinner, but I think I’ve been domesticated by the pizzelle iron.
Here’s the recipe:
Ingredients
- 1 cup sugar
- 2 cups all-purpose bleached flour
- 3.5 cups water
- 1 tablespoon coconut milk (this can be substituted with grape seed oil or any unflavored oil)
- small sprinkle of cinnamon or anise powder
- pizzelle iron
Instructions
- Blend all ingredients well in a mixing bowl.
- Plug in pizzelle iron and wait for it to warm up.
- Pour a thin layer of the batter on the iron’s griddle and close the lid. Follow the instructions of the iron to determine how long it takes for the cookie to brown (usually a couple of minutes tops). This is actually a trial-and-error process. After a few you should be able to determine how golden you want the cookies to be. They can be crispy (cook them longer) or soft, depending on personal preference. Use a spatula to peel the cookie off the iron.
- This recipe yields about 60 small waffles. Can be eaten alone or served with berries and cream.
There’s a huge Korean supermarket in Carrollton, Texas called H Mart. And by huge I mean enormous. Turns out it’s a chain and a big enterprise. At this location there’s a full produce section,
kimchi department (I don’t know how else to call it), food court,
bakery, large seafood section, clothing boutique, household goods section, phone store. And also a large grocery store in the middle of all this. It’s like a Super Wal-Mart or Super Target–for some reason super doesn’t happen in my state of California–but with a dedicated aisle of soy sauce:
So walking around all this square footage with the aroma of food enticing my every step, I really want to find a snack. Sure enough, amidst all the Korean food-to-go stands, I spot something that has no meat. The sign says “fish black bean.” Eww, right? But for $1 I’ll try anything, especially if it comes with a show:
The pastry is a cross between a pancake and a waffle with semi-sweet black bean paste baked inside:
My mom liked hers, and I’m good for about 3/4 of the fish. The first bite sure was yummy though:
Tags: Carrollton, H Mart, kimchi, Korean, Texas
When I came home from the Galleria with my mom this afternoon my Dad told us that Michael Jackson had been taken to the hospital for a heart attack. About half an hour later, my friend sent me an instant message that MJ had died. She was at a car dealership in LA getting her windshield wipers fixed when the news broke. CNN confirmed the shocking news for me over here.
Just as with any unexpected passing of people we knew or felt we knew, the homing realization of mortality sits uncomfortably on our shoulders until we shake ourselves from the disbelief and let the sad fact roll to a stop at the pit of our stomachs. I’ve never been a rabid fan of MJ but as CNN plays his greatest hits during its report, I realize just how much his music has connected with events through decades of my life. Multiply this connection by a billion (or two) people and you can imagine the reach his music has had on many of us around the world.
The first time I held a boy’s hand was at a roller skating party in middle school; my hands were clammy partly because his green eyes were so pretty and mostly because it was my first time on skates. Rock with You played twice, and the second time it came on, I got my first kiss (I think I just heard my Dad groan oh gross!). Now whenever I hear that song, I think how cool it is to be a girl.
After I passed the bar exam, I was traipsing around somewhere when the swearing-in ceremony took place back in LA. So a judge swore me in privately in his courtroom a few weeks later while his clerk and my then boyfriend witnessed. It was a particularly memorable day because I had been pacing the front steps of the courthouse all morning, waiting for my mom and aunt to arrive from out of town for that very milestone. Some guy sitting on the sidewalk was playing the Dangerous CD over and over in his boombox (remember those?) while I fretted. They were late–this was before the advent of the GPS–and eventually missed most of the very short ceremony. For years when I hear Black and White I would cringe a little at the memory but now I identify that song with one of the coolest four-minutes blips on my radar. The day I broke up with that boyfriend who briefly became a fiance, Billie Jean looped on my Walkman all night and then the next day until I went for a run and decided that my decision was correct.
Not too long ago in North Africa I danced with a group of musicians from Ghana. After they played their traditional songs, as we were all leaving, a few of them stayed behind and played Thriller on their instruments when they thought no one was listening. That was cool.
I can’t tell you in how many cafes from Timbuktu to Malacca Town to Bruges I’ve heard Michael Jackson songs playing. There have been at least two instances in which strangers sang his songs to me when they found out I was from America; one was a German kid who did the moonwalk for me–he’d pointed at me and said Japan? I shook my head and said America. That’s when he broke into his MJ impression right then and there. Another was a (really bad) karaoke dedication to me at some club in HCM City. Beat It just hasn’t been the same after this experience.
So while we’re all having these life moments accompanied by his music, I wonder what songs were playing for him in times of joy, sadness, or just…living. Rest in peace MJ.
Tags: Beat It, Billie Jean, Black and White, Michael Jackson, Rock With You, Thriller
