My first negative drinking experience was in high school, junior year. We were gathered at David’s house before going to school at midnight for some weird midnight swim event that our coach had concocted. My memory is fuzzy on specifics, but that night the boys smoked a lot of weed, I kind of smoked a cigarette, and we drank vodka mixed with OJ in jumbo-sized 7-11 cups. Then we piled into the car of one boy who had not been drinking and went to the movies where I promptly vomited everything everywhere. This was in Orange County. People were horrified.
During my first study abroad stint in Paris, I got carried away with the suddenly freely available alcohol and my non-underageness, even at 19. It was an interesting period of drinking and discovering the wines, the gins, the Martini, pastis, et cetera. Years later when I lived in Troyes, I really discovered how much I love alcoholic beverages. My favorite aperitif was a glass or two of pink Champagne. My favorite digestif was a pear liqueur.
Then there’s last night. On one hand, everything was perfect. I was with three really smart, funny, interesting women — the kind I love. Over the period of six hours, we could not stop laughing. But we also could not stop ordering drinks. This leads to the other hand. Although, everything would have remained dandy had not one woman, who could drink you, and you, and you under the table, kept ordering tequila shots alternated with Irish car bombs. She laughed at us when we could not finish our third car bomb in one go. Except for this friend, we can’t recall exact details starting from about 2. This morning I woke up with a hangover, which, if I could rank it, would definitely win at least the bronze medal of hangovers. Obviously, I had fallen asleep with my makeup on. Obviously, I was late to work. Obviously, I popped an aspirin and went to have 해장국 (hangover soup) for lunch.
The walk from Itaewon station to Hangangjin station in Seoul is fascinating. It kind of reminds me of the changing neighborhoods along Sunset Blvd or Wilshire Blvd in LA.
Itaewon is noisy and slightly gross and has a lot of interesting smells going on.
Hangangjin is green, quiet, with posh Korean fashionistas valet parking their cars for pricey restaurants.
I live in Hannam-dong, a ten minute walk from either station, and I like watching the juxtaposition.
Today I brunched at Rose Bakery, which is connected to the Commes des Garcons Seoul flagship and where they give you colored pencils to draw with, where every single girl is dressed to the nines*, and where the menu includes determinedly non-Korean dishes like salmon quiche, coconut muffins, and a plentitude of other items that the Westernized palate loves.
Can you guess towards which station Rose Bakery is located?
(*Oh you want to know what I was wearing? A hoodie, running pants, and dirty sneakers. Topped off with unwashed hair.)
One of my Seoul friends is currently traveling in Nepal.
Today we chatted a bit online.
She asked me how I was, and I responded that I was good, I was eating like crazy.
She said, “Oh my! Calm down, baby. I think you need a boyfriend! This is because of hormones.”
To which I responded, food is my boyfriend.
Crunchy chili peppers with pungent bean paste. Korean food.
Sweet Pea is what I call my sister.
It’s also the name of a cupcake bakery next door to a delicious ramen restaurant in Sangsu-dong where there is nine out of ten times a line down the street.
Reading material
Darling can’t you hear me, SOS?
My girlfriends, those who are in seemingly perfect relationships, those who are in relationships because they don’t know how to be alone, those who seek safety and stability, those who chase after unavailable men, those who have illicit affairs, those who are desperately trying to find a man, any man, even for a night —
There are no easy boundaries between any of these women.
What’s the way to your heart, the boy asked?
Chocolate-covered strawberries, she answered.
The boy sighed.
If only it were that easy, he said glumly.
Isn’t it? she said.
If that was the case, I’d buy you chocolate-covered strawberries every day.
But so could other boys, she pointed out.
Yes, but I’d buy you more chocolate-covered strawberries than anyone else, so I could have more pieces of your heart.
Photo taken at Passion 5. Top clockwise: Earl grey strawberry cake, fig bar, florentine, rose macaron, praline macaron, yuza chocolate, Champagne truffle, chocolate cheesecake (2), pecan tart. Wow.
Sleeping problems induced by: A newly changed lightbulb in the courtyard right outside my room window, the morning kitchen noises of my housemate, getting called 20 consecutive times by weird anonymous people at 2 or 3 in the morning.
Currently reading: The short stories of Carson McCullers, Middlemarch, and Life (Keith Richards)
Wishing for: Letters, dessert
Interesting article: Link to a Young, Softer Steinbrenner Dies
Learning: More Korean, how to be nicer to people even when I don’t like them
I had a friend over for lunch yesterday and we made strawberry shortcakes! Vegan strawberry shortcakes.
The “cream” is made with tofu, maple syrup, sugar, lime juice, soy milk, and vanilla extract. Mix everything in a blender. On its own, the cream tasted a bit too tofu-y, but with the cake and strawberries, it was di-vine.