Category: The Mundane

Maine

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Anthony and I were still in Ogunquit when we decided to book another trip to Maine just eleven days later — one last hurrah before summer ended. Of course, this was an excuse to return to Ogunquit and stay in the same B&B, but we also decided to finally visit the stunning Acadia National Park and foodie city Portland. While these two destinations are roughly three hours apart, visiting both on the same trip felt like a perfect balance. Here are my recommendations:

Stay

Because our trip was so last-minute, we only had a few options when it came to places to stay. Since we had just two days for Acadia National Park, we decided to stay in Bar Harbor, where the park’s main entrance is. If you have more time, I’d suggest staying in one of the charming villages in the southern part of Mount Desert Island. I would not recommend our B&B in Bar Harbor; nothing was terrible about it, but the dainty, dated inn did not meet my usual standard. However, I would highly recommend the chic Airbnb I found for our one night in Portland. This historic three-story home was built by a famous architect, and, more importantly, it’s just a few blocks from Tandem Coffee Roasters. Our room was spacious and stylish, and check-in was completely contact-free, which I haven’t encountered since our Airbnb in Berlin four years ago. Our Airbnb was in the West End, but if we return to Portland I might want to stay in Old Port, since most of the best restaurants seem to be there.

Do

Acadia National Park was obviously the highlight of the trip. The park covers almost the entire Mount Desert Island, the largest island off the coast of Maine. It’s been a while since I’d been to a national park, and I had forgotten how magnificent they are. We only had two days, and while you could easily spend a week or more there, you can also get quite a bit done in just two days. A friend generously let us borrow her park pass, so we didn’t have to pay for the $30 entrance fee. The first thing we did was drive up to Cadillac Mountain. I’m still amused that you can just drive to the top. What a view! Even though there were a lot of people, there’s so much space to freely wander and enjoy unobstructed views of the island. We even saw one guy sitting by himself, reading a book, and ignoring all the tourists gawking around him — goals!

After taking in enough views, we continued our drive. We learned quickly that any time you see a parking spot, take it. There are enough sites everywhere that any place you park will have something interesting to see. Keep stopping as often as you can because there are so many hidden treasures. Meanwhile, parking during peak tourist season is scarce, so take what you can get. We found a spot near Jordan Pond, a hypnotically clear lake with steep inclines on both sides. We didn’t have time to do any of the nearby hikes but did take a lifetime’s supply of photos.

Our only hike in Acadia was Beehive Trail, a short but infamously steep hike. I’ve hiked Breakneck Ridge a few times without any struggle, so I was feeling pretty cocky — until about halfway up Beehive. While most of the steep parts had ladder rungs that made climbing up pretty simple (especially since I’m flexible and, despite my short height, can crawl up like a gecko), one section had no rungs, so I was literally gripping nooks and crannies in the rocks to keep from falling from the completely vertical cliff. Something I always forget until it’s too late is that I have slight acrophobia. It’s the reason I can’t rock climb, even just two feet off the ground, and the reason I will never be able to do a handstand despite being able to do nearly everything else in yoga. For almost a full minute, I was frozen in my tracks, scared stiff. Fortunately, Anthony came up and climbed right behind me, making sure I wouldn’t fall backward as I continued up. When we got to a flatter section, fellow hikers who had been watching congratulated and informed us that we had taken the harder route. Apparently we could have avoided that terrifying part if we had just taken a more roundabout path. Darnit! That’s what I get for being cocky and rushing up without scanning all options first. Regardless, it was a (mostly) fun climb and the view was as gorgeous as expected.

In Portland, we didn’t do much besides eat, but one activity that we really loved was watching the sunrise from Portland Head Light. About a 20-minute drive from our Airbnb, this iconic lighthouse has lots of parking and a perfect view of the sunrise. We were amused by the row of professional photographers who got there before us.

Eat

Honestly, we had a pretty mediocre food experience in Bar Harbor, mainly because we had so little time. I was given many recommendations from friends but couldn’t try any of them because some restaurants were closed the day we were there, or I hadn’t booked necessary reservations. However, this was all off-set by the incredible food we ate nonstop in Portland. I would return to Portland just to eat. In fact, I would return to Portland just to eat at one specific restaurant: Eventide Oyster Company. This was the one place that everyone kept recommending, and I see why! On our first night in Portland, we went to Eventide around 5pm to put our name on the waitlist. What a joke. We were quoted a 7-hour wait time. Seven hours?! I’m from NYC and have never been quoted that long. So, the next morning, we went an hour and a half before they even opened at noon. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it was worth it! We made friends in line (with some folks from New York and New Jersey, unsurprisingly) and played card games on a nearby bench. We were seated as soon as they opened! This is how to do it. Forget dinnertime (unless you put your name down around 4pm and don’t mind waiting for their call much later that night). We had some of the best oysters I’ve ever had. Until now, I’ve only respected oysters from Galway. But this meal changed my life. In fact, as soon as we finished our first dozen oysters, I immediately ordered another half-dozen of my favorite, Johns River. Everything we ate at Eventide was phenomenal, from the fried oyster roll to the bloody mary cava cocktail to the oatmeal cookie pie. I still dream about this meal every few days, and if we ever return to Portland, I will be eating here every single lunch.

The second best place we tried, and another spot I would be eating at nonstop if we return to Portland, is Tandem Coffee Roasters. This former gas station and laundromat makes some of the best pastries I’ve had in a while, from a breakfast sandwich with chorizo and smoked paprika mayo on a homemade buttermilk biscuit, to a brown butter cinnamon bun with orange glaze. We ate our pastries on the bench outside for breakfast one morning, watching the line for Tandem grow and grow down the block.

  • Brown butter cinnamon bun w/ orange glaze
  • Chorizo breakfast sandwich
  • Everything scone w/ cream cheese filling

Per everyone’s recommendation, we went to Holy Donut for potato donuts. This place, as all good spots in Portland, also had a long line going down the block, but we were able to avoid it by pre-ordering our donuts online. They have some interesting flavors, such as toasted coconut and sweet potato ginger.

Emilia-Romagna

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I didn’t want to spend my 30th birthday in the U.S., so we booked a last-minute flight to Milan and planned out a brief trip to Emilia-Romagna. While it would be my sixth time in Italy (it is my favorite country, after all!), it was my very first time in this region, the culinary capital of the country.

After an hour train ride from Milan, we arrived in Bologna on a dreary morning and checked into our Airbnb. There was a free walking tour starting in ten minutes, so we scurried to the starting point at Torre degli Asinelli, the iconic twin towers of Bologna. Bologna used to have hundreds of these towers, but only two remain, and one of them is comically crooked — Bologna’s own Leaning Tower! Our tour led us to the University of Bologna, the oldest university in continuous operation, and Basilica di San Petronio, a church that is only half covered in marble. Apparently the Pope had gotten jealous of the size of this church, so he ordered marble suppliers in Carrera to stop the shipment of marble to Bologna and it was never completely finished. As we wandered around town, we noticed how many porticoes there were. Bologna is a city of porticoes; there’s actually a law for each block to have them. Porticoes make so much sense, especially in the rain or snow, and they make the entire city pedestrian-friendly.

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Torre degli Asinelli – look how far that right one leans!
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The oldest university in continuous operation
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Basilica di San Petronio – half marble
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Low-key canal
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City of porticoes
On our first night, we took a cooking class in the snug apartment of a former chef named Dennis, who hosted us and another couple. We learned how to make five different pastas (tagliatelle, ravioli, tortellini, garganelli, and agnolotti) and five fillings (various mixtures of ingredients such as Ricotta, spinach, potatoes, bergamot oil, truffle oil, and Parmigiano-Reggiano), and then tossed our pasta creations with a simple butter and sage sauce. For some reason, I’m awful at rolling garganelli noodles (it kept getting stuck!) but can make a pretty good tagliatelle, which I loved magically unraveling off my knife before hanging on the drying rack. As we drank Chianti and snacked on Grana Padano, Parmigiano-Reggiano, and Ricotta, Dennis let us design our own fillings using his enviable collection of bottled oils.

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My first time using a pasta maker!
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So many oil options for our pasta stuffings
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Drying our tagliatelle
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A mixture of tortellini and ravioli, topped with a butter and sage sauce
Tagliatelle al ragù and tortellini in brodo are two of the most iconic Bolognese dishes. According to legend, Tagliatelle was created by a chef in love with a noblewoman named Lucrezia Borgia, and the noodles represent her long blonde hair. These flat, thick, ribbon-like noodles are best served with a rich sauce like ragù (also called “bolognese”). Such a thick sauce should always be served with a thick noodle that can handle it, which is why anytime you see “spaghetti bolognese” on a menu, you should run away from that restaurant immediately. Meanwhile, tortellini is a cute little stuffed pasta that represents the navel of Venus and is best served “in brodo” (in a chicken on vegetable broth).

One of my favorite things we did in Bologna was walk the longest portico in the world, which runs from the edge of town up to the Basilica di San Luca, a church sitting up on rolling hills above Bologna. The pilgrimage is a steady uphill walk through ornate covered porticoes – 666 of them in all! – stretching 4 kilometers. This walkway was built in 1674 as a way to protect the Madonna di San Luca as she was carried on her yearly visit into town. Many Bologna residents use this as a walking path or exercise run, and we enjoyed seeing so many locals out and about on a Sunday morning.

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This gate marks the beginning of the portico
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If you look closely, you can see a monk is also on our pilgrimage!
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Gorgeous views of the countryside
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One of the 666 arches
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The end!
After our walk, we caught a 51-minute train ride to Parma, an elegant, compact city that’s also part of Emilia-Romagna. It’s famous for Parmigiano-Reggiano and Prosciutto di Parma, being the home of Barilla (the world’s biggest pasta maker), and was the first city in Italy to be named “Creative City for Gastronomy” by UNESCO. Besides food, it’s also known for its artists, such as opera composer Giuseppi Verdi, Renaissance painter Correggio, and conductor Arturo Toscanini, and is the headquarters of Ferrari, Maserati, and Lamborghini. Yup, good food, opera, and fancy cars. You can sense the affluence as soon as you set foot here.

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Civilized Parma
It was raining hard when we arrived in Parma (too bad Parma’s sidewalks aren’t covered by porticoes like in Bologna!), so we didn’t get to explore as comfortably as we would have liked, but we did get to see the stunning Correggio dome in the Parma cathedral. The fresco of the assumption of Mary is bursting with color even today.

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Look at that ceiling!
For lunch, we couldn’t get into the first two restaurants I wanted to try, so we settled for a nondescript cafe called Cardinal Bar, which turned out to be an outstanding meal. When a city is this competent at food, you don’t even have to try finding a specific restaurant; you can stumble into anywhere and have the best Prosciutto and tortelli (large tortellini) of your life.

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Eating Prosciutto di Parma in Parma!
Back in Bologna, we had dinner at Osteria del Cappello, a traditional restaurant that’s been around since 1375. We tried more Bolognese specialties, such as Tortellini in Brodo, Gramigna alla Salsiccia (short, squiggly hollow pasta noodles with sausage and tomatoes), Squacquerone (a soft, creamy cheese), Tigelle (a flatbread baked in a round electric griddle), Gnocco Fritto (a puffy fried bread), and Mortadella (what Americans call “baloney” but is on a completely different level from what you can get in the U.S.).

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Best charcuterie board I’ve ever had
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Wearing tortellini earrings while eating tortellini
On my actual birthday — the only sunny day of our trip — we woke up early for a ten-hour food tour with Italian Days. This tour was one of the best experiences of my life. It’s up there with riding a camel through the Sahara Desert, waking up in Positano, eating a private meal at our ryokan in Kyoto, and riding on the back of a pickup truck through Wadi Rum.

We were promptly picked up from our Airbnb and driven for about 40 minutes to the tranquil countryside of Modena. Our first stop was a Parmigiano-Reggiano factory, at which we were greeted with espresso and given disposable robes, hair caps, and shoe covers to wear for sanitation purposes. We watched the painstaking process of making official Parmigiano-Reggiano and learned the vast differences between Parmesan and Parmigiano-Reggiano D.O.P., which must be aged for at least 12 months and will have the official Parmigiano-Reggiano branding on its rind if it passes inspection. Inspectors come to the factories and tap different sections of the cheese wheel, listening for any flaws. If a Parmigiano-Reggiano doesn’t pass inspection, it is stripped of its rind and sold as grated “Parmesan” — no longer deemed worthy of the name Parmigiano-Reggiano.

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The cheese on the right is perfect, which is why it has the stamp of approval. The bottom left cheese, however, had mold, which was sliced out; soon it will be grated and sold as “parmesan”
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Cheese!
From there, we were driven just down the road to Antica Acetaia Cavedoni, where the Cavedoni family has been producing balsamic vinegar since 1860. This was probably the most fascinating part of our entire tour. Only 150 families are allowed to produce real balsamic vinegar (aceto balsamico tradizionale di Modena D.O.P.), and they all live in this region. Each bottle is made from a set of barrels designated for a specific family member as soon as he or she is born, which is why the barrels were traditionally used as a dowry. Bottles made from these barrels are only sold to the public when that specific family member has passed away. I had no idea balsamic vinegar was so personal!

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Barrels that survived World War II
The highest quality of balsamic vinegar is D.O.P., which is made of only cooked grape must and aged for at least 12 years. To produce one bottle, 10,000 kilos of Trebbiano grapes are used. Families must send their balsamic vinegar to a consortium and pay €200 for inspection. If it passes, they must pay another fee for the bottle, since D.O.P. balsamic vinegar is only allowed to be in a specific type of bottle, and another fee for the special label (a red label for 12-14 years of aging, a gold label for over 15 years of aging). After all those fees, families must pay a 54% tax on any sales. Clearly, this is a passion, not for profit.

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This is the only type of bottle real balsamic vinegar is allowed to be in
After our balsamic vinegar tour, we sat around a cozy table, eager to finally try some food. We started with Lambrusco and Parmigiano-Reggiano, continued to Prosciutto and Mortadella, and finally ended with balsamic vinegar. D.O.P. balsamic vinegar is undeniably sweeter, thicker, and less sour and acidic than the balsamic vinegar most of us are used to, which is a blend of wine vinegar, cooked grape must, and usually caramels and preservatives to fake the fact that the vinegar hasn’t been aged anywhere near long enough. I.G.P. is another type of balsamic vinegar produced in this region, identifiable by its blue/yellow label. It may have more than just two ingredients and can age for a minimum of only 2 months, but the good ones are only cooked grape must and wine vinegar, and aged for at least five years. Condimento falls somewhere between D.O.P. and I.G.P., using the methods of D.O.P. but the ingredients of I.G.P. Anthony and I ended up purchasing a 3-ounce bottle of 15-year-old D.O.P. for $68 and a 3-ounce bottle of condimento for $38 — a bargain after learning about this industry, and after comparing the prices we’d be paying in the U.S.

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Drizzling some over ricotta
Our third stop was a Prosciutto factory hidden in what looked like a normal three-story house. Prosciutto di Parma can only be produced from the hind legs of specially selected heritage breed pigs raised in 11 regions of Italy according to the highest standards, on which they are monitored, inspected, and approved by a consortium. The hind leg is cleaned, salted with only Italian sea salt, and cured for about two months. During this time, it’s massaged carefully to drain all the blood left in the meat. Next, it is washed and hung in a dark, well-ventilated environment. The surrounding air is important to the final quality of the Prosciutto. When ready, an inspector comes in and uses a horse bone to poke into the hind leg at various points and sniff it for quality. Only after the Prosciutto passes can this smell test can it have the D.O.P. stamp. We sampled some Prosciutto di Parma with a glass of Lambrusco, and it was easily the best Prosciutto of my life.

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Looks like a normal house…
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… but it’s really a prosciutto factory!
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If it doesn’t have that Parma stamp, it’s not Prosciutto di Parma
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So different from that Prosciutto you find in America
Our final stop on the tour was an agriturismo up on the hills overlooking the Emilia-Romagna countryside. Agriturismi (“farm stays”) are popular in Italy. A nonna prepared our seven-course meal of pasta, veal, meatballs, chicken, zucchini, potatoes, and unlimited wine. Since we had been spending the past seven hours together, our tour group felt like old friends by this time. In fact, when our tour guide was asked why she wasn’t counting any of the Euros we handed over to pay for the tour, she told us, “If you want to pay me less than you owe, I have failed on my part.” With our bellies and hearts full, Anthony and I were dropped off at the Bologna train station, reluctant to head to Milan. Arrivederci, Emilia-Romagna!

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View from our agriturismo
Tips for future travelers:

If you only have a short time in Emilia-Romagna without a car, stay in Bologna. It’s the largest city in this region and is easily connected to the other towns by train.

In Bologna, hike the Portico di San Luca (the longest portico in the world) and climb the Torre degli Asinelli (the twin towers of Bologna). Both offer great views and a way to work off all the pasta you’ve been eating.

Eat: Tortellini in Brodo, Tagliatelle al Ragù, green lasagna, Mortadella, Gramigna alla Salsiccia, Prosciutto di Parma, Parmigiano-Reggiano, gnocco fritto, balsamic vinegar, tigelle, and gelato (while gelato wasn’t invented in Emilia-Romagna, the best gelato of my life was at a gelateria in Bologna called OGGI)

Drink: Lambrusco, Pignoletto (Emilia-Romagna’s Prosecco)

If there’s only one thing you get from this entire post, it’s that you should take the Food & Wine Tour with Italian Days. It is hands down the best food tour I have ever been on — and we’ve gone on food tours everywhere (Rome, Cairo, Sevilla, Mexico City, Palermo…). It’s €150 per person, starts at 7 am and ends around 5:30 pm. There were ten of us in total, and we rode in two comfortable Mercedes vans between each site. Our tour guide Arianna was spectacular. I wish she could narrate my life! She had an infectious energy throughout the entire day, and taught us so many things we never would have learned on our own. The tour changed the way I eat food, appreciate Italy, and view the world.

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Since it was my birthday, our tour guide let me saber a bottle of Lambrusco. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate my 30th birthday!

Hawaii

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Since everyone keeps asking me for Hawaii recommendations…

Food:

Some Hawaiian classics include kalua pig (shredded pork rubbed with sea salt and slow-cooked in an underground pit), lau lau (meat steamed inside taro leaves), and lomi-lomi salmon (fresh tomato and salmon salad, with Maui onions).

The poke trend is finally slowing down in New York, but that’s only because it was never real poke. Poke was invented in Hawaii and is completely different from the glorified salad found at fast-casual poke shops on the mainland. The raw fish (usually tuna, octopus, or salmon) should be marinating in sauce (usually soy sauce, salt, green onions, and seaweed) all day and served in a plastic tub, sold by weight. The most satisfying day you can possibly have in Hawaii is going to Foodland, ordering a tub of poke from the fish counter, and eating it on the beach on a hot day.

Malasadas are originally from Portugal, but when Portuguese immigrants came to Hawaii in the 1870s to work on plantations, they brought these fried balls of dough covered in sugar, and they became an integral part of Hawaiian cuisine. Pipeline Bakeshop is the best place for them.

Shave ice is smoother than the shaved ice you find on the mainland. Waiola is my favorite. You can also add ice cream, azuki beans, and other toppings.

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Honolulu has the best Japanese food outside of Japan, so obviously there are too many Japanese restaurants to list, but here are some of my favorites. For sushi, go to Mitch’s Sushi (Obama’s favorite!), Kin Chan, or Imanas Tei. For onigiri (triangular musubis), head over to Mana Bu’s early and bring a few to the beach. Try Izakaya Gazen for tofu, Marukami Udon for udon, Inaba for tempura and soba, and Nisshodo Candy Store for some of the best chi chi dango mochi of your life.

Brunch: Plumeria Beach House at the Kahala Hotel (get the breakfast buffet)

Dim sum: Jade Dynasty (try the snow mountain buns — they’re just like the ones from Tim Ho Wan, but don’t make a fuss about them)

Korean BBQ: Yakiniku Don-Day (sit in the outside section)

Special occasions: Alan Wong or Senia

Ice cream: Bubbies — best mochi ice cream you’ll ever have!

Coffee: Island Vintage

Cookies: The Cookie Corner (so much better than Levain!)

Late-night dinner: Zippy’s (get a ZipPac at any of the locations around the island, like a local)

Coco puffs: Liliha Bakery is a diner, but everyone comes for the Coco Puffs, made of choux pastry, chocolate pudding, and chantilly with sugar.

Beaches:

North Shore: Where all the famous surfing competitions take place. The North Shore all the way on the other side of the island, so make a day out of it — explore the touristy but charming town of Haleʻiwa, pick up a sandwich at Storto’s and eat it on the beach, and stop by Matsumoto for shave ice after.

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Sandy’s: Obama’s favorite beach! If you’re not a strong swimmer, it can be pretty dangerous out here, but of course that’s why people take pride in it.

Makapu’u: Named after the Makapu’u lighthouse on the cliff beside it, this beach is right next to Sandy’s

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View of Makapu’u Beach below

Lanikai: Best beach for photos! The sand is super soft, the waters are calm, and the two islands out in the ocean were just made for the ‘gram.

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Hanauma Bay: This is one of the most touristy beaches in Hawaii (you have to pay and watch a safety video before entering), but there’s a reason why — it’s a protected marine life conservation area, so you can actually snorkel with fish. It’s also gorgeous.

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Hikes:

Maunawili Falls: This is a very lush trail, so make sure to wear bug spray, waterproof clothes, and shoes with traction. At the end of the hike is a waterfall, so you can reward yourself  by taking a swim and jumping off cliffs if you’re feeling brave. Bring a change of clothes (or water bottle to wash yourself off) before you return to your car; you will get muddy!

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Koko Head: This is basically a Stairmaster, but the views of Honolulu are worth it the steep staircase.

Diamond Head: Yes, this is extremely touristy and you actually have to pay to enter, but come before sunrise and you’ll understand why.

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Mariner’s Ridge: I forget if this one is still “officially” closed, but you know what? Just hike it. The views of both Honolulu and the Windward Side are worth it. This is a fairly easy hike.

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Other activities:

Ala Moana: As someone who hates malls, I love Ala Moana. It’s the largest open-air mall in the world, and, while it does have chains, it also has some specialty shops and restaurants that you can only find in Hawaii, and sometimes there are cultural events and performances that occur here.

Hotel hopping in Waikiki: One of my favorite pastimes. I always make sure to stop by the Moana Surfrider (the oldest hotel in Hawaii), Royal Hawaiian (the pink hotel), and Halekulani (probably the classiest hotel in Waikiki).

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ʻIolani Palace: Did you know that Hawaii was once a kingdom? We actually have a fascinating history (I’m surprised movies aren’t constantly made about it), and Hawaii is still the only place in the country with a royal palace. You can tour ʻIolani Palace and understand why many Hawaiians still want sovereignty.

Skydiving: Honestly, skydiving anywhere else seems like a waste. It’s hard to top the views of the coastline.

Sea Life Park: It’s like a toned-down Sea World.

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Drive along the eastern coast for some of the most stunning views of your life. Just be careful!

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Christmas in the Most Cliché City in the World

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Christmas in New York reeks of the worst clichés — huddled masses standing around Rockefeller Center to watch the tree lighting, frantic shoppers inside the gaudily-decorated Macy’s on 34th Street, and drunk 21-year-olds dressed up as Santa Claus puking on sidewalks — but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it, too. As a lover of the holiday season but abstainer of mingling with tourists from Nebraska et al., here are my tips on how to inundate yourself with all things Christmas while still maintaining your dignity.

Ice skating: After trying almost every ice rink in the city, the only two that seem worthwhile are Prospect Park and Central Park. Prospect Park’s rink (Lakeside at LeFrak Center) is huge. There are two outdoor rinks — one covered, one exposed — that are connected, and the nearby cafe actually serves decent food. Central Park’s rink (Wollman Rink) is more expensive and typically more crowded, but the views of the skyline while you ice skate make up for it. Unsurprisingly, the worst rinks are at Rockefeller Center and Bryant Park due to their pathetic size, nerve-racking ratio of tourists, and strict no-photo policy — avoid them at all costs.

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Holiday markets: Originating in Europe, holiday markets seem made for consumerist Americans, so it’s no surprise that New York now has a bunch of them scattered throughout the city. The one at Union Square is where I always end up buying Christmas gifts, as many items are quite interesting and locally made. Also check out the Brooklyn Flea and the Holiday Shops at Bryant Park, and don’t worry about shopping on an empty stomach because each market has an obligatory food section.

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The Nutcracker: If you’re like me and must watch (or participate in) The Nutcracker every December, New York has some great options. Of course, you should watch New York City Ballet’s version at Lincoln Center at least once, just because the theater itself is so magical, but there are other (and often cheaper) alternatives. In fact, I’m somewhat intrigued by a show called Nutcracker Rouge  — “a blend of burlesque and baroque, in which Cherries strip down to pasties and the Arabian dance takes place on a pole, and not the kind found in the North.” This year will be my first time watching Moscow Ballet‘s production at King’s Theater, the newly-restored theater in my own neighborhood. If you’re feeling cheap, there’s always the free Nutcracker performance at Brookfield Place. The New York Times has a handy article on finding which Nutcracker production is right for you.

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Afternoon tea: While not necessarily a Christmas tradition, I’ve always thought of December as the perfect time for a cozy afternoon tea. My favorite so far has been at the Mandarin Oriental because the food is tinged with Asian flavors, and the views are some of the best in the city. This year I’ll be trying the afternoon tea at Crosby Street Hotel.

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Christmas tree: Tabletop trees are a godsend. They’re convenient enough for lazy Millennials like myself, tiny enough to fit into our New York apartments, and are just the right size to hang what few ornaments a recent transplant might actually own without looking sparse. Most neighborhoods have tree vendors on the sidewalks throughout the month, and for about twenty bucks, you can carry a bit of holiday spirit back to your home. We usually place ours on a table in the corner, have fun decorating it that night, water it once, and never think about it again until, like, March (seriously, it’s scary how long-lasting the trees we’ve bought in New York are!). We have a tradition of buying one new ornament a year, and it’s exciting to see our progression of ornaments each Christmas.

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Baking classes: One of my favorite things about Christmas is the excuse to bake too many gingerbread cookies. But what if you don’t have the necessary appliances, enough space, or even the will to bake on your own? Sign up for one of the many baking classes in New York! I highly recommend Mille-feuille for their intimate macaron, croissant, and éclair classes. You’ll make so many goodies that you’ll share half of them with your coworkers and still have too many for your own good. This year I’ve signed up for Meyers Bageri‘s kanelsnurrer (cinnamon bun) class — perfect for my upcoming Copenhagen trip! Also check out Baked, Breads Bakery, Milk Bar, Butter Lane, and Magnolia Bakery.

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Skip the Rockefeller tree: This is no shock to anyone, but Rockefeller Center during Christmas is grossly overrated. The tree is always lopsided, the ice rink is dangerously small, and the crowds are like Target on Black Friday. What can you do instead? Visit the tree at Washington Square Park. Watch the glowing musical stars inside the shops at Columbus Circle. Head uptown to Winters Eve for food, entertainment, and ice sculptures. Or gawk at the elaborate light displays at Brookfield Place.
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Noodle soups: New York is teeming with a wonderful selection of Asian noodle soups. Some of my recommendations include Ippudo (ramen), TsuruTonTan (udon), Sobaya (soba), Mew Men (ramen), Hao Noodle & Tea (upscale Chinese), Mr. Taka Ramen (ramen), Lam Zhou Handmade Noodle (cheap Chinese), and Nakamura (ramen). There is no other food that makes my stomach happier during this season.
Staycation: I love staycations. As a child, whenever my parents felt like escaping the city of Honolulu, we would drive an hour to the other side of the island to spend random weekends at Turtle Bay Resort on the North Shore. There are so many reasons to take a staycation in New York. Maybe you want to stay out late in a specific neighborhood without having to take the subway home late at night. Maybe you’ve been curious about one of the hundreds of hotels in this city. Or maybe you just want a change of scenery. In the winter, especially, you may be sick of hearing your heater clanging all night. Or maybe your heater isn’t even on (if so, file a complaint to 311!). New York has so many fantastic hotels, it seems a shame to only let tourists use them. I took my first staycation last month, at the Ludlow Hotel, and it was such a lovely experience. I was able to stay out late on the Lower East Side and not have to take the 40-minute train ride back home in my heels. And the next morning, I was also able to hang out at one of my favorite coffee shops before the crowds arrived, since my hotel was right next door. For some advice on how to choose a hotel, read my tips here. If you don’t mind spontaneity, One Night is a new app that gives users access to low rates at New York’s hottest hotels (e.g., Ace Hotel, The Standard, Sixty Soho), starting at 3pm every day. The app also works in Los Angeles.
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Hot chocolate: My favorite hot chocolate happens to be from an Italian gelato chain called Grom because they make their hot chocolate by melting dark chocolate gelato and topping it off with thick, homemade whipped cream. There are three Groms in New York, but the largest one is in the West Village. Dominique Ansel, always playful and shamelessly Instagrammable, offers a Blossoming Hot Chocolate in which a marshmallow resembling a closed flower bud is placed in a cup of hot chocolate. Once it hits the hot liquid, the white chocolate cup encasing the marshmallow melts away, causing the marshmallow to expand and blossom into a beautiful marshmallow flower. Jacques Torres and City Bakery also have decadent hot chocolates (pay extra for City Bakery’s huge marshmallow!), and for those of you who don’t like hot chocolate, Chalait is a great place for matcha.

Miscellaneous events: If you still need more Christmas in your life, check out EventBrite and The Skint to browse random holiday-themed events around the city. Housing Works, one of my favorite used bookstores, hosts a quirky event in which dozens of writers and performers participate in a reading of “A Christmas Carol”. If you’re too intimidated to trek all the way to Dyker Heights to see the most famous, over-the-top Christmas decorations in Brooklyn, FreeWalkers offers guided tours. Lots of hotels and bars host ugly sweater parties, if that’s your thing. And Food52, my favorite online blog for foodies, opens a pop-up holiday market in Flatiron each December where you can shop for sophisticated kitchen accessories and watch cooking demos.

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Museums: Winter is an ideal time to go to museums — the sun isn’t beckoning you outside, and museums are a cheap place to spend hours in the warmth. The Met (pay-as-you-like), Natural History (pay-as-you-like), and MoMA (free on Friday nights) are obvious choices, but also check out the Whitney (pay-as-you-like on Friday nights), Brooklyn Museum (free on Saturday nights), Cooper Hewitt (pay-as-you-like on Saturday nights), the Museum of the City of New York (pay-as-you-like), the Rubin Museum (free on Friday nights), New Museum (pay-as-you-wish on Thursday nights), the New York Historical Society (pay-as-you-wish on Friday nights), Studio Museum in Harlem (free on Sundays), Transit Museum, Museum of Chinese in America (free every first Thursday), the Brooklyn Historical Society (pay-as-you-like), and Museum of the Moving Image. Certain museums, like the Met, Whitney, and New Museum, have stunning views, so it’s like you get a bonus observation deck on top of admission.

Whether you celebrate the holidays or not, it’s hard not to feel the excitement in the city. If anything, think of this season as an excuse to watch burlesque Nutcrackers, perfect your macaron skills, and finally check out that obscene mall in the Financial District.

Happy holidays, everyone!

Congratulations, Tomato Head! Love, Curmudgeon

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My brother Sam graduates from high school today and will be heading to Chicago in a few months to embark on a five-year architecture program. I’m not sure if this is normal for a sibling — especially one who hasn’t lived in the same house as her brother in years — but I feel as emotional as a proud, nostalgic parent watching her baby leave the nest.

Sam and I are nine years apart. Because of this large gap, we’ve never fought, never had to compete with each other, and spent half our childhoods like only children. I was an only child for the first nine years of my life, and when he was still in elementary school, I moved to Portland for college, and soon after that, I moved to New York and have only been able to see him about once a year.

In many ways, Sam is very different from me — and I believe this is at least partly due to the fact that he (and our parents) learned from my difficulties: he never ditched his numerous extracurricular activities; he doesn’t constantly misplace his valuables; and he found a clear passion at an early age. Meanwhile, I had a love-hate relationship with my 13 years of ballet and piano lessons; I’ve lost purses and cell phones and expensive jewelry as a child; and I’ve had so many passions throughout my life, from philosophy to art history to investment banking (hey, don’t judge! I had a cool AP Econ teacher!). My parents always did their best to cultivate every passion I’ve had, chasing after my random interests with all relevant knowledge and resources they could provide. Fortunately for them, my brother was a lot easier.

And, yet, I still see so much of myself in Sam. Siblings have such a distinctive relationship. Despite our nine-year difference, Sam and I grew up in relatively identical environments, in the same house, with the same heavily-scheduled lives stuffed with practices and performances and cultural events and too many AP classes. We both love big cities, took lessons from the same piano teacher, and got dragged to all the weekly events that my parents attend. We both dislike driving, almost as much as we dislike Republicans. It must be reassuring to my parents that even though we are from different generations, Sam and I are most definitely from the same parents.

What bonds us the most, though, just like with all other siblings, are our inside jokes. My most vivid memories of Sam involve us laughing together. Sam is goofy and clever, entertaining and easy to entertain. Laughing comes easy to him, and when we’re together, he brings out the goofiness in me. Regardless of how much time passes, we can still remember our inside jokes from years ago — the kind of jokes that don’t sound funny when you explain them to other people; the kind of jokes that our parents didn’t even try to understand when we were too busy giggling in the backseat of my mom’s car; the kind of jokes that bind two people together forever. Our goofy moments have been some of my favorite memories.

College is such a defining phase of one’s life. I can’t wait to watch Sam expand his mind with (and stress over) new architectural concepts, grow into someone both similar and different from myself, and continue to make me proud, goofy big sister.

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At the aquarium

“You’re from Hawaii? Why Would You Ever Leave?!”

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If you read my post from two years ago, you know that all it took was one trip for Anthony and me to decide that we wanted to eventually move back to my hometown. After living in New York for almost four years, I’ve gotten used to East Coasters asking me, “You’re from Hawaii? Why would you ever leave?!” I’d been asked that question during college as well, but in New York, Hawaii is even more of a distant, exotic paradise, and everyone seems to want to trade places with me. Our plan is still to return to Hawaii — but most likely in the distant future (i.e., three or four years) as opposed to the near future (i.e., one or two years).

The thing is, I love New York.

I love the diversity here, and that’s saying a lot from someone who grew up in Hawaii. At work, I sit by a Chinese, an Italian, and a Jamaican, while my train is usually a mix of Russians, blacks, Hasidic Jews, hipsters, and — more recently — French tourists. You can find every type of cuisine and hear more languages than anywhere else.

I love that I can watch a trend start in New York and then spread to other lesser cities a few months later.

I love our subway system, which runs 24 hours a day and covers such an expansive area. I even love my commute every morning, during which there is absolutely no seat on the Q train, so I spend those 45-minutes standing — half awake, half asleep — in the corner. Sometimes, if I’m feeling perky, I’ll read a book. New Yorkers are probably the most well-read people in the country, and we have our subways (with no internet connection, for some reason) to thank for that.

I love that I’ve been here long enough to see restaurants come and go. Nothing is stagnant in this city, and though I’ve had to witness some of my favorites disappear, I’ve accepted that it’s part of the circle of life and certainly beats being stuck with the same sub-par restaurants forever.

I love that, even though most of my friends don’t live in New York, I’ve been able to see nearly all of them just because everyone visits New York at some point.

I love New York women. New York women are ambitious, always speak their mind, multitask productively, can dress impeccably for every season, and know when to put on their bitch face to ward off the cat-callers.

I love that I can walk (and jaywalk!) twenty blocks and not even notice, whereas walking one block in the suburbs seems agonizing.

I love that everyone is a foodie here. I even gave up my restaurant blog when I started living in New York because, honestly, I can’t compete with 8 million people.

I love the old architecture all over the city. I still find it breathtaking to walk through the Flatiron District or Soho and notice all the details put into structures centuries ago. On the west side of the country, things are more cheaply-made, constructed at a time when mass production became the norm.

I love New York pizza, from the trendy Neapolitan-style found at every mid-range eatery now, to the dollar slices that are exponentially better than anything you can find in the rest of America. Like gelato in Italy, you don’t have to do research to find a good pizzeria in New York; you can just stumble into the corner shop — and that is what makes New York pizza so great.

I love being able to recognize so many places in movies and TV shows — and not just touristy places on Manhattan. My street in Brooklyn, just like every street in this city, has been filmed numerous times since we’ve lived here.

I love how talented some of the subway performers are. If they were in any other city, they’d be huge, but in New York, they’re just nameless buskers.

I love that, even though all New Yorkers think they’re the most important person in the world, in times of need, there’s something that bonds us together. I’ve experienced countless instances of the beauty and humanity of New Yorkers — because in the end, we’re all just trying to survive in this crazy city together.

I can go on and on about the things that make New York amazing, but most importantly, I love the life that Anthony and I have built together here. Being so far away from our family and many of our closest friends, we’ve been able to define ourselves and learn about each other more deeply than we would have if we had been surrounded by familiarity.

I love our little Brooklyn apartment, with its clanging heaters and no view, but with shelves full of worn books and cherished DVDs. Our kitchen is tiny yet surprisingly efficient and stuffed with appliances that prove how much we love to cook. On our walls hang historical maps of New York City, and on our fridge are magnets from various countries that we’ve explored together.

I love that we still find fascinating, quirky things to do in this city, even though we seem to have already explored it more than most New Yorkers. (I blame my obsessive research tendencies and Anthony’s ability to appreciate everything.)

I love that we wake up at the same time, even though I don’t technically have to be up for another hour, and always eat breakfast together. The more I see how other couples interact, the more I can’t help but appreciate our own relationship. It’s in the little things — the way in which we meet each other after work every day so we can catch the train home together; the way in which we communicate openly and respectfully, even when it’s hard for me; and the way in which we split household chores evenly (a man cleaning as much as the woman?! Imagine that!).

I recently visited Hawaii by myself. Though it was beautiful as always, it didn’t feel right. The main reason is because Anthony wasn’t with me — after all, it’s not the location but who you’re with that really makes a place your home. However, another reason is because I’m not ready for paradise yet, and I know I’d have been miserable if I had stayed in Hawaii.

Honolulu is certainly the best place to raise a family (New Yorkers can attest to that), and Anthony and I are excited that we’ll be able to raise ours there. We can’t wait to take our future kids to pristine beaches and stunning hikes every weekend, to feed them the best Asian food in the country, and to expose them to so many cultural opportunities that only a city like Honolulu can offer. However, I’m only 26, and neither of us is ready to start a family yet — especially when we belong in New York right now.

A hui hou, Hawaii. We’ll be back, just when we’re old (i.e., in our thirties).

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One of my favorite things to do in New York: picnicking in Central Park with my love

 

Defined by Our Family Traditions

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It’s been four years since I last went home for Christmas, which probably explains why I’m so excited for next week. For the last three years, I’ve spent the holidays either with Anthony’s loving family in California, on a random trip to Toronto, or in New York when my parents decided to visit me instead. All three years had been fun, of course, but nothing beats going home. I imagine most of us feel that way. Despite the tragic commercialization of the season, this time of year gets two things right: a desire to be with family, and an appreciation (or at least toleration) of whatever quirky, incomprehensible traditions your family does.

Hosting Parties

My family used to host a Christmas party at our house each year. I would go all out for these parties — I’d play a series of Christmas songs on our Bösendorfer grand piano (I always saved “The Christmas Song” for last because it pulled the most heartstrings); I’d print out the lyrics and create little booklets for each guest so they could carol along with me; and I’d provide themed games and prizes (paid for by my parents, of course). Looking back on it, I must have looked so silly — a little precocious child, taking over a party of amused adults from my dad’s university. Our guests would spread out throughout the house, settling in the kitchen (for those who liked to watch my parents cook), living room, patio (for those who wanted to play pool), dining room, and TV room (for the less sociable guests). The enjoyment of our guests was always such a satisfying achievement to me, and my love for hosting parties has persisted.

The Nutcracker

I’ve performed in The Nutcracker just a handful of times, but almost any year that I wasn’t in it, I would watch it — either Ballet Hawaii‘s version at Blaisdell Concert Hall, or NYCB‘s version at Lincoln Center. Christmas never really felt complete until I saw the Snowflakes chaine-ing across the stage, as white paper “snowflakes” fell from the ceiling. The Nutcracker was one of the few times my company would hire professionals from around the world to play the really difficult roles (e.g., Cavalier, Sugar Plum Fairy), so students like me actually had the chance to perform with (and geek out over) ballet legends. I think all of us had a childhood crush on Joaquin de Luz, so when I saw him perform in Swan Lake a few months ago, I could feel the 14-year-old in me dying of happiness.

The Nutcracker is often looked down upon in the ballet world; it can be appreciated by people who don’t normally watch ballets, and there are enough easy roles that can be performed by nonprofessional dancers. Regardless, my ears still perk up every time I hear “March of the Toy Soldiers” and “Waltz of the Flowers”, even when they’re playing awkwardly at Duane Reade.

Camping by the Tree

The tree of choice for my family was usually a six-foot Noble Fir. We’d dedicate a few days to decorate the tree, each night bringing out a couple of storage bins filled with ornaments collected over the years. Some years, we even set up a tent by the tree and slept in the living room together while Christmas music filled the vaulted ceilings. It was our version of camping. I don’t know which one of my parents came up with this crazy idea (probably my dad), but I ended up writing about this experience for my college application essays. (Admissions Office of Reed College, did you find this endearing??)

Baking Gingerbread Cookies

It’s my job to help bake gingerbread cookies. We use a recipe from an old, disintegrating cookie cookbook that my parents have had for ages. These are still the best gingerbread cookies I’ve ever had — soft, chewy, full of spices, and exponentially better than those store-bought or pre-made dough versions. Baking these cookies takes the whole evening. It involves sifting flour, using a KitchenAid mixer, rolling out the dough onto a huge marble slab, and refrigerating balls of leftover dough to be used for another batch. Even our icing was made from scratch, using meringue powder, water, and confectioner’s sugar. The best part, of course, was decorating the cookies. Our cookie cutter collection has expanded over time, and our containers of decorations are a sight in themselves: sprinkles in every color imaginable, gum drops, mini M&Ms, sour belts, etc. My friends would look forward to when I’d bring cookies for them on the last day of school before winter break.

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Ready for decorating!

Analyzing the Neighborhood

My family always dedicated a night to Honolulu City Lights, a month-long event that features elaborate Hawaiian Christmas decorations all over Downtown Honolulu, but what I enjoyed even more was walking around my own neighborhood with my dog Smoothie. Christmas decorations are a great way to learn about class hierarchy. I grew up in a neighborhood in which residents tend to be either upper-middle class or disgustingly rich. If you’re like my family, your house probably has subtle (or not-so-subtle) decorations that you’ve amassed from department stores over the years. We have glowing Winnie the Pooh and Tigger statues standing around a spiral Christmas tree in our rock garden, all of which are linked up to a timer so that the lights turn on automatically when it’s dark outside.

But then there are the other homes in our neighborhood that remain completely dark and devoid of Christmas decorations. These are not the mere million-dollar houses that I’m used to; these are the mansions that cost tens of millions and function as vacation homes to the elite who have their parties in Kahala and hire valet parking for their guests — much different from the wholesome parties my family throws! Growing up, I’ve seen families forced to move out, while speculators swoop in and knock down the older homes in favor of ostentatious estates that will be visited a few times a year.

Oh wait, we were talking about Christmas traditions…

Christmas Eve Dinner

Our big dinner was on Christmas Eve, and my parents usually cooked something like paella or grilled shrimp and honey-glazed ham. I’d spend the afternoon making a menu for our dinner, using any construction paper, snowflake stickers, glitter, and stamps I could find in my bedroom. I still make menus for every special meal, even when it’s just Anthony and me.

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One of our Christmas dinners (and my menu on the right)

Opening Our Presents

On Christmas morning, my brother and I would wake up — usually earlier than on any other day, of course. We were allowed to check our stockings, which hung by the oven because Hawaiians don’t have chimneys, but we weren’t allowed to touch our gifts under the tree until after breakfast. When I was younger, Christmas breakfast was probably the fastest meal I ate all year. When I got older, however, I would try to play it cool by taking my time and pretending that I wasn’t looking forward to opening presents that much. When we finally got to open our presents, the four of us would take turns, and one person (usually my mom or me) would write down where each gift came from so it would be easy to write thank-you cards later.

The traditions we grow up with define the type of person we become. My traditions explain why I know all the words to more Christmas songs than I care to admit, why I really want a KitchenAid mixer even though our tiny kitchen in Brooklyn doesn’t have the counter space for it, and why there is a collection of menus on our fridge — a great way to document exactly which wine we liked that one Thanksgiving, by the way.

Appreciate the random traditions your family does. Anthony and I have already created some of our own Christmas traditions since moving to New York: afternoon tea (this year we’re trying the one at the Mandarin Oriental), buying one symbolic ornament a year for our tabletop tree, and gift shopping at the holiday pop-up market in Union Square. It will be interesting to see which traditions from our families and from our time in New York will live on when we start our own family down the line.

May you all be stuffed with good food, warm memories, and traditions (old and new) this season!

Is Maturity Just Realizing that Your Childhood Dream was Wrong?

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Years ago, my dad told me something along the lines of “Those who’ve had good lives tend to end up where they’re from.” At the time, I was in the midst of my decade-long obsession with New York, so I brushed his words of wisdom aside and didn’t think about it again until recently.

About a month ago, I visited Hawaii. I don’t mean to be dramatic, but this week-long trip changed my life–and Anthony’s.

Since moving to New York almost two years ago, this was my second time to visit Hawaii, and Anthony’s very first since he moved east with me. Our trip was filled with beautiful beaches and hikes, fantastic food, reconnecting with old friends, and, most importantly, spending time with my family. It was a perfect vacation–and yet, it wasn’t a vacation. This had been my former life, and being there again, as usual, made me feel as though I’d never left. The only difference was that I had now been living in my dream city with an awesome boyfriend and a new appreciation for my hometown.

During the end of our trip, I hesitantly implied to Anthony that it would be so much easier to raise our future family here. He laughed and said, “I’ve been trying to hint at that this whole time!” The fact that both of us had come to this realization relieved me–and excited me. Are we really considering moving back to Hawaii? Am I really considering leaving New York, the place I’ve been obsessed with for most of my life?

On the plane ride back home, I contemplated our decision and why we had come to it. Our experience in New York has been great, but we are inevitably changing, and as we grow older, our priorities shift. They must.

The week after our trip, Anthony proposed. We were at one of my favorite parks on Manhattan, lounging on the grass after a luau-themed brunch in Soho. I cried, of course, and said “yes” between joyful sobs. His proposal–and my acceptance–wasn’t a surprise. It shouldn’t be, as we had long known that we would eventually get married. Besides, who proposes when they aren’t completely sure of the answer anymore? Perhaps the only significant changes that have occurred due to our engagement so far are: 1) I wear a stunning black Tahitian pearl ring, 2) Our families and friends feel old, and 3) We can finally fantasize about our future family without feeling like we’re jumping the gun too much.

This third fact leads to the suspiciously impeccable timing of our decision to move back to Hawaii to start raising a family. So, why, exactly, am I planning to ditch my dream city for the place that I had been so ready to leave when I was a teenager?

The main reason is that my family lives in Hawaii. I still don’t know any other family that remains so culturally and intellectually stimulated, cooks as well as they do, and dedicates such a large portion of their lives to the underrepresented. Anthony also has some relatives on the island, which works out perfectly. I don’t know how anyone raises children in a country of abominable maternity leave policies without help from family. I’ve read dozens of scandals concerning nannies, so my ability to entrust anyone besides relatives with handling my children has depleted.

When I think about those I know who have grown up in New York, they attended the best schools and are currently doing fairly well–yet, they are almost always heavily-medicated and come from divorced or separated families. That lifestyle may work for others, but I do not want to raise my family that way. Since life in general is easier in Hawaii, raising children the way I want to raise them (i.e., attending the right schools, participating in extracurricular activities, constantly going to various cultural institutions) does not seem so out of reach. I really don’t have the time or energy to make sure my child gets into the perfect preschool that will dictate whether or not they end up in a high school with metal detectors.

People seem happier and healthier in Hawaii. It must be the sun, picture-perfect scenery, and mild climate. I didn’t know that depression–the mental illness for which one can be clinically diagnosed–actually existed until I moved to the Mainland for college. Sometimes when I’m on a subway in New York, I look around and wonder why everyone isn’t crazy. New York’s environment is conducive to going insane.

On a more superficial end, and it may just be my imagination, but people seem more attractive in Hawaii, too. I don’t know if it’s all the racial mixing, natural tans, yearlong access to free outdoor activities, or the fact that Asian influences make everything look better. New York may be the land of supermodels and well-dressed professionals, but Hawaii has naturally beautiful people.

Sure, New York has tons of cultural events like Hawaii, but everything is hyped-up. You have to compete with 8 million people for anything worthwhile. When we were in Hawaii last month, my parents took us to an Okinawan festival. The event was at a college campus a few minutes from our house, so we drove over about fifteen minutes before the event and were able to spread out on the grass with a perfect view of some of the most interesting dance performances I’ve ever seen. This is typical of the events my parents took me to growing up, and it wasn’t until I moved elsewhere that I realized what a privilege this was. In New York, if an event is actually free, there are hour-long lines, and you can forget about being able to leisurely park yourself on the grass with an ideal view. If you don’t want to be treated like cattle in New York, you have to pay big bucks or know the right people.

Also, I don’t know if it’s because Hawaii takes pride in its “Aloha Spirit,” or if Hawaiians just treat me better, but people somehow seem much nicer in Hawaii–and that feeling makes such a difference in a society in which trusting others is crucial for survival.

Of course, not everyone has had the same experiences I have had in Hawaii, and I completely understand why many leave the islands. If, perhaps, my parents hadn’t exposed me to so many great things, or I had grown up in a different neighborhood, I probably would feel very differently. Each experience we have defines who we are and who we want to become.

There are definitely many reasons I’ll miss New York. The best thing about this city, hands down, is its public transportation. This is the factor that always seduces me into never leaving the city. I hate driving and am absolutely terrible at parking; I have dented/scraped my mom’s car far too many times. Even though other American cities boast decent public transportation systems (e.g., D.C., San Francisco, Boston), none of them comes even close to the efficiency and scope of New York’s subway system. New Yorkers who complain about MTA have clearly never had to depend on the public transportation systems anywhere else. I also love walking. I walk a lot regardless of where I live, but New York is the only place in which I feel at home walking everywhere. People in other states only walk to exercise or to get their dogs to poop.

Another thing I’ll really miss is the abundance of boutique fitness programs. I currently get my exercise fix at two places throughout the week: 305 Fitness and Alvin Ailey, both of which will probably never exist in Hawaii for a while. 305 Fitness is a dance-cardio workout that involves strobe lights, a live DJ, and highly-energetic instructors. Alvin Ailey is a progressive dance school at which I can select from an array of classes such as Afro-Cuban, adult intermediate ballet, and Horton. The workouts at both places are tough and inspiring, and I will be very sad to leave them.

In the end, Anthony and I will probably be in New York for at least three more years, as it will take Anthony that long to complete the process of professional certification. After that, we’ll see how we’re feeling. A family won’t be happening for a long time, so right now all we can do is enjoy New York to the fullest. Anthony and I followed a dream, and we’ve succeeded. He is finishing up grad school at the best school in the entire state, and I have a salaried job that gives me freedom, respects my interests and skills, and, most importantly, can support both Anthony and me. New York is perfect for twenty-somethings, and I pity other people my age that live anywhere else in the country.

With my (now) fiancé by my side, I know I’ll be happy in either place. We’ll see where life takes us.

Hawaiians or New Yorkers?
Hawaiians or New Yorkers?