Dumplings

Recently, I was told by a few friends to watch "The Bear", a TV Series about a young chef from the fine dining world that comes back home from Chicago to run his family sandwich shop.

Me, being behind on TV Shows to watch, just finished episode 5 of the inaugural season this morning. I mention this because there is a particular scene where a new dish is being made at the sandwich shop and the head chef makes one of the staff members taste it and the reaction on her face said it all; joy and happiness.

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I remember my mom sitting at the dining room table, in her orange apron with a cartoon monkey sewed on it, hours before dinner when I was about 7 or 8 years old, wrapping the seasoned ground pork in dumplings wrapper to prepare for supper. There was a time where I sat in the seat right in front of her and watched every move carefully. 

Grab the wrapper.

Put the meat on the wrapper.

Dap water around the wrapper.

Fold the wrapper in half.

Fold the outside of the wrapper.

Repeat.

I would get so hyped up for time to pass by so we can all sit at the table to eat the dumpling. Once it was time for dinner, my mom would get the portable hot plate and would put the dumplings on there once the surface was hot and ready. The dumpling, sizzling each time she placed it, I would patiently stare and wait for the food cook.

Once my mom said the food is ready to eat, I remember grabbing the first piece off the hot plate, dipping it into a sauce mixed with soy sauce, chili oil and rice vinegar, then biting into it.

Every bite brought me joy and happiness.

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Certain foods, like dumplings for an example, brings nostalgic memories for me. That moment and that time, there was nothing to worry about except to enjoy the food. Though my mom was exhausted are prepping and cooking the food, she was probably happy to see the smiles on our face when we ate her food.

I've made and cooked my own dumplings in the past but never really shared it with a lot of people. So the other week, on a NFL Sunday, I decided to bring over a few dumplings over to a friend's house where she was having people over to watch the games.

As I was prepping the few dumplings the night before (about 100 pieces), I kept on having that nostalgic memories of my mom at the dining room table prepping food for our family and hoping I can deliver on the taste and quality of the food.

As Sunday came along and as I was cooking the dumplings at my friends house, not on a hot plate, but on a frying pan on a stove, I was nervous how the dumplings would turn out, maybe because my friend Emily was watching my every move of cooking it the entire time.

As I finished cooking one plate of dumplings, Emily and I went for a taste test. I took the first bite and was happy with it. Emily went second and the reaction she gave was exactly what I was hoping for.

Joy and happiness.

As others came over to watch the game, I finished cooking up the 2nd batch of dumplings and served it on the picnic table where a spread of food was out. When every one took a bite of the dumplings, the reaction was the same.

Joy and happiness.

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My mom always took pride in the food she made (like every mom in the world) and I always looked up to her (and still do) when it comes to cooking. Hell, I called and asked her for a curry recipe once before and wrote it down on an index card back in 2016. I still have the same index card until this day. 

Even with the recipes my mom gives me, it seems like a never ending journey of perfecting a meal like mom does. But as long as it's really damn close and could bring people joy and happiness, I'm alright with that.

Jun

Do You Believe In Love?

A few weeks ago, I pulled up into the parking lot to a friend’s office to drop off some belongings after being a part of a photoshoot

As I got out of the car, a random man, with his dog started yelling at me from stairwell about 50 yards out. 

“Can you read the sign?”

“What sign?” I asked. I thought I was getting in trouble because I just had parked in the reserved spot.

“This. Right below me.”

It read LIFE IS NOW.

It was one of the murals that my friend had in front of his office.

This man with the dog, introduced himself to me and asked me if I believe in it, pointing at the “O” in NOW, which read "LOVE"

“That sign?”

“Yeah man,” the man still pointing at the mural. “Do you believe in love?”

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Love is hard, isn’t it? Well, at least for me it is.

Growing up in a Japanese household, we didn’t really show any affection, like giving hugs when we haven’t seen each other. Also my parent’s didn’t meet eye to eye, got a divorce when I was in high school. And now, they don’t talk to each other at all.

When my parents first separated, I was in middle school. I had just come back from a baseball tournament in Hawai’i. Talk about being on Cloud 9 to being kicked to the ground. I asked my mom, “Where’s dad?” Then in disappointment, she told me that he had left her.

Couple months later, and now looking back, I think my parents agreed to live together again for the sake of my sisters and I. Then one morning before school, I heard my mom begging in tears to my dad not to leave as he was walking out the door to leave my mom for the last time. 

I rushed to the front door and I said, “Dad?”

He paused for about 3 seconds at the steps of the door, and proceeded to walk to his car and drive off out of the driveway and rarely saw him after that.

I still remember every second of that moment until this day. 

That moment you can say scarred me and I never wanted to be in the situation that my mom or dad was in.

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Fast forward to today, the journey still continues to share life long moments with. Sure, I went on a few dates, some that I dove in harder that others and got heart broken. 

But I sit here in the woods of Yosemite, where I was going to take a trip by myself to reset, but then ended up going with a friend, and his girlfriend, and thankfully they came since it gave me a sense of hope. Hope that there is something special between two people, whether if that special connection takes a while to build or even if it’s long distance. 

So love hard whenever you can. And when times get tough, love harder. Never give up. It’ll be impossible for someone to forget that.

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So, as the man with the dog points to sign and asks me, "Do you believe in love?"

100%

Jun

Sip of Experiences

Recently, I told my friend I needed a new book to read. He opened his backpack and handed me a book he had on him. “Setting The Table” by Danny Meyer. I’m only through the 3rd chapter, but a section of the book resonated with me, as I drink a cup of coffee…

About 6 months back, I moved into an apartment in Venice, CA where I started to befriend the folks at the local coffee shop next door to me, Little Lunch Coffee + Snacks. I told the owner, Chris, I’ve always been fascinated by the technique of latte art and wanted to learn how to do it one day.

One morning, I went into the Little Lunch and Chris and his business partner, Jordan, who knew about my interest in doing latte art, told me to come in a little later in the day and they would help me out.

So later that day during my lunch break from work, I went back to Little Lunch, where Chris first showed me his charts and diagrams of how to make the perfect espresso for the latte. It measured everything to the dose, gram and seconds to extract it depending on how old the roast is. It’s truly an art form.

Then, Chris proceeded onto explain how to steam the milk. He said not all milks are the same and you never want the milk to bubble too much (That, I still have yet to get even close).

As Chris steamed the milk because I couldn’t get close for the milk not to bubble, he made me his puppet trying to mimic the technique of how to pour the milk into the espresso. As we finished the pour, Jordan said, “Nothing like a good penis latte art.”

I’m grateful for the opportunity Chris and Jordan gave me. Learning from experts that took time to master their craft was unbelievable. 

But there was something else that stuck with me more than the tutorial of the latte art.

After extracting the roast for the espresso, Chris told me to take a sip of the coffee, which he made very potent and bitter, but the aroma was at its strongest.

“Can you tell what the taste the hint of the roast?”

“Mmmm. Not really”

Chris then proceeded to name off the flavors in the coffee and nailed every single one of them. He then picked up the bag of the roast and said, “Yup, I was right.” Maybe he already knew what it was, but then why would be look at the bag if he knew?

I asked him how did he know the flavors.

One, he said from years of being a barista. 

Sure.

Two, he said from past experiences. He says whenever he drinks new coffee, he tries remind himself of something, whether if its a favorite memory, grandma’s homemade cookies, the strawberry fields, or home

As a coffee drinker for a while now in my short life, and been drinking my coffee black since 2010 (Thanks Logan and Danny), I never really thought anything of it expect to wake me up in the morning.

Looking back, drinking Folgers dark roast hotel room coffee that tasted like motor oil will remind me of when I would stay up late night for work and texting my friend that was in another city as we were starting our journey as a Broadcast Associate at Fox. 

Kirkland’s Keurig Breakfast Blend watered down coffee will remind me of drinking coffee with my former colleague at 3 pm on a Saturday during 10-12 hour day in the TV production truck trying to get through the work day.

And currently, as I sip a filtered coffee on a rainy Monday morning at local coffee shop in Santa Monica, CA, this flavor at this coffee shop will remind me of a time I asked someone we should meet up for coffee, at a place I've never been before (rolled the dice on this one).

Making coffee drinking an experience has completely has been a game changer since I stepped foot into Little Lunch that day. I realized that there’s an infinite amount of things to experience out there still.

So when you try out a new coffee or go to a new coffee shop, let every sip of coffee bring you new experiences.

Jun