Was my rejection of the durian, Southeast Asia’s King of Fruits, a betrayal of my cultural identity, of my life in Singapore?
My first unkosher months weren’t especially guilt-ridden; if anything, it was the closest I had felt to coming of age.
I could almost sense them beside me, as if the spattered index cards they’d left behind had come to life.
Both the sandwich and I were ‘made in China’ but with an undeniable Americanness.
To these writers, saunf occurred in the world as a curiosity, but not as an inevitability.
I pray my baby will love their body, or at least accept it, and carry it around the world, just as I have carried them too, with pride and joy.
“The food scene in the Bay Area is dying because everything is so expensive; rent is expensive.”
I deliberately and obstinately use the word ‘limdi’ and not the term ‘curry leaf’ because the word ‘curry’ has always bothered me.
Eunjo Park, the executive chef at Momofuku’s Kawi, is cooking her way through it. Her food is a reminder that it’s okay not to be one-hundred percent anything.
I sought a cherished symbol from my own childhood, not a standardized emblem of all Indonesian culture, which I can’t and shouldn’t pretend is all mine to take.
Miraci is being the one thing blackness has always been forced to be even when unwilling—political.
“I wanted to be present in Paris. I forgot to be present with my family.”