Prodigal Daughter

I meant to write this post earlier, and had actually drafted a version while I was still living in Philadelphia, and then another while I was sitting in the airport in Austin, Texas, but I never quite had the chance or the inclination to come up with something to actually blog. I suppose though, that its better I do it now that I'm back in San Diego and I can confirm or deny the thoughts I had prior to moving back and in the midst of moving back.

okay enough rambling. Because I'm lazy, this is what I had written in Texas, mid-move:

At the moment I’m sitting in an airport in flat lands of Texas, after the most vomit inducing landing ever. The whole 30 minute descent was like being on a ship at sea tossed about in a storm. I suppose it didn’t help much that I was being a freak and staring and focusing weirdly that the sights out of my little window. FYI, I like window seats because I fall asleep on every flight, and I like to be able to lean against something. Living in San Diego, I’m used the rolling hills, the coastline, the suburbs and the city. Sometimes I forget that there’s something between idyllic seascape and busy urban city skyline. Like, for instance, here in, Texas, where the topography is flat for miles around. Suburban streets and surrounded by plots of land, fields, and then more suburban blocks of residential housing. I can’t get over how flat it is out here. No mountains, no huge skyscrapers to cut into the sky, no hills, nothing. Everything is on the same visual plane. I know I shouldn’t be as amazed by that as I am, but there it is nonetheless.

Oh, but I suppose this post was supposed to be about Philadelphia.

I’m not gonna lie, I did feel a bit sad about leaving the city where I experienced such grief—for the very reason that it was the city where I first experienced the trials of being an adult. Being out on my own, in the biggest sea I’ve ever known, far away from everything comforting and comfortable in my life, forced me to struggle and fight for things that I hadn’t ever before. And there were definitely times where it felt overwhelming.

And as much as I disliked certain elements of living in Philadelphia, the thing that I appreciated the most were the friends that I had made there. To be honest, when I first got there and in the program, I had serious reservations about the kind of people who would be there. Maybe my cynical outlook is the reason why I was so pleasantly surprised to find a few people who I don't mind calling friends.

They are what I will miss the most about Philadelphia.

Looking back, I don't regret anything. As I watched these friends continue to fight through their classes, through the struggles that make up what it's like to be an academic, but also to reap the rewards and benefits that inevitably come from such a fight, I won't lie and say that I didn't feel pangs to sadness. Because they will get to experience and accomplish things that I have only ever dreamt about.

But even still, I don't regret anything: not my decision to come out to philadelphia nor my decision to leave it. I had to go out there in order to figure out what I wanted. Because if I hadn't, it would have always been a "what if" in my mind--it would have been something I would have regretted for the rest of my life.

As it is now, I don't have any regrets. Or at least, not on that account haha.

And now that I'm back in SD, a few reflections.

I absolutely love flying into San Diego. The plane sweeps across the city, so on one side of the plane the view is balboa park and on the other side, downtown and the pacific ocean. My favorite time to land is dusk. Because the low setting sun paints everything in that golden glow you come to expect from San Diego, or California in general.

Even though it was hot that day, it wasn't the stifling humidity of the East coast. And it was such a perfect day to come home. Tiffany picked me up and we did the thing that is a MUST when coming back to SD: we got mexican food haha. Picked up burritos and headed to the most perfect strip of beach in SD: torrey pines <3

I'm still trying to adjust, I suppose. It's a feeling akin to the one you get when you return to your childhood home or elementary school--things are the same, but not quite. Oh, you know who could put this feeling into terms far better than I could ever do? Holden.

(here he's talking about revisiting a museum he frequented as a child):

The best thing, though, in that museum was that everything always stayed right where it was. Nobody'd move. You could go there a hundred thousand times, and that Eskimo would still be just finished catching those two fish, the birds would still be on their way south, the deers would still be drinking out of that water hole, with their pretty antlers and their pretty, skinny legs, and that squaw with the naked bosom would still be waving that same blanket. Nobody'd be different. The only thing that would be different would by you. Not that you'd be so much older or anything. It wouldn't be that, exactly. You'd just be different, that's all. You'd have an overcoat on this time. Or the kid that was your partner in line the last time had got scarlet fever and you'd have a new partner. Or you'd have a substitute taking the class, instead of Miss Aigletinger. Or you'd heard your mother and father having a terrific fight in the bathroom. Or you'd just passed by one of those puddles in the street with gasoline rainbows in them. I mean you'd be different in some way--I can't explain what I mean. And even if I could, I'm not sure I'd feel like it.

(wow. I actually pulled my copy off the shelf to search for that quote, and just thumbing through the pages and skimming through passages reminded me just how excellent that book is and why it remains one of my favorites. Catcher and Holden, along with P&P and Darcy, was one of the first books I felt like I had a relationship with. They came to me at the moment in my life where I was yearning to read something that could affect me. I remember being just hungry for something to read.

That image of the puddles with gasoline rainbows I remember vividly & still remains with me to this day).

The one fabulous thing about coming home is that the relationships I have with people didn't seem to suffer at all. Its just like picking up right after where we left off and for that I remain extremely grateful.

And now I think I need to spend time with Holden, he's a dear friend I haven't visited with in quite some time:)

Parisian Getaway

(visit philly)

The other day, I was bustling around center city, when I decided to treat myself to a fabulous bistro lunch at one of the cafes lining Rittenhouse Square. I had read that these little french cafes offered some of the best outdoor dining Philadelphia had to offer, so I decided that I owed it to myself to at least try it.

I selected Parc, mostly because it was the one I had heard the most about, and in very true French style, it had outdoor seating in the form of those little tables and chairs lining the sidewalks. Inside, it was all open, dark wood, mosaic floors, art deco lighting fixtures, complete with some french music playing in the background. It aspires to be as French as any French cafe, and to be honest, it doesn't fail in that aspect.

(jaunted)

It was a fairly nice, crisp, autum day, I decided to sit outside so I could watch the happenings in the park. By the way, Rittenhouse Square, along with the Museum District, and the Schuykill River bank, is one of my favorite places in Philadelphia. A square park, right in the middle of Center City, with lots of trees, open space, and benches. It's a nice place to just spend a few hours. Just because.

Anyway, Parc.

Service: Really good. My server, Benjamin, was really knowledgeable about the whole menu, plus wine pairings. He was polite and well spoken, and his voice was just perfect for customer service. I'm not sure how to explain what I mean by this, but just trust me on it. The only thing I would say is that, at the beginning of the meal service at least, he was a bit too attentive. Like, I couldn't even read over the menu thoroughly before he came up asking for my water preference--tap or bottle?--before returning, I swear not even a minute later, to ask if I was ready to order.

Because of that, uh, not exactly pushiness--because I know that if I had asked for another minute or two, he would have given it to me--but pressure maybe? yeah, we'll say that because of the pressure I was feeling, I just went ahead and asked him for recommendations for both food and wine.

I ended up getting a warm shrimp salad and a glass of Sauvingon Blanc.

Before my food came out, a bread basket was presented. There was far too much bread for me to eat: a good half loaf of baguette, 2 slices of cranberry walnut bread, and 2 slices of something else I can't remember, but I know they were going to variety. I'm not a big bread basket eater, but I did partake of the cranberry walnut with some butter. Good, nothing new, but good.

Warm Shrimp Salad: absolutely lovely. Just thinking about this salad makes me sigh in contentment. It was 4 large shrimp poached in a lemon beurre blanc, served with mixed greens dressed in a lemon vinaigrette, with an avocado fan, rehydrated sun-dried tomatoes, and the biggest, most delicious shaving of parmesan cheese.

It was like heaven on a plate. It made me full, but not overly so, and happily so because I wasn't stuffing my face with the usual out-of-a-box delicacy. Why can't I eat things as simple, as fresh, as delicious as this one salad, everyday?

& the Sauvingnon Blanc was a nice complement to the salad. dry and crisp and smooth.

Ah, and then there was dessert. Confession: I didn't have dessert at lunch, but came back later, that very day, to have dessert with my roommate since it was her birthday. I had been eyeing the dessert menu at lunch, but didn't have a reason to justify the sweet so I passed. But since I was with my roommate, at it was her birthday, it gave me the excuse needed to indulge :)

I decided to go with the Pain d'epice. It was this little spice cake served with maple-brown sugar ice cream and candied pecans. It was a nice little dessert that wasn't too sweet. It was particularly nice that night because it feels very much like it's a fall/winter kind of dessert. It's warm and nutty in the way that only things in autumn can be warm and nutty.

And, as if that wasn't enough, I actually had a Cafe Vietnamese to go along with it, served hot. I normally don't give into the temptation of vietnamese coffee, and almost never order it, but I guess that night I really was feeling indulgent. Or maybe it was because it was chilly? Ah, excuses. Anyway, this is a dessert in itself: a good layer of condensed milk, another layer of hot coffee, a layer of foam/steamed milk. Comes with a spoon to stir. And, surprisingly, it came with a little lemon glazed cookie. There's nothing wrong about Vietnamese coffee. Nothing.

Sorry that there wasn't any personal pictures--at lunch my table was half in the shade, half in the sun, and it made for a poor picture on my craptastic camera on my phone.

Parc Restaurant, Bistro & Cafe
227 S. 18th Street
Philadelphia, PA 19103
http://www.parc-restaurant.com

another goodbye

My departure from the city of brotherly love has commenced.

The pieces are slowly falling in place. My roommate has been informed. Although she seems fine with it, I know that this is a situation that she didn't ever want to find herself in, and for that, I feel sorry.

My landlord has been informed. He's listing the apartment and is, at the moment, trying to find someone to sublet from me. Interestingly, he mentioned to my roommate (when I wasn't at home) that it should be relatively easy to find someone to move in with her. However, it would have been difficult to find someone should the situation have been reversed. That is, it would be hard to find someone to live with me, since apparently, I'm a difficult tenant. I'm sorry if I'm losing sleep over the fact that there's rodents running a muck in the place where I sleep and eat, not to mention the fact that the dish washer no longer works, the window in the bathroom is broken, and could we please start using our radiators since it's getting cold? Just because I'm vocal about certain things doesn't mean I'm difficult. What a load of bull. I could turn this into another feminist rant, but I don't want to be angry at the moment so I'll let it slide.

I'm on the brink of buying my plane ticket home. I just need to be sure someone can get me at the airport. October 29 sounds like a lovely day to return to the (sunny) shores of san diego, does it not? My mouth is currently watering at the thought of a california burrito.

Oh, speaking of california burritos-- I didn't know that they were a San Diego thing. I thought california burritos would be Calfornia-wide, but they aren't! I've found this out by talking to several different people from different parts of California. And when I came out here, I caved and visited an establishment called "mexi-cali"--yeah, I loled too-- and they had a "San Diego" Burrito, which was, in reality, what San Diegans call a CA burrito. Interesting, right? Like my roommate, who is from northern california and went to school at UCLA, she's never had a CA burrito. She's only heard of them from people in San Diego. I was shocked at this. Really, couldn't get my head around it.

But where was I?

Oh right, returning to san diego. top 5 things I'm anticipating:
1) good burritos
2) warmer weather
3) MASON love
4) good Boba
5) Pacific Ocean

and I guess all my family/friends out there haha.

top 5 things I'll miss about philadelphia:
1) public transportation
2) chinatown. 80 cents for a egg bun? yumm.
3) experiencing east coast weather
4) cheaper sales tax
5) old buildings in the city

top 5 things I wont miss about philadelphia:
1) the crazy ass mofos that scream all day everyday in the streets
2) not being able to walk around at night by myself
3) the stench of the city
4) the poor selection of produce/seafood
5) the steam vents

I've already started packing. I've got one box all ready to be shipped off. And I'll slowly get things together as the weeks go by. I need to make a list of all the stuff I want to do in philly/east coast before I leave. Another trip to NYC may be needed.

Sleepless in Philadelphia

I don't sleep well these nights.

If you keep up on my twitter, you'd know that a certain unwanted guest, whom I have named S.O.B. (short for sonnavahb*tch) that is causing me anxiety at night. I'm paranoid about every little noise I hear-- for a while I was afraid of the rustling of leaves on the sidewalk, and yes, even my own shadow. I'm being tormented. I can't sleep at night because my mind is full of paranoid thoughts, acutely listening for any bit of noise that will send me screaming from my room.

So, much like tonight, I don't get to sleep until 3 or 4 in the morning. One night I didn't sleep until 5:30am. This means I don't wake up until well into the day, and we all know how much I abhor that. Waking up at noon just makes me want to hurt things. I hate wasting days.

You'd think that things would be better now that I literally have traps set up EVERYWHERE in the apartment. But no, not so much, because now its a new kind of paranoia. See, instead of the snap traps, I got the glue kind. I know, not very humane, but ultimately easier clean up. But the thing that makes me nervous is that I'd wake up in the middle of the night (or middle of the day?) and hear it. Or that I'd turn the corner of my apartment as see the unnatural sight of a mouse glued to death.

So I charge my ipod every day so I can play it while I sleep every night.

I'm incredibly annoyed that my life has become like this. It's day 3 and no such luck catching S.O.B. As cruel as this may sound, S.O.B. really needs to go. My sanity and my body can't take much more of this.

Philly Photodump

the results of emptying out my memory card of my camera.

Cooking in Philly

I don't have to say how different it is living on your own v. living at home.

At home, your laundry magically gets done & you can come home to neatly pressed & ironed shirts and dresses.

At home, there's always food. And you don't even have to make it yourself!

While I'm such a food lover, and I try to experiment with different things to eat and cook at home, I have to say I'm not much of a natural cook.

I need recipes. Written out, looked at, right next to me as I cook.

I'm not at all someone who "eyeballs" ingredients. For the longest time, I didn't know what a "pinch" of salt meant. Literally a pinch? fyi, apparently it's about 1/8 a tsp.

In any case, if I am at all a successful cook, it's largely because I can follow the directions from a recipe. Even the things I make all the time, I still look at recipes.

I didn't commit recipes to memory because, well, I didn't have to.

I guess Plato was onto something when he said that writing:

will introduce forgetfulness into the soul of those who learn it: they will not practice using their memory because they will put their trust in writing, which is external and depends on signs that belong to others, instead of trying to remember from the inside, completely on their own. You have not discovered a potion for remembering, but for reminding. (Phaedrus 27a)

But when I first came here to Philly, I didn't have any recipes with me. Not a single cookbook. Yeah, sure I could look online at epicurious, foodnetwork, recipe bazaar, goop, etc., but for a while there, I didn't even have internet.

And I certainly wasn't going to eat out if I could help it.

So then, I had to gather my wits about me to figure out what I would eat everyday. My cooking became a tribute to my youth. Before I got my first cookbook, before I could log onto the internet to find recipes, I had what I learned how to make when I was younger through observation and assistance to the adults in my household, and the things I learned how my make myself through hard earned trial and error.

Chicken and rice dishes, roasted vegetables, omelettes, sauteed spinach, palmiers, baked fish, oven-baked granola, grilled (chicken) sausage...

and then, there was pasta.

Steamed clams with white wine, parsley, lemon with angelhair. Spaghetti and chicken sausage with marinara. And my favorite, portobello mushroom ravioli with brown-butter-balsalmic sauce with fresh parmesan.

In short, it was pure gluttony.

And it was lovely and beautiful. Sure, I could make way more complicated stuff--I have since received my recipe collection--but I love this idea of everything coming to me as I walk the aisles of the fresh produce section, as I approach the deli counter, or the seafood station. I love seeing what's fresh and what's good, what's in season and discovering what I can do with it as I taste seasoning and adjust as needed.

Without my recipes.