To escape or to reminisce

As I visit more and more spaces— whether it be restaurants, bars, cafes, cafeterias, or parks, I can't help but wonder and let my mind race. What does this space make me feel? How does it make me feel this way? What types of people are here? Why are they here? What do they have in common?

Queries upon queries fill my consciousness. Most of the time, they're aimless, often, subconscious thoughts. I've been trying to do a better job of materializing these thoughts, journaling, and writing vignettes. It's been more of an effort to organize the mosh posh of ideas and observations that flow through my head. 

I find it funny (and a little frustrating) that the urge to document my musings surges when I travel. Yes, that's a good thing. It gets me writing. Traveling to different cities and foreign lands gives a much broader and inspiring sample to ponder upon. But, aren't the spaces, people, food, and experiences in our near vicinity the ones that we should be analyzing the most? 

The reason that I'm speaking about this is because, yet again, I've come back from a weekend spent in seemingly familiar yet unfamiliar places. Last weekend, I traveled to San Francisco to run a 5 mile trail race with a couple of cousins. In the wake of the race, I hopped from one corner of the city to the other, exploring the nooks and crannies of the city. In just a couple of days, I had visited 6 bars, 12 restaurants, 4 parks, one lake, and a surf shop. 

A motif that kept on filling my mind all weekend was the question: To escape or to reminisce? This thought caught fire when my cousins and I had an animated conversation about our favorite Pixar films. Mine being Ratatouille. What that film reminds me of is the power of nostalgia. I find that some of the most powerful emotions stem from the feeling of comfort and familiarity. Whether it be a dish that grandma used to make, or the smell of surfboard wax. Deep inside, everyone craves this familiarity. I found myself in a surf shop/cafe nestled into the Ocean Beach neighborhood of San Francisco obsessing over the music of my childhood, the smell of wax, the laid back attitude of the barista, and the gloss of the ocean breeze. Why don't all spaces aim to reinvigorate the feeling of nostalgia in the people that travel through them?

On the other hand, I found myself at a tiki bar, nestled on a quiet, commercial street around the Civic Center neighborhood. The bouncer was lounged outside of what could've been a neighborhood HR Block office. The Doors opened, a black velvet curtain was unraveled and suddenly I was transported into a land of shaded lamps of all colors, and western styled wannabe Polynesian decor. The only place that could rival the seemingly tacky, but incredibly tasteful aura was Disneyland. Only a space like Disneyland (and apparently this bar) could transport me with a push of a door and an unveiling of a curtain. There is something to be said about the experience of being transported. It's why we crave to disappear from the sunny streets of San Francisco into a place where we lose track of sunlight and where we actually are.

Often, my musings always boomerang back to me thinking of spaces I want to create and what spaces I want to explore. I could easily get caught up in searching for something familiar and comforting, which is what I tell myself is what I prefer. But, being able to experience and soak in spaces that are foreign and unexpected always strikes a chord. It makes we wonder if what we really crave is exploration of the unknown and escape from reality. I've always been one for the comfort of my mother's cooking, or my most frequented surf break. In fact, I've convinced myself that the familiarity is what people crave over the unknown or escapism. Small experiences that I find in traveling to unknown cities, new neighborhoods, or restaurants keep me guessing. What do I really crave? Is it exploration to see the world differently, or is it exploration to chase nostalgia and normality?

Documentation, a scarcity

Yea it's been a while.

My lack of activity is a mixture of my indolence and lack of documentation of dishes that I've been cooking.

Documentation, with cooking especially, hasn't been a strong suit of mine. I wouldn't even categorize it as a weak point, it's something that I purposely avoid. It could stem from the wanting to embody something along the lines of "living in the moment". Maybe that makes me more woke. I may never know my own intentions...

Jokes aside, I've reached a point where cooking has become a "no biggie" situation. I mean that in the least boastful way possible. It's something in which I unwind and unplug. It's less of an occasion and more of a relaxation method in which I can make others happy while telling a story.

Ever since I got rid of instagram, my need to share and record my musings and my cooking has plummeted. It comes with its positives and negatives. Many of the dear people that I cook for take pictures and whatnot, which I'm fine with. Those guests are the same people I occasionally ask for pictures from. But personally, I'd like the story of the food and the people that I'm cooking for and eating be the focal point. A saying that's always stuck with me is, "Don't tell me what you ate, tell me who you ate with". That sums up why documenting my cooking has been less of a priority. But there is a time and a place for it...I guess.

The idea of instagram came up in a podcast that I was listening to the other day. The podcast was speaking on the subject of interior design in hospitality industry (restaurants and hotels specifically). Now developers have fully accepted the power of social media, whether they themselves like it or not. These designers are now pegged to create spaces that are conducive to "instagramability". There has to be a portion of the lobby or the restaurant that has to be picture-esque. Instead of organically creating a space that people want to share, designers are going out of their way to input a neon sign or a specific spot in the space that's easily photographed and shared. It made me think of how, in the future, I would need to make food and create spaces that would be easily instagramable. If I were to open a hotel or a restaurant, would I have to go against my own preference and force this just to keep up with the social media craze? Now that I think about it, I wouldn't necessarily have an issue with it per se, it just scares me. The age of word of mouth and experience has fallen into the abyss. It's much more difficult to share a story to the public without social media as a vehicle. People can't live in the past for too long, and adaptation is necessary for success. I guess, I've already accepted my fate.

While I can't show you too many images of what I've made over this summer, I can try show you what I've worked on through a couple images and stories.

Here are two stories:

1. Fried Chicken. I'm not going to front, I've never made fried chicken before this. I've been intimidated by the idea of frying things at home (don't you need a fryer to do that?). Whenever I see people frying things, it seems like a whole process. Not really a vibe. BUT, my friend, wanted chicken thighs for her birthday. I immediately decided that baking and searing chicken thigh was simply too mundane. So I decided to mess around with some 400 degree oil splattering around in my apartment. To my surprise, the process of cooking fried chicken was pretty harmless. It starts with marination in buttermilk, coconut milk, and a bevy spices (that I haphazardly threw in). The rest of the process looked like putting chicken and canola oil in a dutch oven (a whole lot of it), waiting till for a golden brown exterior, throwing it in the oven, waiting until the internal temperature hit 160 and bada bing bada boom. Not too shabby if you ask me. 

2. Mother's Soup. I took a trip to Uwajimaya (huge, heavenly, Asian supermarket) with one my friends. As I was strolling through the aisles, I was hit again and again with shots of nostalgia. They were memories of me and my mom obsessing over fish balls, cabbages, enoki mushrooms, and pre-marinated chicken thighs. I made a split-second decision to search the aisles for what felt familiar. What I was left with was a mosh posh of vegetables that my mom would throw into a homemade chicken stock soup. Albeit, when my mom cooked this soup, I would only drink the soup, circumvent the veggies and leave the table to do whatever a high school boy would do (probably video games). This time, I was determined to eat the veggies. The next day, I consulted my mom for about an hour on the techniques and timing of cooking such a seemingly simple dish (it's simple but oddly complex). Paired along with cold, soy dressed rice noodles and five obscure asian sauces on the table mixed together, I had dinner with a friend. Mother knows best.  

Rising to the challenge

Starters

Who knew baking bread could be so easy and tough at the same time. I don't know why I had such a "spur of the moment" interest in bread a couple of weeks ago but I did. Again, learning where food products come from has been incredibly humbling. Going through the process of making new foods and finding inspiration all around me has been a theme as of recent.

After a whole two weeks of feeding my baby colony of yeast (her name is Tanya), she's finally become capable of feeding my gluten cravings. I now realize, buying bulk flour and making bread can put my wallet at ease. You might ask, doesn't bread making take copious amounts of time? Is it really worth the effort? What is the opportunity cost? I hated economics anyway.

Just like any other cooking, I really do believe that our views of time commitment are skewed. Many look at cooking and baking as time intensive processes and claim that it's too daunting of a task to tackle. When you actually throw yourself into it, you start to realize how little time and effort it actually takes and how simple it all is. With regards to the time, yes, some things are going to take some patience, but keep in mind that, over time, you can find beauty and ease within the process. Trust the process. Below a couple things that I've made in the oven. Bread + more!

Commonplace 2: Something smells fishy...

Blood in the water. If that's wild caught, non-GMO, organic water, then yea...that's the case. Commonplace part 2 is finally here. While rough to get together, I'm so thankful for the people who show their support for me and what I'm trying to do. Shoutout to Ash + Katie!

Weekends are now a time to take a step back and relax, to smell the flowers. Literally and figuratively. Wandering around the city has its perks. Whether it be in familiar or foreign places, I'm always finding new places and people.

For commonplace, inspiration is everywhere around me. I find dishes, decor, and people that push me to create. It's almost impossible to cook without inspiration and ideas to draw from. Today's food has been brought to you and inspired by SpringRain Farms, Ayako Family Jams, Fiasco, Lionhead, and Harry's Fine Foods.

Foooood:

• Seawolf sourdough bruschetta with local mascarpone, Ballard honey, basil, prosciutto, and damson plum jam from Ayako Family Jams.

• Whole Rainbow Trout + SpringRain leeks and parsley

Taking urban farming as an elective this year, despite being only two weeks in, has been a blessing. Having an inside tract to understanding where our food comes from and how our habits affect the environment has been so incredibly humbling! While I can't always shop locally and support our communities through purchasing domestic produce, I find pride in changing my consuming habits on a day to day basis. Baby steps!

Inspiration: Harry's Fine Foods

Tinted Tumblers

Last night, I was out with my friend, Andrew. It's nice to find people who are willing to explore the city. While social media and places like Pinterest act as a convenient source of inspiration, nothing is like experiencing the ambiance in person. 

A couple months back, my god-sister's husband had recommended a couple of restaurants to visit in Seattle. He frequents the city of business trips and thus frequents spaces I typically don’t as a student. I finally made the trip out to upper Capitol Hill to check out one of his recommendations: Harry's Fine Foods.

Harry’s is tucked into the more low-key, residential portion of Capitol Hill. I've grown incredibly fond of this little nook of the neighborhood. It contains the same people, food, and aura that Capitol Hill’s known for but emanates more of a down to earth charm. Best of both worlds!

Right off the bat, the concept, was intriguing. Many restaurants look to find consistency with glassware, tableware and overall decor. Harry's, with it's brown and blue tinted glasses (love me some duralex tumblers), uniquely procured dishes, and spastic (in a good way) decor differentiates itself from the highly conceptual spots found in Seattle proper. The lack of consistency between theme, decor, and cuisine was a little confusing at first, but the imperfections gradually turned into something worth remembering. 

I haven't connected the dots until taking time to write this post, but now it's hitting me. Harry's Fine Foods reminded me of a more refined version of home. In David Chang's Netfilx series, Ugly Delicious, he speaks to home cooking and how the idea of home cooking and hospitality is, in reality, what humans want to experience. Not all of us want that overly refined dining experience. Instead we want something that we find comfort in. All these different plates, varied decorations (a disco ball next to a chandelier), and communal tables reminded me of what sharing a meal is supposed to be like. Homey.

Above, you can find their beef short rib. I wouldn't say it's a gorgeous dish appearance wise, but when you’re back home cooking, everything isn’t always manicured. The hummus, cream sauce, and short rib are presented in a hearty, inviting setting as well. It's hard to describe, but Harry's toes that line in between homey and refined. Which for a more upscale restaurant, is ambitious. It works beautifully, though. 

Update: Tumbling

Tumbling (I coined that phrase by the way) is on its way to glassware Mount Rushmore. You heard it here first. 

Here’s the risotto, in all its half eaten glory

Last weekend I had a few friends of mine over for some shrimp and squid risotto + a toasted Rosellini's sourdough baguette I picked up after work. Fancy right? Instead of serving beverages in regular IKEA 365 tall water glasses, I brought out a pitcher + tumblers and paid attention to how my friends interacted with the seemingly different experience. 

A couple observations. The three guests took smaller sips and took more time to pace themselves through not only their drink. The exciting and most surprising part was that they took much longer to eat their food as well. The portion of risotto wasn't that big, pretty small to be honest. Going into this experiment, I only planned on considering the independent variable of cup size and dependent variable being pace of drinking. I failed to consider looking at eating behavior and speed. 

This leads me to think that a lot of fine dining restaurants with smaller dishes slow down the dining experience by complimenting smaller dishes with smaller glass sizes. Yes, the large glass does have a place (think Bucca Di Beppo or a burger joint). These restaurants often feature large portions and appetites are cater to more “ravenous appetites”. It’s Interesting how appetite and portion size serve as considerations when designing of overall eating experience and tableware.

Test subjects

At the end of the night, I finally asked my friends about what they thought about the smaller glasses and how it affected their experience at the dining table. Overall, the addition of the smaller tumbler was widely accepted with open arms. They commented on how it allowed for more of a communal experience, even if it was as minuscule as pouring water for another guest. They did mention how they would not use this glassware outside of a group setting. When alone, they preferred a water bottle or a taller glass for efficiency's sake.

Maybe, I'm looking at it too closely, but I believe the process of asking if someone wants more water summons a sense of care and togetherness. The fact that this act of service is done consistently through the meal, reminds people that they are, in fact, eating with others.