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Bleach-a-Thon That Wasn't
Dec. 29th, 2012 07:53 amMason and I had big plans for Friday. They were going to involve a massive amount of Bleach watching in an attempt to do more catch up. (My Bleach knowledge is spotty. I've got some holes in it because we're watching the Anime so slowly, yet I went ahead and started reading the latest stuff in JUMP. So, I don't really know much about what happens after Aizen's defeat and before the Thousand Year Blood War arc, or whatever they're calling the current thing.) At any rate, we got to the end which was tremendously satisfying, and then Mason got really disheartened when it looked like we were faced with yet-another-deadly-never-ending filler arc from hell.
So, to cheer him up, we went in search of red bean paste at the Hmongtown Market:
Obviously this is a stock photo because everything would be covered in inches of snow right now. I love living in a big city just for things like th Hmongtown Market. When I park my car in the muddy/snowpacked lot looking out at the collection of metal warehouses, I like to imagine my blue Ford is actually a Tardis/police box and that when I step out, we've traveled thousands of miles to arrive in an entirely new world. Once we're inside, it's really not that hard to believe. The language changes. The customs change. The food is authentic... and awesome.
Mason, in fact, got the chicken wing combo from this restaurant and declared them, "The best chicken wings I have ever had" (and he's had quite a lot.) I've actually been craving sesame balls filled with bean paste. If I were a Bleach character, my answer to the favorite food question would be these:
OMG, teh LOVE. (Look! They're even making a HEART-SHAPE at me right now! Yes, Seasme Balls, I LOVE YOU TOO!!) At any rate, I know at least one Hmongtown vendor has them, so after getting Mason some bubble tea--a mango smoothy with "bubbles," I bought a double order. I am currently having a left-over one for breakfast. Yes, *that* is the depth of my love.
But, before we ate, we explored the tiny cramped stalls full of cosmetics, traidtional medicine ingredients, CDs, videos, and toys (saw some plushy Naruto and Pokemon dolls, Mason got a cheap ninja sword, but, alas, no Bleach gear. Not really a surprise, but there were a few Japanese animation videos there and a lot of Jackie Chan/Jet Let Golden Harvest/Hong Kong stuff.) I admired the rows and rows of traditional Hmong clothes, and marveled at the array of shoes IN MY SIZE--if I was the type for glittery high heels, Hmongtown Marketplace would be my source! We checked out the farmers market, which in this season meant they mostly had imports on offer--things like Chinese brocolli, leechies, bamboo, lemon grass, and fruits and veggies I had no idea what they were.
Mason was a little thrown until we got food. I think, perhaps, it was culture shock. I know what that's like. Hmongtown never gives it to me, even when I'm negotiating the price of the ninja sword with a woman with whom I don't share a common language beyond pointing and gestures, BUT, for some odd reason, whenever Shawn gets a craving for El Burrito Mercado on the East Side, I'm overcome by it. It's a weird feeling. It's probably some kind of internalized racism, but I feel very much like an invader on what I see as SOMEONE ELSE'S turf. I suddenly realize, "OMG. I'm white and no one else is!!" (The horror.) But, thankfully, I've gotten over it. Partly thanks to just going there a lot (because life without Burrito Mercado is hardly worth living), but also because of Facebook. I'm friends with El Burrito Mercado on Facebook and I've been utterly charmed by the fact that they woe me to their shop in English and Spanish and that they want me to come and experience dining in their cafe while being serenaded by a mariachi band (how awesome is THAT??) So, whenever I get that culture shock twinge and start to wonder if I'm really allowed/welcome, I can say to myself, "Hey, they INVITED me here. It's okay." It's odd that I don't get it at Hmongtown, nor really in the Samoli neighborhoods. Maybe I feel more privileged to experience Hmong culture for some reason, though I did grow up in a town with a lot of Hmong-Americans/new immigrants. Perhaps I worked through whatever predjudices that might have been lurking in my hindbrain throughout high school.
This is how it works, anyway. One experience at a time. I know that during the 80s and 90s, I was the ONLY out lesbian a lot of people knew personally, and that helped changed people's minds, started to break down the stuff you don't know you have until you face it. Those folks I met at work and whatnot got a chance to get over _their_ culture shock slowly when I made them feel welcome by inviting them to peek into my world just a little.
I'm glad we stayed for food because not only did I get my bean paste, but Mason also got to feel a little uncomfortable for a while. Like I say, it's one of my favorite things of living in a big city--I love to be able to step outside my own neighborhood and walk into someone else's world for a while. It's marvelous.
So, to cheer him up, we went in search of red bean paste at the Hmongtown Market:
Obviously this is a stock photo because everything would be covered in inches of snow right now. I love living in a big city just for things like th Hmongtown Market. When I park my car in the muddy/snowpacked lot looking out at the collection of metal warehouses, I like to imagine my blue Ford is actually a Tardis/police box and that when I step out, we've traveled thousands of miles to arrive in an entirely new world. Once we're inside, it's really not that hard to believe. The language changes. The customs change. The food is authentic... and awesome.
Mason, in fact, got the chicken wing combo from this restaurant and declared them, "The best chicken wings I have ever had" (and he's had quite a lot.) I've actually been craving sesame balls filled with bean paste. If I were a Bleach character, my answer to the favorite food question would be these:
OMG, teh LOVE. (Look! They're even making a HEART-SHAPE at me right now! Yes, Seasme Balls, I LOVE YOU TOO!!) At any rate, I know at least one Hmongtown vendor has them, so after getting Mason some bubble tea--a mango smoothy with "bubbles," I bought a double order. I am currently having a left-over one for breakfast. Yes, *that* is the depth of my love.
But, before we ate, we explored the tiny cramped stalls full of cosmetics, traidtional medicine ingredients, CDs, videos, and toys (saw some plushy Naruto and Pokemon dolls, Mason got a cheap ninja sword, but, alas, no Bleach gear. Not really a surprise, but there were a few Japanese animation videos there and a lot of Jackie Chan/Jet Let Golden Harvest/Hong Kong stuff.) I admired the rows and rows of traditional Hmong clothes, and marveled at the array of shoes IN MY SIZE--if I was the type for glittery high heels, Hmongtown Marketplace would be my source! We checked out the farmers market, which in this season meant they mostly had imports on offer--things like Chinese brocolli, leechies, bamboo, lemon grass, and fruits and veggies I had no idea what they were.
Mason was a little thrown until we got food. I think, perhaps, it was culture shock. I know what that's like. Hmongtown never gives it to me, even when I'm negotiating the price of the ninja sword with a woman with whom I don't share a common language beyond pointing and gestures, BUT, for some odd reason, whenever Shawn gets a craving for El Burrito Mercado on the East Side, I'm overcome by it. It's a weird feeling. It's probably some kind of internalized racism, but I feel very much like an invader on what I see as SOMEONE ELSE'S turf. I suddenly realize, "OMG. I'm white and no one else is!!" (The horror.) But, thankfully, I've gotten over it. Partly thanks to just going there a lot (because life without Burrito Mercado is hardly worth living), but also because of Facebook. I'm friends with El Burrito Mercado on Facebook and I've been utterly charmed by the fact that they woe me to their shop in English and Spanish and that they want me to come and experience dining in their cafe while being serenaded by a mariachi band (how awesome is THAT??) So, whenever I get that culture shock twinge and start to wonder if I'm really allowed/welcome, I can say to myself, "Hey, they INVITED me here. It's okay." It's odd that I don't get it at Hmongtown, nor really in the Samoli neighborhoods. Maybe I feel more privileged to experience Hmong culture for some reason, though I did grow up in a town with a lot of Hmong-Americans/new immigrants. Perhaps I worked through whatever predjudices that might have been lurking in my hindbrain throughout high school.
This is how it works, anyway. One experience at a time. I know that during the 80s and 90s, I was the ONLY out lesbian a lot of people knew personally, and that helped changed people's minds, started to break down the stuff you don't know you have until you face it. Those folks I met at work and whatnot got a chance to get over _their_ culture shock slowly when I made them feel welcome by inviting them to peek into my world just a little.
I'm glad we stayed for food because not only did I get my bean paste, but Mason also got to feel a little uncomfortable for a while. Like I say, it's one of my favorite things of living in a big city--I love to be able to step outside my own neighborhood and walk into someone else's world for a while. It's marvelous.
