I don’t quite remember what led me to Anchee Min’s Pearl of China, published earlier this year, in the first place. I probably noticed the Chinese author’s name in a book list and looked further into the synopsis. Once I realized it is about Pearl S. Buck and recalled quickly how Buck’s The Good Earth was a spectacular read, I put it on my library request list.

Aside from many an Asian’s initial surprise that a novel that studies in-depth a Chinese peasant’s story at the beginning of the last century was written by a non-Chinese woman, Pearl Buck also piqued a fascination that has roots in my early college days when doing battle with the parents about who I date. Of course, they have a “preference” that I only consider Chinese men but I facetiously asked about the following scenario: What if I met a white man who grew up in China and is more Chinese than I am??

Pearl S. Buck is a woman who spent the first 40 years of her life in China and the last 40 in America, her “home”. Pearl of China is historical fiction about a friendship that could have been forged during her childhood days in Chin-Kiang, near Nanjing in eastern China.

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The novel is written in very simple prose such that I closed the book several times to see if I hadn’t pick up a YA (young adult) novel instead. As the story progressed, the material would become very mature and dark.

The story begins with a street urchin, Willow, of newly beggarly background, meets Pearl, the Caucasian daughter of a zealous missionary. While the girls form a “thick as thieves” friendship, it is rather interesting to contrast their fathers. Pearl’s father, Absalom, is blindly evangelical and you are saddened by his neglect for his family. Willow’s father, only known as Papa to the reader, is astute, using Christianity to his benefit, which is so Chinese.

Given where the girls grew up and she didn’t see any other fair-skinned, golden-haired person around, you can understand why Pearl identified herself as Chinese. In fact, the character of grown-up Willow appears more Westernized than Pearl at some times.

There were a lot of years to cover, from girlhood to 90 years of age on Willow’s part so I thought the childhood days Pearl was in China were written in detail while their adult years were treated quite lightly. When Pearl returned to the United States for the long-term, it became entirely a Willow story with Pearl far off, existing like a remote star. Since Pearl fled to the United States when China closed itself to foreigners, the story that followed was all about the Great Leap Forward and Cultural Revolution. And those are really graphic tales to tell, ones that the author herself lived through.

For one, I thought Willow’s success was difficult to believe and that comes from an artistic license in historical fiction, but I found it contrasted too much with the vague details of Pearl’s life and the difficulties she had during her marriage and motherhood. However, without the set up of the rise of Willow’s fortunes, she would not have seen as much as she did to fill the rest of the novel.

I found Willow’s husband, Dick, to be an empathetic character. He was entirely fictional and had a very powerful position in Mao’s organization as a propaganda director. He was sympathetic because he saved himself by hiding his maligned intellectual background and threw support for Mao; however, in private conversations, he understood Willow and showed how someone at that time of upheaval could try to straddle the old way with the overbearing new regime. His position was also set up for the huge reversal in fortune that befalls most of the major characters and I found it so difficult to read: wouldn’t you, reading of old women getting thrown in jail and beaten and other horrific treatment? When reading of Dick’s fate, I thought I was reading Sky Burial again–very powerful and very disturbing.

Another logical, but unexpected heavy feature was that of Christianity. I wonder if the author became devout and wanted to bring light to Chinese Christians who live around Willow’s time. I was laughing and frustrated when Absalom did not see Papa’s wily ways, treating his clergyman job more like a business than with true faith. But as time went on and Absalom was consistent and all-forgiving, the most weasely “convert” in Papa would have a believable conversion. I have to stifle a laugh whenever I read a new Christian’s sons names: Double Luck John, Double Luck David, Triple Luck Solomon–the Western side of me finds this hilarious but my Chinese side quells my laughter.

In the final chapters, the Chinese Christians are horribly persecuted and the page-long description of the conditions in the church that is converted to living quarters is awful and inspiring at once. I’ve never really known how Chinese Christians could survive underground during the Cultural Revolution so Anchee Min’s novel gives you an idea. It would be “easy” for the Christians to revert to old ways and appease the Communist Party.

In the very end, Willow is granted a visa to go to the United States to visit Pearl’s house and grave. I am as impressed as one would be the efforts and success Pearl had bringing China to her New England home, smiling at the notion of the “China view” from one of the home’s rooms. But I also can’t fathom the character of Willow having such luck to score a visa. It’s jarringly post-modern but a very tidy way (like I last saw in Julie and Julia) to pay homage about the end of Pearl’s life and wrap up the story.

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After finishing this novel, I went to Wikipedia and looked up Hsu Chih-Mo, Chin-Kiang, and Pearl Buck. I knew the place and people had to exist but what liberties, if any, were taken? I was particularly interested in how widely known it was about Pearl and Chih-Mo’s relationship but his English Wikipedia page does not go into his personal life.

You can see Anchee Min is so inspired by her forced denouncement of Pearl Buck and subsequent discovery of who Pearl Buck actually is, to “make it right” with this historical fiction novel. When promoting her memoir, Red Azalea, where she probably mentioned the denouncement, a fan gave her Good Earth and she read it in one cross-country plane ride and cried. Around the time of the release of this novel earlier this year, she interviewed often how although there is much written about Pearl Buck, this is a first from a Chinese perspective. Willow’s character is fictional but fashioned after several people who did know Pearl and, for the strength of the narrative, combined into one character.

I did enjoy reading Pearl of China. It was written simply and well while providing insight on a complex life and time. For that I am eager to read Anchee Min’s memoir, published 15 years ago, Red Azalea.

Another 2010 book down. I pat myself on my back to have started borrowing books from the library, even when they are still “ON ORDER”, paying attention to recommendations from AAM, and getting Google Alerts about “asian american literature”!! From the latter, the most consistent recommendations have come from Asian American Literature Fans, a Livejournal blog, an article from which nearly spoiled the novel for me if I hadn’t closed the browser tab as soon as it started to delve into plot points.

I had begun reading Jean Kwok’s 2010 debut novel, Girl in Translation, in Halifax and got about a third of the way through. The last two-thirds, I devoured during one Halifax-Toronto flight (2 hours) and the first hour of a Toronto-Vancouver flight despite operating on just four hours of sleep. It’s that riveting!

I think I’ve been reading some very heavy and dark books during the summer so it was really nice to be completely absorbed in something really uplifting that even made me choke up and want to cry.

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From the book jacket and other brief synopses, you know that at the tender age of 11, Kimberly Chang came to America with her mother from Hong Kong and they both worked in a factory in New York’s Chinatown to pay off crushing debts. The aunt who sponsors their immigration and runs the sweatshop clothing factory is a villian from the beginning. In a brief bio on the book jacket, it tells you that the author worked in a sweatshop with her parents when she first moved to the United States.

The Brooklyn apartment the aunt places them in is described in great and ghastly detail. I have inadvertently stayed in an apartment in a sketchy part of Brooklyn and government housing in Hong Kong, both of which were worlds better than Kimberly’s plight, but I can imagine the rest. The factory is also described vividly as a gruelling and unglamourous place of constant steam, noise, and grime and the community that forms, especially amongst the children who work there to help their parents meet quotas, is captivating.

Matt Wu emerges quickly as the tough but sensitive hero, leader of the sweatshop kids, and a solid contrast to the Kimberly’s precarious world that is surviving school in one of the toughest Brooklyn neighourhoods on her limited English skills. The school is hilariously sordid with some diamonds sequestered in the rough. Given how unfamiliar everything is, it is understandable how even Kimberly comes off like a reticent hoodlum when once summoned to the principal’s office, not to be punished but to be praised.

Navigating school as a brainiac and trying to hide a far-from-”normal” family life is also something I can understand. The kids are merciless and Kimberly evolves from tough tomboy in the sixth grade to her feminine, wary, untouchable high school self. I was definitely rooting for Kimberly in her school trials that ranged from her “weird” assignments, baffling co-ed interactions, initial and tentative success at school, and the eventual freedom it brought. It might seem “too easy” (my recurring complaint about these novels) but I can believe the story of working with your parents until late and still pulling in the marks, pulling a whole family out of the gutter. I know of restaurant kids and shopkeepers’ kids in Halifax who sullenly tended shop and belie that they would go on to be doctors and lawyers, and we’ve all seen the interest articles about “geniuses” who at the bottom of it just worked really, really hard.

One review of the novel remarked on how you can learn how Chinese people think and I think it’s true on the “translation” but lighter on the interpretation. There is translation occurring in two ways: there is the garble that someone who does not originally speak English hears, then there is the transliteration of Cantonese Chinese.

Here is an example of how Kimberly hears things when she initially arrives in the United States, with the misunderstood words highlighted:

“Harrison is one of the best college prepator schools in the country, comparable in terms of the facilies we offer to schools like Exit and Sand Paul, only with the advantage that you don’t need to bord here. We are actually a boring school without the boring.”
She’d used more words I didn’t understand in one breath than she had in the entire time I’d been there. I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, only that she was repeating a memorized speech like a person in a play and I should acknowledge that by smiling and nodding, which I did.

As a speaker of Cantonese, the language Kimberly and much of New York’s Chinatown of that time spoke, I understood and enjoyed the transliteration. It would just appear and I’m not sure it was explained well enough to people who did not already understnad it. An example (highlighting mine): Kwok writes, “‘They think I’m sending out the cat.’ Cheating.” And one I have used forever but never really thought about what it meant: “‘You have one big gall bladder.’ He meant I was brave.”

A particularly beautiful aspect of the narrative, I found, was how the prose subtly changed as Kimberly’s English got better and she understood her new world better.

Starting Kimberly at the age of 11, this is, naturally, a coming of age story. Given my issues, I wasn’t sure I would root for her but I really did especially when there was foreboding that something bad would happen (e.g., trouble with the authorities) and I wished it would not be so bad. About two-thirds the way through, it actually became a bit of a normal-high school girl’s story with the acceptance that is conferred to one who is unassumingly intelligent, consistent in her ethics, and knows how to surround herself with good people like Annette, Annette’s mother, and teachers at her second school. The normal-high school girl story is in stark contrast with Kimberly’s Chinatown life where things could fall apart at any moment with a factory accident, eviction, or financial loss.

Meanwhile, a love story was brewing, the frustrating kind that heads in the right direction, but then strays and honour stands in the way. He doesn’t think he’s good enough for her: “Kimberly, my climbing can’t reach your heights,” he ruefully says as he breaks away after their first torrid kiss. An accident forces fate’s hand and the result is what would likely happen in real life, very true to the characters that were developed, and maddeningly not the ending I like (i.e., naively tie a bow on it and call it a happy ending).

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Outside of the love story that tugs at me, there were a couple of other relationships that struck a chord. Jean Kwok introduces you to two kids, children of immigrants, who had to grow up extraordinarily fast. While their parents raised the money and courage to move the family to America, they do not adapt well enough or speak English and the children have to handle all the English business of the household. The other relationship is that between Kimberly and her mother, which they describe early on as “a mother and cub”; in some ways a role reversal occurs because the mother has few opportunities and does not speak English, but she’ll fight tooth and nail for her “cub”, because they only have each other.

A reviewer compared the story with the American classic A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, which I read sometime in junior high and it stuck with me for a long time. I absolutely would not disagree with this comparison.

So, I finished the book with four hours to go in my flight back to Vancouver and I have to confess that I was in a dreamy state for the remaining hours, like being hit by a heart-wrenching love story. It may tell you what kind of choice I would make, but I desperately wanted to rewrite the ending and felt really helpless! Perhaps I would feel less helpless if I were not just holding a library copy, so Girl in Translation is one novel for me to buy.

Summer is drawing to a close way too quickly. I was saddened last week when I was working for my parents and it was frightfully dark already at 8:30. I do not appreciate all of Vancouver’s seasons equally even if the rains bring so-called lush greenery, and am only grateful that imminent cool weather will make flies go into hibernation (or die or whatever) and despite it raining seemingly 95 of 100 days, I really am grateful my commute is really short.

In some respects, I had the most boring summer ever. Didn’t rollerblade once. Did the Grouse Grind just once, and it was a work thing. I had sorta-patiotime just once with Cari. We went on a shopping roadtrip just once. I read eight books, all of the “Asian American Literature” genre. And I went to 24 dance classes, about 45 total 3-km walks to/from downtown on my own footpower.

But this year, just like in 2008, I enjoyed a week off in August to visit “back East”, a full 9 days in Halifax with the parents. It’s too short and too long all at once and a plain luxury to be able to take time off and check in on Mummy and Daddy.

Within the week that I’ve been back–which fell within one of the most grueling, but exhilerating, work months–we just happened to have a few special events so it doesn’t rain but it pours.

NPY surprised me by having Lady Gaga concert tickets for Tuesday night. We actually saw her December 2009 show for the same Monster Ball Tour at the Queen Elizabeth Centre. NPY sprung it on me when I was dead-tired from flying in from Halifax and the thought of a concert starting at 8 pm made me feel old and tired. But I got a much-needed night’s sleep and started to get excited for the concert throughout the day.

Being confined to a stage at the QE Centre and the August venue for the concert being GM Place Rogers Arena, it was mostly a different concert. The production could set up their maze of platforms, mobile neon sign condemning bad influences, and a stage extension complete with dropping overhanging structure. The back-up dancers were less faceless creepy leotard-wearing mannequins but Brooklyn-esque 80s punk rockers, and there was much more an electric guitar influence. This time, around, she had a new song from her next album showing a heavy blues slant. They truly went to the Monster Ball and it was, uh, a bit bloody. There was still, however, mesmerizingly lanky and fabulous male dancers and her call to arms to all the “little monsters” to be true to themselves. Despite work stress, the week’s stress, current stress, the inescapable music and party atmosphere could sweep you away.

Going to watch Kooza, the traveling Cirque de Soleil show to visit Vancouver this year, was also NPY’s idea. He did not see Corteo in Vancouver in 2008 (playing hockey, I think) so I got his seat and at first, I was disappointed that Kooza didn’t look as big a production, like there was less infrastructure to the show and the big top was actually smaller. But after the show begin, I don’t think either of us could yield to the magic they created. It was a simple story that allowed you to truly enjoy the technical superiority of the acts. Of course I was most dazzled and in awe of the contortionists and their strangely beautiful bodysuits accentuated their “perfect” forms. I also really enjoyed the unicycling duo, remarking to NPY about how slinky-like-a-snake the female could be while balancing and threading on/around her wobbly male unicycling partner. And the Wheel of Death was just thrilling and I screamed whenever the excitable little girl behind me shrieked–particularly when one of the men would have small missteps and trip up while hurtling close to the top of the tent! In addition, NPY was fascinated by the woman in the nearly nude bodysuit performing Hoops Manipulation; I was a little more blasé about that one!

Finally, our friends, a couple nicknamed DeeJay, are getting married on Saturday and it’s a nice way to end an exciting week being a part of the ceremony marking the beginning of their life together. And we’ll have a big dinner afterwards, which is as important.

The fact is, there just a few weeks left of summer so it’s all the more incentive to round it out properly, read more books, resume dance classes after work- and vacation-induced hiatus, and schedule more patiotime!

We were at the Village Taphouse in The Village at Park Royal where NPY noticed the Specials card that advertised a dinner deal: $50 gets you a bottle of wine and unlimited Caesar salad and spaghetti for two people. He thought it was a nice deal but I, and any of you, could easily do better. What do you wanna bet that it’s at best a $17 bottle of wine at the liquor store marked up to $30 at the restaurant and the pasta meal is consequently “only” $10 per person?

Thus, I enthusiastically offered to create it for ourselves and it was a treat that went fantastically given we usually just guzzle water and eat a one-pot meal.

NPY tasked me to pick up a bottle of reisling since I have a “wine face”, according to Lil’ Sis, mildly grimacing after each sip of all but the least dry wines. I still didn’t really enjoy the one I picked up. It helped that we were having it at home and the refills were refrigerator-cold because I also take a long time to drink each glass.

I’d rather not buy a box mix but didn’t want Caesar salad leftovers so I “splurged” on a Caesar salad kit and have no dressing, croutons, or bacon bits leftovers. I would not have minded making more salad than I did and not have romaine leaves left over; I didn’t know the salad would shrink in my mixing bowl-come-salad bowl so much!

The linguine was, of course, the most fun to make and satisfying to eat. The ingredients and costs are listed below. I “got rid” of about a cup of the wine in the sauce which made the sauce oh so yummy. Yeah, we’re lightweights, drinking just a total of one cup of wine each and finding it to be more than enough!

Wine

• Bottle of Australian reisling-Gewurtztraminer blend, $13.25

Salad

• 2/3 romaine lettuce head, $0.66
• Caesar salad kit (I didn’t want leftovers), $3.49

Pasta — I “splurged” by using shallots, extra lean beef, oyster mushrooms, and edam cheese!

• 2 shallots, $0.27
• Package oyster mushrooms, $2.99
• 2 mushrooms, $0.64
• 300g extra lean ground beef, $3.00
• can stewed tomatoes, $1.99
• can tomato paste, $0.99
• 1/3 block of edam cheese, $1.50
• 1/2 package (~3 servings) Catelli linguine, $1.00
• Bottled minced garlic, bay leaves, dried basil and oregano

The ingredients I can calculate slide in nicely at $29.78! Take that, 2 for $50 dinners!

I wonder what my next “theme” night will be….

I try to recall the media furor over the captivity of Laura Ling and Euna Lee last year but I can’t really separate in my mind “actual” coverage by mainstream news and the re-coverage and opinion by bloggers. I followed Angry Asian Man and he echoes a lot of Asian-American-related news for his readers’ benefit and this news story just didn’t go away. Then the highest levels of American government finally got involved and it was finally all over mainstream American news.

I don’t suppose many people knew who Laura Ling is before this occurred but far more people were familiar with Lisa Ling be it from The View, as is my case, or now as an exclusive correspondent for The Oprah Winfrey Show. I’ve been fascinated by Lisa Ling since her days on The View–she is one of the several influences that convinced me to name my daughter Lisa, should I have one–and I know that Somewhere Inside: One Sister’s Captivity in North Korea and the Other’s Fight to Bring Her Home, the story as told by her and involving her closest friend and sister, would be one that captivated me.

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I don’t quite know what I expected other than an account of the events and, as the book jacket described, that Laura and Lisa’s voices and version of the events would be interleaved.

Of course, the sisters’ biographical backgrounds were provided so we know what kind of family they came from and why they are as close as sisters can be, a short sketch of their parents’ and grandparents’ immigration story, and the story of how Laura met her husband to put into context the touching things he did for the wife he missed so much. It really touched me when Lisa looked on on Laura’s husband and learned more about him through the trial, bringing the family even closer.

In a casual, story telling way, with a lot of concern and pride for each other, the sisters write about each other’s past assignments that bring them to the present day (2009) . Both of their past experiences have coincidentally included stories they covered in North Korea. They have amazing experiences to tell and have amassed between them many powerful contacts who would later come to their aid. Their adventurous and inquisitive spirits are exhilerating.

Laura Ling and Euna Lee, as everyone knows, were caught after crossing the China-North Korea border and then detained for five months. Then begin the closest look at North Korean, the most secretive country in the world, I’ve ever had the pleasure to have. What does it take to be The Most Secretive Nation in the World when cell phone technology and Internet connections threaten to blow the lid off things? And can we even imagine how it feels inside? Laura had the “privilege” of experiencing both the North Korean legal and medical systems in her five month captivity. She was sympathetic to the human plight and genuinely became friends with her guards and interrogators; interestingly, her capture was such a sensitive subject in NK that the interrogator who questioned her daily and her around-the-clock guards were required to stay in the compound and were kind of captives with her. The two female guards she befriended and the interrogator’s way of softening towards her were very heartening, reminding you of the humanity of the people.

All the while becoming tentative friends with her captors, Laura came to realize that the interrogator was a mouthpiece for his superiors who represented the highest levels of the government. The information he allowed her then had to be conveyed by Laura in the infrequent phone calls she was permitted with her sister. Meanwhile, after the affront the NK government believed to be done to them with the journalists crossing over and making a documentary of their defectors, Lisa and her family knew they had to be extra respectful in their word choice. The letters and dialogue from the American end might sound really simplistic but were loaded with meaning. It was kind of chilling and numbed your senses to know how dangerous the dance was for Laura with her interrogator who ultimately taught her to help herself. Meanwhile, Lisa kind of represented the United States but what pressure it was to speak on behalf of a western superpower! Regular people would have succumbed and wasted the 15-minute phone calls sobbing about missing each other and crying with dismay at being captive. Given all the effort occurring on the Ling side and there was absolutely no communication between the captives, I wondered if Euna didn’t just cry on her phone calls. Laura’s strength was apparent from making the most of every minute she did have contact with Euna to being the one who maneuvers to touch despondent Euna when seeing her for the first time in months.

“It sounded so simple, and if we’d been discussing almost any other country, this ‘talking’ could definitely have been achievable. But North Korea’s government had chosen the path of isolation–even from its closest ally, China. It had stopped communicating with everyone. So why had they let Laura call me? Were the country’s leaders now talking through Laura?”

The sisters explain how the lack of media coverage was not a matter of neglect but their express wish from the beginning, knowing they are dealing with an unpredictable country in North Korea. That is the impressive influence the Ling sisters and their loyal associates have, for example, to ask National Geographic immediately pull evidence of Lisa Ling’s controversial medical documentary in North Korea a few years before. Conversely, when Laura got out the message the North Korean government wanted to be addressed directly and felt disrespected that the U.S. government and media were not making a fuss, Lisa made the media blitz happen. When Secretary of State Hillary Clinton made an apology for the girls, Lisa could directly ask that CNN blast it every 20 minutes so CNN-watching Kim Jong Il would surely see it. In one strategic, fell swoop, America finally got to see the families behind Laura and Euna, they heard the strangely respectful and diplomatic pleas for the girls’ release, North Korea felt it got face and its chance to appear humanitarian.

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Had nothing happened to the girls in North Korea, I would not have watched their documentary, just another one in the great pool of insightful films, when I am not much of a documentary-watcher. Since reading Somewhere Inside, I have become more aware while also empathetic to North Korea’s struggle to maintain order. It puts things like recent FIFA investigation into the North Korean World Cup team into some context.

I think at the heart of it, it is a snapshot of two sisters at a most critical point in their lives and that resonates with me because I am an older sister of a sister. Other than interspersed remarks throughout the novel, the following excerpt from Lisa’s chapter hit homes with me about growing up in two-sister household, especially when I am also an older sister:

“I suppose I deserved to be disciplined for stealing the car at age fifteen and hiding Dad’s beers in my dresser drawers. Growing up in a community [Sacramento] with few Asian and being the older sibling, I always neded to feel that I fit in. At school, I was more concerned with popularity than geometry, and that was clear in my grades. I just didn’t care much; I wanted to have fun…. My efforts at becoming popular were fairly successful. I was determined to transcend the fact that I had slanted eyes and that our house always smelled like Chinese food.”

You learn a lot about Laura and Lisa Ling: Lisa was the way she was so Laura was the was she was to complement it. I can understand as an older sister.

Cari and I were at the VPD north of Chinatown to pick up/have sent our criminal records to the place we will volunteer. It was a bust because while the station is open until 7, the records office closed at 5:30. I thought I might suggest we go to The Naam or Don Guacamoles, two restaurants I have not yet gone to.

But Cari had recently read about two new-ish Asian fusion restaurants in Chinatown and I picked the one that kind of had better reviews across dinehere.ca, Urbanspoon, and Yelp: Bao Bei. Plus, I like the blue floral motif of the BB website more than generic Keefer lounge webpage style. But when we turned off Main and onto Keefer, we saw the “old school” “Oriental” neon sign for Bao Bei and a great enclosed sidewalk patio for The Keefer, and realized our summer evenings are numbered, and decided to go to both!

Bao Bei Chinese Brasserie

Bao Bei is a long/deep restaurant, utilizing the space of a seemingly typical Chinatown building, white-washed inside with added whimsical touches like the blue floral mural at the back, rose-patterned stool covers, and light pink bowls. The host who hopped off his bar stool to take us to a table was a cute Asian guy but all the rest of the staff and the patrons were white or not Asian. It’s what you’d expect, I’ve been to Wild Rice up the road before, the “original” Asian fusion restaurant in Chinatown.

Cari picked the mantou dish and I laughed because I wanted the shao bing. Both have a lot of similarities that include braised meat in a “sandwich” kind of format. Mantou is the steamed bun and the braised short rib was really tender and juicy and fragrant in a hybrid east-meets-west taste. From the description, I knew shao bing was not true 燒餅, but I love a toasted sesame encrusted flatbread. It was kind of like a Vietnamese sandwich, banh mi, with the minced pork belly layer, pickled vegetables, and crispy baguette-like flatbread. We got this dish first because the mantou took a while to steam, and the server stood over the plate and recited the composition, like the server did at West, like it’s a work of culinary art. These “sandwiches” cost us $9 and $10.

To round out our tapas order, I selected the duck and Chinese mushroom wonton in duck consomme. It seems to be an August menu item. It was tasty but would floor a frugal Vancouver Chinese person given the dainty pink bowl held just 5 wontons and commanded $6. The tastes of minced duck and fragrant black mushroom are two of my favourites.

Fortunately for the restaurant, it was packed on a Tuesday evening. Still hardly a Chinese or Asian person in sight, especially in Chinatown, but also odd for regular Vancouver demographics. I guess it’s a safe place to get your toe wet with some Chinese delicacies. In a tapas format, you don’t commit so much money or end up with too much food. Plus, the staff are really kind and don’t make you feel pressured.

The Keefer Bar

Bao Bei became full while we were there so after lingering over our food just a little longer than the staff would have liked–but they didn’t say anything–we sauntered a few doors down to The Keefer Bar. Sandwiched between the two new restaurants is Goldstone, a really old-school Hong Kong-style cafe that is really Chinese. The outdoor seating of the Keefer is a wrap-around wide wooden ledge bench with clear plexiglass back. A quick glance and it seems that they are just on the sidewalk what with the glass making it seem very open. Cari admired how the seating surrounded a tree that was already planted in the sidewalk. The outdoor seating was full so we sat at a high bar table with a view of the outside. Soon after we arrived, a DJ wearing a t-shirt reading, “Old School” began set up and pumping out tunes I barely heard of but they had a good old school vibe.

The food selection at the Keefer Bar is very paltry but I was a bit adamant about trying it as we originally planned. Honestly, I don’t hang out in Chinatown so I don’t think I’ll be back for these two restaurants ever/in a while. I wanted Cari to try baked kale, that I’ve raved to her about making myself, and we selected the Fortune Teller, not quite sure how the latter would actually be presented.

The baked kale was chewier than I would have been comfortable serving. I prefer mine crisp like chips. It was also more bitter than mine and I wonder if they use a variation of kale different from mine from Save On Foods. The bar ended up comping the baked kale as I think they were just giving it away throughout the evening. The Fortune Teller turns out to be the four foods listed on the menu, served up in Chinese tea cups: sliced Chinese sausage, spicy mixed nuts, candied pineapple chunks, and olives. It was odd to eat Chinese sausage bare, not heated, and not with rice, but one does nibble on other cured meats like proscuitto, no? I don’t like olives for being too salty but they are great to nibble on. Spicy nuts and broad beans were not exciting at all. Pineapple wedges were really nice and refreshing; I guess the light candy coat was not just for decoration but for the benefit of people who find pineapple has a bite or is sour.

Too bad Cari was designated driver and I didn’t want liquid calories because the drink selection at Keefer seemed good with Eastern-inspired selections. And we seemed to have found two dishes that go well with lingering over drinks!

The decor was eye-catching and intriguing. Faded “pages” from an anatomy text were all the art on the walls and Chinese phrases pointed to different anatomy parts. Unfortunately, as I demonstrated to Cari, I can read a whole sentence but still have no idea what it means. Since the Chinese words were not body parts names, but phrases, my guess is the illustration and text are not related and the text is just snippets from one long story. Weird. Otherwise The Keefer is that standard dimly lit modern lounge, also really long/deep in the seating area because of the building style in Chinatown.

Before I got my current job, I applied to a cooperative education department and never heard back from the hiring manager. Given the department and job description, I actually tailored my cover letter to convey that I had been through co-op and was eager to work for a program that so positively impacts students’ futures.

I got hired by  the company anyways, but in a different department, and learned the name of the hiring manager. Because she has a name similar to mine, it would come up when I queried the personnel directory to verify my contact information is correct, and one time her name was pulled up from the company-wide database and accidentally used for an invoice someone issued to me.

Co-op was a memorable but just short part of my past life and I am far happier in my current department. Nonetheless, when a friend landed an interview for a position in that department, I reminisced again for the first time in a year, about the co-op engineering program at the University of Waterloo, circa 1995.

Not a Waterloo co-op board but you might get the picture.

I was in the computer engineering program at the University of Waterloo in 1995 with only three other girls in the first-year class of 120 students. The engineering co-op program was big (mandatory for all engineers), successful, and the best in the country, starting students in the workforce as soon as after four months of entering university. Being a smaller class, all the computer engineering students did a full school year and went on co-op together in the summer of 1996. After the first year, we wouldn’t be in school for more than one term before heading out to complete another of the 6 four-month coop terms. By studying and working non-stop, graduates finished a four-year program with a total of 24 months of experience in five years.

It was barely after you return to school for a semester and settle into grueling classes and labs when another round of applications and interviews would take place. I was as fascinated by new opportunities as I am right now and the long hallway lined with template-produced job postings–I recall them as coming from dot-matrix printers–was filled with possibilities. Granted, not all the postings were for computer engineering students but there was significant overlap in the call-out for Elecs (electrical engineers) and Comps (computer engineers). After we selected which jobs were most appropriate to apply to, we gave good money to the printing houses and got hundreds of copies of our resumes made and slipped them into the numbered bins that lined another wall. I once accidentally dropped a resume into the wrong bin and got an interview for an electrical position I would never, ever consider. That was one awkward interview!

The way I remember the interviews is like being in a great big exhibition hall and all the space is divided up into small rooms with blue curtains. Tens of other interviews are simultaneously occurring nearby but it’s not distracting when you are focused. After all our interviews for one round, students ranked the companies they most wished to work for while interviewers ranked those they interviewed in the order they most wanted them. All of this was entered in a magical ranking system and you received your matches on another uber-exciting day and learn where and how you would be spending your next semester. Students who did not match went through another formal round and there was still a third, informal and ongoing round for the stragglers without jobs.

Of course, back then, it was largely a paper-based system. A computerized system may have been in the works or rolled out, but I barely remember it. I can imagine the co-op office being a constant buzz of energy with hundreds of eager and intelligent students coming through, hundreds of companies with co-op positions to liaise with, scheduling all these people to successfully meet multiples of other people, and generally the satisfaction that all the students were gainfully employed.

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It wasn’t the right position for me but my friend would be a much better fit….

It’s a pretty good month if I’ve got enough food pictures for a dineout review for just that month, ja? Ja!

Benkei Ramen

We usually get miso ramen because it’s hearty and oh so tasty. But what about the second bowl of ramen we order between the two of us? We are not likely to get the cold noodles but the milky broth elicits both fascination and fear in us. At Benkei, the milky broth was described as being designed for Western tastes and has garlic and butter. I was merely very happy NPY was willing to try something different.

I loved the garlicky and buttery smelling emanating from my bowl of Peko Ramen. It reminded me of many savoury seafood meals. NPY was less nostalgic and remarked how it was like creamy sauces of pasta dishes. Only in this case, the noodles were ramen. I concentrated on my milky buttery garlicky noodles while he mostly ate his miso ramen and perhaps more so than his miso, mine was lacking substance for the money you pay. Since it was so special a dish, it was, of course, priced higher than the other normal ramen bowls. I enjoyed it nonetheless not minding the juxtaposition between Asian noodles with a “Western” sauce. Since it was a broth, I would hope most of the fatty oily “sauce” lent a treat for the olfactory senses but slipped off and did not make it into your stomach.

Las Tortas

This Mexican sandwiches restaurant has been open on Cambie Street for a couple years now and I just went to have lunch. Finally, I went with a couple of co-workers, one of whom is Mexican. I ordered the Chorizo con Huevo tortas and the pineapple agua fresca. (The other agua fresca choice was tamarind. It was nice and sweet, but I didn’t want a whole glass.) My coworker, Rod, ordered the combo with a gazpacho which looked unappetizing to me since it was laced with cilantro! It seemed to take a little while to prepare our three sandwiches when the place didn’t seem very busy during a midweek lunch but the resultant sandwiches were impressive. My unique ingredients of sausage and egg was great breakfast-come-lunch fare. And the other flavours came from a thin layer of refried beans (not too much, perfect), tasty pickled onions and jalapenos (not too spicy), refreshing shredded cabbage, and fragrant mayo and butter. The only problem for me is that one sandwich is gigantic and I need to arrange to share with another girl or something.

Saravanaa Bhavan

Vancouver Magazine told me to try Saravanaa Bhavan’s giant dosas in its 2009 edition of 100 Vancouver foods to try and now I have. Saravanaa Bhavan has a few locations nationwide and they specialize in vegetarian Indian cuisine. I’ve seen the posters on their windows for economical lunch boxes (around $7.50) and mean to try them soon. But one day before heading out to run errands, I went to SB first to pick up a dosa. I selected a vegetable one because it promised to have an assortment of vegetables instead of just spiced potatoes. I had kind of expected a samosa like skin, not knowing what a dosa was beforehand. A dosa is a crepe wrapped around the fillings and three dipping curries are provided. It was indeed quite giant and very flat. It made a great two meals.

Lido Chinese Restaurant

We tried a couple times to go to Lido because our friend, Susan, reminds us it’s the place to get claypot rice. There are about five varieties including the Chinese mushroom and chicken one pictured, a minced pork with raw egg one, and a barbecued meat one. We ordered two normal pots for $12 each before placing the rest of our order because they take a little more time to prepare. We also ordered a three-dish dinner because five us were sharing the meal. It was too much food! We noticed the table next to us also had five people and they shared a super-size version of the claypot that was about 75% larger and was perhaps $16? What a great idea! I didn’t really like the random cuts of chicken present but they flavoured the rice very nicely. I told NPY that it reminded me of Hainanese flavoured rice, i.e., fragrantly oil-infused.

Toko Restaurant

We went for an evening stroll in the neighbourhood and deliberated which restaurant to visit that wouldn’t leave us feeling regretful of having indulgent food. That generally suggests a Japanese meal and we decided to try Toko, a restaurant/manufacturing company in the light industrial area between Cambie and Main Street.

The dining room smelled a little funky to me so I was happy we were able to comfortable eat at their outdoor tables. It’s a little odd to sit on the sidewalk of a quiet industrial area and have dinner. At dinner hour, the nearby stores were all closed. In the hour that we were there, no one came to sit indoors and a few other tables joined us outside.

We ordered a chicken udon because I heard their noodles were tasty and we ordered the egg tofu with egg white sauce to have a “rice dish”. I was pleasantly surprised the chicken udon was tasty with fresh noodles, a light broth, and savoury paste smeared on the tender chicken pieces. The egg tofu dish was the whitest egg white sauce I have ever seen and I was impressed. With respect to the line between too-gooey and tasty, it was on the tasty side.

Village Taphouse

We ran out of things to do in Vancouver downtown and went out to Park Royal in West Vancouver for the afternoon. There’s the standard mall part that is decent and an outdoor section that looks like an outdoor California mall with some some higher-end shops. NPY gave me a choice between Milestones, Cactus Club, and the local pub, Village Taphouse and I narrowed it down to Cactus and the Taphouse so as to not decide for him to take a chance at the local offering.

They had two beer specials, blueberry and lemon, and I gleefully cheered when NPY’s blueberry ale arrived and it was a deep red-pink. I love when that happens and he’s a little embarrassed.

We’re having some difficulties these days trying to decide what to eat when we go out. NPY is getting more conscientious about his salt intake and trying to avoid the rich and creamy dishes he likes. We were at the pub at the odd hour of 5 p.m. and didn’t know whether to get an appetizer (too light, probably too greasy) or a full meal. I voted for pizza, perfect for sharing, but they don’t come with french fries he feels is requisite for a pub meal. So we experimented and ordered a sandwich and asked if we could get half fries and half salad instead of having to choose between the two. I have seen my boss making that request with success at Cactus and gave it a try. They were so great to split the sandwich for us and present it on two long plates. The Bay Shrimp Club was loaded with little shrimp and avocado (YUM!) but I found they were a little heavy-handed with the dill aoli. I ate it all anyhow!

My introduction to the idea of collection miniature bottles came from seeing my Toronto aunt’s mini-perfume bottle display. (Isn’t everything better in miniature?) Now, that is a normal and presentable collection to have.

“Collecting” the miniature lotions from hotels I’ve stayed at, not so much. Whereas I would be loathed to use mini-perfume and empty those bottles of the liquid whose colour may be contributing to the bottle design, I’m less reluctant to use the lotion. I have so far been a bit reluctant to use and then dispose of the prettier bottles but cleaning out the excess in my apartment is becoming a stronger urge. In this case, it will suffice to take a snapshot of my “collection” and start using it in earnest.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, I don’t take the shampoo, conditioner, bar soap, shower caps, towels, bathrobes, and all the other stuff. It’s just that pretty much anywhere I go, my skin rebels a little against the different humidity and air quality. I toss the ultra-convenient hotel lotion into my bag and be off with my day!

Oh boy, the way in which I figure out the next novel I will read scares me, and is a testiment to how much of an Internet junkie I can be. I was listening to the podcast, M and MX Radio, the episode in which Hugh Jackman regales you (at the 4-minute mark) by singing a Chinese folk song. It’s hilarious! He learned this song because he is starring in the movie adaptation of Snow Flower and the Secret Fan. The movie, due out in 2011, also stars Vivian Wu (who?) and one of my favourite actors, Archie Kao. If I will probably watch this movie, then I should read the book first, right?

Lisa See has written several novels, most recently Shanghai Girls, with Snow Flower as one of her earliest novels, published in 2005. If I really like Lisa See or if others of her novels become Hollywood movies, I guess I will read those, too.

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I had no idea that a system of Chinese writing known only to women, 女書, had existed for centuries. It is relatively unknown because it was a knowledge base confined to the Yao people of Jiangyong County of Hunan province, not actively used now but remains of historical and preservation interest.

Besides incorporating the characteristically female writing system into the story, the novel also focused on the generally difficult relationships a 19th-century woman has with the other women she encounters in her life: mother, fellow female relatives in the household in which she grew up, her mother-in-law, the female relatives in her husband’s household, matchmakers, and a most special alliance with her laotong, 老同. A laotong, literally “old same”, is like your one sworn best friend and penpal in a time when women had little exposure to people outside of their family and spent the majority of their lives in an upstairs sewing room kind of women’s chamber.

When See was describing the characteristics of “nu shu” writing and weaving stories in of its original and history, I could almost barely believe it was a real writing system… except Wikipedia backs it up. One of the critics on the book jacket made a comparison with Memoirs of a Geisha and I could see why from the opening paragraphs: it is a faux autobiography as retold by the subject when she is at an old age, starting far back in her childhood. As a child, Lily has some wonder and a lot of naivete but older Lily tells the story with a clear memory, adding foreboding comments. Little village girls, Lily and her cousin, are taught “nu shu” by an aunt who wouldn’t normally be so accomplished to be literate. The excruciating process of their footbinding is described in some detail with memorable bawdy jokes and erotic mysticism, and the acceptance by the women of the now-ceased practice.

However, a lifetime of experiences is relayed in the novel so the later years are more rapidly covered and seem a little unrealistic. I had the same qualm with Xinran’s Miss Chopsticks and the three village sisters’ trials in the big city, but like it anyways. Nonetheless, reading between the lines, you can get an idea of what life was like back then for a Chinese woman, and paint an idea of a more realistic turn of events. Finally, the heavy foreboding of the rift between Lily and Snow Flower, her “old same”, turned out to be silly in my opinion and it saddened me in an unintended way.

I’ve already requested Lisa See’s Shanghai Girls from the library to give See another chance in a more modern setting. But in the mean time, I’m already onto the next novel and it promises to be a hard one….

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Uhm, there is no Westerner in the Snow Flower novel for Hugh Jackman to play so some additions seem to have been made in creating the movie adaptation of the novel. I look forward to it anyhow.