Caroline Ishii. Photo by Paul Jones.

As I transition to a blog to reach a wider audience, I fell upon a blogging challenge, and loving challenges that keep on me track, here I go or grow as I often say. I will share my challenge with you, because that’s part of the exercise, and because I love sharing things that excite me. Here’s the challenge. http://goinswriter.com/confident-pro/#disqus_thread

March 14, 2016 (sorry, I started the original blog in Japan and I can't change the publishing date and time from Japan Standard Time. It is really March 14 in my time zone and world! See why I need help with my blog?!)

Assignment: Write a manifesto: a 500-word treatise on what you’re about. Then publish it.

As I understand it from what Jeff wrote, it’s a worldview, what gets under my skin, what wrecks me. The "why" is more important than the "what". It’s a short document that tells the world what matters to me and creates movement. Even if you don’t publish, perhaps you’ll want to do this one day, or now. Here goes!

Manifesto starts:

Love… My view is that one of the most important things to living is love, and not only the romantic kind, but all forms of love. For me that form is food, it always has been, from the first time my mother put chopsticks in my hand as a baby so that I could start feeding myself. And being the determined and smart child I was, I did exactly that, and haven’t stopped.

Respect and Equality… What gets under my skin is when I am not treated with respect and equality, and when others are not treated in this way too. I believe we are all equal inside, it’s our outside shells that differ, but seems to make such a difference. What if the only thing we could see of another was their inside and not their outside, no matter how beautiful and attractive, or ugly and repulsive they are? What kind of world would we have? 

Racism and Prejudice.. In large part, I feel strongly about this because my father was born in Canada but as a young boy he was stripped of his possessions, education and forced into a prisoner-of-war camp during WWII because he was of Japanese descent. There was a lot of prejudice and fear at that time and although he was Canadian, because of his skin colour, he became an “enemy” of the people of Canada.

If you met my father, you would think this ridiculous, because he was one of the gentlest and kindest men around, and I doubt he changed much since he was a boy because he was always youthful to his last dying days when he was 88. He enjoyed doing things for others, and he loved to make people laugh. He loved to dance! He continued to be a happy spirit despite everything he had experienced.

I experienced my own share of racism and prejudice when I was a kid, but in a much milder and more discreet way than my parents, and that’s why as a kid it was harder to recognize. Often, the words wouldn’t match what I was feeling in my bones. Even today, although I am third-generation Japanese-Canadian, people will ask me where I come from, and when I say “Canada” or “Toronto”, they will ask, “but where do you really come from?”

When I was opening my restaurant in Ottawa, we found a great spot in Chinatown that had reasonable rent and good parking but I was reluctant to put my restaurant there because people would think that I was Chinese and making Chinese food instead of gourmet fine dining vegan food with international influences.

Asians are all not the same!... For some reason, from my experience, people often think that all Asian people are Chinese, or go to this as a first response, and see nothing wrong when you tell them you are not, like it doesn’t matter that they were wrong in their assumptions and they don’t apologize.

An astute media person told me that he was happy for me that I found a location for my restaurant and it must be nice to be “with my people”. WTF? I’m sure he had all good intentions, but that struck me like a dagger and I’ve always remembered it.

Words… That’s what words do, have the power to hurt and make you sad, but also can make you happy and provide comfort. And this is one of the reasons, I’ve had a fascination with writing, books and with people. As I little kid, I loved going to the library to take out books and would read one book almost every night, and sometimes all night until I would finish it. I would get caught up in the words and the stories, like a fly in a spider web, and I would be captivated until the first last word. I haven’t changed.

Artist or Writer… When I was young, I often said I wanted to be a writer or artist, because I also loved to draw and write. But each time I pronounced this loudly to my mother, she would said a firm “no, you’ll be poor, you can’t make money doing that!”

She only had two career options for me, doctor or lawyer, and one university, the University of Toronto. And when I went to college and for public relations, she was upset and embarrassed and told her friends that I was going to UofT anyway. So, one day, when my mother was out, I ran away from home and never came back.

It was not only this incident but I had a lifetime of abuse, physical and emotional, since I was little and refused to take it any longer. When I ran away and was on my own as a teen, it was scary but one of the happiest moments of my life. For some reason, I knew I would make it, nothing would be as terrible as living in fear, pain and shame.

For the first time, I had freedom and control over my life and I have never forgotten how sweet it tasted it the first time. Sometimes when I feel I have lost freedom and control over my life, and lose my way, I remember freedom is there waiting for me, as it always has been, like a faithful dog waiting for its master to come home and take it for a walk.

With my mother long gone, it is me that takes over her role and puts up the barriers and is the harshest critic of my life and who I am. It continues to be a journey to stand in my truth and power, embracing the good that she has given me and to let go of the bad.

This is why I want to share my story and journey with others, so that if one person can be inspired to make a change, to change that light switch on from darkness to light in their life, than I am happy.

Let go!... I went around trying to find other manifestos and wondering if I wrote enough, did I do it correctly, is there more to do, and I come back to this piece that I wrote easily and for fun, and it’s over 800 words already, so I will let it go for today. I have different themes for periods of my life, like fun, truth, freedom, love, and this period I am in is called the “fuck it!” period. I am a highly responsible, gentle and kind person so it’s kind of fun for me to say this out loud when I am working too much, trying too hard, or being too nice. I am letting go, as I am doing with a lot of things and people these days that are not serving me and bringing me joy.

Are you sometimes too nice of a person like me? What can you say “fuck it” to today and smile about?

 

Naked in Newark

Getting ready to enter the hot steam room at King Spa

When I said I needed a massage and where could I go, Yuki said right away, “let’s go to King Spa in New Jersey. I think you’ll like it, it’s a Korean spa with different saunas and there is a good food." She knows that the food part is important to me and a good allure.

Next thing, we were running to catch the shuttle on Saturday morning in Korea town, the specific spot being where there is the Dunkin Donuts. When we got there, there was already a line-up forming of mostly Asian people. The people waiting were squished into a small white shuttle, which was more of a van, with the young woman beside me saying she was holding on with one cheek, and she didn’t mean those on her face. We had a good laugh about that. She said it’s a short ride and worth it.  We both laughed and I couldn’t stop thinking of her hanging on with one cheek.

We arrived at King’s Spa in the Korean town of New Jersey, which was even bigger, then the one on 32^nd that I love. It’s quite the non descript large white complex.  Upon check in at King Spa, we were given electronic wrist bands that open up a locker to store your things, and allows you to spend throughout the day without worrying about carrying cash. You are also given up a roll up with two towels and a large one size fits all t-shirt and shorts, which reminded me of being in prison, except they were pink, or being back in gym class in my public school where I had to wear rompers or generic gym clothing so as not to be too enticing to the opposite sex during gym class. The men were given white t-shirt and shorts.

One of the sauna caves

Inside one of the sauna caves with bags of mineral salts hanging

In the common areas, which are sprawling, all you can see is mostly pink and some white uniforms. This is where there are most of the saunas, which are different small caves with various properties, which are supposed to heal and calm you, from gold and herbs, to mineral salt, tea and infrared.

The one that intrigued and scared me the most my friends said was the hottest sauna and had warning signs all over it not to go in with medical conditions and such and a video in Korean of what it’s like inside, which looked like some short of torture chamber. A short elderly woman would hold the rope to the door and let people in and out in shifts, and the people going in and out had burlap bags covering them and some of them had cloths over their heads. What the hell I thought?! My friends asked if I wanted to try it. Well, I thought “no” and my mind started going crazy. What if it got too hot, what if I couldn’t breathe, what if I couldn’t get out easily? My friend Rudi said it’s his favourite and said, “Let’s go!” Before I could say “no”, I was following my friends, trying to find a burlap bag in some bins to put around me, and waiting for the women at the door so we could run in.  And in we went into the inferno!

Hottest steam room at King Spa

Showing you the eggs that are cooked at the hottest steam room at King Spa

Inside it was dark and there were a few dozen people sitting around, most with burlap bags covering them. It was the strangest way to be in the company of people, all quiet, twitching from the heat, and heating up or should I say burning up.

Then all of a sudden, the door opened and in came a man covered head to toe in dark clothing with rubber boots and thick rubber gloves, carrying a large empty box. What?!  He reached for the cartons of eggs high up on a ledge in the dome, there were about 12 cartons on each side of the dome, and he put them in the box, and then left.  What?!

I was so mesmerized by this, that I didn’t realize that my legs were heating up so much from the floor that I was having difficulty sitting, and I wondered how long I could take it. I was relieved when my friends left shortly afterwards, and followed them. I didn’t want to seem chicken but then again I didn’t want to fry either, a fine balance!

When we got out, I asked my friends about the eggs. We returned our burlap bags and they asked if I wanted to try some? What? They heat up the eggs for a few minutes, and bring them to sell right away in the juice bar beside it.  We had some with our juices, and they were incredibly hot to peel, hard boiled and delicious. We started to wonder out loud if these eggs were hard boiled in a short time then what about our insides? How long would it take for them to get hard boiled or burn? We looked at each other and I didn’t want to give it much more thought than that because thinking that we could have fried our brains in there wasn’t a pleasant thought. Many people go into the ice cave after that, but it reminded me too much of being at home so I wasn’t eager to do that.  Instead we relaxed a bit and then tried other caves like the mineral salt one with bags of salts hanging from the dome. It was fairly warm but nothing as hot as the hottest one we had been into. I could actually lie down on one of the mats and relax.

The difference from most spas I’ve been to is that there are both sexes but mostly women, a variety of ages but more teenagers upward, no children. There are a lot of areas for different forms of entertainment, from playing mahjong and chess, to desks where you could use computers. There are also areas where you can lounge, or most people sleep, in comfy lounge chairs and either there was a Korean movie playing or sports like golf, and this is where most of the men were hanging out.  Surprised?

One of the most popular areas is the eating area. There are a variety of Korean dishes to choose from. I selected my dish… veg bibimbap and all the side dishes that come with it and I love about Korean food… swiped my wrist band so they could record the payment and I was given a buzzer for when it was ready for pick up. It was quite the military-like operation run by a team of women who were hard working and stern.  The food was plentiful and yummy!

Eating area at King Spa

Waiting for my buzzer to go for lunch

bibimbap at King Spa

In the women’s change room, there is one area where you put on your jail clothing, as I called it, and there is an other area that is mandatory nude and you are not allowed to bring in towels, well the small one but it’s not to cover up your body being no bigger than a dish cloth, more for washing and covering your head. This is area for showering and you can go into the hot tubs and wet sauna.

I waited nude in the hot tub for what my friend Yuki called a wet massage and scrub, which she loves and I was looking forward to as my body and mind needed relaxing. I was surprised to see some women running around in black bras and underwear and I wondered who they were and why they were allowed to wear some clothing. When my name was called and one of these women ran up to me to follow her, I quickly figured out that these women were the massage therapists.

I was taken to an open area with about six tables covered in heavy pink plastic. The woman knew no English except to say things loudly and firmly like “lie face up.” Ok, I thought, now what? Well she started throwing warm water on me with pails. Ok, good thing I didn’t have my mouth open I thought. Next she brought out the loofa and scrubbed me all over like a baby but not with baby strokes, it felt more like with rough sandpaper and she was doing home renovations. You can’t be shy with this as she goes all over the body, telling you in broken English, “go on side”, “move leg up”, “turn around” or would push my body part firmly to where she wanted it to go.

To be honest, it was kind of excruciatingly painful at times and I almost wanted her to stop and other times it was almost bearable, but I wouldn’t say it was pleasurable and fun, unless you want to know what it feels like to be a piece of furniture that is being stripped of paint, and in my case, old debris and cells. Most of the time, I tried to close my eyes and keep them covered with a small towel because I didn’t want to look at this women in her bra and underwear scrubbing my body hard like she was in the body washing Olympics or look at the others beside me being cleaned in various positions and acting as if this was nothing out of the ordinary.

At one point, she put on a face mask made from fresh cucumbers she grated on the spot, and that was nice, along with a scalp massage that was almost relaxing. It was a welcome relief from the pain. At one point, she told me to go to the shower to take off the cream on my face and debris, and go into the steam room for five minutes. Rest alas! Just when I was enjoying the calm and thinking what would be next, the woman, I don’t even know her name, with the black underwear and bra, opened the steam room door and motioned me to follow her.

Ok round two, more warm water thrown on me like I was in the bow of a boat, and here was the fun part, the massage. Not the usual relaxing massage experience I’m used to with dark lights and candles, soft music and the firm but gentle hands of the masseuse. Instead you get bright lights overhead, tables beside you with other people nude and being cleaned or massaged, lots of loud voices of people talking in the background as this is a fairly open area, and the sound of scrubbing and water being thrown on your neighbours. And then there is a woman in the black underwear and bra kneading you firmly and everywhere, taking out any knots and sometimes it feels like some skin too.  Again, I heard no crying or in pain so I assumed I was being a wuss, and I shut up and tried to enjoy the ride. It was ok at times, but for the most part, I would be lulled into a false sense of security, and then it would hurt again.

At one point, she told me to sit up, did a few slaps on my back and then it was over. “Ok thank you,” I said sheepishly and left. I felt beaten up and exhausted.

I put on my pink uniform and went to find a lounge chair and fell asleep for what seemed a long time, and each time I tried to get up, I couldn’t. I felt like I was drugged and each time I would wake up I would see different people before me or beside me. A young Korean couple beside me holding hands, eating hot sauna eggs, and watching a Korean movie on the laptop together, young men in front of me  on their phones texting, elderly women fast asleep, friends playing mahjong, and me.  I realized this was like a community centre of sorts, where people could hang out for the day, with family and friends.

King Spa is open 24 hours, so if you had a stopover in NYC or Newark, instead of getting an expensive hotel room, I wondered if you could just come here and relax instead?  Or if you finished a late shift at a restaurant, this might be just the thing to relax and unwind. Or if want to get rid of some dead skin cells, get kneaded, have water thrown on you, and have bibimbab or bulgogi with kimchee afterwards, this is the place for you! 

At one point, I thought it was probably time to find my friends, so that gave me the motivation to get up from my comfy lounge chair.  Yuki asked me how it was, she looking as tired as me. I was too shy and tired to tell her much. I said it was good but kind of painful. She has this water massage and scrub often and she loves it, it is not painful at all to her, so two different people and experiences.

I have to say, my skin is baby soft, my hair silky smooth, the knots and stress in my body gone, my digestion and body feeling better than it has all week, I had a great sleep, and I am kind of curious about trying it all over again, but not soon.  I have to grow some new skin cells first.  

 

Reunion with New York City and Blogging

Caroline in Central Park New York City

March 3, 2016, plane to Newark, NYC.

I am out of captivity and flying again. This time to NYC for the 10-year reunion of my chef program at the Natural Gourmet Institute for Health and Culinary Arts.  

My apologies for not writing sooner, to anyone out there who has been following me, but there have been many transitions in my life, among a major transitional period for me, and I have not felt settled or inspired to write.

I see that the last time I blogged I was in NYC last November. It seems like I blog best when I am travelling. I can blog at home but there is something about leaving the routine behind at home with all the expectations and hopes I have for myself, and setting out with a carry-on suitcase, my tablet, and my cell/camera, that is freeing.

This reminds me of the Netflix TV series About a Boy when the lead is babysitting his best friend’s little girl and she cannot go to the washroom, number 2, without her dad being there to hold her hand and sing her a song. It seems that way with blogging for me, in that I cannot produce a blog post without travelling, though I don’t want to equate with my blogs with turds!

I do want to equate travelling as my hand holding. It provides me with comfort and freedom at the same time. It’s like when my mom or dad held my hand when they took me to the playground when I was little, and then I let go of their hand as I ran to the tall slide or swings, looking back at them once in a while to see if they were still there. That’s how I feel about travel. I am supported by many and then I let go, running toward new adventures and journeys, which I am anxious to share with readers through blogging.

I’ve been busy working on publishing my book The Accidental Chef, with vignettes and recipes or I call taste memories from my life. I am also getting my web site and blog going in a bigger way, and have moved to Toronto to do this and take advantage of other opportunities. I love Ottawa and have spent decades there but felt it was time to be return to my roots, be closer to family and best friends, and take the next right step as Oprah would say.

"If you don’t know where to go, just take the next right step," advised Oprah in the talk she gave in Ottawa. I try to remember that when I’m confused or paralyzed by fear of making a big move, making a mistake, taking the wrong turn, and the inner critic starts taking control of the steering wheel, pushing me toward places that I don’t want to go.

Instead, lately, when I remember, I’ve been pushing the brakes, gently of course, thank the critic, and let myself out. I start walking, taking big gulps of fresh air so I remember I am free. I put my hands to my heart so I remember to listen to my heart and intuition. And I start taking the next right step. When I did this in January, I ended up in Toronto, and when I looked up again I was heading to NYC.

 

Free the vegetables!

Lower east side Green market and me holding fresh local organic ginger while visions of dishes dance in my head!

I'm in NYC and I get excited each time I go to a local farmer's market and see the incredible produce, which is like a canvas of colours, textures and cooking and eating opportunities for me. As you can guess by now, vegetables are my friends, and I treat them with a lot of love and respect because I feel they are often misunderstood and mistreated. I sometimes feel I am the champion for them, perhaps I should start an organization, something like Free the Vegetables? There is a Vegetable Butcher at Eataly in NYC after all.

Pictures from the Green markets in NYC

 
Though, if I had to pick one vegetable that I love, and I have many, near the top would be kale.  Well, first of all I think it's very Canadian. Sorry for people not Canadian that are reading this, but hear me out and you will understand.

Kale from left to right: curly, dinosaur, Red Russian

Red Russian kale

Kale can be surprisingly bitter at times, though aren't we all at times in our lives?  But it is hearty, and you have to admire a vegetable that actually tastes sweeter after a frost. I'm not sure if I'm sweeter after a frost, but I certainly understand how to adapt and dress for it, unlike basil.

I love basil, but at the first sign of frost it is out of there with its bags packed for a sunnier, warmer destination. It might be the Club Med of herbs. It is highly attuned to the elements, especially cold, and most of us have had the experience of our basil plants dying a slow death inside, as did our visions of fresh basil in January, with its leaves dropping one by one. It longs for the hot sunny weather outside and it is not happy. It is not shy in hiding this fact.

There are many kinds of kale, two that I usually use, curly kale and dinosaur kale, called that because its spear-like leaves have a pebbled appearance that looks like the back of a dinosaur. Dinosaur kale goes by many other names like black kale, Tuscan and lacinato, but the kid in me always likes to refer to it as dinosaur or dino. Think of the first one as the stronger, bolder one and the other one as the softer, gentler one, both great but with two different personalities. I love both and use them  differently.

There is also Russian Red kale you see once in a while, and though it is pretty with its purple tones and flat oak-like leaves, I don't use it very often. First of all, it's harder to find, and though it's prettier in a way and all kale is from the cabbage family, the ones I've tried really remind me of cabbage and if I'm going to eat cabbage, I'd prefer to eat cabbage.

Now if you're like me and can't resist the deal at the farmers markets and buy too much kale or other greens here's some ways I love to use it.

- Step 1. When you get a kale home, first tear off a small piece and eat it slowly. Enjoy it but also observe what it tastes like. Is it bitter, does it have some sweetness, or is it a combination of both?

I feel this is an important part of cooking well. You need to really understand and appreciate the ingredients you are working with. Every time you use a vegetable like kale, it is different, and therefore, if you use the same recipe and it turns out differently, this is part of the reason why. If you understand what it tastes like, then before you start the recipe, you might not decide to use as much sweetness if it is sweet already or might want to add more sweetness if it is bitter. Or if it's delicious already, you may decide to use it raw and forget about cooking it.

It may sound complicated, but it's not really. It's all about using your senses and cooking from the heart vs. the mind, and being present in cooking. A recipe is just a point in time, a guide book, a map, and what makes something great is YOU.

- Step 2.  Ok, you now have this big pile of kale and don't make the mistake of keeping it in the plastic bag and cramming it into the fridge as I have done. These days, I'm trying to show more respect to the kale and at the same time allow more space in my fridge, which if like most, is probably over full.

Here's how. Take out the stems. Wash the leaves under cold water to clean and refresh. Greens love cold water. Spin or pat dry well with a towel. Chop into thin small pieces. Keep in a covered container. This won't take you so long to do, and you will have kale ready to go for the week for many purposes. And, if you have way too much kale or are going away before you can finish the container, then you can transfer the kale to a bag or container for the freezer.

- Step 3. Now, armed with a container of kale, here are my favourite uses:

- Salad. Toss it lightly with extra virgin olive oil, lemon or apple cider vinegar, a touch of maple syrup and a sprinkle of sea salt, Himalayan pink salt is my favourite. Now you mix it up with tongs or your hands. You can add what else you have on hand but not necessary. I often add goji berries or cranberries. Both kind of kale work well but I find you need less seasoning and mixing with the dino kind.

- Integrate raw kale with other things. Mix the raw kale into some finished grains, rice, salad or other dish for flavour, colour, and/or fun.  But please keep the kale thin and small and do this at the end, to preserve the nutrition, colour and integrity of the kale.

- Saute. Put a pan on high, add oil, add the kale, after a minute or so (the time will depend on the size of the kale pieces and the kind of kale), add the minced garlic and a touch of vinegar, say red wine or apple cider, put on a lid and let it steam for a minute or so, take off the lid, and then take the pan off of the heat. That is my perfect kale, fried and then steamed. Please only a few minutes or less, kale doesn't like to be over cooked, yuck! The curly kale works best for this, though if you use the second, it is only seconds vs. minutes. It may be tricky at first, but you'll get the hang of it if you pay attention.

- Soup, stews, sauces. Throw into a soup, stew, curry or tomato sauce, but please do it at the end, so it doesn't turn out all grey and mushy, thank you.

- Smoothie. Throw into your next smoothie. The amount you use depends on the amount of kale you want. I like my smoothie with about 1/4 kale to fruit like an apple, banana and berries, but it's a personal preference. You know, some times you can have too much of a good thing!

- Freeze. And then when you're making a soup, stew, curry, smoothie, grains or other creation, you can put some in. Again, near the end of the cooking cycle please as they don't need to cook, just warm up.

- Pesto. I also like to make raw kale into a pesto, using a food processor is best, with some extra virgin olive oil and then I freeze it. Some times I add to the kale other greens from basil to arugula. I make it plain, so I can add it to many things like a tomato sauce, and store it in small containers or bags in the freezer.

Oh kale, how do I love thee, let me count the ways! I could go on about other ways like baking, dehydrating, using it as a wrap, pasta filling and other uses, but I wanted to keep it simple and speak from my own experience and life. I used to do many things with it at the restaurant but I also had a team of kitchen staff to help me, a continuous supply of ingredients at my disposal, and the motivation of having enough food for service (believe me, a big stress factor because it's always a guessing game!), so that was a different modus operandi and this is me now.

Do you have other uses fellow kale lovers? I'd love to hear from you, as always, much love, Caroline

Invincible summer

 

I am excited and anxious when I get to the outdoor markets especially at this time of year. I love it, I know it won't last forever and I don't want it to end! 

 

Perhaps it's like a summer-like day in the fall. We know that winter is coming and are anxious about it, but for that one day, it is summer and we try to savour each moment. It's like eating an ice cream cone on a hot day. We can hardly eat it before it melts and when we inevitably leave drops on our clothing, we are a bit annoyed but it doesn't last long because we need to get back to eating ice cream after all and it's beautiful day.

What if we were to live our lives this way? I recently read a lovely book called The Untethered Soul and when it spoke about this, it touched me deeply. I started to remember the things I wished I had said to people before they died, the things I wished I had said or done to make me a more caring and compassionate person.

I have little regrets and I am a kind generous person but I wasn't always like this. I was too scared and let others take the blame when I should have spoken up or let someone suffer when I could have taken the time to help them. I see now that not speaking up is as strong as action as speaking up. And the most important person that suffered through all this was me, and not speaking up for me.

The more I have taken the direction toward my heart and the truth of who I am, and living in courage and happiness vs. fear and anxiety, I feel like I am reading a epic book and I can't wait to get to the end. But not really. I don't want the end to be the end.

Now that I am finally settling in to living from the heart and being true to who I am, I feel like I am truly living and that life is so short. I realize that I can never be certain when I will take my last breath or it when it will be the last breath of someone I love. Why has it taken me so long to figure this out and not take this for granted?!

I meet young people that know how to live from the heart and truth at an early age and I am envious as it's taken me this long to figure out and I am still learning. But at the same time, I know that life will happen to them as it did for me - happiness and celebrations, bumps and bruises, and tragedies and sorrow - all tied up in a package we call life. Will they change as they grow older?

I feel like it's like a test for us. Can we grow to accept our imperfections that make us human or do we criticize them and compare ourselves to others, being our worst critics? Can we accept the deep challenges that inevitably touch us as part of living?

It's easy to "like" lovely verses that people post on Facebook on how to be a better person and how to make the world a better place. But to live them, fucking hard! Sorry, but sometimes, no other word seems to fit, and that is the truth of the matter.

If I had a magic wand, I wish we could all wake up and create the changes we want. I believe the world is waiting for us to do this. It's like we are in a deep sleep and want to stay in bed, snuggling in our warm duvets on a cold and blistery day like I love to do.

But what if we were to wake up, step out the door, putting on our clothes first or course, and realize that the day would bring us more warmth than we could ever imagine. In friendships, families however dysfunctional they may be, in connections new and old, in compassion for our fellow human beings, and deep gratitude for the precious life we have been given. What if?

I don't have the answers, but I find in asking the questions, I am getting more clarity breath by breath.

I love the Albert Camus quote:

"In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.”

  



I am home

Floating at one of my favourite places at home... Meech Lake

I am home. Most recently from cooking on a small island north of Campbell River, BC called Cortes. I am back to Ottawa where I have been residing for a long time and where my possessions stay when I go off traveling.

In my travels over the past few years… visiting friends and relatives, couch surfing, house sitting, dog watching, cat chasing, and chef in residence stints at friends places where I cook for a place to stay… I have wondered where home really is.

I always thought it was a physical bricks and mortar location. I thought I was happy when I went from apartment to bigger apartment to home owner. However, there was always something bugging me about this as I wasn’t truly happier. In fact, I felt there were more stresses and pressures, of paying more rent or a big mortgage, of fixing the endless things that seem to go wrong or you want to ignore because it will involve more cash outlay.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved my places and would spend lots of time agonizing over how to place things, what colour to paint the walls, finding the right accents, and going to Ikea to get the right storage device so I could make my places seem lighter and more open like in the catalogues. Looking back, it was a bit stressful to own so much, always wanting more, and finding ways to make more room for the things I did have.

When I decided to leave everything behind over two and half years ago... my home, my relationship, the restaurant, my career… it was a big decision but it didn’t seem as much as the right thing to do.  I think most of the anxiety came in making the decision to do it, as is usually the case.

Everything became clear after my father's death. As would happen several times in my life, I was given the opportunity to wake up and start truly living my life, instead of listening to society's expectations of what I should be or giving into my fears.

With my dad's death, my heart broke and the sharp pain from the loss and grief was overwhelming at times. It felt like an open would, incredibly raw and tender, and I wanted to put a band aid over quickly it so others could not see it, including myself. But something inside me, told me to let it be exposed to the elements to heal, to breathe deeply, and I listened through the tears. And in doing so, breath by breath, I began to hear the quiet voices of the heart who kept on saying  “come home” but I didn’t really understand what that meant.

Before my dad’s death, I wanted to live a more honest life and my word was "truth". In recent years, I've had words for periods of my life, as kind of a directional sign. I don’t like to lie, well I am prone to the little white lies like telling a friend that she looks great and everything will be ok when she looks horrible and you're really not sure what will happen.

Over time, I realized that I was a big liar! I was telling myself lies all the times!

I was lying about my life, who I was and what I could do. I loved parts of my life, but other parts not, and this was confusing and hard for me to come to terms with. My body started showing me the affects of this inner turmoil as it always does as the body does not lie.  I want some sort of truth serum to set me free, release me from this life of lies.  

I wanted to be happier, I needed to take care of myself, and I had to free my spirit, constricted by a demanding work life and relationship that was not working. I desperately wanted to hang on to the dream I had when I started the pop-up dinners and restaurant and craddle the baby that I created for me and the community. I felt there were no other choice but to be in relationship that was clearly beyond it’s best before date.

When I came back from Toronto after my dad's death, I did the thing that I most feared. I let go of my tight grip around these things that were depleting my energy levels and were not good for me anymore. And in doing so, I thought I would fall hard. I needed to let go of what I was so I could move forward into what I could become. Right, easier said then done! How does a caterpillar know when it's time to shed it's casing and become a butterfly? If it happens naturally, why can't we do the same when something or someone is no longer serving us? Perhaps we do have the same forces of nature and clues telling us to do something, but we choose to ignore them?

I started taking care of myself, loving myself and listening to my heart. It was hard work at first. I was resistant because I didn't truly love myself and therefore felt I didn’t deserve the nourishing things I was giving it. It was like a baby rejecting the milk of its own mother. 

I am back home to Ottawa, but the greatest lesson I learned in all my wanderings and travels to date, is that home is where you are. I have been running away from home since I was a teenager and found safety then in that, and continued to repeat that pattern, thinking there could be danger in transitions as was the case when I was a teenager.

Only recently have I begun to understand how important transitions are to our growth and development, the spaces or pauses between things that seem solid and certain. In yoga, we are taught it's not only the asanas or poses that matter, but how we transition (thanks Phil!) and move with assurance and grace from one asana to another.

I have come home and am never leaving home wherever I may travel.  hOMe.

 

 

 

Roots

my dad George

One of the reasons I was attracted to go to Cortes Island, BC is because I have roots in the area. Many people on the island would ask me where I was from and I would say "Ontario but my roots are here", and they would give me a puzzled look.

I would explain that my grandfather bought an island in the early 1900s in the Desolation Sound area. It was one of the three Rendezvous islands. He chose the northern one and bought 250 acres for $3000. It is north of Cortes island and only 40 minutes by boat. After my grandfather bought the island, he sent for a picture-bride from Japan, and raised a family on there, including my father George.

My grandfather didn't know that WWII would break out and a government boat would come one day to say that Canada was at war with Japan and they were the enemy. They had one hour to pack their belongings and were taken away to holding stations in Hastings Park in Vancouver and later were moved to an internment camp in the interior. He was told that he would return one day to the island, but he was not allowed to after the war ended and they were released from the camp. Instead, he was given two choices, to go to Japan or go further inland. He chose Japan, believing that Canada did not want him, and returned to the village he was from with his family in tow. He hadn't realized that the village was destroyed during the war and there was nothing for him and his family there. My aunt Helen had married in the camp, and did not return with the family. She eventually ended up in Toronto and worked very hard to save every penny to bring back one family member at a time. That is how my father ended up in Toronto.

George and Suyeko

My mother Suyeko, or Suzie as she was known, has roots in BC too. She was born in Vancouver but her parents died when she was a young girl, and the children were sent to different homes to be taken care of. Suzie was the youngest of five and it was decided that she would be sent to the Japanese back country, or "inaka" as she used to say, to be taken care of by relatives. After the war, my uncle Yosh in Toronto found her and paid for her way back to Canada to be reunited with him and the rest of her siblings.  In her twenties now, she made her way back alone by steam ship to a country where she was born but was forced to leave. George meets Suyeko, and thus I was born in Toronto. 

I have always been pulled to go the west to explore and perhaps stay one day, but I didn't know when or how. This is one of the reasons I jumped at the chance to go to Cortes Island and work at Hollyhock. It would bring me closer to my roots and ancestors, and I have always longed in my heart for this, perhaps it is part of growing older and yearning to know your past.

I took the water taxi back to Cortes from Campbell River recently, and the owner-driver Regent said he remembered driving my relatives to the northern Rendez-vous island some 15 years ago. I told Regent I wasn't on that trip because the elders in the family, my father and aunt Helen, didn't want to go, and thus I decided not to go too, thinking that I could encourage my dad to return with me one day. I didn't want to go without him. My dad and aunt have now passed on and I could never encourage them to go with me. The youngest siblings, my aunt Joy and uncle Arthur, and their children went and reported back. They said that the resort that had been built there welcomed them and they explored the land with my aunt and uncle, who were young kids when they left and had fond memories of their time there.

With the visit of the Ishii clan to the island, some locals asked the government to change the name of the tip/cove where they settled to "Ishii" in honour of my grandparents. Regent said it had been changed on the newer maps. He said that the people who owned the resort then, sold it, and moved on and the land is divided up more.


He pointed to the map where the island was and then pointed in the direction of some mountainous areas in the distant. "That's the island over there," he said. I felt excited to be in the area that my grandfather had fallen in love with and to know that he had travelled and fished in these waters with my father George and his brothers, there were three and one that died and is buried on the island. The girls, there were two, stayed at home, helping their mom with the farmland and preparing lots of food to store in the cellar for the winter.

It's not as easy as I had originally thought to go to northern Rendez-vous island, although it's only forty minutes by boat from Cortes Island. But again, I found in being on the island and not from the island, many things were challenging. You either have to pay quite a bit to charter a boat or know someone with a boat. In a comforting way, I felt the presence of my ancestors and my roots, and that was enough for now.

The northern Rendez-vous island is in the distance to the left

When my relatives visited northern Rendez-vous island, the locals said there was a strange weed growing all over the island and they couldn't get rid of it. My aunt Tomo told them that it wasn't a weed but a Japanese vegetable called "fuki" and gave them instructions on how to cook it. My grandfather and grandmother had orchards and farmland so they could be self-sufficient, and this must have been one of the vegetables that they grew to give them a "taste" of Japan.

We leave roots in many ways when we leave a place that we love, and sometimes it's of the physical you can eat kind. It makes sense that my family who loved to cook, eat, and most of all share food, left something behind for others to eat. However, it would take some 60 years for others to discover it.

Fuki

Food evolution

More photos of the dishes I created in the kitchen at Hollyhock centre on Cortes Island, BC and the beautiful English-inspired garden. Food is served buffet-style, often for 100 or more guests, with a short period to prepare and serve guests, often with a small kitchen team of varying skills. To keep the beauty and essence of the dish throughout service remains a challenge, but the taste, nourishment and love remains relatively the same.

Everything is changing all the time, you, me, the garden, the world, so why not a dish, evolving with each person that eats it? And instead of fighting it, of thinking my food would be more beautiful if plated, taste better only if I had a certain ingredient I can't get, and wishing I had more time and staff, I try to control the only thing I can, the present moment, breathe into it, and let go. Yoga practice has helped me a lot in cooking and in life. I learn every day from my cooking, and it's often not about the food. Food for thought.