Spring 2023

I've come back to this page several times over the month of May, each time with the same writer's block. Ideas come and go, but nothing has stuck. So much has been simmering, decisions big and small; so much life has happened, and I'm grateful for both the daily joys and the milestones. Yet as significant as the growth and learning appear in hindsight, the changes have felt subtle, like I'm undergoing cardiopulmonary training after heart surgery; like I'm sinking deeper in developing a skill after learning the fundamental basics; like I'm being refined rather than molded from scratch, over and over. 

Photo Journal: Winter 2022-2023

After the holiday festivities, all I want to do is plow through the dead of winter, straight into the sunnier, hopeful days of spring. There's usually a lull after Christmas, a slight peak with Chinese New Year, and a dip back down until Easter. With fewer occasions to mark the passage of time, my survival tactic this past winter has been to create opportunities to gather. 

Solo Journey to the Emerald Isle

I’m sitting in my favorite blue dress, the one I recently thrifted for $20 and wear twice every week, on a stone block overlooking the Corrib, watching it rush over the slippery, algae-stained riverbank. Dingy boats rock back and forth in the wind under a blanket of hazy grey clouds. The air is slightly briny, and my coffee warms my fingers.  It’s the morning of my fifth day in Ireland, and Galway had already become a second home. A few years have passed since my last solo trip, and I’ve forgotten how luxurious solitude can feel. It affords a way to be fully present in a way that traveling with friends or family can’t. Solo travel hands me the potent pleasures of fresh attention and an expanded imagination. Digital disconnection grants deeper intimacy with the breathtaking creation before me. 

Photo Journal: Fall 2022

 

It's no secret that I love the fall season with its kaleidoscope of colors and excuses to gather, inviting us to remember that change can be beautiful, especially in the midst of community. This fall has been marked by more momentous occasions than recent seasons, yet the grandeur of events and travels have not necessarily been more responsible for its significance. I'm finding that the subtle indications of growth have been rather formative, too: 

The Apple Cake Passport Project

 

I have Royal Visconti Palace to thank for this rabbit hole I wandered down.

This project was born out of my failed attempt to get the recipe for an unassuming yet incredibly delicious apple cake from the hotel. In trying to find a similar recipe online and in various cookbooks (of which Dorie Greenspan’s were particularly enjoyable), I discovered that apple cakes are enjoyed across myriad countries. Some are architecturally unexpected, like a shortcrust dough base and a streusel-like topping in the Polish Szarlotka, while others fit the bill for a traditional apple cake and share similar characteristics, like a high apple to batter ratio. 

There are so many recipes and it was difficult to choose just one, so with the support of my taste testers, I began making as many as I could. Somewhere in the middle of this endeavor, I officially committed to this “project” and am here today to present the results! 

Photo Journal: Summer 2022

Every three months, I sit down for a seasonal check-in to reflect on what's happened, reconsider the baggage I need to let go of, and set a few intentions for the next season. Essentially, I try to reconnect and recalibrate. 

Of everything that happened, a few small, recurring moments play over and over in my mind, and they haven't required my seasonal check-in to stir it up. 

The Cookie Chronicles | Developing My Chocolate Chip Cookie Recipe

Several years back, I discovered David Leite's chocolate chip cookie recipe and adopted it as my go-to. But as I came across more "best" chocolate chip cookie recipes, I couldn't help but wonder if others had a competitive edge. Always seeking consistency and perfection, I thought a baking project to nail down techniques and tailor a recipe to my preferences was in order. 

Photo Journal: Spring 2022

Spring unfolded like a symphony, each short movement purposeful on its own, but richer within an ensemble. Before my eyes, light green buds were sprinkled liberally across bare branches, alongside tufts of white cherry blossoms and pink magnolias achingly reminiscent of Cornell’s campus and my apartments on Beacon Street. As their petals showered the sidewalks, vibrant hydrangeas, the colors of summer, overtook neighboring bushes, and the world became green, so green, once again. 

Days were long but the season was short, filled with changes in scenery and pace of life. After a period of ongoing-ness, spring’s tempo felt unfamiliar. While submerged in a new job and infant formula recall, outside activities and life events delivered new decisions and distractions to face, all of it testing and strengthening the tenacity of hope. Remarkably, the velocity of spring’s events was accompanied by the raw, head-turning beauty of nature waking from hibernation. I couldn’t help but stop. Admire. Breathe. Wherever I looked. 

A Weekday Sourdough Schedule that Works for Me

 

Four years ago, my sourdough baking journey involved tedious, daily starter feedings, messy and massive globs of dough streaked across my counter, multiple flat loaves, and more sourdough discard recipes than I wanted. I'm excited to say that today, though the experimentation continues, most of the waste and clean-up have been minimized. 

Rediscovering Lancaster

My earliest memories go back to when I was a year old, but it's not always clear whether a memory was collected from what my eyes saw in the moment, or if it was reinforced by the family photos and home videos I looked through over and over growing up. Questionable narcissistic tendencies aside (let's call it self-awareness), a lot of my vivid memories have undoubtedly been strengthened by our family archives. 

My dad used to document every inch of my childhood, from eating oranges in a high chair to family trips. Some of my favorite photos, and my favorite memories, took place in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, an area known for its Amish population and rolling countryside. I remember running through corn mazes, sitting on burlap to zip down a giant slide, and shaping soft pretzels with my brother (who was only 4 at the time and mixed his thank you with "you're welcome" as he gave a knotted mass of dough to the host). Lancaster was getting a sugar rush from shoo-fly pie, being mesmerized by Noah's Ark at Sight and Sound Theater, and getting up and close with a herd of Holsteins. 

Boston Athenaeum

Last week, one of my good friends and I extended our coffee date by wandering around Princeton's quaint little streets, exploring thrift shops and a new apothecary store featuring unique postcards, specialty ingredients, and vintage (but not really) decor that warranted a few photos for my mom. 

It was an expanded version of a nostalgic (but bound to break the bank) general store in Brookline that I often stopped in to admire between grocery runs, Brookline Booksmith browses, and church. Naturally, the reminiscence prompted a, "This reminds me of..."

Given our closeness, I was genuinely surprised when Nikki turned to me and said, "Han, you really miss Boston." 

Postcards from Lake Como

 

I'm not one to celebrate half birthdays, but twenty four and a half feels pretty significant. Six months ago, I responded to evolving circumstances with what I consider one of my more "adult decisions," and that choice opened me to growth through uncertainty, humbling rejections, and a spur of the moment opportunity to go to Italy with my mom. 

iPhone Photo Journal: Winter 2022

 

I had hoped by this time, the fog would've cleared, but at the time of writing, it lingers. Winter's grey curtains haven't parted way for spring's tender blooms and renaissance, but here, in the midst of the chill and gloom, there have been, and still will be, opportunities to recognize, even create, beauty. 

Postcards from the Venetian Lagoon

It's hard to say how many islands are found in la Laguna Veneta, because even the main island of Venice is made up of numerous smaller islands connected by bridges. Three islands, in particular, are commonly grouped into guided day trips: Burano, Murano, and Torcello. Craving the leisurely nature of independent travel, we decided to tackle Burano and Murano on our own with a loose itinerary, spending most of the day wandering down cobblestoned streets, letting our shoes get licked by salty lagoon water, and capturing as many photos of the pastel fisherman's houses as we could. 

Wandering for Manna

Wandern, in German, means to hike. It sounds a lot like wandering, something leisurely and relaxed, but it describes an activity that gets your heart rate up, your forehead sweaty, and your feet sore. When it's unplanned, seems aimless, and feels endless, hiking transforms from a soul-searching journey or group bonding activity to torture.

At my last doctor's appointment, the medical assistant felt the need to check my pulse multiple times. My heart rate has always been low, so the space in-between each thump didn't shake me. I knew the next beat would come. But for her, the space in-between fermented worry, so I let her clip the oximeter to one finger after another. Seasons of waiting and limbo have made me hold my breath, too.  

Dreaming of Venice

So... I pre-purchased the wrong train ticket (Venice, Han, not Verona). What's an adventure without a hiccup or two? As I mentioned in Miles Across Milan, we were able to secure a free transfer to Venice on a brand new frecciarosa that started its journey from Zurich that morning. As the train neared Venezia Santa Lucia, we caught sight of a rainbow arched over the Italian lagoon. This was only the beginning of the beauty we'd behold. The view outside of the train station was a fraction of the city's charm, but with the wide-eyed excitement of teenage girls, my mom and I instinctively pulled out our phones and snapped away as the heaviness of our backpacks vacated our attention.

Christmas Cookie Box 2021

Today, for me, holiday season is synonymous with cookie season, but it wasn't always like that. Truth be told, I didn't grow up in a homemade-cookie-kind of home. In fact, I distinctly remember the extravagance involved in baking boxed funfetti cupcakes for my 4th birthday - my overprotective dad held out his hand to prevent me from jabbing curious fingers into the hand mixer as it was running; my mom carefully poured over the instructions on the back of the box; egg shells were splayed across our small Brooklyn table. I don't even know if edible cupcakes came out of the oven we didn't know how to use! The whole situation reminds me of David and Moira attempting to "fold cheese" in Schitt's Creek. 

iPhone Photo Journal: Fall 2021

Autumn's brevity is a sneaky little thing, both an element to despise and one to be grateful for in helping us cherish the season ever more. For the last eighteen or so years, any spare moment - weekends and walks home after class - was dedicated to relishing crunchy, colorful leaves and cozy evenings curled under a heavy blanket with a thick Harry Potter book. More often than not, just when the chill dropped acceptably to the mid-50's, the temperature would plummet. A big storm would strip the trees bare and winter would shake the frost off her coat as she made herself home. That's the northeast for ya. 

Miles Across Milan

We were wet as dogs but oh-so-glad to be standing in Italy. 

My mom's knee-jerk reaction to a deal on flights was "let's go!" while I lingered on a cloud of wishful thinking, contemplating reasons why I couldn't or shouldn't, before realizing, for the first time in a while, I had none, and gave into the tempting invitation. As if going somewhere weren't already a novelty these days, we took a red-eye on a plane that was 30% full (nearly a 2:1 passenger to flight attendant ratio) and landed in a rainy Milan. 

Fieldnotes from Italy

Getting to Italy involved a 2 hour drive to JFK airport, an 8 hour red-eye, a 1 hour train ride from Milano Malpensa to Milano Centrale, and a 15 minute metro ride to the closest station near our hotel. We arrived at Maciachini station (pronounced MAH-kee-ah-chee-ni) to find ourselves carrying our belongings in heavy rain at a roundabout with no idea which exit led to our hotel's street. Was this the time to resist googling directions to avoid the $10/day international data plan fee? You bet.

Uncaffeinated, I decided to exercise my 1 week's worth of Italian and ask for directions. My Italian was bad, and the store owner didn't speak English. With the little I understood, we decided to walk in the general direction he waved towards. 

We navigated the morning rush hour traffic at the mercy of a tram driver who let us cross the street, and found ourselves at the other side of the roundabout. We were just as uncertain about our location as we were earlier. While waiting for the light to change, we asked a nearby pedestrian for directions. Yes! Her Italian was easier to understand! Alas, she was unfamiliar with the area, too. A bystander overheard and turned towards us. In a medley of Italian and English, he pointed us towards the exit we needed to take. In a flurry, an older woman near him also turned around. "Ah, Viale Edoardo Jenner? Vieni con me!"