No, I’m not a geriatric woman. I’m not a parent. But I have eyeballs and am literate. I constantly come across mind-boggling articles about teenage shenanigans and crimes on the internet (and no, not just on entertainment sites and taboids, despite the source of this particular link >.<) and find myself shaking my head while thinking, “The future is doomed…”

And I work with teenagers for a living. Sometimes, listening to their asinine conversations in their nonsensical and/or downright offensive slang makes me want to poke my eyeballs out with a plastic fork. Even the “smarter” and “more mature” ones – though they are of the mistaken belief that they sound more intelligent than their peers – can’t help but sound silly, trite, or pseudo-intelligent most of the time. I suppose that’s okay, since they’re just teenagers. There’s really no better (and more acceptable) time to be stupid than one’s teenage years. And to be completely honest, the sheer idiocy of some of their serious discussions are pure comedy.

When I’m not laughing, though, I am busy worrying. I love all of my students dearly (99% of kids have good hearts and intentions), but seeing what I see and hearing what I hear every day at work makes it impossible for me not to worry about their futures and the future of mankind in general. Kids these days are so needy, so dependent, so apathetic, so lemming-like, so desensitized – and they’re completely clueless about this sad truth. In fact, they believe themselves to be anything but. This reality scares me.

Senior year is when teen stupidity gets particularly worrisome. At 17, 18, or 19, these kids think they’re all grown up – but they’re not, not by a long shot. They drive, vote, have opinions, and all that good stuff – but they don’t really know anything just yet, nor do they really care. In fact, one of the most common gripes I get is about their classes – government/civics/economics/political science classes, in particular. “Why do I have to learn this stuff? It’s boring.”

Oh, kids. Of everything you’ve ever been forced to learn through your K-12 educational careers, gov/civics/econ/polisci are probably the most relevant to real life in adulthood!

I often joke that if my students met President Obama, the kids would excitedly yell – to his face – “Yo, it’s Obama! Man, can we get a picture with you?” Absolutely, they would call him by his first name. They’d take selfies with their homie Barrack. And if First Lady Michelle Obama were beside him, they might even break out into song and dance about vegetables and exercising and think themselves funny. I’m really not exaggerating.

But not all hope is lost.

Today, I came across this article(?) on Buzzfeed…and I couldn’t help but smile as I read the story and watched the video. My smile had nothing to do with my own personal political stances, morals, opinions, whatever; my smile had everything to do with the intelligent, well-articulated, insightful, confidently-phrased-and-not-coming-off-accusatory questions these youngsters had for their Prime Minister. It was awesome to see these teens carry on a coherent Q&A with the leader of their country…as if they were intellectual equals.

If you actually bother to watch to the end of the clip, you see the PM walking away and the kids excitedly chatter about the experience. “He came to the wrong school!” Indeed, Mr. Prime Minister, these kids were not as vapid as you’d probably assumed. You’d underestimated these little ones – and understandably so. After all, most adults underestimate today’s youth far too often – and rightfully so.

But sometimes, just sometimes, we encounter impressive kids like these…and we begin to regain faith in humanity. Maybe the future’s not doomed after all – not with kids like these leading the way, at any rate.

Do you ever go to a restaurant, look at the menu, and scratch your head at the prices? I love cooking and homemade food, but I happen eat out very frequently – and I’m often baffled by how expensive simple meals are sometimes.

보쌈 (bossam: steamed pork wraps) is one of those bafflingly overpriced dishes. It’s essentially unseasoned steamed pork slices, spicy radish kimchi salt-seasoned cabbage leaves for wrapping (ssam literally translates to “wrap”), and raw oysters (optional) – a mouth-watering Korean comfort food combo punch of spicy, savory, salty, crunchy, tender, refreshing, cold, and hot – and it pairs amazingly with beer, beer, beer! Typically, one order feeds a party of 2 or 3, but $20-30 for a really simple pork dish (probably the cheapest-priced meat) seems kind of loony to me. Whenever I visit NYC, friends often suggest we try the bossam at the famed Momofuku, but I can’t think of a single good reason why anyone would make reservations weeks in advance and throw away $200+ (yeah, you read that right – over two hundred bucks) for totally-not-fancy Korean food. No thanks, dear NYC friends. Momofuku might have succeeded in making a fine dining experience out of the all-too-simple bossam, but it’s all hype, dear NYC peeps. It’s all hype.

I can make equally-tasty bossam at home for pennies on the dollar.

Last night, I decided to walk the walk and…make it at home. I’d never made it before and didn’t have a recipe to follow, but how hard could it be? I spent about 15 minutes prepping the veggies in the afternoon, and once dinnertime came around, I popped everything into my roaster. Less than half an hour later, voila! Perfection. Fed the whole family (with plenty of leftovers) for less than $10! Take that, overpriced restaurants!

INGREDIENTS

• Pork Belly (~$6 for two thick strips, you can use any cheap cut of pork)
• Daikon Radish (~$2 for one longer than my forearm)
• Napa Cabbage (~$2 for one fat bunch)
• Red Pepper Flakes (already in my pantry)
• Garlic, Minced (already in my fridge)
• Vinegar (already in my pantry)
• Coarse Salt (already in my pantry)
• Fruit Syrup/Sugar/Sweetener (already in my pantry)
• Light Soy Sauce (already in my pantry)
• Red Pepper Paste – optional (already in my fridge)

STEP ONE – Prep the Veggies

• Wash and peel the radish, then julienne (the size of McD’s french fries, maybe). Remove most of the excess water with a colander (or just pour out as much of the water as possible), then dump in a large mixing bowl.
• Optional: I used the entire radish because I like eating radish kimchi as a side dish for other meals. If you only want to make enough for one meal, use a radish no longer than 6 inches.
• Wash the cabbage. I like to soak my leafy veggies in a vinegar wash (1 part vinegar, 3 parts water) because it makes me feel like it’s cleaner. Split the cabbage in half. Don’t bother removing excess water.
  
• Optional: Cut a vertical slice at the base/stem of each half-cabbage to speed up the brining process. 

STEP TWO: Salt the Veggies

• Liberally sprinkle coarse salt (I used coarse sea salt) over the radish and mix thoroughly. Let it sit for an hour or so, refrigerated or room temp (doesn’t really matter. I’m sure room temp would make it brine faster, though).

• Liberally sprinkle coarse salt over the cabbage halves. Try to get in between the leaves. Concentrate on the base, giving it some extra salt-love. Let it sit for an hour or so.
• The salt on the cabbage isn’t just for seasoning. It does double duty by helping wilt the cabbage, making the leaves flexible enough to use as wraps. Since the base of the leaves are thicker, you can see why extra salt at the base is necessary.

• Optional: I like my cabbage on the saltier side, so instead of using the salt dry, I stuck my cabbage halves into a large pot (because I didn’t have a mixing bowl big enough), flipped them flat-side-down, poured just enough cold water to submerge the entire cabbage, threw lots more salt into the water, and let it soak for an hour or so. The cabbage kept floating up, so I plopped my bowl of radish on top to weigh it down. LOL

STEP THREE: Season the Radish

• Lightly rinse the radish, then dry as thoroughly as possible. Radish sweats a lot after seasoning, and you’ll end up with a ton of juice in your container later (doesn’t affect taste or anything, but I just find it unnecessary).
• As usual, I used my salad spinner (any excuse to use my salad spinner, I’m on it) to wick out every last drop of water. You can just get rough with a colander if you don’t have a spinner…or eve squeeze dry with a heavy duty paper towel.
• Dump a liberal amount of red pepper flakes, a tablespoon or two (or three or four) of minced garlic, and a tablespoon or less of vinegar, soy sauce, and syrup/sweetener (equal parts) over the radish…then mix away.

• Optional: You can eat ’em right away, but like with any other kimchi (this is essentially a radish kimchi), the longer the seasonings soak, the tastier. I stored mine in a plastic container and left it in the fridge until dinnertime. You can even make this days in advance and save yourself some prep time for a future dinner!

• Optional 2: You can add other veggies in this mix, too, like jalapeno peppers, scallions, chives, bean sprouts, whatever.

STEP FOUR: Cook the Meat

• Most people boil the meat, but I wanted a novel excuse to use my new Nesco roaster oven again. I poured a few cups of water into the roaster, set up the rack, and steamed everything for about twenty minutes. It turned out perfect!
• If you’d rather boil (easier clean up, I suppose), plop the pork into a pot of boiling water, add a clove or two of garlic, maybe a basil leaf, a dash of salt, and let it do its thing for awhile.

• Optional: The cabbage is typically served cold or room-temp and not super wilted – so I could have just washed off the salt from the cabbage and served as is. But it was super cold last night, and I wanted my  dinner hot, hot, hot, so I stuck the cabbage into the roaster, too. Why not? It came out super wilted, but sturdy enough to serve as wraps – yay!
• Optional 2: If you want to save yourself some prep time, don’t bother salt-brining the cabbage. Save yourself an hour of prep time by sprinkling salt all over the cabbage, then steam it with the meat like I did.

STEP FIVE: Plate, Serve, Eat

• Let the steamed or boiled pork cool for a bit, then divide into half-inch slices. Place on one side of a large plate.
• Tear off cabbage leaves at the base and stack to one side of the plate.
• Complete the trifecta by plopping a mound of the spicy radish kimchi onto the plate.
•  Optional: Another typical way to plate this dish (for large parties) is to place the cabbage just like the picture above, lay out the pork slices around the edge of the round plate (obviously not where the cabbage is), then placing a mound of the kimchi in the center. For a smaller group, this dish is also really pretty when plated on a long rectangular plate or even a square plate.

STEP SIX: Stuff, Roll, and Grub Away

• Grab a cabbage leaf.
• Place a piece of pork and some radish kimchi about an inch away from the base of the cabbage leaf.
• Fold the base over the top of the filling, then start rolling all the way to the other end.
• Bring to your mouth and pop the whole sucker in.
• Chew. Savor. Smile.
• Repeat.

•   Optional: Wash it all down with an ice cold beer. Or take Asian night to the next level and pour yourself some sake or soju. I’ve never tried it, but I’m sure red wine would pair well with this, too.
• Optional 2: For a more casual (and less finger-food-ey) experience, you can skip the cabbage altogether. If you’re feeling extra fancy, I suppose you can slice the cabbage leaves into squares and stack the filling on top.

 Wowsa!

I’m never letting anyone order this in a restaurant ever again. For $10 or so, I totally made enough food to feed my whole family – with half a head of cabbage and a bunch of spicy radish kimchi left over. I plan to finish off the rest of the cabbage and the radish with rice and some beef I happen to have in the fridge. It wouldn’t be traditional bossam, but I’m sure it’ll still be quite tasty.

And now, I command you to go try this for yourself. Go!

Bossam. It’s what’s for dinner!

My telepathic message to The Dude

It’s not often that I go on a date so terrible that I know without an inkling of doubt that it’ll become one of my Top 3 Dates-From-Hell stories I’ll dish about given the right time and place. Not often doesn’t mean never, and tonight was one of those nights that will absolutely go down in my personal Horrible Date Hall of Fame.

It all started with a simple text from The Dude asking if I was free tonight. As it happened, I was in his neck of the woods for a work meeting. As I was conveniently in his area already and had no other definite plans, I decided to listen to Optimistic C.A.T. when it said to me, “Why not? Be open minded.” I agreed to meet him up for a quick drink.

AFTERTHOUGHT: I hate Optimistic C.A.T. so much.

Once I wrapped up my work meeting, I checked my phone and saw a message. “Text me when you’re done!”

“I just finished,” I replied.

“Okay. Where should we meet?”

We decided on a location.

“I’ll meet you there in about ten minutes,” I said.

“Can you pick me up?” he asked.

Are you freaking kidding me? Do I look like your personal Uber driver?! I ain’t picking you up on a first date!

STRRRRRRIIIIIIKE!

For the sake of The Dude’s privacy, I blotted out his profile picture. But really, what the hell…

It took a few minutes to establish that no way in hell was I going to pick him up. I was flabbergasted, but Optimistic C.A.T. whispered into my ear again. “Don’t hold it against him. His place is on the way…” I told Optimistic C.A.T. to shut up with an annoyed, “It’s a first date. What girl picks up a guy on the first date? Does he have any self-respect?! He could easily take a cab!”

Optimistic C.A.T. begged me to let this one slide.

So I did. I let it slide. I still refused to pick him up, but I decided not to write him off just yet because of one first date faux pas.

With that, I drove to the bar…and got there first, by a good 10 minutes, even though he lives 5 minutes walking distance from the joint.

STRIKE TWO.

I let that one go, too. Maybe he just walks at a snail’s pace. Who knows? We ordered our drinks and started talking. At some point in the conversation, he commented (out of nowhere), “You’re really tall.” Woohoo! A regular Sherlock Holmes, eh? Such powers of observation! Before I could utter a response, he very conspicuously peeped under the table to look at my shoes and continued, “Why do you wear heels?”

STRIKE THREE.

I actually get this question a lot, and it’s one of my pet peeves. I’m not freakishly tall, maybe about 5’8″ or 5’9″. Yes, when I wear heels, I’m usually close to 6′ tall. But must I wear flats all day everyday just to make short guys feel better about themselves? I think not. And I have eyeballs, too, so I am well-aware of how tall I am compared to you. I don’t think much of it – until you point it out!

I’m not tall. You’re just short. What do you want me to do about it? Pop myself in a microwave? Do I look like a Shrinky Dink to you?

Moving on….

At some point, I was digging through my purse for something, and I happened to take out my keys. Attached to my keychain is my pepper spray. Upon seeing it, he asked, “Why do you have that?”

“I work late a lot, and I get a little freaked out walking through dark, empty parking lots to get to my car.”

“You have an anxiety disorder, huh?”

Excuse me?

I wasn’t sure how to respond. With a forced smile, I finally said, “No, I just think it’s a prudent safety measure. It’s kind of like those stupid girls in horror flicks, how they always go down dark alleys and hallways even though the entire audience knows something bad could happen. I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

“Yeah, that’s an anxiety disorder.”

Thank you for the free psychoanalysis, Dr. Numbskull. And congrats! You’ve reached…

STRIKE FOUR!!!

For a brief second, I thought about how satisfying it would be to test out my pepper spray on his face. But I am rational and patient. I kept my criminal urges in check and carried on with my freakishly realistic fake-smile.

I envy the woman in this picture. I envy her so, so much.

For the rest of this painfully long “quick drink”, he managed to advise me on how to run my business (“You really need to talk to my tax guy and start a C-corp so you can write off everything”), ask me if I’m deaf (it was really loud inside the bar, and he kept joking, “Can you not hear me? Are you deaf?”), comment on my ridiculously expensive wallet that I received as a Christmas gift from one of my students (“You seem like one of those fancy girls”), and so on and so forth.

STRIKE FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, INFINITY!!!

Finally, the bill came – and he paid. Optimistic C.A.T. (she’d been silent during most of our conversation because even she couldn’t make excuses for his idiocy) finally eked out, “You have to give him some credit for passing the wallet test…”

Fine. What’s STRIKE INFINITY minus ONE? Oh, that’s right.

It’s STRIKE $%^&*()(*&.

Finally, we left. And he just had to comment on my height again. Fool, don’t you know your comments do nothing but tell me how insecure you are about your height? Why must you keep pointing this out?

He walked me to the parking garage where I’d valeted my car. I gave him credit for that. What’s STRIKE INFINITY minus one minus one? Yep, still STRIKE %^&*((*&^. Pretty much, nothing could salvage this date at this point. Optimistic C.A.T. chimed, “It’s okay. It’s over now. It can’t get worse.”

True. It couldn’t get any worse. I mean, we were done, right?

False. It could get worse. It did get worse.

As the valet pulled my car out, I walked over to the open driver’s side door – and saw The Dude just standing around. Out of sheer courtesy, I asked, “Do you need a ride home?”

“I can call a cab or walk. I live just down the street.”

“You sure?”

“Actually, if you don’t mind…”

STRIKE INFINITY to the INFINITE POWER!!!

I’m not your neighborhood Yellow Cab.

I grudgingly drove his lame-ass the entire 0.1 miles to his house. When I pulled up to his lobby entrance, he made no move to get out and kept talking about I-don’t-know-what-because-I’d-totally-checked-out-by-this-point. So I fake-yawned as obnoxiously as I could, and said, “Gotta wake up early tomorrow…” Thank goodness he took the hint. But before he exited my vehicle, he leaned over to give me a hug. I didn’t want his limbs anywhere near me. In an awkward attempt to politely return the gesture without actually touching him, I managed to head-butt him squarely in his left temple. Awesome.

As soon as I was rid of him, I screeched outta there and straight into the loving, consoling arms of my kick-ass girlfriends who were hanging out a few blocks away. And it took a few minutes of exasperated storytelling to my friends and the bartender – and several generous gulps of Jameson – to dull my mental pain.

I’ve had my fair share of awkward, uncomfortable first dates. I’ve had a handful of is-this-for-real bad dates. But this one? For goodness sakes, The Dude. Stick to your charming ways, and you’re guaranteeing a future as a 80-Year-Old Virgin. No doubt about it. This 2-hour long ordeal was so ludicrous from beginning to end, it’s practically hilarious! I’m actually honest-to-God laughing right now as I recap the experience. It’s even funnier because he seems to have thought tonight went well (judging by his follow up text – to which I have zero plans to respond).

Actually, I won’t call you.

Now that I’m home and clearheadedly recapping the experience, I can’t help but wonder… Was I unknowingly on a revival of Candid Camera or something?

This is a joke, right…?

Ms. Carly Rae Jepsen, judging by your hit song (which I happened to really enjoy before I started hearing it everywhere, all the time, and got numb to its catchy tune and lyrics), you’ve clearly led an incredibly charmed life.

If I had my way, I’d rewrite these lyrics. Hey, Dude. I met you. And I know this might sound crazy to your crazy self. Yes, I gave you my (real) number. But please. Call me…

NEVER.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Brr… It’s so cold these days!

The misconception that it’s summer all year long in Southern California is exactly that – a misconception. True, it might never get as cold here as up north or on the East Coast, but hot and cold are relative concepts – after months of 90-100+ degree heat, a sudden drop to 50-70 degrees feels downright frosty to me.

For most of the year, I’m crazy about crisp salads, fresh fruit, and iced coffee. But when temperatures dip, I get chills just thinking about cold food. Hot, hot, piping, piping hot food is all I want to put in my belly, and there’s nothing better than my trusty slow cooker(s – I own several) to help me stay well-fed during cold winter months.

One of my favorite things to make in the slow cooker happens to be something that requires zero effort, zero cleanup, zero prep work, zero measuring, zero utensils, zero recipe-reading.

Baked Eggs

It’s hands-down the easiest snack to make using a slow cooker. Even a complete kitchen dunce can make perfect baked eggs every time; it’s practically foolproof!

STEP ONE: Place Eggs in Slow Cooker

Do I even need to explain? Just…put them in, then crank up the dial to “High”. Let it sit on High for about 2 hours.

STEP TWO: Turn the Eggs Over

In order to make sure that the eggs don’t burn on one side, use your hands to roll each egg over to another side. Replace the lid on the slow cooker and leave the heat on High for another hour… or turn down the heat to Low and let it sit for 2 more hours.

STEP THREE: Peel and Eat

Really. It’s that simple. After three or four hours of sitting in the slow cooker, the eggs should be thoroughly cooked and ready to go. Just crack the shell like you would a typical hard-boiled egg, peel, and eat!

Doesn’t this look totally delicious? It’s slightly different from a hard-boiled egg in texture (a bit denser), and something about the way the egg whites brown up makes it seem more…savory. You can’t see it in the picture, but imagine how happy your eyes will be when you split the egg in half and watch plumes of glorious steam radiating from the yolk. Yes, just imagine it. Lovely, isn’t it?

This winter, keep your belly warm and happy by pulling out your slow cooker and giving this awesome, kinda healthy, totally simple snack a go.

I promise, you won’t regret it.

The Notorious C.A.T. is all about the happy feels~

Maroon 5‘s newest music video for “Sugar” is all over the web these days – and for good reason, I think. It’s a catchy tune by a popular band paired with a totally creative, totally amazing, totally feel-good scenario. I always liked Maroon 5, but I’ve never been a die-hard fan – until this video! What’s there not to love about Adam Levine and his crew crashing LA weddings and treating unsuspecting couples and guests to a surprise concert?

While on the subject of musical wedding surprises…

I have a personal video to share!

A few weeks before my good friends Laura and Daniel got married, “Gangnam Style” hit the airwaves and started a total craze. With just one week to go before the wedding, the couple planned and choreographed an amazing surprise performance for their guests. I was one of a handful of people who knew in advance (the bride asked me to film it, that’s why I knew about it) – and I posted the video to my unused YouTube account. And in just a few days, I passed 100k hits! Whoa. Currently, the video has almost 500k views. Wow. Various media outlets even contacted me to ask my permission to use the video; YG even flagged me for unauthorized use  but then allowed me to leave the video up anyway because it’s that awesome.

WARNING: Turn down your speaker volume before playing the video. There are about 200 people just screaming their heads off the entire time. Consider yourself warned. 

TIP: If you want to skip the wedding party intros and the setup for the surprise, skip ahead to about 4:20 or so.

Wasn’t that awesome? 

I hope you had your speakers down low. Aside from all the sweet and nice comments from strangers on YouTube, I received plenty of unwarranted hate from stupid haters about the loud screaming and the crappy camera work. In defense of the crazy, nonstop screaming: what’s wrong with everyone expressing their excitement and happiness about their friends doing something awesome? That’s pure and genuine love and support! And in defense of the crappy camera work: I was filming with my phone while crawling on my knees in a dress while trying not to get in the way of the actual videographers while trying to watch the performance, too – so please, no hating!

And guess what? There’s a Part 2 to this awesomeness!

The original idea was for the guests to join in on the fun towards the end of the performance. Thing is, the “Join us!” thing kind of got lost amidst all the excited watching and cheering. So sometime during the middle of the reception, the MC suggested a repeat performance…and this time, everyone knew exactly what to do!

REPEAT WARNING: Turn down your speaker volume before pushing play! There’s a lot of screaming and cheering in this one, too.

Aren’t surprises just so much fun?

The adorable Demi Lovato did the whole “surprise my fans” thing so awesomely, too, in her “Really Don’t Care” video. I was a fan of hers since the night Camp Rock first premiered (yes, I watched the Disney Channel way into my mid-twenties), but my fangirl-ness waned over the years…until this! A lot of my students really love her, and I totally get it. Who wouldn’t love a fun-loving, fan-appreciating celeb like this?

And that’s not all!

I’ll admit, I wasn’t ever Katy Perry’s biggest fan (even though I always thought her songs super catchy). Then, I came across this super clever and hilarious “Birthday” MV and, a few months later, wound up at her Prismatic Tour concert. And now I am such a fan of this quirky, outside-the-box, talented (her live singing and dancing was amazing), entertaining performer!

I love feel-good things on the internet! And, now…

TGIF!

Earlier today, something pretty minor happened that prompted me to think about racism in my own life. I’m Asian American, a minority in most parts of the country. I don’t know if I’m the exception or if I was just clueless or what, but all of my environments have been fairly racism-free. Then again, there were (and are) those random and innocent occasions…

This video is a funny example of what I mean by “innocent” occasions…

Funny, yep – and all too real. The scenario played out in the video has happened to me on so many occasions, I’ve simply lost count. “Are you Japanese?” No. “Are you Chinese?” No. “Are you Korean?” Yup. “Oh, annyeonghaseyo! I had a Korean friend in college…” Uh huh. So did I. “So is your family from Korea?” …and so forth. It’s not necessarily upsetting because their intentions aren’t bad – they’re just being friendly and/or making casual conversation. But it’s such a stupid sort of conversation to have in the first place.

Over the years, I’ve taken to replying with the stupidest answers possible with the straightest face possible. “Where are you from? Japan?” Actually, no. I’m from Ghana (fill in the blank with whatever country strikes my fancy at the moment). “Really?” Yeah, can’t you tell? “Really?” Yeah, really. I’m half-black. “Really?” Clearly, these people are inherently idiotic – I can’t even hate on them.

Aside from this typical, all too frequent, and well-meaning but accidentally-racist conversations, though, I’ve experienced and witnessed racism in some really strange and unexpected ways over the years…

—–

In second or third grade…

…a classmate came up to me and said, “I chink it’s a little nippy in here.” I had no idea what he was talking about, so I went to ask my teacher about it. She frowned really fiercely and walked away from me without a word. The next thing I knew, the kid got dragged to the principal’s office and suspended. For years after the fact, I had no idea why my friend got in trouble – no one bothered explaining to me – and thinking back on it, the kid that got suspended probably didn’t even know he was being racist!

—–

In third or fourth grade…

…the LA Riots happened. I don’t remember much about it nor do I really know much about it (aside from typical keywords like “Rodney King” and stuff), but I do know it sparked a lot of mutual distrust between the Black community and the Korean community. I remember my grandparents frantically calling our house to make sure we were alive (“Grandma, LA is like really far from where we live…”) and my parents doing some volunteer work, but the chaos never really filtered into my daily life.

Not long after, my grandparents visited from Korea, and it happened to be around the time of my birthday. Every fourth grader at my school (and some very privileged younger and older kids lol) were invited to my party, and it was probably the first time my grandparents saw me playing with mostly non-Korean peers. But my grandparents are polite and dare I say a little bit liberal folk, so despite the language barrier, they got along well with all my friends and their parents.

There was one black kid in my grade. He and I were really good friends (and he had the coolest parents in the world), and he was his usual funny and outgoing self with my grandparents. Throughout the day, my grandma repeatedly whispered to me, “Your friend is really nice…” – in honorifics, as if he were someone to be feared or respected. We were only ten years old!

—–

Sometime in high school…

…I was on the phone with my grandparents. “So, do you have a boyfriend?” Yes. “Is he Korean?” Yes. “No. No, no, no. That’s no good.” Huh? I’m confused. “You’re American! American! So you need to marry a nice American man. Someone with blond hair and blue eyes.” Um. Okay. Not all Americans are blond and blue-eyed, Grandpa. “Yes, they are.” Okay.

—–

When I was 19 or so… 

…I worked with my dad for a bit. For one of our product launches, my dad had asked me to look into some demographics information. Walking over to my desk, which was in one corner of an office filled with 9 other desks (and employees), my dad picked up the report and started talking out loud. “Hmm, it seems the negro customers…”

Shocked, I cut him off. “Dad! You can’t say that!”

Coolly, he looked at me and asked, “So what am I supposed to say?”

“Just say black!”

Aghast, my dad yelled (in front of all the other employees), “Black?! Did I raise you to be racist?! How would you like it if people called you yellow just because of your skin color?!” He was actually really pissed off at me.

Changing tactics, I replied, “Fine, then say African American!”

Oh, that pissed him off even more. “African American?! That’s so racist! Just because they’re dark-skinned doesn’t mean they’re from Africa! They’re Americans, just like you! How do you like it when people just assume you’re Chinese because of the way you look?!”

Honestly, I was at a loss for words. Here was my dad calling black people Negros…and yelling at me for being politically incorrect. What in the world. Regaining his composure, he let my supposed racism slide, and continued on reading the report. Muttering to himself, he said, “Oh man, the Orientals…”

The Orientals. For goodness sakes.

Since that day, my friends and I jokingly refer to my dad as the Wannabe White Plantation Owner from the 1800s.

—–

Sometime in my mid-twenties…

…my boyfriend (at the time) and I went to Marshall’s Home Goods – a store that’s usually teeming with Asian people. While waiting in the checkout line, he and I were talking about something. When it was our turn, we stepped forward, placed our stuff on the counter, and as the elderly white man at the register scanned our items, we continued our discussion. Out of nowhere, the man interrupted us. With a big, friendly smile on his face, he said, “You Orientals sure do speak good English!”

A bit dumbfounded, my boyfriend and I just stared, our conversation coming to a dead halt.

As we stupidly blinked in response, the man continued, “You sure have assimilated well into this country!” Seriously, he was downright jolly.

Finally finding my voice, I replied flatly, “Uh, yeah. I was born here. And he,” I pointed to my boyfriend, “is like third or fourth generation Japanese.”

The man was completely oblivious to my tone of voice. Still happy as a clam, he said, “Yeah! Like I said, you immigrants sure do speak our language really well.”

I looked at my boyfriend. He looked at me. I said to him, “Um, he’s trying to compliment us, right?”

My boyfriend looked as bewildered as I felt. Finally speaking up, he said to the old man, “My great grandparents were immigrants. The rest of us were born and raised right here in Southern California. I’m as American as you and your family.”

Smiling indulgently, the old man said, “Of course! Of course! You don’t even have an accent!”

We just half-smiled, half-winced in return until the well-intended old man finished ringing up our purchases. On our way out of the store, I just had to comment. “He had to be the sweetest racists I’ve ever met in my life.”

—–

A few years ago…

…I was on the phone with my mom (she lives in Korea).

“So, do you have a boyfriend?” she asked.

“No.”

“But you’re getting older and older. You need to find a good man and settle down.”

“I don’t want to get married, so I’m good with being single.”

In a worried voice, she said, “Is it because there’s no one you’re interested in? Or no one’s interested in you?”

“Jeez, Mom…”

With a resigned sigh, my mom confessed, “When you were little, your dad and I talked about it – and we decided we’d be okay if you eventually chose to date and marry a non-Korean guy.”

Vaguely irritated, I replied, “Korean or not, I’m not interested in getting married.”

After a moment’s pause, she added, “You know we’re not racist. You can even marry a black guy if you want. We’d…understand.”

What the hell?

After hanging up with her, I fell into conversation with my brother. “I talked to Mom earlier. And she gave me permission to marry a black guy. She specifically said it was okay to marry a black guy. That’s…”

My brother finished my sentence. “Freaking racist.”

Yep. My mother, in trying to convince me that she hadn’t a racist bone in her body, managed to make the most well-intended racist comment ever.

—–

A few days ago…

…I was standing in line to check out at Walmart. There was an elderly white couple in front of me with about a million items on the conveyor belt (no joke, I overheard other people making doomsday jokes after seeing their massive load).The mountain of microwave dinners, Kleenex boxes, canned sodas, canned vegetables, bread, and whatnot stacked on the conveyor belt shielded me from the woman’s view because she very cluelessly struck up conversation with the cashier as the cashier began scanning the canned vegetables and dog food.

“You know I never buy Chinese.”

The cashier just smiled.

“Food from China is so dangerous. Did you know it’s poisonous?”

The cashier mumbled something in response.

“I wouldn’t even feed it to my dog. It kills, them, you know. Something the Chinese put in the food kills dogs. It’s poison!”

The cashier mumbled something again.

“It’s all over the television, you know? The Chinese… they poison their food. So I don’t buy anything Chinese.”

The cashier mumbled something in response, and only then did the elderly woman seem to notice me standing a few feet away from her. She looked…a bit startled.

In a half-whisper, half-mumble, she began to clarify. “I mean, I have nothing against the Chinese. But food from China is just so dangerous…”

To save the woman some embarrassment, I got out my phone and pretended to be occupied…and deaf and blind. But from my peripheral vision, I totally saw her stealing glances in my direction – likely checking to see if I’d heard her. I continued to act busy, deaf, and blind.

To the cashier, the woman continued in a nervous whisper, “It’s not all Chinese people… just the food from their country…”

I had to suppress a laugh witnessing her nervous antics. If I’d been in a mood to give her a hard time, I’d totally have said, “Look, ma’am. First of all, I’m not Chinese, so no personal offense taken. Second, I try to avoid food packaged in China, too. I don’t know about poison, but you’re not the only one worried about what goes in your food – so I understand. Third, you obviously – at least in retrospect – recognized how racist you sounded. Don’t feel guilty just because a potentially-Chinese stranger overheard your racist talk; feel guilty because racist talk came out of your mouth. I’m sure Chinese people in America – or Chinese people as a whole, for that matter – aren’t sitting around thinking of different ways to poison you and your dog. Surely, there are shady American companies, too. And I’m sure Chinese Americans are just as wary of “packaged in China” labels as every other American – just some food for thought.”

But I kept my comments to myself. She seemed like a sweet old lady, and it was pretty obvious she didn’t mean to sound like a Chinese-hater.

—–

So…racism is alive and well, even in the melting pot we call Southern California. The sort of racism I’ve experienced was almost always unintentional and with zero malice – nothing compared to the disturbing incidents across the country that have been plastered all over the media lately (and since forever ago). Still, even subtle and accidental racism warrants some sort of recognition and discussion, I think. And these normally-nice people – my family included – need to take a step back and re-examine some of the unnecessary commentary that comes out of their mouths. Well-meaning, accidental, or unintentional, it doesn’t really matter. More than being offended at the unconscious racism, I’m offended at the stupidity and ignorance of it all.

Tsk, tsk, tsk.

It’s time to stop accidentally sounding so stupid.

Really. It’s 2015. Prejudice became passe long, long ago.

Get with the program.

The cool thing about kimchi is that, technically, it’s more of a preparation style than an actual dish – which means there are a gabillion different variations of it depending on season, region, family, whatever. This New Year’s Day, I made an enormous batch of dumplings – and decided that I needed some kimchi to go with my first meal of the new year. Instead of traditional cabbage kimchi, I made a cucumber-chive-radish version. Why? I don’t know. Why not?

INGREDIENTS

Persian Cucumber (preferably a few inches long, and straight, not curved)
Radish with stems & leaves
Chives
Minced Garlic
Red Pepper Flakes
Coarse Sea Salt
Soy Sauce
Sesame Oil
Apple Cider Vinegar (I usually use brown rice vinegar, actually)
Fruit Syrup (not corn syrup, so no worries. You can use sugar or honey, too)

STEP ONE: WASH, SLICE, & BRINE CUCUMBERS

Wash cucumbers thoroughly, but don’t bother drying them off. Place them in a large bowl and dump salt all over the top. Scrub the salt into the exterior of the cucumbers, then let brine for half and hour or so. The brining will get rid of the bitter taste of the cucumber peel.

My cucumbers were a bit too long for my taste, so I chopped them in half first. I also chopped off a bit from both ends just because I don’t like the stem bits – but that’s optional. Before or after brining (I did it before, for convenience’s sake), quarter the cucumber lengthwise, leaving a centimeter or so uncut at the base. You can cut all the way through, but your cucumbers might end up super salty (the insides soak up salt much faster than the outsides).

STEP TWO: CLEAN, CHOP, AND BRINE THE RADISH

First, remove the stems from the radish by chopping as close to the base as possible. Then, wash everything (including the leaves!) as cleanly as possible. Using a vegetable peeler, peel the radish, then julienne into half-centimeter-thick (ish) slices and place into a large bowl. Chop the radish stems/leaves so that they’re about 3-4 inches long and place into a separate large bowl. Liberally sprinkle salt into both bowls and mix thoroughly. Let brine for half an hour or so.

The salt brine will get rid of the radish’s bitterness, too. Use less salt on the stem/leaves, because they will soak up the salt much more quickly than the radishes.

STEP THREE: WASH & CHOP CHIVES

Wash chives thoroughly, then cut into the same length as the radish stems. Drain excess water by letting it sit in a colander, blotting with paper towels, or – my favorite – whirling the chives in a salad spinner. Place cut and dried chives in a separate bowl.

STEP FOUR: SEASON & MIX

Dump the salt brine from the radish, radish leaves, and cucumber bowls, then rinse the vegetables thoroughly.

This is where you might want to taste test the veggies. If they’re too salty, let them soak in a bowl of lukewarm water for a half hour or so. If they’re not salty enough, brine again for half an hour more. 

Drain excess liquid from the veggies like the chives (in a colander, with paper towels, with a salad spinner), then place all veggies (including chives) into a large mixing bowl. Using a food processor, mince 15-20 cloves of garlic (or more!), and spoon on top of the pile of veggies. Liberally sprinkle red pepper flakes all over the top, then add a tablespoon (or less) of soy sauce, a tablespoon (or less) of sesame oil, two tablespoons of vinegar, and three tablespoons of fruit syrup (or half a cup of sugar). Then, just mix, mix, mix!

Periodically, go for a taste-test and add more seasoning as necessary. You shouldn’t need too much soy sauce (or any additional salt), as most of the veggies were salt-brined in advance. Be very sparing with the sesame oil, but be liberal with the red pepper flakes and the vinegar. If it’s too vinegary, add more syrup/sugar. If it’s too sweet, add more vinegar. I prefer using fruit syrup over sugar because I think it gives the final product a pretty sheen, but if sugar’s all you have on hand, go for it. Or you can skip the sugar part altogether – it’s not necessary.

Note: After a day or two of sitting in the fridge, the veggies will soak up all the seasoning and the flavors will be much stronger. So it’s better to err on the side of caution and slightly underseason. 

STEP FIVE: EAT IT

The first day, you can store this in room temperature – which will speed up the flavor infusion – but I usually make large batches and keep them in the fridge. They’re fine to eat right away, but even better on Day Two and beyond. The chives and leaves will definitely be less crunchy after a few days, but that’s kind of the point.

Instead of buying pre-packaged jars of baby-sea-creature-infused kimchi at your neighborhood Korean market, why not give this homemade kimchi a go? It’s easy enough to make with a few staple ingredients – and it’s the perfect sort-of-spicy side dish to almost any Korean meal!

Happy eating!

Being the cheapskate that I am, I’m always on the lookout for ways to get more bang for my buck. And given that I work with teenagers (the poorest of the poor, since most of them have to make do with their allowance), I often get clued in about the best ways to get the most bang for buck at fast food joints. Of course, there are tons of websites out there about the Chipotle “Secret Menu” (and every other secret menu you can think of)… But even before those lists circulated the web, I had my own.

1) Half and Half Bowl with Extra Everything

Several of my students first clued me into this one. During an all-nighter, I sent some kids out on a Chipotle run. I specifically asked for a steak bowl, but they brought me back a steak and chicken bowl. When asked about the error, the kids rolled their eyes and replied, “Don’t you know? You get way more meat if you ask for half and half.” Based on my experiences after that night, they were right. When you just get one kind of protein, they give you a half-ish scoop (dang, Chipotle got miserly over the years). But if you ask for two kinds of protein, half-half, they don’t ever really give you two quarter-scoops. Asking for Barbacoa (the shredded beef) as one of the proteins gives you even more – because the workers use tongs not spoons, and the shredded beef is kind of stuck together in a chunk. I’m not a fan of beans, but if you’re a fan, half and half on beans also yields you more overall than if you just order one kind.

The only things at Chipotle that cost extra are guacamole and protein, but everything else is free! Don’t be shy – ask for more of everything! More rice, more veggies, more corn salsa, more beans, more cheese, more lettuce – more, more, more! And ask for your hot sauce on the side because, at this point, your bowl will be overflowing – and you definitely won’t be able to eat it all in one sitting. Food soaked for hours in hot sauce is gross.

2) Two Tortillas on the Side

I’m not a fan of Chipotle burritos because they’re too fat – it’s impossible to get even bites of everything every time. When the first Chipotle opened in my area, I used to order the burritos, deconstruct them, and eat with forks. Stupid me – I didn’t even know they had bowls for a few months! But the bowls were missing the oh-so-tasty tortilla. I asked for one on the side, and voila! Everything was perfect. Over time, I started getting greedy and asking for two – and voila! Greed satisfied.

3) Stock Up on Utensils

I’m probably going to get some flak for this – but oh well. I admit it. I can’t help it. I have to do it. I have to stock up on Chipotle utensils whenever I can. Is this stealing? I don’t know. Am I a klepto? No, I don’t think so. Will I stop? Absolutely not. I assuage my guilt by reminding myself that I don’t go to Chipotle often enough for this utensil-hoarding-habit of mine to really be a terrible one. I’m not sure when the utensils changed to black (they used to be clear), but it doesn’t matter what color they are. The quality is still the same. Pretty much, Chipotle has the best plastic utensils ever. They’re so sturdy, I actually wash and reuse them pretty often. I keep a stash in my car for those times I grab a carryout meal and the utensils it comes with are flimsy. I keep a stash in my kitchen utensil drawer. I keep a stash at my office. Good plastic utensils are hard to find, and Chipotle’s is the best by far.

The Only Thing Crappy at Chipotle: Paper Napkins

I’m not sure what it is about Starbucks and Chipotle, but their paper napkins suck. They have a faint but funny scent, and they’re really not that durable. I always keep a small stack of napkins in my car, and it’s always the Chipotle and Starbucks napkins that shred the easiest when they come into contact with liquid. Of course, they’re not paper towels – I know. But say you spill something on your clothes while in the car. If you try to wipe it off with a Chipotle or Starbucks napkin, you’ll be left with napkin-lint all over your clothes – a bigger mess than when you first started. Meh – but crappy napkins can never be a deal breaker when everything else is so awesome

I love Chipotle!

Seriously. Aside from the napkins, what is there not to love about Chipotle? Sure, at about $8-9 (after tax), it’s a more expensive choice, but it’s totally worth it (especially considering one bowl equals two meals for me).

It’s convenient, it’s customizable, it’s a relatively healthy fast food option, it’s somewhat fresh, it’s tasty, it’s great bang for buck…and the utensils last forever. Yay for Chipotle!

My friends and I like to make fun of one of our good friends for her (admittedly awesome and girly) need to always match her bra and panties. “It’s so much hassle to match every single day! How the hell do you do that every morning?!” we shriek and laugh. Despite our merciless teasing, she refuses to change her ways.

That’s commitment. Or OCD.

That same friend was recently in a car accident, and she’s been going to the chiropractor on a regular basis. Last night, we somehow got on the subject of weird things that have happened at the chiro. She shared a story about one of her recent visits: as she was changing into her gown, she suddenly felt super embarrassed and awkward because she realized (a) her chiropractor was a young(ish) male, (b) her gown was backless, and (c) all she had on was a hot pink lace bra.

Yep. Awkward sauce.

Then again, if you consider the flip side… Imagine if you were wearing your rattiest, grungiest bra in that scenario. Wouldn’t that be even more embarrassing?

As much as I join in on teasing my friend about her always matching underwear, I do think she’s on the right track – in terms of preparedness.

No, you sleazeball. Not in a kinky way. But in an emergency preparedness way – like during a zombie apocalypse.

I’ve thought about this often over the years. I like to shower in the morning – but in most books and movies, bad things happen at night, when you’re most unaware. I would hate to have to run out of my house during an unexpected zombie invasion unshowered, without makeup, and with shitty underwear on. Who knows how long I’d have to survive out in the wild in that dirty, grubby state? Granted, I’m sure I’d have way bigger problems on my mind in this scenario, but still… it would be nice to be clean and presentable, at least in the beginning.

Even if it weren’t a zombie apocalypse that forced me out of my house in the middle of the night, there are plenty of other scenarios where I might have to run out in my pjs. I live in California. A sudden and massive earthquake is totally within the realm of possibility, isn’t it? If there were a massive quake in the dead of night and my house was about to collapse, surely, I’d just run outside as is. And then say my house toppled over. Then I’d probably end up at a shelter or something for God knows how long – and it’s not as if I’d have access to a shower or my clean clothes.

And this is where I’m going to start sounding majorly crazy. I watch a lot of crime dramas like Law & Order and Criminal Minds and stuff. I can’t say I haven’t wondered on more than a few occasions what might happen if I were home during a home invasion, if I were kidnapped, if I were otherwise murdered… When witnesses find my body, it would be kind of shitty to be dressed in crappy underwear. Or, less disturbingly (kind of), if I were in a massive accident of some sorts and rushed bloody and unconscious to the ER… When ER doctors and nurses have to cut off my clothing to perform emergency surgery, it would be kind of shitty to be dressed in crappy underwear. Would the witnesses or doctors care…or even notice? Probably not. But still…. I don’t want to die in crappy underwear.

Vain? I suppose so.

Still… More and more, I’m starting to think my friend with the matching undergarments is on the right track. As impractical as it is to match every single day, at least she’d never have a Bridget Jones moment with any potential attackers, witnesses, or doctors. I must take a leaf from her book and change my lazy ways. And I should start showering at night, just in case I don’t get a chance to before a zombie apocalypse.

I would not enjoy being caught unawares.

The pictures are from a friend’s birthday. Her birthday’s on Halloween, and she decided to go with a Walking Dead theme. I’m proud to say all 30 of us made for a pretty awesome zombie group…but I wonder how many of us were wearing matching underwear?

Speaking of Walking Dead, we ran into Steven Yeun at a bar the other night. My friend is completely smitten with the dude, and that just totally made her year.

Anyway, the important thing is…maybe this year, one of your New Years Resolutions should be to wear matching underwear every day. I mean, who knows? It’s a scary, scary world, and anything can happen. If something did happen, at least you would have a tiny bit of piece of mind knowing that your underwear matches.

Most recently, I had an issue with my car.

As I was driving home from work, my dash lit up with a picture of my car and warned, “Low Tire Pressure.” Beside each tire, it said 31-29-31-31, and there was a dot next to what I assumed was the problem tire in question. Thing is, I had no idea what not-low tire pressure was supposed to be.

I was just about to get worried – “Do I have a flat?” – when the warning lights went off, and everything went back to normal. I half-thought about going to the gas station to pump some air, but it was past 10pm, and it was super cold. Shivering next to an air pump at a scary gas station was the last thing I wanted to do after a long day of work.

So I just drove home.

The next day, I completely forgot about it – until I started driving to work. Suddenly, the warning lights blinked on – and they wouldn’t go away. And this time, the tire pressure numbers read 29-28-29-29, and there was, as before, a dot next to the same tire. The more I drove, the more freaked out I got.

But, I’m a logical person. If I had a flat, wouldn’t the tire have deflated between that morning and the night before? It had only gone down by one digit – was it that much of an emergency? With these thoughts in my mind, I just continued my drive (albeit slowly and carefully) to work.

After work, I finally went to the gas station to pump some air into the problem tire. My line of thinking went something like this: the warning lights went on because that ONE tire’s pressure was ONE DIGIT lower than the others. Therefore, ONE DIGIT must be a lot of air.

So I pumped away.

When I got back in my car and turned on the ignition, the numbers now read 30-53-30-30. Wtheck.

Before I left the gas station, I scoured the net for answers to “what is ideal tire pressure?” only to find a bunch of websites that said, “It’s different for every car. Please consult your owner’s manual…” Too lazy to “consult my owner’s manual” as directed, I called a friend of mine who’s a service dealer at Lexus. “What the hell does this mean?! Is my tire going to explode now?!” After laughing at me a bit, he informed me that ideal tire pressure for a typical sedan is 35.

Now I know. And now you know, too.

And on a side note, apparently, I didn’t have to get freaked out by the stupid warning lights after all. All I had to do was push a menu button, and I could toggle away from it.

Lovely.

So yeah. Technology is great. But sometimes, it just makes me panic for no big reason.