J.S. Bach: Prelude Cello Suite No.1

Once in a while, a song comes along and it has the power to transport you into another world. The composition completely draws you in, as if the very vibration of it reconnects you to your mother's womb. It surpasses any and all understanding, but yet one must understand to know it's beauty. This contentment I feel when I hear the cello being strummed with such compassion. This resonance cannot be contained, the fabric of this energy is meaning- it is the purpose of all things around us. One must surrender themselves to it. It calms our savage hearts. It reinvigorates our youth, our dreams to what may have been lost by barriers we alone, have created for ourselves. It makes you want to soar with maverick hawks, dive to the deepest reaches of manta rays, and bask in the heat of stagnant pebbles so smooth, so smooth..

한국어 & Trinity

Every morning, breakfast consists of three components:
1) Toast
2) Yogurt
3) Maxim Mocha Gold Mild, Coffee

Before I set the context for breakfast, I want to say that I haven't cooked for my 'Unlearning how to cook' project in over a month. Since coming back from Paris and the Winter Camp in 청양, my kitchen has only been used for breakfast. Ingredients in the fridge and pantry need to be refreshed. I have ginger that looks like preserved ~turd. The Korean Mother's Cooking Notes text is being moved around from counter top to computer table, to on top of the TV, dresser,.. it's almost like it's staring at me, asking if I'm going to file her away on the book shelf. I'm not going to beat myself up over this, because the second half of my project was to be able to describe the dishes in Korean (한국어). On this, I'm moving forward. 박수민 is the name of my new 국어 선생님. It's a free class at a Catholic Church every Sunday. The school offers low, intermediate, and advanced levels. The students are all migrant workers from Vietnam, Jordan, Bangladesh, and the Philippines. I'm a beginning level student, and it's good exposure to the language. At the same time, it gives me perspective on how students must feel when I'm teaching them English at the Middle School. At times, I can lose patience with them~~ As for the priest of the Church, I'm judgmental I know, but he looks cocky. The nuns always look like they are doing work.

Breakfast is a necessity. If I ever get married, this is something that I'd like to have my wife prepare for me. Give me warm toast slathered with creamy peanut butter. The 'trick' is to apply peanut butter the moment the toast pops out of the toaster, setting #4. The toast is golden brown. White or wheat, it doesn't matter, but the bread has to be baked from a baker's hands. So while the toast is in, boil water for the instant Coffee. If you get it right, then the moment the water reaches 212 degrees, you should be able to catch the toast at the exact moment it flips up. Once in a while there is a Universal moment when you know toast and boil begins to phase shift into a reality of subatomic collisions. Despite the 7 feet distance between the toaster and pot, valence electrons are being transferred and in the middle of this chaos peal open the blueberry yogurt. Lick the sweet glaze from the lid and serve. The combination of this trinity was simply meant to be.

Sloth in the office

This entire week I've had many a moment of complete idleness. Hands resting on the computer thinking this just isn't the right time to work. Maybe if I eat something, then an ounce of motivation will set in. The winter flowers by my desk are the only thing that I'm interested in. The wonder of it blooming at such an odd time of the year, will probably be dormant in the spring. Oh, how I wish to have this plant's persistence, it only needs water and sunlight. It's held in a cage really, how it wants to reach out to the sun like a giraffe, grounded by a little foot of a pot.

The comfort of this chair is adequate- slightly bouncy, it fits the form of my bony butt, the arm rests don't allow my shoulders to drop naturally, it invites the sitter to slouch. Damn chair, this is why work isn't getting done at the office! I need a new chair. A bright orange chair will surely pump some motivation into me from the bottom up. Imagine thoughts, starting from the ass being pulled up into the brain and my mouth farts a succulent idea onto you, the listener. And you believe every bit of it.

People are dragging their feet to the coffee pot. You see, if they were more motivated too, then their sickness would be contagious. Your coffee is sweet and the aroma compliments a chocolate cupcake~ perfectly. The crumbs dribble down the sides of your mouth. Everyone looks with envy. You stare back and chew with gusto. If only this office were a production line. Paper work makes everyone go in circles, whereas a production line is more linear. You clock in and then your hands take over. My butt is getting sore from idleness.

In an office people wait for lunch. Let's order out today! Yay! more sitting. A school without students is nothing but a bunch of adults administering checks and circles, pencil in this and that rubbish. Let's eat together and suck these noodles up, shove that chopstick into your mouth lady, oh yeah one more serving and let's do it again for an extra hour. Lunch hour becomes two. I miss the little ones.

Bibimpap~ A Story

At the foot of the mountain the stream ran down diagonal zigzags into a man-made ditch that led into a waterway underneath the city. Starting points and ending points always fascinated Kite since his childhood days. At age six, he would carefully line up dominoes, hundreds of them, all over the house using both simple and intricate patterns, eventually leading up to that final moment when he would start the cascade. The ripple of the dominoes sent chills up Kite’s spine, and by the way he laid them out anyone would want to watch the pulse of the tiles spreading out to an eventual end. His creativity though, was bounded by rules he would set for himself. It was almost like he was trapped in the illusion of tipping dominoes, that if something went wrong in the design, it was his fault, that there was always going to be a more intricate more challenging pattern to be made; but the purpose of the tile was always to simply tip over. Setting fire to the dominoes say, or doing something completely different to the dominoes would be something unfathomable. It was doing the unfathomable that would set him free, and he knew it.

He and his brother planned this hike at the beginning of summer, and now this was their chance to do something together which they both liked. Since college they grew apart for all the typical reasons- professional life, wanting to find their own destinies, but most of all it was just time to get away from each other. You see, Sammy being the oldest had to always play the saint, get the grades, and set the example. Must be hard on the guy, because now he just wants to do the exact opposite of what he did during his youth, which was to impress the folks. It’s great and all that he wants to accomplish things for no one now, but everything he says is just so predictable and selfish. As for Kite, the divorce left him all tied up tight inside. Both of them needed this hike. They needed to see something bigger than themselves, to see a perspective from on top of a mountain.
Muhak Mountain during the height of spring does not welcome the allergic. The scent of evergreen and cherry blossom fills every sense with either sniffle or wonder- or a combination of both. Sammy had the weak system, easily prone to sickness but never adopted the lifestyle to prevent it. The sweat on his protruding gut painted a silhouette of a wide heart. “It’s made of a synthetic that easily dries sweat,” says Sammy who always buys the proper equipment before adopting the discipline of a trade. Kite on the other hand kept nimble over the years. Working out during his married life was a means to blow steam away from home. Nothing however was enough to prevent what wasn’t meant to be with him and his ex-wife. Kite thought of why he was trying to out step him, go just a bit faster up the trail. Foolish to think it was a race up the mountain really, a marching pace was set hours before and really both of them were in equal stride like animals in migration.

It’s odd how random thoughts go through your mind when on a hike. The decade that these two have been apart put on layers of adulthood, but really they were still siblings with the same proclivities. The most obvious one was the older and younger brother complex. Standing on top of the mountain, none of that mattered. Looking out into the east, the bay glittered with silver and gold. The brothers squinted as the heat of the afternoon warmed their backs. Everyday dozens of Koreans hike up Muhak-san, but for these two it was their first. No fight, no judging, no comparing, it was a memory set in stone of a simple journey they took together.

At the base of the mountain, they knew it was only time they were going to part ways. But first, a roaring appetite had to be settled. The dol-sot bibimpap came with no delay. It sizzled away all hunger from their bodies. The kosari, carrots, green onion, spinach, zucchini, bean sprouts, beef, and egg center resembled a clock that told them it was time to devour this meal. The aroma of sesame and soy sauce, along with the tinge of gochujang, made this meal a mixture of memories. The earthenware served as the mountain, and the mountain vegetables served as the goodness Sammy and Kite shared over the years. It was a homecoming in a simple bowl for these two.

Masan and a silhouette

This weekend marked the beginning of the Lunar New Year.  It's something like the second new moon after the winter solstice, and it just so happened that the New Year fell on February 14th.  In Korea there is a major highway that connects the north to the south (all in S. Korea that is), and for every major holiday traffic on this main artery gets clogged with commuters.  This past Friday I announced to the co-workers that I'm going to Masan for the weekend.  Really, there wasn't any kind of planning.  It was an impulsive decision.  I mean, there was thinking involved, yes.  But, really I was overdue for an inter-Korea bus trip.  Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Soon asked how and I thought train or bus, forgetting about traffic.  Well, all the train reservations were booked, and the only option was to reserve a bus ticket.  Thanks to the co-teachers for taking on the task of finding me one online.  It seemed my excitement for traveling rubbed off.

I've been at this bus terminal 5 times or so already.  Dong Seoul is the name, and this was the secondary entry and take off point I would take when I lived in Masan back in '07.  The terminal was busy, to say the least.  You can try to describe it with fancy metaphors and stuff, but if it was your first time in the place your blood pressure could easily go up from all the illusions of confusion and chaos.  I could only figure that each of the ticket booths are categorized by regions, or 'do' (pronounced as doh), but who knows.  The only thing that mattered was that the Masan terminal is located on the second floor and that I snagged the last 7:30pm bus reservation hours before.  Overall, it felt good that for the Lunar New Year I took part in the traffic, that I was just another face in the frenzy of families wanting to be together.   

The old crew was still there and I was greeted with a big bear hug from Matt.  His curly hair and gut made him look like the biggest porn star in Masan.  Mr. Lee, the owner of the joint was in the kitchen, running his business as usual and seeing him was pure joy with long and smiley handshakes.  He played the blues sets, the kind you can't find in normal bars.  Here, you drink like a man because it's here that the guys are losers and it's just something you don't tell women about.  Maybe I'm romanticizing about the place, but in Masan there  ain't much to do, and if there is a scent of a woman most of the time it's some quiet little bird passing through.  Most of the action as far as getting your pants wet is in the red light district where girls shout out at you from behind a glass window pane.  They're on display like pink silhouettes laced with apples.  No matter how much perfume, the faint smell of cum lingers undetected by a guy that had one too many.  It's all good enough if you have just enough in your pocket.  None of that business this year, or maybe ever again.  It takes too much out of you.  Man it was good to see the boys again though.  You see, we do simple things there for entertainment.  We play pool and shoot darts and listen to the best blues in town, if not the entire country of South Korea.  Don, my boxing mate was there too.  He teaches up at the University now.  He has a million dollar smile, and is still crazy about the curves.  The taps of the bag and the shadow boxing, all of it came back and it reminded me how much the impact of fists on leather and flesh meant.  You see, once again it's a place where you feel like a man.

Spent the day with Young today.  She looked good with her hair pulled back loosely, just enough to cover her little ears.  She curled her hair, and I noticed right away her face in the crowd.  The funny thing is is that I can't really think of her face when I'm alone, all the details.  It's almost like a shifting silhouette that can't be pinned down in my mind.  She gets the joke, and laughs at them without hesitation.  When she thinks, her eyes become fierce.  While watching the movie today, she was anticipating out loud what would happen.  Among all the Koreans in the theater, she would laugh out loud first.  She knows actors more than I do and that includes the directors, too.  When we ate at the Pakistani restaurant her appetite was big and I wonder if she can discern more than just what is good or bad.  What will come out of this, I don't know.  But I have a lot of work to do at school.  And we both agree that snagging a University job would be better than staying at the Middle School.

Untitled dream

Useless chatter about administrative wish-wash, supposedly busy bees.  A lady walking in the rain as if her legs were bound by a kimono.  And twirls of black hair laced with snow.  When all else fails, you revert back to what your parents told you to do.  But now mother and dad are well gone, probably looking after you in your sleep.

The dream that jolted me awake.  It was in a supermarket and Rob played a folk tune that ended up causing trouble because he began to let loose.  'Ne'er knew' he played the guitar, and the way he rocked, envy started brewing inside.  Two others were there shopping, but their faces were vague.  Or maybe I forget, now.  But it was the wild strumming of Robert Weaver's hands that took my wits away; leaving me speechless.  It's that kind of speechlessness that's mixed with comparing cock sizes.  When did he learn how to play like that?  He was never the kind to feel music in his bones.  Or has my memory failed me?  Ah yes, the dinner party- when he did the AC/DC humming rendition for 'Back in Black'.  While closing his eyes, he had to dig deep and the way he hummed  it, his face wrinkled up into a used tin foil ball.

Then, his guitar playing ended with an extravagant sliding motion along the neck of his piece.  It was the style of a blues player rift, an end to that folk heart break.  How did he learn?  I demanded while waiting in the check out line, like all the tired faces- Rob's raisin pain faded to nothing and the dream continued.  This question was bothering me, and I was lost in thought- I could have easily been hit by a car, my mind was lost in perplexity.  And while driving towards a destination that was unknown in this dream, I recall these streets in my elementary days.  It was the road I'd have to trek coming home from the bus stop.  "Hey Chief!" that old man on the corner would say, every stinking day.  He didn't ever bother to ask my name.  He would just trim his lawn and his V-neck shirt, scrumpy shorts, always the same attire.  One would think he was a mummy walking.  That road.  What am I doing here?  And then Verona comes out checking the mailbox.  She spots me and she instantly becomes agitated.  I know that face too well.  That darling face that swells up in the eyes whenever conflict arises.  It's as if her bright blue eyes'd change a shade darker or brighter depending on the mood.  When was the last time I even thought of this?  Or even felt this kind of disobedience?  In the dining room, there was a vacancy.  Everyone looking up, the man of the house is here.  No aroma of garlic or spice, but there was spaghetti.

A sudden jolt into reality.  4:30am the clock read, and the only way to go back to sleep was to touch myself.  Gosh, why does it have to be that way, my better half poking away.  It must be done.  There is work in a few hours, and this life in Korea is becoming heavy once more.  That question asked yesterday, "What would you be doing if you weren't here?"  I don't know.  But thinking of it now, I smile.  Because, I don't know but there are dreams.  Yes, there are...

Back in the mix

Woke up today on Paris time, which means 7pm in Korea and around 11am in Paris.  No worries really.  My mind is wondering more than usual.  The 'pretty lady' from last night is still a stranger.  Her eyes would wonder to my nose when we chatted.  Maybe the lighting at the restaurant made my face look like a paradox of boxes.  So at that moment I'd think of a joke.  A lady like that doesn't need to wear make up.  While walking to the train, I elbow checked her on how pretty she looked with make up, also adding that she didn't need to wear it.  She knows that I start work again this Monday, so before leaving she said bye with elbow nudges back~ cute vomit.

Okay, back in the mix.  I am officially a contestant in the online site Food52, the A&M Blog. It's creators, Amanda and Merrill have this awesome, one of a kind site that challenges home cooks to weekly themes.  The contestants have one week to submit their recipe.  Amanda and Merrill choose the top two and then they video record themselves cooking the recipes.  From there, Food52ers vote on who wins.  There are other recognitions besides the weekly contests to keep everyone happy.  It's all in good fun, and at the end of the year a cookbook is made from all the winning recipes.  They are currently on week 32, and you can see their production keeps getting better.  Two thumbs up for these two ladies.  The cooks are all well seasoned home cooks, and although I haven't submitted a recipe yet, I know that I'm against some discerning palates.

Gosh, I remember being obsessed with Amanda Hesser's food reviews for the Times; especially after she gave 1-star to Compass Restaurant.  Wow, the kitchen crew had so much motivation and drive, and then the Times review really threw a wrench in our momentum.  Actually, the review praised the Chef and her food.  In  fact, it was the "TGIF service" and the whole ambiance of the restaurant that made the critic not give anything above a single star.  I remember the Sous chef crying, he's the chef now.  Amanda's picture was posted on the wall, along with three other faces.  The chef spoke to me about her liking eggs and anything French, and then jokingly told me that I should try to date her.  The night the Times critic came to dine, we were all fired up.  My duty was to sear a salmon roulade and 6 scallops~ "swanye chef, here you go".  The crew was solid.  I knew every knob in that kitchen~ but that was a long time ago.  Moved to three other kitchens before finally deciding to go up to Hyde Park.

   And now, the students are coming back from vacation.  It's 7:15 am and a blueberry yogurt is calling.  That with Korean style coffee (sweet) and a slice of toast topped with peanut butter.  Today's a new day~ back in the mix...

On Dating

You return to Korea and 6 hours later you're going on a date.  Don't count your lucky stars mate.  But you're probably wearing a 'just-returned-from-an-awesome-trip' face.  Yes, I'm going to party tonight.  A bit nervous actually, and Bach's Contata No. 147 playing in the background is definitely making me want to get my groove on.  About the phrase, 'wearing a face'.  It's not that artificial laugh one might hear when you're desperate for friends.  Permit me to explain my concept about wearing a face.  It's not necessarily wearing your feelings on your lapel, nor is it having a poker face.  Wearing a face is the ability to consciously be aware of your reactions to a given situation.  A receptive listener will pick up on all of your reactions that you are NOT aware of.  And that person is either your friend or your enemy.

The 'face' concept sounds like a big game.  It just might be so, actually (hmmm).  This is something that you do not talk about when you're out with someone that speaks English as a second language.  Therefore, you're non-verbal communication has to be as neutral as possible.  The last time we went out, while making corrections to a sermon she translated for a preacher in Cali, I just couldn't stop commenting on how lovely she smelled.  She owns a perfume shop, and of all the perfumes to choose from it was this bottle, 'yeah that one'.  It made everything alright.  A loner preacher's girl I found in a disco-tech in Itaewon- What has this world come to?

Unlearning how to cook, beginning with Korean food.  This is my secret that I'm sharing to the entire blog world.  It's a flavor I would whole heartedly share with a friend or cook all day for my enemies- go figure..

Fish Tacos, together, remember...

S, B, S, C, J, S, & I all great night.
Two kinds of Salsa
Gaucamole
Queso Blanco
rice red bean red
Avocado
Harissa
Harissa + cream
Cream
Perch
Oregano,
etc.etc.
Champagne, Chablis, Red' ...
utube party
music
comedy
laugh
content.         wine
love~~~bon bon voyage

Dinner before Dae Han Min Gook

Remember Don,

Final dinner tomorrow in Paris.  I'm cooking fish tacos for 6 heads total.  The budget is 100 Euros.  Going in blind 'cause this is the first time preparing this.  It feels like so many dishes I've done is going in blind.
 Stop worrying

Beginning to change my mind back to Gyeonggi-do, thinking if I should send a package of fiction back to Seoul.  Post cards for R and N, and others...
Make a list.

Alesia is the destination.  Jief tells me there is an open air market there for fruits, veggies, meat, fish, groceries, everything.  A Parisian market... I remember this place at night a year and a half ago.  Funny thing about not knowing a language~ just know what you need to purchase and the money talks on it's own.  
Why are you getting anxious?


Last night you made an over seasoned (salt and spice) pasta.  You were cocky last night while making this, because you know preparing pasta makes you happy, but this time you were careless.  The salt box exploded into the pasta water, and you didn't change enough of the water to neutralize it.  You tasted it, too- what the hell!  You even cautioned yourself to keep the cream sauce more neutral.
Lesson learned, the pasta needs to be neutral never the sauce, dah!  S and B liked it though, no sweat..

What are you going to do?
Go in with an open mind, and just relax.  Remember that Charlette is allergic to exotic fruits and crustaceans.  The salsa can be prepared Thursday morning.  Cook the fish a-la-minute, fill the place up with a 'fish smell' while everyone is sipping on Champagne, ha!  Dishes are compartmentalized for folks to pick n' choose.  There needs to be a 'curve ball' dish, for people to ask about it's preparation.  And lastly, you're on vacation- stay steady and .... 'gurlz! gurlz! remember to smile'

Not counting, but if you must..

Sipping on a Smirnoff Ice...
The thing that's most pressing at this very moment...
is to tap the ash from a slender cigarette...
one too many,        and at times, wanting to touch a woman.
The image of her shoulder touched by a man, not mine but of past hands...
not mine, nor His, nor yours.
maybe her dad's, who cradled her to sleep.
Now she sets her clock to 7, how I wish to inhale her yawn.
She tows the eyes of the gentlest of men behind, and waves goodbye to something
that any man can understand- desire.

Needs to press both palms on fire,
listens to sizzling flesh,
turns the room black,
erases the doubts as seconds
tick on bread crumbs.
Follows blood drips now,
picks at a scab..    wants
to be bald if all others follow.    This sorrow impales starting from anus
to a hole in a heart that knows only so well...
Her head up high to a violet sky and violin strings
stroke her shoulders as if bathing in a warm river.

A foolish heart speaks such foolishness.

Sophia Lorenians & Fluff Girlz live in concert

For the past 4 days, I've had the chance to live the life of a 'rock star'. My backstage pass was labeled, cameraman. Here is a list of the shows:

Thursday (28/01/21010) Sophia Lorenians, Paris @ the International
Friday (29/01/2010) Sophia Lorenians, Orleans @ AstroLabe
Saturday (30/01/2010) The Fluff Girls, Bruxelles @ Raffinerie


Paris, SL @ the International:
“We eat like kings” is what B says, when you are performing. The music venue feeds you, and since this is the gastronomic capital of Europe, well you know the deal. The dish was a stewed lamb served in a tagine which probably had about 550 green peas. Lamb has such a distinct aroma that combines well with mint, coriander, cumin and preserved lemon rinds.

What you see on stage is a production that surely takes time. Being in a band is a job that requires not only musical ability, but also a tremendous amount of collaboration- duh! Among other things. The SophLorns is a great band. They are a mature band, technicians, passionate, and they simply rock stages. The crowd response at the International, in Paris was full of energy. Give credit to the opening band- they came out with hot popping sets that got this party started.

Orleans, SL @ AstroLabe: 
Have you ever eaten in a restaurant where there were pigeons on the table pecking away at scraps that should have been thrown away? This is how it was when eating brunch at the train station- an adequate café elonge, a sandwich that needed to be assembled with a little more care, and of course the crossword. ‘All aboard!’ on a southbound train to Orleans. The movement felt when on a train, the pep in your step when catching a plane, this feeling of motion towards something new doesn’t make you want to look back. What I'm trying to describe is momentum and apathy.  Because of this opportunity to see first hand B's life here, the bands, the production, I think that people should surf the wave of momentum.  Be apathetic to all things insignificant to what you believe in.  It's the life of the rock star.

The food served at AstroLabe is definitely worth mentioning. The event was catered by a chef on premise.

Appetizer table:

Assorted Cured Meats (Charcuterie), Mixed baby green salad, Devilled Eggs, Crescent Moon Cucumbers, Fruits.

Main Courses:

Broiled Salmon, Sauce Bernaise, Roasted Vegetables with Herbes de Provence, Chicken, and others..

A baguette for every table.

Dessert:

Cheeses and an unusually sweet tiramisu.

Full belly to performance- don't count your lucky stars...
Everyone got so drunk from top shelf liquors sent as gifts. The group members all spoke about the direction of the band, but it was hard to say really.  Everyone was speaking in French.  But!  The way they communicated made one feel that there was a synergy among them.  Let the photo taken by a gentleman named Adrian, speak for itself.  

Bruxelles, The Fluff Girls @ Raffinirie:
Touch and go at Porte d’Orleans and we are off in a car to Belgium. A long story short,... I was so much more comfortable with the camera angles, Bruxelles should be a honeymoon capital it being full of romance, the show was dope, and we slept in a renovated room that had lamps hanging upside down. It was like the '13th floor' of the building.