Changed but the same

I think in almost each entry I write when I'm in LA, I remark on how odd it is to be back. And, it is. Especially, when driving along the streets where I grew up on, the things that were once familiar are no longer there. The McDonald's where Natalie and I would stop on our walks home from middle school to order ice cream cones is now a Chinese restaurant. The Del Taco where we went for a snack after a trip to the library is now a Vietnamese sandwich shop. The corner store where I would sneak off to for an occasional sugary treat is now a bank. And, all this change seems to be happening right now and it seems to be happening at a rate far greater than I had ever noticed before.

One place that still stands where it did when I first went there at least a dozen years ago is Jim's Famous Burgers. My friends and I would go there after school to order humongous bags of French fries, chili cheese fries, and my favorite, fried zucchini. And, even after more than a decade since my first visit, I still go there whenever I'm in town.

But, this time, when Karen, Jeanne, and I went there for an afternoon snack, I was surprised by how much it had changed. The most remarkable difference about the place was its appearance. The parking exit and entrance had switched sides, so that now the drive-thru window was properly positioned so that the driver could pick up his order out of his window and not have to lean across the passenger seat; this change made sense. What didn't make sense to me was why the owners decided to strip the place of all its charm and turn it into a building that looked like all the other restaurants that flanked the street.

Jim's was an old-fashioned-looking diner with outdoor patio seating, with a walk-up order counter as the barrier between the outside and the inside and an arcade area. The outdoor seating , which made up most of the restaurant space, was the most charming aspect of the restaurant, aside from the friendly workers who on several occasions have called me "Smiley." The outdoor eating area was composed of round tables with orange plastic umbrellas as the only shield from the sun and the rain, and they were the perfect hangout spot for young teenagers.

But, when we pulled into the parking lot, most the outdoor seating was gone. In its place was a wall with a door that led inside. I was confused. This looked like any other restaurant. Where was the eccentricity, the charm?

Even though the outer appearance changed, the menu remained the same. We ordered a club sandwich, chili cheese fries, and fried zucchini. And, our food was served to us by the same friendly staff. The food was nothing fancy, just simple diner food with no pretension about it. And, though it was strange to be sitting inside in a proper seat, it was still nice to know that somethings don't change.

Spaceland sickness

There has only been one time in my life when the real fear of possible death (or a visit to the hospital, at the very least) crossed my mind. It was a little more than a year ago and I was on a plane flying to Philadelphia to catch a connecting flight to the Virgin Islands. I was traveling alone (as it tends to be), I had been sick for the past several days, and I was overcome with sudden cold chills, sweat beading on my forehead, and the need to vomit. As the passenger sitting next to me was sleeping under his blanket in the darkened cabin, I thought I was going to die. Should I press the button for assistance? Should I pull out my barf bag? Would they land the plane and rush me to the hospital? Just as quickly as the nausea and panic came, it went, and I was left to wonder what the hell just happened.

Since then, I’ve had a couple of encounters when I had to throw up, but none so pronounced and none so full of fear that something was really wrong with me, until last night.

The evening started innocently enough. Jeanne and I met Karen, Gabe, and some other people at the Silver Mug. After a couple of vodka tonics, some great and not-so-great karaoke renditions of “Paint It Black,” “Under the Bridge,” “I Want You to Want Me,” and “Under Pressure,” being called Gabby throughout the night be an older Latino man, and a couple of Vietnamese spring rolls, Karen, Jeanne, and I drove over to Spaceland to see Andy’s band play. (Note on Andy: He was a substitute teacher for my 12^th grade English class and was the one to introduce me to Haruki Murakami.)

We were late and the band had already gone on so we ordered more drinks, ran into yet another RHS alum, and played pool with some random men. Andy and I ate some Chips Ahoy cookies from a bag that we saw on the counter and had some cigarettes. Some man told me that I had nice lips and that he didn’t want me to take it the wrong way; I told him thanks, that I was leaving, and to have a good night.

After losing at pool, we left and decided that food was what was needed. Andy directed us to a Mexican food thing (I don’t know exactly what to call it since it wasn’t a Taco truck, it wasn’t a restaurant, it wasn’t anything I had seen before—everything was outdoors, kitchen and all, and all under a tent of some sort) on Santa Monica at Hawthorne. I ordered a carne asada quesadilla, Karen and Andy ordered Cubano sandwiches, and I can’t quite remember what Jeanne ordered although I am tempted to say that it was a chimichanga (it was something fried, I am sure of).

Because it was near freezing, we drove over to the house where Andy was house-sitting. We watched The Warriors as we ate and as cats climbed on me (for someone who isn’t too fond of pets, cats somehow are drawn to me). We ate and I was happy, for a little while.

Then, it came. Nausea. The feeling of utter sickness. The desire to want to rip your insides out and dump them down the drain.

We drove home and I rushed to the bathroom. I lied in bed trying to fall asleep, trying to find any comfortable position. But, each time I moved, I felt that churn in my stomach creeping up my throat. I lied there and wondered how many more hours until morning and if an ambulance would have to be called for me. I wondered if they’d have to pump my stomach. I wondered what was it that made me feel so ill. The drinks, the cigarettes, the quesadilla, the Vietnamese spring rolls? I guess I’d never know.

High school reunion (not the musical)

About two months ago, at Gabe's birthday party at Luca's, my boss Ken said to me, "You're from LA, right? You have a very San Francisco vibe." I thought this was a bit random. He and I were just standing at the bar, waiting for our drinks, and he's known me for at least a year and a half, almost two now, and he knows that I didn't grow up in the Bay Area. And, I too forget sometimes how long it's been since I moved out of my parent's house in LA, how long I've lived on my own in Berkeley and San Francisco, and how rarely I return to LA. And, when I am in LA, there are only just a few people outside of my family that I see, so I wasn't quite ready for a night of high school reunions.

Sophia picked me up and we drove over to the BJ's on Huntington (the restaurant's name never fails to stir up even the slightest of giggles), where we met up with Millie, Linda, and Annie, all friends from high school, some of whom I can't remember the last time I had seen them.

I had the Santa Fe Chicken Salad and their Brewhouse Blond, which was a pale, golden beer. The chicken salad was fine, nothing special. The blackened chicken has an incredibly white color to it and the texture looked a little too smooth, but I didn't question it. The dressing was a creamy salmon-colored concoction. The five of us split the white chocolate and macademia Pizookie for dessert.

Over dinner, we chatted about former high school classmates. I strained to pull up recollections of people's faces (I wished someone had brought our old yearbook) and struggled to think of my own stories of having seen so-and-so. And, as it always seems to inevitably happen when talking about former classmates, we scoffed at who got fat, wondered why divorces were pending, and laughed at the same people who we laughed at when we were teenagers (don't get me wrong though, I was far from the popular cheerleader in high school). I had little to share. I, apparently, had fallen out of touch.

After dinner and a quick drink at the Brass Elephant, Sophia and I met up with Jeanne and her friends at Dave and Buster's at the mall. I had been here only once before and after quickly being overwhelmed, left. But, this time, I was there with people who knew the drill. I still felt out of the place though. I wasn't decked out in my Asian hoochie gear, I wasn't there with my Asian gangster boyfriend, I wasn't 5'4" and 105 lbs, and I wasn't drunk off my overly-sweet Comopolitan (the first thing on the menu that looked decent to me when the waiter came around for our orders). Apparently, I hadn't gotten the memo.

Sophia and I sat there with Jeanne's friends watching and wondering about the people around us. "Why are there so many Asians?" "Why are there so many teeny-boppers?" "Are these kids old enough to drink?" It seemed as if everyone there had just turned of legal drinking age and were home from college for winter break. Sophia and I looked at each other, knowing that we were probably the oldest ones in the crowd (until some fifty year-old-looking lady showed up, who we thought was there to snatch her child back, like what had happened at the Silver Mug a few days earlier).

Jeanne saw tons of people she knew: the Asian gangster with his cronies, some girl from high school who got fat, our neighbor's daughter who was hoochie-gone-clean. Sophia and I saw no one we knew.

It was a little after midnight and I was tired--of feeling old, of feeling out of place, of feeling far from drunk enough to stay there any longer--so, Sophia and I, the two geriatrics of the crowd, went home.

The McDonalds of Vietnamese sandwiches

Karen said she didn't want to hype it up too much, but how could she not? Vietnamese sandwiches that were good, made with bread freshly baked in-house, in a space that was clean and spacious, and only a few blocks away from my parent's house in LA. I tried to not be excited as we drove over to the Lee's Sandwiches.

My eyes widened as we entered the sandwich shop. Karen was right. This was no ordinary Vietnamese sandwich shop. This one was huge, with a large, colorful, brightly-lit menu board, rope that partitioned off the line, at least half a dozen workers wearing matching uniforms, large standing ovens and rolling racks stacked with fresh baguettes, seating for at least forty people, and, to top it all off, a large, real Christmas tree complete with lights and decorations in the middle. I grabbed on to Jeanne's arms, as we walked toward the line and eyed the menu board.

I was overwhelmed, and asked Jeanne what to order. We got three #11 (Special Combination) sandwiches and a meat pastry called pork chaud. I had no idea what the pork chuad was; it looked familiar but I couldn't remember if I had them in Paris or with my dad's old Vietnamese friends. It was a round of pastry with a ball of savory pork filling inside. The pastry alone was good; it was flaky and buttery, like puff pastry, and had picked up the flavor of the meat filling. I wished there were more savory meat pastries.

The sandwiches were good too. The sandwich was long and narrow, filled with various pork products. There was smidgen of pork pate smudged atop the bread, slices of an almost fluorescent pink headcheese, and slices of a pork loaf. The pickled carrots and daikon radish were crisp. And, the cilantro and thin slices of jalapenos added an extra bit of freshness and spice. The bread was great too, chewy with a crisp outer crust. I rounded off my meal with a cold and refreshing chrysanthemum tea. The whole meal (three sandwiches, one pork pastry, two coffees, and one tea) totalled a little more than $15; what a deal! I was in Vietnamese sandwich heaven!

As we sat there eating, I couldn't help but notice all the people coming in and out, ordering sandwiches, and leaving with loaves of baguettes. They weren't your usual Vietnamese sandwich shop customers (or, rather, none that I'm used to seeing around here). There was a group of four high school-aged, hipster-looking (a couple were even wearing an outfit similar to mine: brown blazer with grey hoodie underneath, jeans, and Chuck Taylors) Latino kids . There was an Asian dad with two young girls, both wearing convertible sneaker-rollerskates and who skidded across the floor. There was a middle-aged Latino man who carried four baguettes wrapped in paper out the door. And, there was us. For just the slightest moment, it felt like I was at the United Nations of Vietnamese sandwich shops.

But, with the growing number of Lee's Sandwiches across not just Southern California but the entire US, would they eat up all the little mom and pop Vietnamese sandwich shops? Sure, I'm a fan of clean dining spaces, food made in-house, order and routine, and regulated quality control, but I also am fond of the dinky sandwich shop that only seats six and has only one lady working the counter that I go to in San Francisco's Tenderloin. Lee's Sandwiches is the McDolaldization of Vietnamese sandwich shops, and I don't know how fond I am of that.

We'll see what happens. There's a Lee Sandwiches that was scheduled to open in San Francisco in December 2006. It's down the street from the other Vietnamese sandwich shops on Larkin in Little Saigon. I Google mapped it; it's only about a mile away from my house. I have it scheduled to be one of my first meals in San Francisco for 2007.

Yet another wedding banquet

I've been to plenty of Chinese wedding banquets in my life, and they're all the same. Same food, same people, same clinking of dishes to make the couple kiss. This time, I had no idea who the bride and groom were, as is true with most of the wedding banquets I've gone to. But my parents had asked if we wanted to go because, afterall, it would be a free dinner, and how could we really say no to that.

We showed up at 888 Seafood Restaurant where the banquet was being held and greeted and congratulated the couple on our way in (the bride had on a very pink dress with lots of taffeta that didn't seem appropriate for her age or the occasion). My parents, Jeanne, Karen, and I got seated a table with four old men who my parents didn't know. We got the bottle of wine open and started pouring drinks. My dad poured Hennessey for himself and the other old men at the table. I asked for some too, and as I was sipping my drink he warned me that if I were to drink on an empty stomach that I'd get drunk and lightheaded, and that the best way to not get drunk is to eat foods rich in fat as I drink. He poured me a glass of wine too (and, I got a beer from him later in the night). Thanks, Dad.

Jeanne and I tried to guess what food would come out and in what order. We hit the target with the appetizer. It was the usual appetizer plate--a cold platter of roasted duck, roasted pork, barbeque pork, and a this crunchy, slimy thing that I never knew its English name. Next came deep fried seafood balls with a sweet and sour sauce; we didn't get that one. Then came sauteed scallops with snow peas; I hit that one right on the nose. Sharkfin soup was the net course; guessed correctly at that one. Mustard greens with abalone and mushrooms followed; I got that one too. Stir-fry lobster was next; we scored that as well. Out came the steamed fish; nailed that one. Next came the fried rice; we guessed that it would either be fried rice or noodles next. And, after the fried rice, came dessert of a taro paste with lotus seeds and dried dates; Jeanne got that one. Platters of slices of cake on plastic plates with plastic forks piled up slice after slice came out after the dessert. I guessed the cake but not the presentation.

We finished our drinks. My dad took the unfinished bottle of Hennessey with him, and we walked home.

Vacation eating

Karen and Jeanne are in town for a few days before we all drive down to LA for Christmas and New Year's. And, as we're apt to do when they visit, we eat more than any normal person could possibly imagine. But it's all so good and so worth it.

Tuesday
Spices II. 7:30PM.
Jeanne and Karen arrived in time for dinner. After they had a couple of beers and a few rounds of pool at Place Pigalle as they wait for me to get home from work, we had dinner at Spices II in the Richmond. There are very few times when I get spoken to in any Chinese dialect, let alone my native one of Cantonese, but when we entered the door of Spices, the hostess greeted us in Mandarin, the language I learned during countless childhood years spent in Chinese school. It took me a little while to figure out what she was saying but realized that she was telling us to sit wherever we liked (the fairly vacant room and her hand gesture tipped me off).

We tried not to be greedy and showed some restraint in placing our order. We had the fried squid, which was crisply fried on the outside yet succulently tender. The squid pieces were spicy, salty (in a good way), and hinted of basil. I think it was the best dish we had.

The cumin lamb, one of the house specialties, was nice too. The thin slices of lamb were stir fried with cumin and green bell peppers, which I was careful not to eat in case they were jalapenos or seranos or any other green chili that would have stung my mouth, tongue, and insides.

I couldn't stop eating the dry braised green beans with a black bean sauce. They dish was placed in front of me and my chopsticks kept going back to them. They beans were somehow, miraculously both smushy and crunchy. They beans were a little salty, but for this dish, salty equaled tasty.

Our last dish was the spicy seafood noodle soup. The bright red soup came in a large white bowl. A layer of what appeared to be chili oil slicked the top, and through it peaked pieces of squid, fish, shrimp, and mussels. The egg noddles within were good--chewy and tender--but nothing really spectacular. The soup itself was spicy ad quite flavorful, although having to wipe the grease from my lips after each bite proved rather annoying.

Karaoke in Japantown. 9:30PM.
After dinner and a brief jaunt to the Green Apple Bookstore down the street, we drove over to Japantown for a round of karaoke. It was just the three of us in the large room for twenty in the Korean restaurant and, apparently, karaoke house above the Denny's. Jeanne and I had some Heinekens, Karen ordered a bottle of soju, and we sang until we were bored, which can be hard to do.

Wednesday
Breakfast at the Hickory House. 9:30AM.
Our mom had packed 16 steamed meat buns for us--two for each of us (Jeanne, Karen, Scott, and me) for two days. I steamed some of them and we had tea.

J's Pots of Soul. 11:45AM.
I'd been passing J's Pots of Soul for more than a year now. Every time I walk back from the MUNI station to my house, there it is and always closed (it closes at 2:30 in the afternoon). So, I was determined to eat there. Jeanne, Karen, I drove over there (we had to move the car) and squeeze into one of the spots by a window. There was only one other man in the small restaurant. I ordered the salmon croquettes with beans and homefries. Jeanne ordered the meatloaf with cabbage and sweet potatoes. And, Karen ordered the pancakes with sausage, bacon, and eggs. Everything was incredible. That meatloaf rivalled Scott's, and I could have drank my bowl of beans in one gulp.

Snacks in the Car. 3:30PM.
We had planned to hike Muir Woods and stop at the Tourist Club for a cold drink. After a little bit of help with the directions, a little bit of driving around, a bit of huffing and puffing, and then a little bit of more help with directions, we found the Tourist Club. It was closed. Instead of cold beer in a Swiss-style chalet, we had water, almonds, and dried cranberries in a Toyota.

Swan's Oyster Depot. 5:00PM.
Our way back to the City landed us at Swan's Oyster Depot. Jeanne and I had bowls of clam chowder, while Karen had half a steamed crab.

Nick's Crispy Tacos. 5:45PM.
Still unsatisfied with our snack, we found more food up the street at Nick's Crispy Tacos. I had a carnitas taco "Nick's Way." Jeanne ordered chips with salsa and guacamole (both of which were delectably fresh-tasting), corn on a stick smothered with cheese (which smelled quite pungently of cheese--I had to scoot away), and a fried fish taco (oh, so good). Karen had a bowl of soup and a carne asada taco.

E & O Trading Company. 8:45PM.
I hadn't seen Quressa since before she left for New York, but she was back for the holidays and I met her for dinner at E & O Trading Company for dinner as Jeanne and Karen shopped. We shared the peanut chicken, the duck imperial rolls, the char siu style smoked black cod, and steamed Jasmine rice. All the dishes were delicious, but the cod was especially so. The meat was velvety smooth and the char siu sauce that stickily coated the fish fillet was sweet and salty without overpowering the flavor of the fish. I had a Thai basil martini too.

Olivia's Godparent's House. 10:30PM.
We had to make a stop at Olivia's godparent's house to drop off a box of fruit that our parent's sent with Karen and Jeanne. We looked at wedding photos and watched a video of the dinner banquet as we ate Asian pears and grapefruit.

Baking Cookies at the Hickory House. 11:45PM.
Jeanne wanted to bake cookies as a gift for Ross' parents. She made chocolate chip cookies with walnuts. Scott even got out of bed to have one at one in the morning. She wasn't done until almost two.

Thursday
Breakfast at the Hickory House. 10:30AM.
I steamed more meat buns and we had more tea.

Koi Palace. 1PM.
We were hoping to have dim sum as an early lunch, but as we were slow and as we had to wait an hour for a table for three in this 500-seat restaurant, we didn't eat until a little after one in the afternoon. For just the three of us, we managed to do pretty well: shrimp dumplings, steamed egg custard bun, soya tofu, egg custard tart, mushroom shiu mai, chicken claw in black bean sauce, bee's nest taro puff, shrimp stuffed eggplant, Shanghai dumplings, sticky rice in banana leaf, and something that looked like a Chinese version of a beignet.

More Baking. 5PM.
Thanks to a little inspiration from Michelle Tea, Jeanne and I made peanut butter cookies with Hershey kisses stuck in the middle. Needless to say, we ate peanut butter cookies for the next several days.

Little Star at Home. 6:30PM.
We had a stay-at-home dinner. We ordered chicken wings, a Little Star pizza, and a Classic from the Little Star on Divisadero (Jeanne and I figured out that my house is equidistant from both Little Stars--the one of Divisadero and the one in the Mission). We made a green salad too. Scott and Eleanor joined us for dinner as we sat on the rug in the living room with Red Stripes on the floor.

Grapefruit. 9PM.
I needed fruit. I ate a grapefruit as Karen and I watched Dear Frankie.

Friday
Breakfast at the Hickory House. 11AM.
I steamed more of my mom's buns (we still hadn't finished them) and a couple of leftover ones from Koi Palace. I made some tea and did math problems.

Bill's Place. 3:30PM.
After a trip to the De Young Museum, Karen craved a burger, so I took her to Bill's Place, where I had only been once before but loved. She had a burger topped with beets and onion rings with a side of coleslaw and fries. I had a cheese burger with avocado and bacon with a side onion rings. We split a vanilla milkshake. Simply put, it was good.

No Name Sushi Place. 9:30PM.
We headed over to the No Name Sushi Place on Church at 15th for a relatively light dinner. We had miso soup, pickled daikon, the rainbow roll, the rock 'n' roll, some sashimi, and the spicy yellowtail roll. As we sat at the counter, we watched the interactions between the workers there and realized that they weren't Japanese. On our way out, we learned that our server was a Cantonese-speaker and that the woman was from Shanghai. He was so apologetic for not knowing English and having to use other means to communicate with the mostly non-Asian diners. We told him that we enjoyed our food and wished them good business.

Chevy's no more

I've eaten too many meals at the Chevy's in the Embarcadero Center. Someone, please, please tell whoever manages that randomly-placed shopping center that they need dining options other than Chevy's and Tony Roma's.

This time, I was with Sara. We had a movie date. After picking up a bicycle on the side of the road under a freeway, we drove by the Metreon to see what was showing there and drove right on by, down Mission and toward the Bay.

After considering our options, we decided that Chevy's would be the better choice, mainly because we could get large margaritas. After trying to make sense of the overly large and ridiculously colorful plastic-y menu, I decided upon the chicken enchiladas with black beans and a jumbo-sized Classic Margarita.

I forgot how large their large margaritas are, so when that glass the size of my head was placed in front of me, all I could do was giggle, slide that sucker toward me, turn the straw to my mouth, and sip. It was cold and sweet, and I wished I had my dad's flask with me.

Our food came out quickly. My over-sized plate displayed two enchiladas flanked by a side of beans and a side of rice. I cut into the enchiladas with my fork and took a bite. The red sauce that topped my enchiladas tasted kinda weird and smokey but I kept eating anyhow, taking a sip of margarita after each bite. The beans were decent, as was the rice.

We ate quickly and drank slowly. We asked our server if the woman sitting in a booth across the aisle who looked as if she had passed out was okay. He told us, yeah, and that she was a regular. I was confused. We left and after my large margarita I felt just the slightest bit wobbly getting up.

Funky milk?

It's the eternal question: How many days after the "Sell By" date stamped on a carton of milk is it still okay to drink the contents?

I pushed the limits today at breakfast. The date on the carton of milk was December 14. Today was December 17. Three days. The milk didn't smell funny but as I poured it over my Heritage O's and started eating, I thought I tasted something funky, something not quite right about those Heritage O's floating in a pool of white. I convinced myself that it was my imagination, that I was overly concerned for a date that read "Sell By" and not "Eat By," and that, even if it the milk was on the verge of funky, I could stomach it. I kept spooning those O's into my mouth, being careful not to scoop up extra milk.

Japantown snacks

This week at work has been an office week. I've spent the past several days at our Japantown office catching up on paperwork, trying to write decent letters of recommendations for students I barely know, and making Excel spreadsheets. I'm starting to miss my students (even though a few visited me here). But, being in Japantown for office work has its perks, the best of which is that I can walk half a block to glorious Asian snacks!

I had some Pocky for Men--really, the best Pocky, as I've mentioned before. It came in new packaging. The green box now has a flip-top lid but the contents inside were just as good as before.

I purchased a bag of Hot Garlic Shrimp Chips. I was unaware of the fact that other flavors of shrimp chips existed. I thought it was just the one. But, when I wandered the small aisles of Ichiban, there was a slew of shrimp chips in different flavors. This hot galic one is kinda pungent in a questionably good way. I'll try the wasabi and seaweed ones next.

I ate an Asian version of the Drumstick ice cream as I walked in the rain. The ice cream part was vanilla-flavored and had the consistency of frozen yogurt that had been stuck in the freezer. The cone part wasn't lined with chocolate but it was still good.

And, Monday for lunch, my co-workers and I went to Sapporo-Ya for noodles. I had a bowl of the chasu ramen, which had quite a lot of pork in it (the menu described it as having "extra pork") although the pork was cold (I had to dunk it into the soup to warm up). The noodles were tasty (tender but chewy) but the soup was just a touch too salty. The pickled cabbage salad that came as a starter was too sour and too weird for me to really like it, although I ate it anyway. I noticed that they had okonomiyaki on the menu and might go back to try that. I'll be in the office again next week.

Sickness sustenance

I've been sick for the last several days and have spent most of those days eating the leftovers of what I believe constitute salubrious sustenance--vegetable soup and rice porridge.

The vegetable soup was simple enough to make. Get a whole bunch of root vegetables (carrots, anise, turnips, potatoes), throw them with some other veggies (celery, onions, leeks, and garlic), put them in a pot of water, and cook away. It seemed gross when I explained it to Scott but it was actually quite good and hearty and vegetarian friendly (I even invited Shari over to eat).

I made the rice porridge earlier that Saturday (for some reason I thought an almost liquid diet would be the way to go, at least for the sake of my sore throat). The porridge was my usual favorite of pork and preserved duck egg. Ever since Jeanne and Stevie taught me how to make it, I've made it whenever the craving hit. I used chicken stock as the base this time, threw in a hefty handful of ginger, and let the dried scallop soak long enough to not be chewy. I still haven't quite figures out the water to rice ratio, but it didn't matter. It was still satisfying enough for someone with a lack of much of an appetite to want to eat it.