See the world. Ask Questions. Tell Stories.
Growing up, it was about breakfast. My father shook the top of my duvet until I cracked my eyes open - or, if he was feeling funny that morning, would gently place his index finger horizontally across my nostrils, giggling to himself as my eyelids flew open, satisfied that I was sufficiently awake. One day it might be a reheated frozen muffin - a 700- calorie monstrosity from a megapack …
There’s Virtue in Bland Food – Or, How I Found Home in Hong Kong Macaroni SoupRead More
The first night I moved to Hong Kong, I ordered delivery Korean fried chicken and ate it in my room. I cowered inside the bedroom of my serviced apartment, brought a steaming bag of food to the bedroom, lifted the lid of my spicy Korean fried chicken, and ate my first meal of Hong Kong out of cardboard boxes sitting in my bed. That’s right. I went through the effort of creating an account on …
There she was – the Godmother. Of Macanese cuisine, that is. Only, we didn’t know it. Hair dyed light brown and permed into a stylish pouf on her head, a pair of enormous glasses perched on her nose, and eyes roving over a Portuguese-language newspaper. Pearl jewelry hung from her neck. Laminated photos of Macau peppered the walls – all of them in varying shades of ochre and blue, …
Riquexo and Minchee: Meeting the Godmother of Macanese FoodRead More
Before you ask - no, I haven't watched the Doctor Who episode. But I've sure as hell watched this and cried just as hard. And I was like, damn, if the enthusiasm of Van Gogh had touched the people of his time then, then maybe I wouldn't have erupted in waterworks on this day. The day dawned bright and brisk and cold, with leaves and tree trunks still gray-green from low temperatures and …
There it was – that tune. But, oh God, I wished that I were wrong. Da-da-da-da-da-da, dah dah dah. Coming from somewhere behind me. I turned my head slowly to the left, where my kid brother sat, propped up on a high stool. Our eyes met, and his narrowed. He’d heard it, too. The unmistakable ring of “Oriental Riff” – as in, that “stereotypical Chinese nine note riff.” You can find it under …
When You Complain About Chinese Tourists, I Love My Parents MoreRead More
Dear Reader, Here you are. You’ve somehow, by some (un)fortunate stroke of luck, stumbled your way across the vast potholes of the internet, across your friends’ engagement photos on Facebook and the darker corners of Reddit and occasionally the good-for-us publications like the New Yorker and the Economist, and found yourself here. On my travel blog. On my blog! Cue shrieks. So, dear …
Cite de Carcassonne. Carcassonne, France. March 2019. I thought they knew we were in Europe before they decided to visit Carcassonne. Although, in retrospect, I could have really hammered the point home before we found ourselves hurtling through the tiny streets of Carcassonne, with barely enough room for one of those laughably small Audis, let alone our rental Peugot van. Actually, …
