Sundaze: the intimate act of eating

with love

Welcome to meal-sharing, finger-lickin’, scrumptious bread-breaking with love. With love. The intimacy of making pancakes on a Sunday morning. For yourself. A partner. A little sister. With love.

One of the struggles with living alone is trying to find discipline about your eating timeline in the day. You could skip two meals and not worry about whether anyone else is hungry. You could not cook for a whole week and eat leftovers from the weekend. There are no rules. It can feel good in the moment and it can feel real nasty after.

This also applies to anyone who has started to adult, and most of your day is taken up by 30 minute blocks on the calendar. You begin to cherish meals with friends more. Or when your mum cooks your favorite chingri mach-mishti kumra & aam daal. Or when you’re competing with a sibling to get the last bite of Uncle Tetsu’s cheesecake.

We ended last night for a friend’s bachelorette at Soosanghan Pocha. A ktown dig in the back roads of Edgewater. Jersey Koreatown surprised me. When you first step out, it feels like coming upon a sleepy town who had closed shop for the day. But that’s 9pm. By 11pm, there are twenty-something year olds lining the arcade punching machines on their smoke break. Swinging their arms over heavy grunts and missed opportunities to impress the girl in a big jacket holding a cigarette in the corner.

We waited an hour for a table and hopped over to Third Floor Pocha across the street. While we had no luck with tables, the neon and bright lights and the bathroom that looked like it belonged in a club downtown were reminiscent of Wong Kar Wai.

In the mood for love.

My friend and I laughed about the romance of an arcade, imagining being on a second date at the claw machine. You have gotten over the awkward small talk and are comfortable to get down on wings in Koreatown. Neon pink LEDs lighting up our faces while the smell of soju filled the air. I don’t drink but can feel the latentness of people drifting off elsewhere. You find a quiet corner amidst the happy chatters and birthday songs.

The phone finally rang and Soosanghan called us back for a table. In the rush of the night, I couldn’t tell you the names of what I ate. But I can tell you it was one of the better meals I’ve had this week. At one point, I sat back and watched my friends’ hands scurrying over the table. First, a small bowl of tteokbokki, picking up little bites of chewy rice cake with their chopsticks, then a dollop of the lemony fish soup to balance the tanginess of the tteokbokki curry. Finally, topped off with sweet potato croutons. Pretty sure no one eats like that but I put all that in my little bowl and went to my happy place. Smiling and my face beaming as I slurped the last bit of soup.

There is gratitude in moments when you realize it’s not often you get to share a meal with people that make you happy. And when you live alone, it’s that much extra. Maybe that’s why iftars in Ramadan feel that much more special for students in dorms or why food is at the center of every major celebration. Turkey at Thanksgiving, beef at Eid & Christmas, marshmallow peeps for Easter and challah on Shabbat.

Describe the last meal that made you happy - whether through intention or company.

Think about the flavors, the conversation or absence of it, where you sat, or stood over the sink. How it made you feel. Your belly and your heart.

With love,

Aaisha