If you are here strictly for food/drink, I suggest you read just the parts in bold. If you want to know about my dating horror stories with food sprinkled in, read all of it. It’s pretty hilarious.

I was a member of OK Cupid for 6 days. On the sixth day, something happened that was so horrifying, I immediately deleted my account and concluded, once and for all, that Internet/online/app-based dating is not for me. It works great for plenty of people, but given that I’ve enjoyed a very active presence on the internet for over 14 years and have a somewhat unique name, it’s not my best option.

But before that happened, let’s talk about the lone date I went on with a guy I met from OK Cupid (who has very little to do with the reason I deleted OK Cupid; isn’t that fun?).

The afternoon of our date, he texted me to confirm plans. We traded suggestions for a bit until he finally said “I picked a place and I’m going to keep it a surprise because you seem to just like saying no.” Uh, okay – I’d declined his suggestion of a tequila bar because I don’t drink a lot of tequila, and our date was slated to begin around 6pm which is a recipe for overindulgence, then suggested another place that he declined, and then demurred when he suggested a place I’d previously visited and disliked greatly. Apparently, that means I just like saying no. K.

In order for it to remain a surprise, as his office is a few avenues from mine, he walked over to my block and “picked me up” then guided me on the subway to our destination – which turned out to be 151, a divey cocktail bar with a cool vibe. (At the time – November – it was fairly newly switched to the cocktail format; though this bar has been around for a very long time, it’s gone through many iterations is my understanding.) I am the kind of person who goes to bars alone and sits at the bar, befriends the bartender and occasionally makes friends with other people sitting there as well. I am, in case you had no idea, a friendly person. When we got there, there were people scattered around and I suggested we sit at the corner along the bar, basically sitting kitty corner from each other.

Conversation was fairly normal; it flowed easily though I found it frustrating that he repeatedly tried to convince me of things even after I explained my stance. For example, he was obsessed with a television show called The Knick. At first, I was open to it and asked him to “sell me” on it – give me reasons I should watch it. He told me nothing about the plot, and just said it was really good. Repeatedly. Now, my BFF loves this show as well – we’ve discussed it – and while the show itself may be wonderful on all levels, I don’t care for medical shows. The closest I’ve come is Scrubs, which is barely medical in nature (how many procedures did they show over the entire 9 seasons?). I cannot stand the sight of blood (disappointing my Asian parents further with my choice not to become a doctor), and I cover my eyes at particularly graphic scenes in movies that depict surgeries or violence that I can’t immediately dismiss as very fake. I also don’t watch hour long shows with any frequency (I have two major exceptions: Agents of Shield/Carter and SVU). Basically, The Knick is the very opposite of what I like in my TV shows.

In addition to that, he really, really wanted me to try his drink. Actually, I believe he wanted me to order a different drink from what I did (a version of the French 75, one of my all time favorite cocktails), but I declined politely. So he ordered what he wanted me to drink, and then insisted I try a sip. I can be very stubborn, it’s true – and sometimes the more you press me, the more I will resist. Such was the case – something about his approach really put me off, and I declined repeatedly. Maybe it was how he told me I would like it – and it was a cocktail I have had previously and sure, when made properly is really good, but it’s not what I felt like drinking (it was a whiskey drink, and I am generally in the mood for gin).

Am I painting the picture clearly? He was very pushy and insistent that he knew my preferences better than I did. Also, we began drinking at roughly 6:15 pm. Initially, I drank normally, but began nursing my cocktails because they were strong and I hadn’t eaten since lunch.

151 is a very cool bar. It has the dive feel, but offers delicious, properly-mixed cocktails. I am a huge fan of cocktails and really enjoyed the atmosphere there. The bartender was friendly and gracious, and engaged in conversation when he wasn’t busy. I had a lot of questions; they had wine on tap, which I’d previously only seen at a handful of places. They also pre-mixed certain cocktails – mine was one such cocktail – so they had batches ready to go when someone ordered it, which I found interesting. I also thoroughly enjoyed the music, which was a very laidback, relaxing mix of classic rock and jazz. I found myself enamored of the place and asking the bartender a lot of questions about the past iterations of the bar, about the music (playlist available on Spotify), about the wine on tap and about the batch cocktails.

… and this is where everything went to sh!t. Initially, Paul joined the conversation when I spoke with the bartender. Our conversations were intermittent at best – he WAS working, afterall – but they were all focused on the bar and other bars in the area. Remember, I write about food and occasionally drink… but apparently Paul either didn’t remember this or did not give a f*. Because after a few such conversations with Eli (the bartender), Paul sat back from the bar and crossed his arms over his chest. Eli wandered away, and I noticed this very closed-off, upset body language. I asked, “What’s wrong?”

Paul gave me a very angry look and said flatly, “You’re talking to the bartender an awful lot.”

I almost laughed in his face and expressed my disbelief, “Um, are you kidding me? I was asking questions about the bar.”

This is when he yelled– I kid you not, he raised his voice at me! on a first date!- “So you’re not going to see him again???”

This time I DID laugh in his face. “Well, actually, I probably will, since I really like this bar… thanks for introducing me.”

He looked so angry, and unfortunately/fortunately, my personality is such that in a situation that could be misconstrued like this, I do try to mollify the other person. I mean, he felt I was ignoring him to talk to the bartender, and we WERE on a date. It’s fair to call me out on that behavior. And some people are insecure. After I calmed Paul down a bit, I said, “I’m really hungry and can’t keep drinking without eating. I’m getting pretty tipsy.” Paul was drinking faster than I was – he was well into his second, and I was halfway into mine – and he said, “Okay.” But then he ordered another drink! so I finished mine while he drank a third.

Maybe it’s me, but I tend to think more than two cocktails on a first date is a bad idea. I can hold my alcohol easily, and will split a bottle of wine, but that’s about the most I’ll have on a first date in general. There’s no hard and fast rule, really, but a general guideline to myself – especially if I’m feeling tipsy. Also, for other people… if you can’t hold your alcohol, don’t drink so much on a first date!! You’re still trying to put the best version of yourself forward, and getting sloppy is rarely a good idea.

All that said, after he finally finished his third cocktail and it was 8 or 9pm by this point, we left to get food. Most people ask me why I didn’t just leave, but I do like to give people a fair chance – even though he YELLED AT ME FOR TALKING TO THE BARTENDER – and I really wanted to eat before I got on the subway to go home. We wandered around looking for a place before finally settling on 100 Montaditos, which I knew friends of mine had visited and enjoyed, and I’d wanted to try for a while.

100 Montaditos is a cute small sandwich place. “Montadito” is basically a small roll that various toppings are put on, they charge something ridiculously cheap for one. You’re meant to order a bunch and mix and match – I picked five, a good range to try the various kinds offered. While I don’t remember what my order was, I do recall that our server was super friendly, and that I thoroughly enjoyed my sandwiches (though by the 5th one I decided it was too much bread for me and ate just the fillings). They also came with a handful of potato chips in the center, which is totally a great little add-on for mini sandwiches. I could probably do with just 3 next time.

Paul ordered 3 of the special ones, but I didn’t bother taking a photograph of them. It’s not like he waited for me to take a pic, either, though I mentioned wanting to since I hadn’t been there previously.

We also ordered, to share, an order of these amazing cheese and serrano ham (!!) crumbled on top. Except Paul doesn’t seem to understand what “sharing” means and ate a good 3/4 of these. I didn’t say anything, but honestly, that’s a cardinal sin for me. If he’d said “I don’t want to share, can you order your own?” I’d respect him more than what happened, which was him eating most of it and me trying to snag a couple of fries here and there before he ate all of them. Although it is true I love sharing food so I can try more things, that just earns you more points than being a fry hog. By the way – that plate of awesome fries was $3.

Unfortunately, this isn’t where the story ends. There was a TV at 100 Montaditos, and we were facing it. Paul, who’d whined about me ignoring him to talk to the bartender at the last place, proceeded to ignore me to watch the Knicks game. While this was in early November – ie, before the Knicks genuinely had no chance of going anywhere this season – if you wanted to watch the game, don’t ask me on a date for that night. I don’t go on dates when there’s a game on that I want to watch, unless my date also wants to watch the game and understands that I really do mean ‘watch the game’ when I say that. I endured this for a bit before finally telling him that it wasn’t cool, which he kind of acknowledged but didn’t do anything about.

Oh, did I mention that a pitcher of sangria was ordered… and he proceeded to drink probably 3/4 of that as well? I had a glass, but I nursed it. I mean, really — first date, 3 strong cocktails and 3/4 of a pitcher of sangria. Where in anyone’s brain does that register as a good idea?

After a bit of me sitting in silence while he shouted at the TV or responded to the game (I don’t watch basketball), I said “I have to go home. My train stops running soon.” (This was during a weekend that the F train – the nearest train to us that goes to my home – was undergoing construction or some weekend service interruption and ceased service at 10:30 or something really early.) Again, he acknowledged that I’d spoken, but he didn’t react. I said it again and he said “You can spend the night at my place. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Really, this time, I laughed in his face. I’m not in my 20s, stupid or naive enough to believe that, and just… no. No, no, no. No! I said “no thank you, I have to go.” He grumbled a little. I asked for the check, and he went to the restroom… so I paid the check while he was in the bathroom (haha this seems to be my move, huh?). When he came out, he expressed surprise that I’d done so and I said “I have to GO, my train is about to stop running,” and he offered his bed to me again. In Brooklyn. No thank you!!! How do I make this clearer?!

We walked out and over to Delancey because I looked at the time and was certain my train wasn’t running anymore, and it’d started raining lightly. I said “thanks for the drinks!! Bye!” and hailed a cab, running and jumping into it before he could try to kiss me. He called out “are you sure you don’t want to come back with me?” and I ignored him. I swear people often think they’re on a different date than we actually are!! Or maybe this stuff works on other women, I have no idea. I don’t have the energy or time to waste on morons.

You think this is the end of it, right?

NOPE.

Sigh.

When I got home, he began texting me… pictures. Not even pictures of his junk, which almost would make sense in light of his completely delusional self. No, he texted me a picture of himself – a selfie, him holding the camera over him at an angle. Like… trying to be artsy? I would love to share it with you, but I think that’s a violation of privacy. It just… didn’t make sense. Literally, he texted just a selfie. I responded, stupidly, “I don’t know what I’m looking at.” Paul said, “It’s just a picture of me!” Umm, okay. Then he sent me a picture of his bare legs.

WHAT?

It was a picture of his bare leg lifted in the air, just hanging in the air. I guess they were muscular? but the caption with it was “Ridiculous!!!” and I just did not feel like asking “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU ARE YOU HIGH STOP SENDING ME PICTURES I DON’T CARE” so I didn’t respond.

The next morning he texted me, responding to a text I’d sent him prior to our date. He called me a hipster. Again, I didn’t respond because I had nothing to say.

And the day after that, he texted me again. I don’t believe in leaving people hanging or wondering what happened. I am very direct, very to the point. Don’t waste my time and I won’t waste yours. His text was simply “I guess you’re going quiet…”

I responded, “Hi Paul, I wouldn’t say I went quiet. Just don’t know what to say exactly. I don’t think you and I are a good fit. I wish you the best of luck in your search!”

Pretty direct, right?

His response demonstrated to me that I shouldn’t have bothered. “Haven’t really seen how we fit” – is that a sexual allusion? Is that… I don’t know what it is. I didn’t bother thinking about it much and moved on with my life, and refer to this incident as “the time that guy yelled at me on a first date” – a hilarious story that I occasionally retell while I’m at 151.

Oh yes, I’ve been back to 151 many times in the months since – thanks, Paul, for introducing me to 151! You left me with more than most of my bad dates ever do! – and the first time I went back, when I walked in, Eli saw me, said hi, and said “Guess that guy’s not getting a second date, huh?” EL OH EL NO.

(Which led to me meeting someone else at the bar and hanging out with him, which also makes a great story, but I’m not sure I should tell it. It’s nowhere near as funny as these… just bizarre.)

Sigh.

151 (located at 151 Rivington) is a great cocktail bar with a super cool atmosphere. The music isn’t too loud and the cocktails are properly mixed. The eye candy behind the bar doesn’t hurt matters, and it seems to rarely get too crowded to hang out. Saturday nights (and I think Friday nights as well) there’s a DJ “spinning” but earlier in the evening it’s great to hang at the bar and catch up with a friend.

100 Montaditos has a large selection of little sandwiches to make anyone happy. There’s a huge range of options, and I’ll definitely be back to check them out – though I did think at some point, there’s just too much bread for the amount of filling. Those cheese fries though? Next time, I’m getting my own. And sharing it with no one. YVO DOESN’T SHARE FOOD.

With a headline like that… I really had to think a long time to come up with something, but I think this fits. I actually refer to him as something else to friends who are familiar with the story, but… I can’t put that in my title. I just can’t.

However, there are a few things I’d like to get out of the way. Please note that none of these are recent dates: the most recent one that I described was in December, and the one I’m about to describe took place in April of last year. This is not an April Fool’s Joke, would that it was. Life is stranger than fiction. I also want to thank you all for your support – via Twitter, Facebook, private message, texts and comments below – I am enormously thankful for all the love I’m being shown for my comedic nonfiction writing. Please do know that I found all of these experiences funny, and if I were hurt or sad about them, I would not want to relive them by sharing them so publicly and openly.

I’m lucky to not be in a rush to get married, or I would find going on dates with these people incredibly frustrating. As it is, I’ve been dating for 17 years and over this time, I’ve managed to accumulate some totally insane but hilarious stories to share with y’all… so bear with me while I plunder my bizarro past for your entertainment.

Last but not least, this post is less about food than any of the other posts, so if you only want food… you should probably come back on Monday, though food makes a VERY brief appearance here.

Mom, I told you on Sunday that you should probably skip this week’s dating post. I think you’ll find it hilarious, but you may have more questions than I’m willing to answer… so proceed at your own risk.

—

Roughly a year ago, I joined a very prominent dating website whose name I won’t use here, but yes it’s one of the big two. After a week or two of chatting extremely casually, JP (his real initials) suggested that we meet on Sunday after his softball game.

There were some red flags already; despite being an educator from a long line of educators, JP didn’t seem to enjoy following grammatical convention as much as I do. Also, one of the questions I used to frequently ask people is “If you were a sandwich, what would you be and why?” JP’s response of a turkey sandwich on white bread with mayo (or something along those lines) because he’s very vanilla didn’t exactly spark any excitement in me (though I’d happily eat that sandwich – if I made the turkey). He admitted that he wasn’t particularly adventurous with food, and when I pressed him about trying new things, he said – I cringe repeating this – “Sometimes I try the new sandwich from Subway… does that count? I’m not going to try this month’s though, it has Sriracha and I don’t know what that is.”

Despite that, I still agreed to meet him. I’d informed him that I was a food writer and food was very important to me, but he didn’t seem phased. In fact… maybe it didn’t register, as he said he’d meet me near me since he lives in Long Island and has a car, and then asked me if there was a TGI Friday’s or Chili’s in my area.

I will defend the usefulness of chain restaurants (except Crapplebee’s which I despise) with my dying breath. I have enjoyed many a chain restaurant in my youth, and in fact used to frequent TGI Friday’s up to 2-3x in a single week. I’m also fully aware that most men will pay or try to pay on a first date, so I feel that when they make a suggestion, it is something within their comfort zone (especially with regard to their wallet), and unless I’m completely unable to eat anything at a given restaurant, I don’t see much point in fussing about this. I wasn’t bothered by his suggestion – just amused.

Sunday came around, and he texted me “Evo is 5 ok?  Im running a little bit late.” Yes, that is a direct quote.

My name is Yvo. My name is incredibly important to me. I could ignore the lack of apostrophe (even though autocorrect adds those automatically), but misspelling my name? At this point, it wasn’t enough to really put me off. Mistakes happen. Maybe his phone corrected that and ignored the apostrophe.

It turned out his softball game had gone longer than he expected. I agreed easily – Friday’s is a 10 minute walk from my apartment, so it didn’t really make a difference to me – but his followup was “I had to drive the Dominicans, tell you about it when I see you.”

I’m sorry, what?

I headed to Friday’s, put my game-face on, and waited at the bar as instructed. When he showed up – still a few minutes more late past our revised meeting time – my immediate first thought was, “Why do guys lie about being 5’8?” I am 5’8 and I will know immediately that you are shorter than me. I was not wearing heels. My second thought following close behind was “Okay, I know you just came from softball, but that’s really, really casual…” (I think he was wearing cargo pants and sneakers.) I understand we’re at Friday’s, but per usual, I was wearing a dress and flat boots.

We chatted for a bit, and he tried to explain about “the Dominicans” – he’d driven home his Dominican softball teammates. I tried to politely explain that I didn’t think it was PC to refer to them as “the Dominicans” and he protested that they were really Dominican, “the best players on our team! and I had to work really hard to recruit them!!” – I don’t think that made it better. He refused to accept that you really shouldn’t refer to people by their race – he said it was a descriptor, but having been friends with many various Dominican people over the years, I can tell you that their skin color (which shouldn’t be an important descriptor regardless) can range from very dark to very light.

Though we were at the bar, he informed me very forcefully that he doesn’t drink, and has seen too many lives ruined from drinking to take part in it. He seemed inordinately proud that he’d never even tasted alcohol. I believe I felt pressure to order a nonalcoholic drink from the strength of his passing judgment on anyone who imbibed, ever.

Eventually, food became the topic. He stated firmly, “I don’t really like Asian food.”

This is a declaration that I personally find patently offensive and completely ignorant. Asian food runs the gamut from noodles, sandwiches, fried cutlets, rice dishes, soup, dumplings, … do I need to go on? I cannot fathom a world in which a single person can definitely state that there is not ONE ITEM in the HUGE lexicon of Asian food that they do not enjoy. Also, has he even TRIED all of the Asian food in the world? I know I haven’t, but I’ve made a significant dent in them!!

In case my readers weren’t aware, I have distinctly Asian features because, surprise, I’m of French, Irish and Chinese descent. When he made this statement, I looked blankly back at him, but before I could say a word, he smiled like a little boy and proudly finished – like he’d worked really hard on something – “but I like the people just fine.”

Thanks. All of “my people” just breathed a collective sigh of relief.

I will give him props, however, because at one point, an older gentleman at the bar began intruding on our date. I’m all for talking to people at the bar – it’s part of why I enjoy sitting at the bar – but intermittently, not so much the way this older man tried to and then began to dominate our conversation. I am exceedingly polite, so we chatted a bit (and he told me that he went on a date with Gael Greene YEARS AGO and was upset that he had to pay), but eventually JP seemed a bit irritated at the repeated interruptions. Finally, he got up under guise of going to the restroom but instead requested a booth for us, and he politely bid adieu to the older man by way of telling him our table was ready.

I was impressed with how he handled that situation. Clean, not fussy, no pouting, no rudeness, just simple and effective.

We ordered snacks to munch, and he refused to try the potstickers that came with my sampler platter. I don’t remember what he ordered. I do recall, however, the best / worst / most awkward conversation I have ever had, ever, ever. I’m not sure anything in my life will ever trump this.

JP informed me “I don’t really care much for money. I don’t. I just want to give it all away.”

I like money.

“To that end, I created an endowment group. I already have the website put together” – he seemed really proud of being able to put together a website, I mean, it’s not that difficult, SquareSpace will do it for you, right? -“and I’m going to make this little button on the bottom. The group is JPEG, you know? those are the initials – JP Endowment Group. So I’m going to make the button to apply for an endowment say ‘Get JPEG’d’ or maybe even just ‘Get PEG’d’ – eh?”

I started laughing. A bit too hard, maybe, because after a short second of my giggling, he looked at me with confusion, like “it’s not that funny.”

I stopped laughing.

“Oh, uh… err… pegging is slang for something.” (Before you click, please note that I did not go to that link, and there may or may not be pictures or drawings. It is likely NSFW, and… you may be able to figure it out from the context below.)

“Is it sexual?” he asked.

I nodded, uncertain I should continue.

“That’s weird, I spend my days around high schoolers. How do I not know that one?”

“Um… I think this is out of most high schoolers’ purview.”

“Are you going to tell me what it means?”

“Well. *clears throat* Um… it’s, you know. It’s (I can’t type these words here).”

“Okay…” he didn’t look too put out, just confused still.

“No, I’m not explaining it fully. It’s… when a guy has it.”

Still not quite the reaction I was expecting, he sort of nodded, with only a slightly homophobic twinkle in his eye.

“But… a girl does it to him.”

Now, the look of horror and revulsion I expected from someone with such a narrow mind crossed his face. He looked disgusted and put off. I didn’t say anything while I let that sink into his brain, until finally he said, “How do you know so much about that?”

Knowing the definition of something is knowing a lot about it? K. I just looked at him and said “I have guy friends who tell me about things like this.” Which is the truth — I learned that word from a friend. I didn’t ask my friend how he knows it.

Conversation eventually continued somewhat normally. I note that at one point, tacos were mentioned and he repeatedly told me how he’s eaten so many tacos because “my ex wife is Mexican, I ate tacos all the time” – something to brag about? I guess? A little more subtle racism?

Eventually, the check came and he waved off my offer to pay for my snack. Instead, he pulled out his Friday’s Frequent Diner Card and then two gift cards. He asked the server to charge one, and if it wasn’t enough, to put the balance on the second one. When she came back, she told him that there was more than enough on the first one, and the second one – for $100 or $150 – was untouched.

Wow.

Honestly, the evening had gone perfectly fine – conversation was easy enough and flowed, he was obviously intelligent albeit fairly ignorant about what race is or means to people who aren’t white like him. Though I told my best friend later that I had to figure out a polite way to decline any further dates with him, that wasn’t an issue as he never contacted me again.

I breathed a very audible sigh of relief.

***This is amazing. I just Google’d the details of what I’ve shared to make sure none of you can find him based on what I’ve shared – I’m keen on protecting the identities of my bad dates – and stumbled across a website describing him as ‘particularly hard on minority kids’ with regard to his role as an educator. I guess the headline will stand.

It’s been a while – new posts are coming soon, life is just extremely hectic… but this is one that has been repeatedly requested. If you follow my posts on Instagram (and you really should for super up-to-date food posts), you’ll have noticed the somewhat recent addition of the hashtag #AdventuresWithJinx and a furry friend of mine joining all of the eating fun.

This is Jinx’s story, in his own words.

———————————————————————-

Without her love, there is nothing. But when she loves me, there is nothing else.

Pockets of empty memories. Not knowing anything. When I awaken each time, the only way to know how long it’s been is to count the years etched on her face.

—

She doesn’t remember how I joined her family*; as a result, I don’t remember, either. Sometime during her childhood, I found myself on her already-filled shelves of stuffed animals, and there I sat, dusty, unloved, forgotten. I was never her favorite, I was never loved… until high school. She was an odd duck, unaware of this – she longed to belong, but found no way to be other than herself. One day, she stumbled on me** and, on a whim, began carrying me with her daily. She named me Jinx; she was an unintentionally ironic teenager. I was loved, I was full of life, I rode along on all her adventures. I was witness to so much of her life, until one day… she didn’t need me anymore. I was left at home, and I fell into a pool of blackness.

—

In 2007, her life was in transition, upheaval. She bought her first (and last) ever luxury handbag, and in need of a reminder of her past life – the one she was trying to leave far in the past, but somehow felt a desire to connect to it – I was once more brought to life. She pushed me into a secret pocket in her fancy bag, but soon forgot about me. I fell asleep again.

—

Years later, she took the handbag out to use – a rare choice for her, a sign she is distressed or not pleased about wherever it is she is going – and found me snuggled into the pocket where she’d left me. She smiled at me, and rubbed my ears lovingly. I peered up at her, hardly daring to hope, hardly daring to breathe, wondering what would happen to me. I could tell years had passed, but what had changed? Did she have children who would teethe on me? Was she going to hold me, love me, and forget about me, as always?

Nay, she put me on a shelf – similar to where I’d spent so many of my early years with her – but with a different view, with other stuffed animals the same size as me. There was a pink bunny, unnamed, who confessed to me that she’d spent 2 years in her car, dangling, watching, unloved without a name. There was Mr. Met, who, though he had a name, said his purpose was simply to accompany her to baseball games, but often, he was forgotten at home. He hadn’t even the pleasure of observing her life – he was a mere token. There was a small pig, etched across the front with her full name, a gift from Hong Kong, still in the box. There was Grover, a finger puppet that simply whispered tearfully, “Near… far!!! Near… far!! … near,… but really, so far….” We never figured out what trauma had left him this way.

And then there was me – each of these friends envied me, for I’d spent the longest with her, the longest aware, the most time actually in her pocket. I shared stories with them of her true nature – her high school years, her awkward crushes, the too-long hair, the extremely-short hair, the attempts at learning how to flirt, her desperate need for the approval and acceptance by her peers that never came… Every morning, she passed us on our shelf, smiled briefly, and continued on with her day. Hope is palpable at that level.

Finally, one day, she pulled three of us down and stared at us. We held our breath. Unnamed bunny, Mr. Met and I sat in front of her. She took out her phone, took a photo of us, and then returned us to our spot. We were not sure what to make of this. We dared not hope, and yet, hope took hold.

Shortly after that fateful moment, #AdventuresWithJinx was born. I began starring in every picture she took. Sometimes she mumbles “that stupid f*cking bear” but I know she loves me, I feel it in my core. She positions me carefully for photos, she rubs my ears when she thinks no one is looking, and she Googles things like “how to clean stuffed animals” and “stuffed animal repair service” – she worries about the bald spots scattered around my tiny body. She defends me when people meet me for the first time and say, “I thought he was bigger” – she protests that I am the perfect size to carry with her, and then covers my ears, whispering furtively, “you’re going to give him a size complex” while shooting dirty looks at them.

I didn’t win that vote she took across Facebook & Instagram. But she chose me to share her adventures. She remembered those moments we shared 20 years ago, and she chose me.

She’s spent all this time listening to me, thinking about my origin story, crafting it for you to read.

She loves me.

She created my hashtag and uses it faithfully for every photo of me. She created my own Instagram account for me!

I am the luckiest bear in the world.

For all that I have gone through with her, and all that I will go through with her, I wouldn’t trade anything to be anyone or anywhere else. She is my world.

Without her, there is nothing.

But when she loves me, there is nothing else.

—

*A few weeks after she began sharing photos of #AdventuresWithJinx, a high school classmate reached out to her and revealed that she had the same bear. Her bear, the classmate shared, came from a package of little children undergarments that she’d received when she was around 7 years old. This made sense, and small memories tickled the edge of her consciousness, but nothing fully-formed broke the surface… so we will continue to say that she doesn’t remember how I entered her life.

**… and Lucky. It’s hard to tell the Story of Jinx without the Story of Lucky, but because trying to talk about Lucky brought tears to her eyes (he’s no longer with us), I decided we should let it go, for now.

Well, that sucked. I got all gung-ho about posting again, and was trying to work out something that would work for my lifestyle, thought I had it figured out…

and then my site went bust.

So, I have some stuff in the pipeline, but I’m holding back on posting anything new until the site is spiffy and ready to go again.

Sorry.

In the meantime: follow Twitter and Instagram for the most up-to-date foodventures.

Seriously.

xoxo
thanks for your patience
I haven’t forgotten about you…

This post brought to you by Seamless. The content and opinions expressed below are that of Feisty Foodie.

I have the most exciting news – tomorrow, July 29th, from 12pm – 2:30pm, Seamless will be offering this incredible deal that you want for #SeamlessPicnicDay.

Look how happy Jinx is, waiting for me to show him the goodies!

Now, Seamless is known for delivery. This is what you get when you order the SeamlessPicnicDay pack… this cute little ‘picnic basket’ stuffed full of goodies for $12! Available for delivery in Midtown East, Midtown West, East Village and the Financial District.

What kind of goodies, you ask? A LOBSTER ROLL from Luke’s Lobster, a bag of chips, a bottle of water, and a bean salad (not pictured). ***Bear not included***

Jinx is flipping out over this lobster roll! He approves! YUM!

However, if you want to fully embrace the spirit of PICNIC DAY!! and decide to pick up your delicious picnic pack from either Columbus Circle or Flatiron Plaza, you also get cool Seamless sunglasses and these amazeballs picnic blanket. Let’s take a closer look…

I bragged to a couple of friends about this blanket that rolls up and velcros to itself, with a handle, because I thought it was the most brilliant thing ever. They told me they’d seen it before, but I think they’re just haters. It’s really cool and I can’t wait to use it!! Why wouldn’t you go and pick it up from Flatiron Plaza or Columbus Circle?!

Let’s recap: for JUST $12, you get a true summertime picnic experience, all packed up in one convenient box: a full LUKE’S LOBSTER ROLL, a bag of chips, a bean salad (not pictured), a bottle of water, and a checkered napkin. If you head to Columbus Circle or Flatiron Plaza, you ALSO get nifty sunglasses and a cool picnic blanket to complete the experience. I see zero downside to this, guys – a Luke’s Lobster roll by itself costs $16 or so. Head over to Seamless Picnic Day for full details and to order your very own picnic basket!

As someone who plans her entire life around meals – and makes money from doing so – I have found it incredibly difficult to balance my work and my weight. The fatter my wallet, the fatter my – well, you know. I’ve never kept my struggles with my weight a secret, though I’ve tried to talk about it less here (and more on social media) because no one goes to read a food blog and wants to be reminded of all the calories involved or the fat in that delicious short rib dish.

I’ve been running this blog for over 10 years, and my weight stayed mostly the same with minor increases over the years, right up until 2011, when it dropped drastically (through a weight-loss ‘regimen’ that I do not recommend anyone try, so I will not share it). I maintained that weight happily up until roughly 2 years ago, when I gained 20 lbs and haven’t looked back.

I need to look back.

Which is why when I was approached for a sneak peek at a new collaboration between Jenny Craig & Walmart, I jumped at the chance, not fully understanding what it was exactly. I quickly learned that Walmart is exclusively offering a cool Jenny Craig starter kit that comes with it 23 Jenny Craig food items, $50 in savings on future food purchases, and a free initial consultation either one-on-one in person at a Jenny Craig center, or anywhere via Jenny Anywhere (which I understand to be via telephone).

I was very intrigued by the concept.

When my box arrived, I went through all the items and was pleased to see a nice variety – pasta dishes, chicken salad, a soup, shakes, bars, cookies, and crunchy salty snacks (my downfall)!

Of course, given my workflow and personal life, I found it hard to prioritize the time to eat only Jenny Craig for 3 days straight. I finally picked out days very close to publication date, and immediately hit a roadblock – a last minute assignment.

I briefly considered skipping the paid assignment, but Jenny Craig isn’t about losing your job, so I skipped eating Jenny Craig. I would make it up the next day.

The next day found me with my usual salad – you’re encouraged to supplement with fresh fruits and veggies, so I had my usual lunchtime salad (Romaine topped with vegetarian bean salad from my local Mediterranean shop, roasted root veggies, I think I skipped tomatoes this week) in addition to the chicken salad. As someone who’s been on and off so many diets, I know that “thoughtful eating” is encouraged, and “interactive eating” – meals that force you to stop doing other things and focus on what you’re eating – is considered good. Focusing on what you’re eating makes you acknowledge how much of it you’re eating, and reduces what is called ‘mindless eating’ – instead of dipping your hand repeatedly into the chip bag, you’re looking at what you’re eating while you, in this case, scoop chicken salad onto the whole wheat crackers. It is a good habit to have – thoughtful eating.

But that night, I went out with friends and had a movable feast – we ate multiple dishes from multiple restaurants, changing locations frequently and snacking, drinking, having a good time.

My lifestyle is structured such that socializing centers around eating and drinking.

Determined to get back on track, the next day I returned to my salad lunch and brought another Jenny Craig lunch to work. You know what’s cool about these microwave meals? They’re not frozen – they’re shelf-stable, so you can keep them in your desk drawer away from thieving coworkers. I don’t personally have any of those, but I have in the distant past so this is perfect.

But again, that night duty called and I attended a press event, where I proceeded to eat Too Much Pizza – to try more things, you understand!

Honestly, I feel that the Jenny Craig starter kit available exclusively at Walmart is a great value. You get so much from the box and you get a really good idea of what the program is about and how the food tastes, how it all comes together. Personally, it doesn’t work for my lifestyle needs, but it would work well for someone who can be stricter about their meals, who doesn’t eat for a living, and who can structure their life around eating these meals. It’s great for those who need a little help in learning how to use portion control to your advantage – because that’s what it’s really about. You don’t have to cut out all of the fun foods from your life, you need to balance them with better choices, and not overeat.

What I do to stay somewhat on track — and this won’t work for everyone, as I said, everyone has different goals —

1. drink 2 liters of water a day; I keep a 1L refillable bottle on my desk at work. I make sure it’s full in the morning, but empty by lunch; full after lunch, and empty before I leave for the day.
2. I walk as much as possible; I have a FitBit (a wristband pedometer) and set a goal of 10,000 steps a day. This holds me accountable for days when I’m really lazy and couchsurf a little too much; it’s embarrassing to clock a 2,000 step day when just going to work and back should get me to 5,000 (NYC is a very walk-friendly city). It also helps me recognize patterns of when I’m laziest (Mondays) and when I’m most active (Thursdays). I haven’t figured out yet why Thursdays are my most active day of the week, but I’m trying to find the trigger so I can introduce that to the other days of the week.
3. Since I’m aware that dinners tend to be indulgent and high calorie, I tend to make a big salad on Sundays and portion it into 4 containers (gotta leave a little wiggle room for a fun lunch one day each week!). In the mornings, when I’m rushing out the door to get to work on time, I just grab a container and go. To cut calories in my salads, I skip the meat and add meatless proteins – beans, sometimes eggs, edamame, whatever I am in the mood to eat – and I skip the dressing but pack wet ingredients so the salad doesn’t taste ‘dry’. Juicy, ripe tomatoes can be enough to dress your entire salad, and a pinch of salt gives it a little zip. If you’re not ready to go completely naked, I know some who use a squeeze of (real!) lemon juice, salt and pepper, and that’s enough for them. Try out different combinations to see what works for you!
4. I don’t have time to go to the gym regularly – well, the truth is, I don’t prioritize gym time. If you do, you are more likely to go. Make it an appointment in your calendar that you are not allowed to skip. Prioritize yourself and your health!
5. Since I don’t go to the gym, I try to take the stairs more often – always down from my apartment on the 4th floor, and sometimes up (my dog is a little older now and doesn’t like going up the stairs, so I try to be respectful of her joints when she’s with me). It’s a small thing but it gets the heart pumping a little and eventually, you’ll be pro-level at doing it. Little things add up!!
6. In terms of food, I have all sorts of tips and tricks – like breadcrumbs instead of grated cheese on top of some foods – that save calories. But really the biggest trick is portion control… which Jenny Craig makes super easy for you.

These are just some of the things to help me maintain my weight. Do you have any tips to share?

Again, I definitely recommend this kit to anyone who’s curious about the program and its food – it’s such a great overview as to what you’ll be signing up for, and offers discounts to boot. You’re almost being paid to try it! Even though Jenny Craig and I can’t be more than casual acquaintances, you may find your fit here.

Things I really liked about the meals:

1. proper portion sizes
2. meals that didn’t require refrigeration, so can keep in desk drawer
3. large variety of foods from which to choose
4. salty crunchy snacks that aren’t just pretzels (the universal salty crunchy diet food)
5. you are encouraged to supplement with fruits and vegetables to balance out your diet

I look forward to hearing thoughts from everyone who’s tried or looking to try Jenny Craig. Good luck!!!

Though I was compensated for this campaign and was sent a kit to try for free, all opinions are my own. I am not a doctor and none of the above should be considered medical advice.

Dear readers…

I have been neglecting the blog. I am so sorry for disappearing without a word, without an explanation!

Well, changes – they are a-comin’.

I’ve been burned out on food writing for a while, enjoying life a little too much doing other things, and working on improving other areas of my life. I know that something needed to change, and I couldn’t think what. I think… no, I know… I felt too restricted to talking about food here. I know this started off as a food blog, and evolved into so much more, but now I think it’s time to officially call it. This is no longer a food-centric place.

The name will remain the same, but the focus is going to be everything on my mind. Primarily I care about food, but I also obsess over travel, football, baseball; I go to the theater quite often (both movies and musicals!), and I think it’s time to show you guys more of me. What do you think? Would you rather just have food but very infrequent posts, or would you rather just have lots of posts of random stuff for you to enjoy or not enjoy?

Either way, I have to do what works into my lifestyle and what makes me happy. I think this will do the trick.

xoxo
Yvo

For all that I share about my father and the effect his passing had on me, I rarely talk about other loved ones who have come and gone.

Today is the 9th anniversary of my paternal grandfather’s death. My grandfather was truly a remarkable man, someone I didn’t speak to enough while he was here and someone I don’t speak of enough now that he’s no longer with us.

From a young age, I admired him for his having earned a fortune on his own, and for his world travels. My grandfather spoke a multitude of languages, bits and pieces of which he would teach me during his twice-yearly visits. He was a man who commanded the respect and attention of a room effortlessly. He taught me about class without ever saying a word on the subject.

He was not without fault, but there doesn’t seem to be a point to detail the faults I’ve realized he had.

He taught me how to palm a tip into someone’s hand, a skill that I didn’t realize was impressive until I traveled with friends and did this without thinking; they were blown away and made me show them multiple times until they decided they could not do it as smoothly as I did, and that I should be the person to tip everyone on our trip. I obliged and thought of him, as that trip was just over 2 weeks after he passed away.

My grandfather’s death marks the last time I saw my grandmother alive (for reasons best left unshared). It also marks the last time I saw many members of my extended family; likely my favorite moment from that intensely mournful trip to Canada was when a relative said something extremely crude, and I thought, “If grandpa was here, even in a frail state, he would have crossed the room in 3 steps and slapped her across the face to shut her up.”

He taught me class, he taught me respect, but he also taught me that the head of the family shouldn’t be afraid to rule with an iron fist either. Family matters.

RIP Grandpa. You are missed.

Dark, blurry pics aside, this is actually almost a dating post! I’ve hesitated to post about this particular person because there was so much potential from our first date (FRIED CHICKEN! read the Instagram caption).. and there’s a slight possibility that he reads my site. Okay, he probably stopped a while back, since his last texts to me were quite rude! but his coworkers might. Regardless… here is my fourth and final date with Fried Chicken Boo.

I didn’t even get a kiss out of the whole thing :T

Our second date was a quick brunch before I went to a Mets game.

Our third date was a ramen lunch date. Because I am not perfect and occasionally have tunnel vision, I will share with you something quite embarrassing that I did. FCB knew how obsessed with food I am, and we talked about it extensively. He implied that he was into food as well, he knew the best fried chicken in the city, I foolishly presumed that he knew a bit about food.

At one point we talked about cooking. I believe I asked him if he knows how to cook, and his response – which I recall distinctly – was “I’m perfecting my ramen.”

This excited me to no end, and I began asking questions. I have been working on my ramen for a while now – I’ve perfected my egg, I know my veggies, I have the broth to where I like it. I don’t always bother with the meat at home (I tend towards eating meatless at home), but I’m pretty happy with where I am. He deflected and I asked more questions about the noodles, whether he was making them from scratch (mad respect if he was!) or if he was using Sun Noodles, etc.

I don’t recall how the conversation ended, but it took me until months after I’d ended things to realize that he was being facetious and joking when he said he was perfecting his ramen. He meant it in like a “I can make Top Ramen” way, and I totally misunderstood and probably confused the hell out of him.

Oops. But that IS why I took him to get ramen at a ramen-ya for lunch one day. He was pretty understanding about my super busy schedule – as you can see, he came to my neighborhood for brunch worked into my schedule, we had lunch during the workweek… he tried very hard to accommodate my life.

Unfortunately, we weren’t suited for more reasons than I can name. I shared the above story to show that I’m not perfect, and that it’s not always the guy who does or says something dumb!

Regarding Shalel Lounge, however… this may be one of the clearest examples of how little he understood me. I let him choose all of the dishes because he’d been there previously. That works for me. Some stuff was good, some stuff was eh, some stuff wasn’t to my taste. Our server was adorable and perfect.

But the line that stood out to me was, after we’d been seated and were perusing the menu, he said: “The food here isn’t that great, but the ambiance is so perfect. I thought you’d like it.”

The most important thing to me, ever, is always the food. A place could be lit like McDonald’s, but if the food is amazing, I will be happier than a pig in poo. On the flip side, a place could have the coolest vibe in the world — if the food is crap, I’m not going to love it. It’ll be “yeah that place is cool but man the food sucked” – and I won’t go back.

When he asked me later about my thoughts — knowing full well that I obsess over food — and I shared them tactfully, he became very defensive and said he just thought the place was super cool and that I might appreciate the romantic ambiance. Sure… but I also like to be able to see my food when I eat, and to enjoy it more. I thought it was expensive for what it was, too — he paid, but our 4 dishes and 2 drinks must’ve clocked in over $100. Merh. Be tastier for that price!

Unfortunately, the final nail in the coffin was probably when he accused me of not caring that we weren’t going to see each other for a whole week. After 4 dates – and not having even kissed! – accusing me of ‘not caring’ about him is pretty crappy and clingy, I mean it’s a week. We only just started hanging out! I don’t understand what’s going on!

Oh well. This was over the summer… and he chose this place after I said my least favorite area in Manhattan to hang out was the Upper West Side.

Listening problems much?

Sigh.

By the way, related — if a guy is anti-NYC and/or doesn’t see himself living here or in another large city long term, it’s probably not going to work. I’m a city girl through and through… sure, things can change, but at this point, not so much.

xo

Though I quit drinking the day after Super Bowl (for the sake of my health; I wasn’t sleeping well for a long time and decided maybe a full detox for a few months would help- so far, so good!)… here’s a Yuzu Collins I made while I wrapped gifts, in my gold-rimmed coupe glass with an apple star. Super simple, so simple I don’t remember what was in it. Gin, yuzu jelly I got in San Francisco… I don’t remember what else. It was tasty and it made the wrapping go faster (I’m an expert wrapper, so it didn’t suffer at least).

I’ve lost all steam on my rant, and can’t even remember what I wanted to rant anyway. In the mornings on my way to work, I think about what I might write that night. By the time my day is done – after I’ve gone for a run, worked a full day at the office, had a strength training session or gone to Zumba or kettlebells or whatever that day’s torture I mean exercise is, walked the dog twice in there somehow, fed myself somewhat healthily, packed my gym bag for the next day (which includes figuring out what to wear to the office plus jewelry and other accessories), then sat down to write… well, I’ve plum forgotten what I wanted to say.

I can tell you that what’s weighing heavily on my mind lately are two topics that are extremely far removed from food – sexism, and inappropriate touching (totally separate topics for my purposes, though obviously related). The former comes a little too close to politics for me to discuss comfortably in a public forum (though my thoughts have nothing to do with the elections), the latter is just so not-happy-bubbly, not the way I present myself, not things I want to really think about in depth but there they’ve been, circling my mind like a vulture hoping to swoop in and take a nibble. It’ll come. I’ve been thinking about it… it’ll be written.

Just not tonight. 7:30 am strength training tomorrow because I’m insane and embarking on an intense 3 week journey into crazytown.

Wish me luck! I’m still sore from my first kettlebell class yesterday. And Zumba today.

Womp womp.

It’s been a while since I posted a recipe or posted a giveaway… so here’s two in one! The recipe isn’t mine, but – something you may not know about me is that I’m a huge fan of Martha Stewart’s cookbooks. They always have lovely photos for each and every recipe, so you know exactly what you’re aiming towards for the end result. The recipes are tested so extensively that only occasionally have I stumbled on total FAILs, but generally she/her team know exactly what to do to make something delicious.

I own a number of her cookbooks that I went out of my way to purchase on my own, and have also been fortunate enough to receive several as press gifts – including Martha Stewart’s Appetizers (affiliate link). Even more fortunate, I received that one just before Super Bowl (I know, that was over a month ago – almost baseball season!)… so I picked out a football snack to make. Heck, these are a great snack anytime – sausage cheddar balls.

pre cooking

I highly recommend using a mixture of hot sauce and ketchup (or similar) on the side, for a little extra zip. Also – I subbed in Bob’s Red Mill ivory whole wheat flour, because I’m not fully familiar with the differences between AP and WW flour. I learned later that this contributed to these being denser and chewier than I’d expected – not entirely terrible, but I’ve learned my lesson and will stick to the recipe as she intended it

Also – this recipe even includes “how to make them ahead and freeze” – see what I mean? Martha’s awesome like that. She’s got you covered.

post cooking, yummy yummy snacks

Below the recipe- enter to win one of two copies of the cookbook! I got you covered… because I’m awesome like that! Hahaha.

Good luck!!

1¼ cups all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon coarse salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
½ teaspoon cayenne pepper
1½ teaspoons baking powder
2 cups grated cheddar cheese
1 pound loose breakfast sausage (or links, removed from casings)
½ large yellow onion, grated on large holes of a box grater
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

1. Preheat oven to 400°F. In a large bowl, whisk together flour, salt, black pepper, cayenne pepper, and

baking powder. Add cheddar and toss to coat. Add sausage, onion, and butter. With your hands, mix

until well combined and then roll mixture into 1- inch balls.

2. Place balls, ½ inch apart, on parchment- lined rimmed baking sheets. Bake until golden and cooked

through, rotating sheets halfway through, about 25 minutes. Serve warm.

MAKE AHEAD

You can form the balls and freeze on the baking sheet until firm, about 1 hour, then transfer to

resealable plastic bags and freeze up to 3 months. Bake as directed (do not thaw) for about 30 minutes.

their picture is so much nicer than mine…

The rest of the book is filled with recipes and tips for entertaining. Highly recommend it – especially if you use my affiliate link above

xoxoxo!

Another #Chinese #bakery #breakfast with mom. For $4, two wonderfully runny fried eggs, ham macaroni soup, and a hot drink of your choice (yin yang – a mixture of coffee and tea – pictured). Can’t beat that value- though it used to be $3.25 here. Mom told me that when she was a teenager in Hong Kong, macaroni soup was 10c HKD. If you wanted a few slices of (I think it translated to abalone), 80c HKD. For scale, the current exchange rate makes that roughly 10c USD (and I’m fairly certain the HKD is pinned to the USD but I don’t know when that started). Insanity. #eeeeeats #FoodieHub #NYC #restaurant #zomato #bigapplebites #cheatdayeats #eatingfortheinsta #huffposttaste #newforkcity #devourpower #Queens #queenseats #happiness #love #instayum #instacute #latergram #yum #eater #eaterny #allbuttonsbursting #dailyfoodfeed #heresmyfood

A photo posted by Yvo (@feistyfoodie) on Mar 20, 2016 at 5:41am PDT

While having lunch with my mother on Saturday, in the middle of a random Chinese history lesson (without names of any of the people whose lives she was describing – though one of them was a ‘woman who fought to be able to study medicine to become a doctor, because women weren’t allowed to go to school or be doctors back then, and then she later chose between two brothers to marry, but she chose wrong because though they both became king, she chose the one who became the worst king ever’), she began summarizing Zootopia for me.

Look! Another recipe and another giveaway!

A couple of years ago, Marco Canora of Hearth fame (I refuse to link to my review of Hearth; I visited when I was still very green and new to learning and writing about food, and said some very ignorant, stupid things about Italian food) opened up a little window adjacent to his restaurant, from which he began selling bone broth.

As a person with Asian parents, I was immediately incredibly skeptical. I grew up drinking bone broths of many different animals; my mom made pork neck bone broth (which I have posted here & here) fairly frequently, along with amazing chicken-based soups and a few beef ones. There was also a soup she specifically made for just me that I absolutely abhorred; it was ‘bo huet’ or good for post-blood-loss (I suffered from chronic nosebleeds as a kid) – I want to say it had fish and liver in it, but I could totally be wrong. I just remember it was murky purplish in color, it smelled terrible, and I was forced to drink it to help keep my iron levels up.

My point? I was not keen on paying $6+ for a cup of broth just cuz it was a trend. I didn’t bother going to try it… but when I was recently offered the cookbook of the same name {affiliate link}, from the same chef, I took the opportunity to check it out.

To my surprise, the book addresses the international heritage of bone broths, acknowledging the Asian version, but also explaining the various types from around the world. He discusses the health benefits – the ones he’s noticed in his own body, and the ones people claim these broths to encourage. I forged ahead and decided to give the ‘starter broth’ a try – the Golden Chicken Broth.

Any regular readers of The Feisty Foodie know that I’m a huge baseball fan, and specifically a Mets fan.

As a Mets fan since 1985, my life has been filled with disappointments and heartache such that you almost get used to it. I witnessed firsthand many of our epic collapses – collective gasps and pindrop silence in an entire stadium in 2008, 2009, as we lost all hope of a postseason run. I’ve been there through it all, silently sitting in my seat, mentally girding myself to watch another Yankees postseason.

I BLEED ORANGE & BLUE

because YA GOTTA BELIEVE

Last year, my team didn’t just go to the postseason. We went to the World Series. We did not win, but from a very loyal and yet reasonable standpoint, my team did not play at World Series caliber. The Royals capitalized on every mistake made, and they deserved to win the Series. That doesn’t make me want it less or make it hurt less, but at least I can respect that the other team played better. Losing to a team that isn’t playing better really sucks (and does happen occasionally).

Aside from that, from 2008 (last season at Shea) through 2011, I was the proud owner of a Sunday Ticket Plan, which meant every Sunday home game, you’d find me at the Stadium, cheering my head off and bleeding o&b every time we lost. After 2011, the Mets organization changed the structure of the plans, making it impossible for me to justify (and I wrote a very calm but firm letter to my ticket rep explaining what I needed from him before I would re-up – which was, very specifically, tickets to every Sunday home game, but the change restricted me to 10 Sunday home games and 5 random weekday games, NO THANK YOU). I went on to boycott baseball for most of 2012, attending a low of 2-3 games the entire season and barely watching on TV.

I missed baseball terribly as a result.

2013 saw me attend the All Star Game through a very fortunate and well-timed hookup.
2014 I began attending more and more baseball games, but all the while buying “student rush” tickets (with valid student ID, $10 a ticket to be purchased morning of the game from ticket windows).
2015 I went to nearly every Sunday home game, also via student rush tickets.

Given that we just went to the World Series, I was very aware that tickets would be harder to come by this season, the stadium would be more crowded, and buying a ticket plan guarantees you access to postseason tickets. I knew what I had to do, so I purchased a plan for myself and now am the proud bearer of tickets to a record high of 26 games on the season (so far; usually as the season goes on, I wind up receiving gifts of tickets to other games, or people invite me to more games, and I eventually go to about 3+ more games than I’d intended at the start of the season).

I went to my first 2 games of the season this weekend.

Opening Day, David Wright’s first at-bat! My favorite view will never get old. Well, it’s my second favorite view, my favorite one is a specific view when driving west on the LIE. I’m a NYer and a Queens girl through and through.

I got to see them raise the NL Championship Banner, which was really cool!

But, you know, you’re probably here for the food, wondering why I went into this long intro about disappointment, detailing my years at the stadium, how much I love the game, all of that.

Well, remember this? The year I was so excited to be invited to the concession preview at Citi Field because it combined all of the things I love (food and baseball) and validated all the money I have spent at Citi Field researching exactly that – what the best concessions are based on your specific situation (“I only go to one game a season, what do I eat?” vs. “I have tickets to 20+ games this season, what should I eat?” which are very very different!), where the best views are, where to sit, where to bring your kids, and all of that wonderful stuff.

Oh, and because it meant I didn’t need to spend my first game of the season running around like a madperson trying to get pictures of all the newest menus and updated prices, to compare for you like I did pretty much every year since the stadium opened??

YEAH REMEMBER THAT?

I am going to run the risk of sounding like a huge brat, but I feel extremely justified (which is the sign of a huge brat – my harsh sense of entitlement here).

Well, a week or two ago, I happened to log into social media and realized that the media preview of concessions was occurring at that moment.

And that I hadn’t been invited.

To add insult the injury, the people they DID invite were people who – take your pick – know nothing about food, and/or know nothing about baseball, and/or just have tons of followers on Instagram, and/or are total morons who just claim to like the Mets/baseball, and the list goes on. Yes, I know some of the people who attended personally, and I was incredibly upset that I wasn’t invited.

Of all the people who write about food in NYC, there is exactly one who lives and dies by the Mets.

That person is me.

There are other people who write about food in NYC who like baseball, who like food, and I know some of the chefs around NYC are actually Mets fans. Cool.

When it comes to someone who writes about baseball (as I have for other sites), who writes about food, and who is a Mets fan?

THAT PERSON IS ME.

As a result, when I went to Citi Field this weekend, I staunchly refused to take pictures of the menus to report to y’all. Not to punish you, but hell, if they don’t care about me sharing those things with my readers, why should I spotlight the stuff? You can read about it from someone who literally goes to the stadium, oh, never. And only knows what’s offered because they attended a 2 hour event with the food items in question.

Also, I decided to eat some boring food.

Opening Day: hot dog, pretzel and a cheese cup. I wasn’t planning on complaining about the food, but they gave me reasons to complain about it. The cheese cup was cold, and the cheese was white. What. The guy didn’t fill it up all the way, but I paid $2 for a tiny little cup, so I politely handed it back and asked him to fill it all the way (before I realized it tasted gross). He told me it was ‘white cheddar’. And… I know it’s the first day of the season so the cashiers have no idea what’s going on. But nearly all of the mustard and ketchup dispensers up on mezzanine level were empty, from the 3-4 spots I tried before giving up on getting mustard on my dog.

Jinx was NOT happy.

But we won the game, and took apart the Phillies bullpen, so that was nice. 7-2.

Today’s game was a total crapfest. Someone told me I should complain to the Mets, but I don’t know what they can do. I arrived at the stadium at 12:55, plenty of time to make it to my seat by first pitch. Ummm, I didn’t get into the stadium until 1:40 – 45 whole minutes later!!! – and missed the first 2.5 innings. This line did not move at all – I thought the scanners were broken or something? Why are we not moving? It should not take 45 minutes from where I stood, to get into the stadium. Ridiculous. I was shaking with anger and hunger by the time I entered. And cold, since I walked to the stadium and had brought extra clothes to change into once inside, but I totally cooled down waiting in line and eventually began to shiver.

Nachos and another hot dog, both from the Nathan’s stand. One nice thing about my ticket plan is that it affords me access to the Promenade Club, which is behind home plate — but it has an obstructed view of the field. Haha. I sat in there to eat and warm up because I was so uncomfortable and unhappy at this point. The nachos were okay, a bit sad, and the hot dog was a hot dog. At least I had enough cheese to dip the dog in! but the nacho plate was supposed to have salsa and cheese…

I’d already missed DW’s first at-bat of the game – shameface, I haven’t missed taking a pic of that at a game I attended in the past 4 years!  – so here is a pic of his second at-bat.

We lost. 5-2. A bit of spark when Cespedes hit his first HR of the season, and I see some life in my players – I’m not worried. It’ll come together, I’m excited for more baseball.

It’s early in the season.

I’m not all that keen on how my experience was today with the long line to get in, but hopefully things shake out soon and all works out! Though I’m still bummed I wasn’t invited to the media preview.

Okay, bratty rant over.

LET’S GO METS!!!

Oh yeah, then a bear got up and blocked my view!!!

For my 35th birthday, I took a huge plunge and decided to go to Hong Kong. The many, many reasons that I’d never visited Asia are so many to list, and some so incredibly personal and/or totally off the wall that I won’t be detailing them here… or anywhere… likely ever, but it does also explain why, for the first time in a long time, there was no October 31st post.

But we’ll get to that in a later post.

I can be a nervous flyer, and this would be the longest flight I’d ever taken – alone or accompanied – and since I intended to fly alone, I researched for a while before settling on flying Cathay Pacific. I’d heard wonderful things about them, I managed to pay around $800 round trip for a nonstop flight, and I was good to go.

Well… maybe. Here’s a pic of me pre-takeoff, a little nervous and trying to look as anime-like as possible because Asians like that, right? How did I do?

The flight attendants had slight accents but were friendly and attentive. No attitude, just doing their job seemingly happily. I was unfortunately given the middle seat, which led to more anxiety, but it all worked out — I made sure to use the restroom every time the person on the aisle got up, so I wouldn’t feel so much like I was disturbing her.

The person in the window seat, though, never got up. Not once. I don’t know how she did it; someone later suggested that perhaps she was wearing an adult diaper. I mean, a 16 hour flight without using the bathroom once??

We were each given menus at the start of the flight to browse. I never found out what ‘assorted snacks’ were available though.

My first choice was chicken and mashed potatoes which was pretty satisfying. I thought the salmon and potato salad was a weird offering — but I ate it, because I’ve learned that unless I’ve packed snacks, I better eat what’s offered when it’s offered, or I might go very hungry… and on a 16 hour flight, I wasn’t risking turning HANGRY while in the middle seat. No…

It appears I didn’t take a picture of it, but they came around shortly after serving this to give us ice cream bars! I love when airlines do that. It’s like they know that just a small little treat can bring a smile to your face and make a potentially unpleasant situation (flying for 16 hours cramped between two people you don’t know!) into something marginally more tolerable.

I settled in to watch 3 movies and then took a nap.

I want to take a moment to share with everyone some solo-traveling etiquette/tips. My #1 personal rule is that if I cannot lift my carry-on bag over my shoulders to stow in the overhead bin, it is too heavy and I must pack lighter. Since I travel alone frequently (pretty much always), this is an absolute must. While it’s true that as a woman who is perceived to be attractive, if I were to struggle with my bag (and sometimes even when I’m not struggling), someone will almost always step in to offer to help, I don’t like people touching my stuff. Plus, you can’t rely on the variable of someone being around who will or can help. Learn to do it on your own, and you never have to worry about this!

Why do I bring this up? Yes, it’s important to be able to do things on your own – if you’re going to travel alone, you should truly be able to do those things alone, such as pull your bag off the carousel, put it in the overhead, and everything else – but something completely crazy happened while I was boarding this flight.

I was minding my own business, making my way down the aisle towards my seat, when the girl ahead of me stopped short. She was very short – 5’1 or 5’2. I’m 5’8. She turned around, narrowed her eyes at me, and stared at her bag, then lifted her gaze to the overhead bin. I simply stared back, uncertain what was going on or what she was doing. She repeated the gaze-motion – looking from her bag to the overhead bin – without saying a single word. I was getting impatient, still anxious about the impending 16 hour flight I was facing, and finally said, “do you want me to help you?” and she just looked back at me and let go of her bag.

I can’t tell you how annoyed I was at this moment. She couldn’t even bother to open her mouth and speak to me, but just try to command me with her eyes? If I hadn’t been impatient and anxious, I wouldn’t have grabbed her bag, hastily shoved it into the overhead, and started to walk past her. She looked satisfied, but I couldn’t help myself and said aggressively and not very nicely, “you’re welcome” as I huffed past her towards my seat farther back.

She barely reacted.

Please don’t try to defend her in any manner. If she didn’t speak English, or if she thought I didn’t speak English, she could have tried another language. She could have smiled. She could have done any number of things that she did not; she was simply an entitled princess who is used to people doing things for her and this instance was no different. She seemed probably surprised that it took me as long as it did to understand what she needed/wanted.

Not even a thank you.

I know, my participation in her madness just reinforced the idea that people will just help her wherever she goes, but I don’t have time to tell everyone who’s wrong in the world that they’re wrong.

By the way — funny story — in my Facebook feed a few months later, an acquaintance who is 4’11 posted how no one offered to help her as she struggled to get her bag into the overhead bin. Now, granted, she is very very short, but I wondered to myself if her bag was also too heavy for her to lift over her head. I didn’t ask because that seemed like picking a fight that I didn’t care to have.

And now back to your regularly scheduled programming…

My next meal choice was herbed orzo with pulled pork. You’re probably wondering why I chose the distinctly non-Asian meal choices on an Asian airline. Well, I was sitting pretty far back and I accurately guessed that those choices would disappear first, but also because I was about to spend 5 days in Hong Kong and eat nothing but Asian food. I had every intention of keeping my palate intact for it, too, so I figured I’d get my fill of “American” food while I could – plus, sometimes HK people make their version of “Western cuisine” and I adore it. It’s really strange but I’ve described it elsewhere on the site, so I’ll stop rambling. This was another solid meal choice – not amazing, but super satisfying and flavored nicely. Mixed together, the orzo sopped up the ‘pulled’ pork (it was more like minced, soft mush) juices and made for a nice bite. The apricot crumble was super moist, as airline desserts tend to be, and I felt sleepy enough after this for another nice, long nap, just to take me into HK airspace.

… and then back on an airplane! Yes, I’m posting about my travel before I post anything about the trip itself, because it felt more natural to do so. I switch it up sometimes! On my flight back, I took it to be a good sign that I was seated on the right side of the plane, directly behind a flight attendant galley such that my seat was almost ‘sticking out’ into the aisle. I mean, several people bumped me while planing. But that meant ALL OF THE LEG ROOM remember I said I was 5’8?? I was super happy – this might have been a result of checking in early and being super polite to the person assigning me my seat.

My happiness was short-lived as eventually, a couple seated themselves next to me… with a lap-baby. Do you know what a lap-baby is? It’s a child young enough that the airline doesn’t force you to buy a ticket, because the baby is going to sit in your lap the entire time.

For a 16 hour flight.

Luckily, I’d bought this adorable sleep mask in Macau and planned on using it to help me slumber through any crying. But I needn’t have worried because – shocker – the baby was totally fine the entire time!! I felt bad for the mom because she had to hold the baby and obviously be awake enough to hold onto her, but also because her husband was totally useless. To the tune of when the mom went to use the restroom, instead of holding the baby, the dad – who was sitting next to me – left the baby on the floor next to the window and stared down at it while the baby sort of sat there playing with something, garbage maybe? I don’t know. I was kind of horrified at just how sterotypically submissive the woman was to her lame husband who literally did not help at all and simply made things more difficult for the woman when she needed to eat, or feed the baby, or anything. Horrifying and another reminder why I’m single – I like things a little more equal, thanks…

Interestingly, this time we didn’t get menus so I can only guess as to the names of these dishes officially. This was a beef goulash type of dish, beef chunks with mashed potatoes that was fine, though definitely not as good as the previous meal. The little cup was almost like japchae (Korean glass noodles) but fairly bland. I ate just to eat, but was very eh on this meal.

We may have gotten ice cream, I don’t recall. Again, no picture.

Then, more because I could, and because without a menu I wasn’t sure if we’d be fed again, I asked for a Cup’o’Noodles a few hours later. I saw someone else ask for one and figured I’d give it a go – after 5 days in a totally foreign country, I wasn’t feeling too comfortable in any language but English so I didn’t ask what other snacks there were. The flight attendants seemed more tired on this flight.

This was a cup of instant noodles. Nothing special, but these will forever make me smile (though these were a bigger cup than I used to get) — my dad used to buy these by the case for me from Costco because I LOVED CUP’O’NOODLES. Literally the worst thing I could eat, but I adored them to no end.

Many many hours later, it turned out we would get fed again – though I think it was close to 11 pm in New York, that meant it was close to 11 am in Hong Kong, so we were fed breakfast. The choices were congee or “American breakfast” and as you can see, I opted for (or was given; they may have run out of congee) the American breakfast. Very sad sausages, a wobbly egg muffin, bacon, and potatoes. I ate every last bite (including the strangely over-sweet yogurt), but I could have lived without eating those things.

Funny enough, the food on my flights was way better on the way to a place filled with amazing, delicious, inexpensive food (which you’ll see), whereas the food on the way back was… well, highly mediocre. I don’t know why that was — given that we weren’t given menus on the return flight, I wonder if the flight had too quick of a turnaround and therefore was underequipped and staffed with over-tired attendants (who were still totally fine). I don’t know, I just know that I definitely enjoyed my flight going more than returning.

I will say this: the research paid off. I totally enjoyed my experience on Cathay Pacific overall and wouldn’t hesitate to fly them again. The fare was more than reasonable and the service was incredible, given all those factors… and the food was passing to pretty decent. If you find yourself faced with the choice, I would definitely recommend flying Cathay Pacific.

PS Apologies for the disjointed nature of this post; my dog was pestering me through the first half writing this, and then settled down for the latter half after I walked her. So there’s a distinct divide between when I was able to write as I thought vs. constantly stopping to tend to her. She’s recently decided she hates when I write… sigh.

Two weeks ago, I was standing in a park alongside the James River in/outside Richmond, Virginia. I’d just had a very difficult moment while atop some rocks partway through the river, paralyzed by fear (fear of dropping Jinx in the river; fear of dropping my phone in the river; fear of falling in the river because I don’t know how to swim). I had to forcefully decline crossing the rocks, something that probably both amused and annoyed my hiking partner.  I mean, I was wearing a Totoro dress during this whole incident, which was likely amusing enough in and of itself…

But mere minutes later, back on dry, safe land, he was pointing at a steep rock scramble. “You probably can’t do that, huh?” he said matter-of-factly, no judgment in his voice, just very frank. Something in me stirred, and before I could think twice about it, I snapped, “Watch me,” and scrambled up, stopping only once about halfway up it to breathlessly say, “I can’t do this, how will I get back down?” and then continuing up the scramble before I fell.

He said, “There’s another way down,” which meant there was another way up, but that didn’t register until later.

A little less than 6 years ago, I climbed Machu Picchu and Huayna Picchu for all intents and purposes alone.

At some point during that trip, my then-boyfriend made an offhand remark that stuck with me through it all. While I’ve repressed the exact words, the meaning remains: you can’t do this. Now, before you all shriek about what a jerk he must’ve been – reality is that he was one of the most supportive partners I’ve ever had. He always believed in my writing talents and encouraged me to pursue that to the ends of the earth.

However, he was fully aware of my fear of heights and my lack of physical ability. What he said was likely more along the lines of, “if you find yourself unable to finish the hike, or if it’s too much for you, don’t be afraid to stop. Don’t hurt yourself. Don’t push too hard.” Or something that sounds much nicer than “you can’t do this, why are you trying?”

But somewhere in my brain it translated to “you can’t do this!” and my bratty stubborn mule side reared up and said “WATCH ME, BUTTFACE” as I powered up both of those stupid mountains alone.

Don’t tell me I can’t do something, because I will go out of my way to prove you wrong. Unless I don’t care about you or your opinion, in which case, naysay away…

There’s more to this motivation. Stay tuned.

I did a lot of research on what airline to fly, so I obviously did a lot of research on where I should stay as well. I don’t recall where it was that I read about SOHO being a great area to stay – or was it that ex-pats live there? – but I stumbled on a lot of old articles about budget accommodations. I originally wanted to get an AirBNB like I did with Paris, but after asking around and doing my research I discovered that there was no inherent additional value to doing so. Especially when you consider what I paid and what I got.

Knowing that I wanted to explore as much as possible and not spend a lot of time (or money) on my hotel, I chose what looked like a boutique hotel close to the MTR (Hong Kong’s public transit system, which is AMAZING) – Sohotel. Booking through their website was super easy, and I paid roughly $100 USD a night. Granted, my room above is essentially the entire room – you walked down a narrow hall and there was the room, with the bed taking up the entire space. No room for a chair, no closet (in the pic, on the left above the bureau was a rack with hangers, where I hung all of my dresses). A small fridge, a little rolling table, a TV… it was literally the barest minimum and yet I found it cozy and comfortable for my needs.

And this was the bathroom – a narrow shower stall, a toilet, and a sink. What else do you really need, though? The toiletries they provided and refreshed daily were sufficient, and the entire staff was super pleasant and nice. The person who checked me in gave me his card and told me to call him if I needed anything, absolutely anything – I think this is part of their training – and every morning or every time I walked in or out of the lobby, he (or someone else) was ready to greet me with “Ms. Sin” and a smile. I felt very comfortable there, and they were so friendly… it was like personal service. It was awesome.

Did I mention that breakfast was included? Nothing fancy, but you could ask for coffee or tea (coffee for me) and tell them what time every morning. Someone would bring up this tray and knock on your door at the appointed time, leave the tray with you, and then clean it up when they made up your room while you were out exploring. The egg is a simple hard boiled one, and though I didn’t snap a shot of the inside, it was perfectly cooked and the yolk almost orange – sigh, the kind of eggs I wish were more readily and inexpensively available here. The croissant was fine, and the coffee super strong and delicious.  Most mornings I would eat the egg and half the croissant; the perfect fuel to keep me from being too hangry before our first stop. It was just a nice little touch.

Also, had I wanted, they offered tea (or coffee) service anytime. I think you just ring them and they bring you tea to drink, which is obviously a popular Asian culture thing where you drink tea to unwind or relax. I can’t have caffeine at night so I never used the service, but I know my neighbors did sometimes because I heard the knock.

I happened to be there during the HK Wine & Dine festival, and my hotel provided these flyers to me and a friend for our use. We did go to the festival, walk through, decided it was too much of a sh!tshow and left, but it was at least interesting to see the difference in a food festival thing there versus what I’ve attended here (the venue was on Victoria Harbour; packed with people; far less security than any venue here would have had).

And finally… the touch that literally took my breath away and ensured that I would stay with them on my return visit.

My second to last day there was October 27th – my birthday. When I’d checked in, as is customary at hotels with international guests, they’d asked to see my passport and taken down my relevant information. I didn’t think much of it, so on my birthday when the knock came with my breakfast, I answered the door less than fully dressed. Every morning previously, an older woman had appeared with my breakfast (and I’d been near-ready to go each morning, so fully dressed). But this morning I had intended to laze around a little bit before getting on my way, so I was totally shocked to open the door to not one person… not two people…

but three people, including the man who’d checked me in on my first night, one of them holding my breakfast tray and another one holding the below tray.

 I’m sure my face was totally slackjawed as they burst into song, “Happy birthday to you!” and I was mortified as I was literally wearing very skimpy shorts and a big tee shirt, nothing else. The man who’d checked me in (who was roughly my age) seemed embarrassed for me, and the song ended very quickly with them all wishing me happy birthday and then disappearing as soon as they’d laid this down.

Okay, I can’t tell you how touched I was. They brought me a cake (a very delicious, softly sweet cheesecake – which I think is really popular in HK as I saw this style of cake at a lot of bakeries), it’d been personalized to include my passport name on it, they all signed a little card for me, and they gave me a gift.  See the little black thing Jinx is standing in front of? It’s a zippered pouch, inside which was a converter (or is it an adapter?). Totally super useful, as I travel fairly frequently and am not always sure which country I need what.

Hospitality and customer service? This place has it in spades.

I highly, highly recommend it to anyone staying in Hong Kong anytime soon. They have bigger rooms if you want to spend a little more.

Oh! I didn’t even tell you one of the biggest reasons I opted for a hotel instead of AirBNB. One of the nifty things a lot of the hotels in HK seem to be doing is bundling an unlimited data cell phone in with your room. In the first pic of my room, you can see the bottom edge of an orange-wrapped cell phone. That’s not my personal cell phone, it was one that the hotel ‘rented’ to you free of charge. It came in totally handy to look things up, even to install Facebook on there so I could communicate with my friend (whose hotel also gave him a similar cell phone) while we were out and about, Google Maps was loaded on it and ready to go… I mean, this is a genius idea. I wish more hotels offered this!! I know you can rent cell phones or WiFi hot spots when you travel, but occasionally the pickup/dropoff points are so far out of the way that it’s not reasonable or worth it to get them. This is already in your hotel and super simple to use!! It was a nice little perk that I definitely made full use of.

Again, I wouldn’t hesitate to return to Sohotel. Excellent service, a warm and friendly staff, included breakfast and an unlimited data cell phone — there are too many pros to list. The only con would be if you like more room in your room, but I honestly thought it was perfectly fine for a 5-6 day trip alone. With another person in the room might be a bit stuffy.

It’s a pretty quick walk from the Sheung Wan MTR station, too, if you don’t get lost like I did my first time (before I had the cell phone!). And super close to the Macau Ferry.

Next HK post will be focused on food… I promise

After I checked into my awesome hotel, it was roughly 9 pm and I was in need of food before passing out for the night in preparation for my amazing full first day in Hong Kong! Knocking another continent off the list! (I’m up to 4 now.)  I went to the front desk and the super friendly guy who checked me in and whose name totally escapes me helped me find a place nearby that was open – though I had that nifty phone with unlimited data and could easily reference Google Maps, I was too tired to wander far.

I went around the corner to this tiny little storefront noodle shop.

I can’t read Chinese, and though someone translated the name of the place for me – I’m not sure how it can be accurate because the place he named is not this place (I know this from seeing the other place, well, elsewhere. In any case, as you can see from the menu, there was a distinct language barrier. There was some English on there, but I misinterpreted what the English meant. I watched other people ordering around me and realized later that I should have added a veggie, but whatever…

After I ordered, this landed on the table in front of me.

Given that my birthday is the 27th and I was there technically for my birthday, I thought this was an excellent sign. I took a picture of it. Then I realized that was my bill.

$27 HKD is roughly $3.38 USD.

Though I’d been told HK is not really a tipping culture, I still tipped. He seemed amused.

Beef brisket noodle soup. I thought I was ordering “ngau lam mein” {beef stew soup, I think?} but this was totally satisfying. I wanted to be able to say this was the best wonton noodle soup I’ve ever had, but it wasn’t. The spring onions were a nice touch, the broth was sufficient, the noodles springy, the beef OK (I definitely did not order their best topping/meat/protein choice)… but overall this bowl hit the exact right spot. I was pretty happy with it, and even tried some of the chili oil in the metal tin that Jinx is leaning on.

Asian chili oil is only recently something I’ve tried consuming. This was an excellent version – roasted chili flakes gave the whole thing that roasty toasty tastiness that I adore, and it was super spicy – a few drops rendered my entire bowl fairly spicy, but added a nice layer of complexity to an otherwise simple dish. I was happy I’d tried it, but even happier I’d waited until I was nearly finished before adding it, lest I rendered it totally inedible for me.

Overall — a great place for what I needed, a quick and inexpensive bite before turning in for the night. I wanted to return on my last night, to get something else and compare my first impression after not eating Asian food for a while, to what I thought after 4-5 days of nonstop eating Asian food… but it was closed when I tried to visit again. Boo… but not meant to be, perhaps.

I would give you location information if I could, but it’s in that pic that I can’t translate for you. If you stay at the Sohotel, exit and make a right out the door, then a right at the corner… it’s across the street.

Off to a good start…

While I was in Hong Kong, I snapped tons of photos that don’t have a real home anywhere… so I thought I’d share them in one big pic-heavy post, especially since I’ve been unable to find the time to really sit down and write as much for y’all as I’d like – and I’ll be in Vegas this upcoming weekend, so even less so… sorry! But Vegas will have posts – to Instagram and to Snapchat. You don’t follow me on Snapchat? You should! My username is feistyfoodie

One of my favorite things to do is go in grocery stores and browse when I travel abroad. I saw potato chips that were Cup Noodles branded – I love/d Cup Noodles growing up and they still bring me joy to occasionally indulge in one! The chips were OK – thick cut, so had a nice crunch – but the flavor was pretty mild.

The drinks – first one is grape juice with actual bits of grape flesh in it. That was OK. The third one was either milk tea or coffee/milk tea, and a lovely substitute for when one might be unable to get the real version. I liked it. The middle drink, however… pineapple and passionfruit Ribena?? OMG it was the last bottle and I had trouble finding it again anywhere else. There’s only one type of Ribena available here – black currant – and I adore it. But this Ribena was insanely delicious – tons of passionfruit flavor, sweet, pineapple, just so good! I wish I could have found more to enjoy while I was there.  

At the airport, I went shopping and found these funny little ‘hipster mustache’ cookies.  

Also at the airport – a sit down restaurant that boasted a wide array of yummy meats over rice and other assorted goodies. Why don’t our airports have such awesome food?

Airport also had a Popeye’s, and I was tempted to try it just to see how it might compare. The timing was off, however, so I opted out.  

In another airport store were these – seemingly dehydrated chicken wings? I wasn’t entirely sure what these were and unwilling to give it a go with the HK dollars I had remaining. Fun fact: I had gotten an Octopus card when I arrived, which is like a debit card – you add money to it and tap it to a turnstile to gain access to the MTR (their public transportation system), but you can also use it in convenience stores (similar to 7-11s), and certain other stores accept it as well. Most conveniently, however, is that a lot of the airport stores accept it, so I was able to use up the remaining balance on my card prior to boarding my flight. I wound up buying a lot of Sugus (a candy that I grew up eating but no longer see in NYC)… and sharing that with my siblings.  

I swear to you… I left directly after a weekend of intense burger eating, and it seemed like burgers were following me. I was NOT having it!  

Random alleyway – these little ‘shortcuts’ made walking through HK so much easier, except that Google Maps doesn’t recognize them as legitimate walking paths… so I had trouble walking some places because I didn’t realize I could/should cut through an alley. Some of them even have names, like they’re streets.  

I don’t know what disposable underwear is for, though someone explained to me it’s for those who travel a lot – then you do less laundry but instead just throw them away. Makes sense, I guess?  

Tempted to buy that for my doggie! but looks too much like Yankees pinstripes.  

Cardboard containers of snack foods!  

Michelin stars are seemingly crazy common in HK, as you’ll see in my next post. I wandered by a store selling them inside, but they didn’t allow photos. This was outside the store, where I could take a photo.

These very strange tee-shirts were available at the Ladies’ Market. I did not buy any.  

Durian cheese is not my thing…

The pizz was $30 HKD (roughly $3.75 USD) – this was in Macau.  

I didn’t know potato grids were so spooky

I was surprised to see cheese fondue offered… Asians and cheese are not best friends.  

I was super tempted to eat at a McDonald’s just for the experience, but nothing looked super appealing.  Or that different.

Except this stuff… but I”m not much one for sweets and I was on my way to get food.

Told you burgers were following me — NOT a burger!!! except it is. Korean rice burger house, to be exact…

If I hadn’t been 2 blocks from the place I wanted to visit for lunch, I’d have gone in here just to see what happiness tastes like.

Okay, that’s a lie. I know what happiness tastes like

There you go – some photos of things that amused me while I was in HK!

More HK posts to come, soon! I promise!!! In the meantime, be sure to follow me on Snapchat!

Today marks 16 years since I said first said goodbye to my father.

This isn’t the last time, this isn’t the last time, but it just may be… the last time.

Last year, I skipped my Halloween post. It was an emotional and trying year for me, and I couldn’t bring myself to express all that I’d done to close the door just a little more on that painful part of my life. I tried to write it – I wrote it in my journal.

But, much like today when I wrote everything down and intended to transcribe it to a post, that wasn’t and won’t be published here.

It’s been such an intense, amazing year. So much has happened. So much lost (20~ lbs, the healthy way), so much gained (strength in immeasurable quantity – both physical and emotional), so much happiness.

Guys, I just can’t express all that I want to right now. I need more time. I need to spend more time here, and yet life pulls me away.

I’ll be back sooner than I think. I know I will. I’m not asking you to wait for it, but… it’ll be good. That much I can promise.

Dear Dad,

Another year passes. More and more I wish I could share with you. More and more, I think about how you’ll never get to carry out that joke we made all the time – you walking me down the aisle, but needing a stepstool to reach for my veil, to pull it back over my face as you kiss my cheek and ‘give me away’ to the poor guy who’s asked for my hand in marriage.

More and more, I think how you never met your grandchildren, my nephews, and how you’ll never meet my potential offspring.

I think how you’ll never frown disapprovingly at my choice of spouse, nor smile approvingly at him, either.

I think how I’ll never hear your voice again, how I can barely hear it anymore, how it’s just a whisper, a forced memory of an audiotape I had once upon a time of you giving a speech in a college course you took, in your strangely British-accented English.

I think how I don’t really remember how you smelled… a vague oily-skin smell that I lucked into not having your skin but mom’s instead, her creamy, smooth, white skin but not your olive-toned, oily-skin. I don’t remember all the finer details of your facial features.

I worry how one day I’ll wake up and it’ll all be gone, all the memories, all the creases by your eyes when you smiled at me. Did you have a loud, barking laugh? Or was it more musical and tinkly, like in a movie? Was it raucous, like my brother’s and my laughter when we’re particularly pleased with some joke we’ve made? Or was it more teasing, melodious, and soft?

I remember some things that I’ve repeated to myself so many times over the years, cradling the memories to my heart like so much precious gold. But others… others slip through my fingers as I try desperately to hold onto them.

How much have I forgotten, and how much have I remembered? How much is accurate, and how much is the wistful longing of a barely-past-teenaged girl, praying for her father to recover?

Who knows. Does it even matter anymore? Sometimes the bitterness shows. Sometimes I let slip just how angry I still feel at losing you when I was so young. Sometimes I forget, and sometimes I don’t.

Sometimes I remember.

One more year, one more lost memory.

Dad, I hope you’re resting well. I said goodbye last year, and unsurprisingly, it feels more than ever that you’re still with me.

The dawning of a new era, Dad. It’s time for me to make my own family and to remember you, but to let go as well.

Love you always.

s-k-y