Last night, I had a close brush with… a yucca root! Over the years, I enjoyed ordering and eating one of the world’s staple root starches, a.k.a. cassava, manioc, tapioca, in different forms. I had sampled them fried with a tasty carrot/onion dipping sauce in a Brazilian restaurant, steamed and served with garlic and oil in a Salvadorian café, as chewy tapioca pearls in Taiwanese green "bubble" milk tea and like mashed potatoes in a harvest potluck. But I had yet to make some at home so I picked up a couple tubers from the local farmer’s market.
I had heard that the skin was poisonous so as a precaution, consulted my new “Best Loved and Brand New” 75th edition of Joy of Cooking, a recent gift. There was a special section on yucca, but surprisingly, no mention of its “dark side.” The cooking process read similar to potatoes so that’s how I processed it. The yucca tasted kind of bitter so I decided to check the internet for clues. (Of course, searching anything online, especially a health matter is a guaranteed way of freaking yourself out, given the range of opinions and sources!)
With alarm, I read, “Yucca root should always be washed, peeled and cooked to remove a poisonous and toxic milky latex-like substance this lies just beneath the bark. If eaten, this acidic juice contained in the root and beneath the bark can attack enzymes within human digestive systems, causing discomfort, illness, and possibly death.” Egads!
I have always been proud of the fact that I have an “iron stomach,” eating everything under the sun and friends who know my diverse gastronomical repertoire and principle of “no waste” call me a raccoon. I also had the reputation of being an uber-researcher before making a decision (especially shopping decisions!) After 20 minutes of internet “speed-learning,” it all boiled down to this: There were two types of yucca: sweet and bitter. The latter could kill a cow within minutes. The sweet kind was described as being “less bitter and not really sweet.”
My yucca had tasted quite bitter. Oh dear. Obituary headlines flashed before me: “Cause of Death: Poisonous Tuber” and “Harvard Grad Killed by Improper Handling of Root Vegetable Eaten by Millions Around the World.” Rationality went out the window. My mother would never forgive me.
Well, this Raccoon Foodie had a decision to make very quickly: Stick a finger down my throat or take my chances? Hmmm, time was running out. After twenty minutes, still no nausea or blurred vision. Was there time for one more Google search?
Reluctantly, I self-induced and puked the yucca. (As I sat on the floor of my bathroom hugging the toilet, I thought, “how do bulimics do this??”) Moral of the story: Beware of the “joy of cooking” and cross-check your sources so you don’t get stuck chucking your yucca!
Happy Chinese New Year (Year of the Ox)!
Monday, January 26, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Everything’s Changed But My Name: Part I, Inaugural Reflections
On this historic day of Obama’s inauguration as President and the day after MLK Day, I found myself reflecting on the state of race relations, politics and family and recalled the development and progression of my interest in diversity, civil rights and multicultural relations.
After high school, I made the conscious decision to escape Atlanta for the “enlightened and cultured” cities of the north. The abrupt change from being the only Asian student from K-12 to being part of a majority group in New York’s Chinatown and multiple Asian student associations in college resulted in mixed feelings, surprisingly. Not only was I no longer “special,” but the amiable curiosity of Southerners gave way to a Yankee amalgamation of indifference, admiration, opportunity and, unfortunately with the rise of East Asia as an economic player, suspicion, resentment and even anti-Asian hatred. We’re not in Smyrna anymore, Toto.
Before college, much of my identity was defined as being the “other.” Now, it was time to forge my own identity. Taking Women Studies 101 in my junior year changed my life. For the first time, my eyes, heart and mind were opened not only to the power and pervasiveness of gender dynamics and sexism, but also to race, class, nationality, sexual orientation and their interplay. Afterwards, I wrote letters to the editor, marched in Washington, D.C. and organized multicultural events on campus, e.g. Race & Humor.
This class and these events re-set my world lens and in turn, set the course for my graduate studies, career choices and interest in community service. Ironically, I came back a liberal and to my chagrin, my home state and parents became Republican. My interests and subsequent jobs were difficult to explain to non-speaking Chinese relatives. For example, there was no equivalent at the time for a “nonprofit,” which became directly translated in Chinese as a “no money organization.” Not exactly something my parents wanted to boast about to friends. Instead, my parents introduced me as their “Harvard Missionary Girl.” After I won local public office, my dad minimized my role as “a sesame seed on a hamburger bun.” As an environmental activist and social progressive, my mother nicknamed me “tree-hugger and greenie.” I figured, the names could be much worse.
During the dark Bush II years (and some of the disappointing Clinton years), I went under, so to speak. Not defeated, but dormant and re-channeled. I focused on the personal and the local, to re-fuel emotionally and financially. I crossed over to the corporate sector and diversified my professional portfolio; ran my first local campaign and served as a town official; supported a local organic farm/CSA; performed in a community musical and played in sports leagues.
During my time as a human relations facilitator at NCCJ (National Conference of Community and Justice) in the late 90’s, many asked me about race dynamics and regional differences. Racism existed in both the North and South, but in different tones. Southern racism was more black and white and overt (e.g. MLK history, KKK, use of “n” word). Northern racism was subtle and often hypocritical (e.g. “I’m not racist, but he’s Muslim.”) Things have changed, especially metro Atlanta. The growth of ethnic business corridors, the Latino population, diversification of the Asian community and transplants from other cities have transformed the social, economic and political landscape.
For years, I remained hopeful that America would re-connect with its founding values and fulfill its promise of a democracy, despite being puzzled and disheartened at the gap between surveys and election results. Now, with a new administration that finally seems to be forged from and dedicated to the values of a democracy for the people and of the people, I’m looking forward to coming out of the political closet, this time in my hometown.
My parents and I still cancel out each other at the voting booth. But the optimism, vision and hope that led them to America of yesterday are the same values summoned by the Inaugural address of today.
The world is shifting in front of my eyes and the earth is moving beneath my feet. Today’s events are making history as I endeavor to capture my parent's historic journey from Asia to America. As I embark on a "new life" in Atlanta on this momentous occasion, I am reminded...
To lose the life you have for greater life;
To lose the friends you love for greater loving;
To find a land more kind than home, more large than earth.
Whereon the pillars of this earth are founded,
Toward which the conscience of this world is tending -
A wind is rising and the rivers flow.
Excerpt from “You Can’t Go Home Again” by Thomas Wolfe
After high school, I made the conscious decision to escape Atlanta for the “enlightened and cultured” cities of the north. The abrupt change from being the only Asian student from K-12 to being part of a majority group in New York’s Chinatown and multiple Asian student associations in college resulted in mixed feelings, surprisingly. Not only was I no longer “special,” but the amiable curiosity of Southerners gave way to a Yankee amalgamation of indifference, admiration, opportunity and, unfortunately with the rise of East Asia as an economic player, suspicion, resentment and even anti-Asian hatred. We’re not in Smyrna anymore, Toto.
Before college, much of my identity was defined as being the “other.” Now, it was time to forge my own identity. Taking Women Studies 101 in my junior year changed my life. For the first time, my eyes, heart and mind were opened not only to the power and pervasiveness of gender dynamics and sexism, but also to race, class, nationality, sexual orientation and their interplay. Afterwards, I wrote letters to the editor, marched in Washington, D.C. and organized multicultural events on campus, e.g. Race & Humor.
This class and these events re-set my world lens and in turn, set the course for my graduate studies, career choices and interest in community service. Ironically, I came back a liberal and to my chagrin, my home state and parents became Republican. My interests and subsequent jobs were difficult to explain to non-speaking Chinese relatives. For example, there was no equivalent at the time for a “nonprofit,” which became directly translated in Chinese as a “no money organization.” Not exactly something my parents wanted to boast about to friends. Instead, my parents introduced me as their “Harvard Missionary Girl.” After I won local public office, my dad minimized my role as “a sesame seed on a hamburger bun.” As an environmental activist and social progressive, my mother nicknamed me “tree-hugger and greenie.” I figured, the names could be much worse.
During the dark Bush II years (and some of the disappointing Clinton years), I went under, so to speak. Not defeated, but dormant and re-channeled. I focused on the personal and the local, to re-fuel emotionally and financially. I crossed over to the corporate sector and diversified my professional portfolio; ran my first local campaign and served as a town official; supported a local organic farm/CSA; performed in a community musical and played in sports leagues.
During my time as a human relations facilitator at NCCJ (National Conference of Community and Justice) in the late 90’s, many asked me about race dynamics and regional differences. Racism existed in both the North and South, but in different tones. Southern racism was more black and white and overt (e.g. MLK history, KKK, use of “n” word). Northern racism was subtle and often hypocritical (e.g. “I’m not racist, but he’s Muslim.”) Things have changed, especially metro Atlanta. The growth of ethnic business corridors, the Latino population, diversification of the Asian community and transplants from other cities have transformed the social, economic and political landscape.
For years, I remained hopeful that America would re-connect with its founding values and fulfill its promise of a democracy, despite being puzzled and disheartened at the gap between surveys and election results. Now, with a new administration that finally seems to be forged from and dedicated to the values of a democracy for the people and of the people, I’m looking forward to coming out of the political closet, this time in my hometown.
My parents and I still cancel out each other at the voting booth. But the optimism, vision and hope that led them to America of yesterday are the same values summoned by the Inaugural address of today.
The world is shifting in front of my eyes and the earth is moving beneath my feet. Today’s events are making history as I endeavor to capture my parent's historic journey from Asia to America. As I embark on a "new life" in Atlanta on this momentous occasion, I am reminded...
To lose the life you have for greater life;
To lose the friends you love for greater loving;
To find a land more kind than home, more large than earth.
Whereon the pillars of this earth are founded,
Toward which the conscience of this world is tending -
A wind is rising and the rivers flow.
Excerpt from “You Can’t Go Home Again” by Thomas Wolfe
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
NEW Asian Food/Market Course, Atlanta - March 26, 28
Registration has started for my new Asian Market/Food course in Atlanta, "Eggrolls n' Sweet Tea" (March 26,28) at Evening at Emory, visit www.EveningAtEmory.org or http://cll.emory.edu/eate/classes.cfm?cla=-137736890&pt=3
Atlanta locals: Please pass the word around for our debut event! Happy Chinese New Year (Ox)!
Atlanta locals: Please pass the word around for our debut event! Happy Chinese New Year (Ox)!
Monday, January 12, 2009
20th High School Reunion
With a mixture of apprehension and anticipation, I made a last minute decision to fly home for 24-hours to attend my 20th high school reunion. (“I already made you a name tag!” Julie lobbied.) My decision surprised everyone, including myself. “I thought you didn’t like high school?” True, I graduated and never looked back. I borrowed frequent flyer miles and had to fly back (to MA) the next morning, but those four hours changed my life.
The occasion was surreal. Except for a couple of girlfriends, I had not seen anyone for decades. Most arrived with their spouses or friends; I went solo. Many of the guys who were hot were not anymore. The geeks turned into hunks and I hardly recognized others. My small circle of girlfriends looked radiant with their partners; single and married guys flirted with me and I found common ground with classmates I barely knew. Later that evening, I overheard one of the guys whisper, “When did Natalie get so hot??” That made my evening. Actually, it made my year. I had finally come full circle and been redeemed for all those dateless pre-college years!
Maybe it wasn’t so much high school that I disliked. Maybe it was me who I disliked. The environment was different and I was different inside. Before Asian models were popular and Asian food became trendy, my family was the only source of positive reinforcement. I didn’t fit most Asian stereotypes, e.g. being good at math or science (I had to receive tutoring), being quiet or reticent (one teacher complained that I “asked too many questions”), non-controversial (I led a workers protest at Pizzaria Uno’s) or lady-like (I loved competitive sports and owned a BB-gun). I felt like one big five-foot-tall walking paradox!
Many high school classmates had known me since first grade and were as friendly as you could expect teens to be in a peer-pressurized culture. Thanks to a small group of sweet girlfriends who looked beyond the “color and coolness” lines, I was included in many social activities. Since then, my looks or interests haven’t changed that much. What has changed was inside of me – more confidence, more passion and acceptance – for who I was and wanted to become.
If you have the opportunity to go back to reunion and you didn’t like high school either, you might re-consider. Not only was it the best night of my year, it was the healing and closure I needed to look back through a new lens and to move forward with confidence.
The occasion was surreal. Except for a couple of girlfriends, I had not seen anyone for decades. Most arrived with their spouses or friends; I went solo. Many of the guys who were hot were not anymore. The geeks turned into hunks and I hardly recognized others. My small circle of girlfriends looked radiant with their partners; single and married guys flirted with me and I found common ground with classmates I barely knew. Later that evening, I overheard one of the guys whisper, “When did Natalie get so hot??” That made my evening. Actually, it made my year. I had finally come full circle and been redeemed for all those dateless pre-college years!
Maybe it wasn’t so much high school that I disliked. Maybe it was me who I disliked. The environment was different and I was different inside. Before Asian models were popular and Asian food became trendy, my family was the only source of positive reinforcement. I didn’t fit most Asian stereotypes, e.g. being good at math or science (I had to receive tutoring), being quiet or reticent (one teacher complained that I “asked too many questions”), non-controversial (I led a workers protest at Pizzaria Uno’s) or lady-like (I loved competitive sports and owned a BB-gun). I felt like one big five-foot-tall walking paradox!
Many high school classmates had known me since first grade and were as friendly as you could expect teens to be in a peer-pressurized culture. Thanks to a small group of sweet girlfriends who looked beyond the “color and coolness” lines, I was included in many social activities. Since then, my looks or interests haven’t changed that much. What has changed was inside of me – more confidence, more passion and acceptance – for who I was and wanted to become.
If you have the opportunity to go back to reunion and you didn’t like high school either, you might re-consider. Not only was it the best night of my year, it was the healing and closure I needed to look back through a new lens and to move forward with confidence.
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