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random childhood memory #756472

My cousins from Canada came to visit for the summer in 1987. My mother got us pizza for lunch. As my sisters and I digged happily into our slices, the cousins stared at their plates in bewildered puzzlement.

“Where’s the knife and fork?” asked the Cousin with the soda bottle lenses.

“You don’t need them,” I said.

“How are you supposed to eat the food then?” questioned the confused Cousin with the Dorothy Hammill haircut.

“You pick it up and eat like this.” My sister picked up her slice with two hands, fold the wider end in the center, and bit off a mouthful on the tapered end.

“Eat with your hands?!” the cousins asked incredulously.

“That’s the way everyone eats pizza.” I said.

The prim cousins looked at their lunch perplexedly, trying to figure how to best approach this low-brow fare challenge. Soda-bottle Lenses lifted the plate to his mouth and nibbled at the pizza. Dorothy Hammill Hair used her finger tips to hover her slice about an inch off the plate, trying her best to work at it with utmost dignity and pinky fingers out.

And I wondered how these two cousins, who grew up in the Western world, influenced by Western cultures, managed to reach school age without knowing how to eat pizza.

A few years later I came across an Ann Landers column in which a finishing school graduate said the proper way to eat a banana is to slice it in half length-wise, serve on a plate, and spoon the fruit out of its skin. This way is considered “much more elegant than holding the banana, stripping the skin and looking like a monkey.”

Then I understood what school my cousins came from.

[originally published on LiveJournal]

random childhood memory #3741

Circa 1984, in the grade school lunchroom

The cafeteria was serving fried chicken for lunch. A Polish kid was happily gnawing away on the chicken bones and sucking out the dark marrow inside. The whole table fell silent at the sight of splintered shards of chicken bones strewn about his plate and tray. “I like to eat the inside of the bones. They’re good!” said the Polish kid as he licked the skeletal fragments clean. Our 5th grade classmates could do nothing but continue to look on in horror and disgust.

I like to eat marrow out of chicken bones, too. I often do that in the privacy of the family dinner table. My mother would cluck disapprovingly as I brazenly cracked open the chicken bones to get at the tasty livery goodness inside. “Proper ladies do not do such things!”, she rebuked.

But on that day, I was not brave enough to admit this to a packed lunchroom full of judgmental punks and join my bone marrow eating classmate in the joyful extraction of secret culinary treasures. Because Americans do not do that kind of thing that weird Polish kid was doing. Because it would turn you into a stinkin’ commie, don’cha know?

I forlornly looked down at my plate with the naked chicken bones lying there in neat little rows. Naked bones silently begging to be broken into. Naked bones silently mocking me for my cowardice.

[originally published on LiveJournal]

can’t dream no more…

For some reason my brain seems to have lost its ability to cook up new dreams since June 2007. Yes, I remember exactly when I stopped having dreams.

The last dream I had was about three weeks after my Aikido sensei passed away. He was in front of the tokonoma sitting in a meditative seiza, surrounded by an ethereal light. I was sitting on the sidelines observing the kyu test. After one classmate completed his test, a 1st kyu sempai said I’m up next, even though I know I wasn’t planning on testing. “Yes, it’s your turn. 4th kyu.”, he said. After making a >__<; face, I got up to the mat, prepared or not. Then a commotion outside the dojo drew everyone’s attention. We all went outside to peek and found a pumpkin horse carriage. With nothing else happening outside, everyone went back inside to resume the tests. All lighting were turned off except for the ones at the tokonoma. There were supposed to three sempai judges sitting on one side of the mat; there were two. Sensei called out, “Marc, are you still here?” A disembodied head and upper half of a torso peeked out from the darkened shadows. Yep, he’s still here. Then I woke up.

My brain couldn’t even come up with a twisted nightmare anymore, yet it’s pretty good at retaining earworms.

Damn earworm.

forgotten dream coming back to haunt

I finally finished unpacking my last box from moving into my apartment and found a piece of paper with a long forgotten dream hastily scribbled on it. I can’t believe I didn’t put a date on it, nor did I write down any more details on the Asian woman, the two victims, the cars, and the surroundings. I don’t remember how I made my escape from the black hole horror. Judging by the text on the meditation lecture flyer the dream was scribbled on, I’m guessing the date was sometime in spring of 2005.

undated dream
Dark outline of a shadowy figure was sucking my non-earthly body (soul? spirit?) into her humanoid-shaped black hole. She was an Asian woman who revealed her true nature as a black hole that sucks people in. I reacted by concentrating on my center*, putting all my power into it, and stood strong on my ground while holding on the back of a car for leverage. She successfully sucked two other people in. She tried again to suck me into her black hole. And again I ‘centered’ myself and held on for dear life on another car. I could feel the magnetic pull. It was scary. But I successfully avoided getting swallowed up by the evil black hole.

I was in an elevator going down. I was afraid for some reason that the elevator was going to malfunction and the car will plummet down the shaft. I crouched down on the floor, preparing for impact in the event the cable snapped. It didn’t. I seem to have an extreme fear of elevators.

* It’s an aikido thing.

Sometimes it freaks me out to see how my forgotten dreams from long ago manifest themselves in my waking reality years later.

P.S.: Just because someone with a bad mullet offers you free Kool Aid, it doesn’t mean you should drink it.

[originally published on LiveJournal]

global food crisis

I had a dream many years ago (a time before white hairs crept in like ninjas) where I’m in the future and found myself in the middle of a global food shortage crisis. The crisis was so bad that people resorted to cannibalism. I walked into a white well-lit room with a large metal table inside. On the table was a dismembered human male torso cut open butterfly style. I think the liver and kidneys sitting by the torso were human. Haggis anyone? Human leg shanks were neatly hung on meat hooks suspended from a ceiling rack. I ran out of the room and scrambled to look for an exit from this terrifying meat processing plant. A cloud of white mist noticed me running and immediately gave chase. The mist closing in on me was the last thing I remember before waking up.

I couldn’t forget a dream like that.

Why am I not surprised when something like this shit would happen?

Courage!

After some tinkering, I believe I have successfully recreated that excellent drink based on the Courage coffee drink from ‘Rice to Riches‘. ‘Courage’ is a chocolate orange espresso drink with a spicy kick. My version is a bit healthier since it has no sugar and no saturated fat when using a plant-based milk.

To recreate the Courage drink, you will need:

  • a teaspoon of unsweetened cocoa powder
  • a shot or two of espresso
  • 2 to 3 (2-inch) orange rind strips
  • 2 dried red chilies (More or less according to taste. I like mine extra spicy, so I use 3. You may roughly tear them up to maximize the kick at the back of your throat.)
  • about 12 oz. milk (I like almond milk, but you can use skim, whole, soy, or whatever you have on hand)

1) Put the chilies, orange rind strips, and milk in a saucepan. Bring to a simmer over high heat. Remove from heat and steep for 10-15 minutes.*

2) Mix the cocoa powder into the espresso.

3) Strain out the chilies and orange rind into a cup. Add the espresso cocoa mix and stir.

4) Enjoy.**

*When I’m in a hurry to catch the morning train, I just dump the contents of the saucepan into a travel mug, add the espresso and cocoa, and let it steep like tea that way. A spill proof mug is great when I’m running for the bus. :p

**If you’re one of those namby pambies who couldn’t take coffee without sugar, go ahead and add the sugar, you effeminate punk.

[originally published on LiveJournal]

This is why Thai food is awesome. ;)

Curry is no way an English invention, no matter what cretin insists it’s so. Especially if he’s coming from a land where the cuisine is notoriously bland. How else can you explain them confusing a simple dipping sauce for a chemical attack?

That’s got to be some damn good chili when a hazmat team seals off your street.

Which reminds me of a time when a former tenant, an English woman, called up my mother to complain of a strange chemical or gas smell coming out of our kitchen. My mother was cooking Chinese food.

So, do you want to spark your own ‘terror alert’ incident? The recipe is included in the article right here.

[originally published on LiveJournal]


Nam prik pao

4 tbsp oil; 3 tbsp chopped garlic; 3 tbsp chopped shallots; 3 tbsp chopped dried red chillies; 1 tbsp fermented shrimp paste; 1 tbsp fish sauce; 2 tsp palm sugar

Heat the oil, add the garlic and shallots and fry briefly. Remove from oil and set aside. Add chillies and fry until they start to change colour. Remove and set aside. In a pestle and mortar, pound the shrimp paste, add the chillies, garlic and shallots. Over a low heat return all the ingredients to the oil, and fold into a uniform paste. The resulting thick, slightly oily red/black sauce will keep almost indefinitely. If you wish you can add more fish sauce and/or sugar to get the flavour you want.

Recurring dreams

For two straight nights in a row, I’ve been having dreams of being inside a plane. I’m going on a trip. Joy, joy. I’m sitting in one of the cheap seats in the cabin waiting for the plane to take off. It was a full flight. As the plane started to move, I could feel the sensation of the plane going down the runway and taking off. I look out the window and see the sky. It’s blue and clear. The flight attendant tells me to buckle my belt. I do not remember the details nor the faces of the other passengers on the flight.

I know I was going somewhere, most likely out of the country. But I don’t know exactly where. Vancouver? Montreal? Am I going back to Japan? Perhaps I’m heading for Amsterdam this time? I’ve always wanted to visit Amsterdam. I leaned back into my seat and closed my eyes for a nap.

Then I woke up.