Hong Kong Barbecue

One of the most popular subsections of Chinese cuisine. The usual barbecued suspects are pork and duck--occasionally chicken.

Sweet Tea

This is how I make sweet tea at the restaurant when I have all the time in the world to make a good batch:

1. Here is my giant urn. I fill up 70% of it with hot water.

2. I drop 3 industrial-sized tea bags in there.

3. Then I let it soak for at least 2-3 hours.

4. I fish the bags out with a ladle and inspect the color of the tea-water. If it's lighter than a golden brown, something went wrong.

5. I keep the tea bags in an empty pitcher in case I still need them and pour hot water into a new pitcher--not much, let's say 25%.

6. I scoop 3-4 cups of granulated sugar into the new pitcher and stir until all of the sugar has melted. The sugar-water should feel slightly gooey against the ladle.

7. I deposit the mixture into the giant urn and mix for several minutes.

8. At this point, the urn should be about 80% full. Now I fill the rest with cold water or ice until it reaches the rim.

9. Stir more.

10. Taste-testing time! My ideal sweet tea is sweet, but not too sweet, and you should be able to taste the tea itself as well. It drives me crazy when I order tea and get brown sugar-water instead.

A Semi-Thoughtful Post That Trailed Off Near The End

I tried The Blue Fin the other day and ordered an eel sushi set. Baked, of course. I’m not quite ready for raw eel just yet. But that wasn’t the reason as to why I decided to have sushi for lunch in the first place. I was there to answer a question that has been dogging me since I’ve started working at the restaurant(s). Why do white people like sushi so much? Or more specifically, why do white people living in the U.S. like sushi so much? If easily offended, I warn you to stop reading at this point as my post will only grow more uncomfortable. If you still insist, be my guest.

There seem to be more white people at sushi places than Asians. I saw the odd Japanese couple or two (or maybe they were Korean—I wasn’t close enough to hear them), but the majority are pale-faced Americans waving their chopsticks around in animated conversation. Women, especially, filled the row of stools at the sushi bar. I had a good vantage point for covert observation in my little corner table, my black notebook open and blank at the ready. What is so appealing? I popped a roll in my mouth and hacked for a minute or two at the rush of wasabi up my nose. I had plopped too much on top.

Is it the small, “bite-sizedness” of the rolls? Could be. They do appear like finger foods at a party—easy to eat, easy to handle, easy to prepare if all you wanted was to stick a few pieces of cucumber and avocado inside a rice-seaweed roll and call it a day. Convenience then, in addition to appearance. It certainly can’t be the taste. Or maybe that’s my own personal preferences talking. I don’t balk at eating sushi, but I must be in a very specific mood to enjoy them.

The implications of dining on sushi then: do Americans feel hip and cosmopolitan when their hands wield a pair of chopsticks and pluck a single California roll to pop in their mouths? “Look,” they want to declare, “I’m open to trying new food—provided that it doesn’t look too weird or nonthreatening or isn’t staring at me with its eyes still intact.” Is it simply a 2000s-2010s culinary trend that will fade with time? If so, I’ll be waiting for Korean jjigae (a type of stew) to catch on within a few years.  

I hadn’t figured out a satisfying answer by the time I called for the check. Perhaps I never will.