musings but no conclusions from an internetless week

AT&T decided to crap out on us two Fridays ago. And it turns out I can survive without internet.

But I don't love it.

Thank goodness for my first full week back to work where I could surf as much web as possible before going home to watch my collection of random movies on the external hard drive I've had since early college.

eightyone

I went into Miss Ollie's after an invigorating town hall//protest* and asked the woman behind the counter for her recommendation. Fried chicken sammich with fried plantains in place of bread. Done. I don't even care that there's also veg and slaw and spicy avo cream. And a side of thicc yucca fries.

*I get it. I feel it. I'm inspired by it. But crowds still overwhelm me and after it's all done, then what? I've never really cared about making a difference before. I wasn't out to change the world or leave my mark, but in the past couple weeks, we've all been called upon to take action in whatever way we can. But what do you do when voting and reading and donating and talking just feel so... unsatisfying. It's hard to pull yourself out of a spiral of hopelessness, knowing that there's a lot to dismantle and rebuild and even when that's done, there will still be people on your opposing side.

eightytwo

I've been thinking a lot about Asian American identity and how it's shaped and defined by both my relationship with white Americans and black Americans. There's a lot to be angry about and a lot to be confused about and a lot to reckon with in general. I was [unintentionally?] raised in a cloud of shame. Trying to fit myself into a suit of White that was crafted by my minimally diverse hometown and the picture perfect lives I saw every time I stepped into my friends' homes. It was honestly why I taught myself how to cook in the first place. A story I've told over and over again - I rejected the Chinese food my parents set in front of me to make spaghetti and meatballs so I could eat "normal" like my purebred American neighbors.

But in the same way I used food as a tool to separate Chinese from American, I used food again to reclaim the part of me that makes me susceptible to casual racism. I don't think casual racism will ever go away, but maybe I could start by... hating myself less.

And honestly, is there a better picture of self love than Joyce and her glistening cherry butt?

Amongst the many reasons why I love food is that some fruits perfectly resemble bits of the human body.

One pound-ish of the four pounds-ish cherries I hauled home (with much restraint) went into this super simple cherry almond upsidedown cake from The Artful Baker. To say I was obsessed with the vibrant cobblestoned cherries would be an understatement. I almost didn't want to cut into it, if not for the tantalizing scent of extra almond extract I added into the cake batter.

eightythree

At the beginning of protest season, Bon Appetit reminded themselves (and I guess us) that food is political. I have been thinking about this a lot too.

Of course it's political. How can something that is integral to every human life not be political? But I'm noticing now that a lot of the food justice issues my specific industry has been championing is largely divorced from race. But should it be?

Then BA imploded sometime after I made this Pocky sticks with Claire as my guide.

Pocky by the way, is not easy to make. It's the dipping part that is most annoying. I broke pretty much every other stick. And yes, that is why my horrifyingly uneven coatings of raspberry and dark chocolate are not pictured. Tbd if it's worth the labor over picking up a box for... what, less than $2? 

etc

I remember these mini sammiches (of cured mushrooms, tomatoes, and fried quail egg) helped me climb out of a fog. As if time didn't already blur together in quarantine - now I am trying to piece together my wirelessless days.

All I know is that Joyce and I did not fika for days because of these little breads.

And then leftovers went into a haphazardly pieced together breakfast where the common theme was an excess amount of butter for frying and some cumin salt.

There was a firepit sometime during the week with fried chicken and donuts and peaches. It wasn't the plan going in, but it ended up Southern themed, and Jennie asked if asking someone to contribute collard greens was racist. I know the question is maybe a little facetious, but it gave me pause for a second. It's a cuisine. Of course it's not. It's also a cuisine I have an attachment to, simply because one of my homes is NC, and it didn't take long to fully dive into the indulgent pool that is Southern food. I thought about what it means to claim a cuisine. And isn't that the heart of the issue with some white food magazine writers and restaurant empire builders? I have strong opinions about this. But at what point does food become yours?

Anyways, prior to the firepit, I forced down a plate of unknown greens** that were... slimey. And absolutely not my favorite. But they were photogenic.

**It is my new thing now to pick up a random green veg I've never cooked before whenever I stop into an Asian grocery store.

I patiently awaited some reasonably priced avocados for avocado brioche redemption.

Adapted from The Artful Baker and substituted 1:1 avocado for butter, which made for a very dense and gooey texture and very pretty color and very interesting almost avocado-y taste.

Eaten with more fresh avo, citrusy tomato salad, and sardines.

All of my ramblings were really to lead you to this point. And these dumplings.

Inspired by this article and Pimento's menu.
I became obsessed with the idea of using food as a tool once again. I became obsessed with the idea of integrating food and social justice on a personal level.
I had no concrete ideas.
So I became obsessed with jerk dumplings instead.

It's a fortunate byproduct of unfortunate circumstances that so many cuisines are shaped and formed in the wake of colonization and slavery. Jamaican food is made up of bits of indigenous Taino, African, European, East Asian, and Indian cuisines, and reading about it still feels... sterile. Like it happened and now it's done. And now we are blessed with jerk cooking and jerk seasoning.
I've never grasped history in all my education. It was consistently my least favorite subject - mostly out of ignorance. I had a lot of "why does this matter now?" thoughts as I sat in the front row, taking line after line of notes that I would have to regurgitate later. But I also had a lot of "is this how it happened?" thoughts. How does something like enslaving whole populations of people get distilled down to "they brought with them death, sorrow, and some grape plants"?

Well, on the current [procrastinated] reading list is The Cooking Gene, as one effort to explore this.
Anyways, I looked up Ayesha as my guide for the jerk seasoning mix for the classic pork and chive filling. Added a couple teaspoons of ginger powder. Tested some wrappers made with coconut milk. Served with Asian pickled carrots. I'm not gonna lie. These were amazing. These are being added to the dumpling repertoire.

I had some extra wrapper dough. And some need-to-use-up-now milk.
To end up with these black garlic ricotta + parmesan + quail yolk raviolis.

By the way, quail eggs are not easy to crack cleanly.

Dressed in a browned butter + sage sauce.

Washed down with Korean pear + brandy + hibiscus La Croix cocktails.

The work is never done. That is what we are constantly reminding ourselves now.
Joyce's next Sohntaste box will be for #bakersagainstracism, and I will be supplying the mochi brownies. And that can only mean one thing. Test batches.

The survey was out for dense&fudgey or fluffy&cakey, though there is truly one correct answer. I have strong food opinions, remember?

Today was powered by a pot of rice and a bowl of Chinese long beans sauteed with garlic and olives.
Bonus quail egg whites + za'atar for breakfast.

Many more musings, many more questions, many more opinions to untangle.