"Eating Alone"
I recently rediscovered a poem I had read in college titled "Eating Alone" by Li-Young Lee. It describes a young man who reflects on the loss of his father, while preparing a meal. The meal itself is simply described, but one that I find attractive in its simplicity, much like the poem itself. I was eager to make as soon as I read it that day in class and again eager to make when I fortuitously came across it again.
The food and the poem under the cut.
Eating Alone by Li-Young Lee
I've pulled the last of the year's young onions.
The garden is bare now. The ground is cold,
brown and old. What is left of the day flames
in the maples at the corner of my
eye. I turn, a cardinal vanishes.
By the cellar door, I wash the onions,
then drink from the icy metal spigot.
Once, years back, I walked beside my father
among the windfall pears. I can't recall
our words. We may have strolled in silence. But
I still see him bend that way-left hand braced
on knee, creaky-to lift and hold to my
eye a rotten pear. In it, a hornet
spun crazily, glazed in slow, glistening juice.
It was my father I saw this morning
waving to me from the trees. I almost
called to him, until I came close enough
to see the shovel, leaning where I had
left it, in the flickering, deep green shade.
White rice steaming, almost done. Sweet green peas
fried in onions. Shrimp braised in sesame
oil and garlic. And my own loneliness.
What more could I, a young man, want.
The poem is simple, steeped in serenity, and with just a touch of the melancholy of aging and relationships. Thankfully, my father has not passed away and is still doing well. Our relationship was distanced during my childhood, as he was often very serious, and things were especially tumultuous during my adolescence, though I always knew he loved me. But when I got older, our relationship became a lot deeper and more meaningful and I genuinely cherish all the time I get to spend with him. I feel that we are on the same page more and more, even if we disagree about any topic of discussion. He's also mellowed out considerably as he's aged, which has helped, and humor between us comes naturally. I always refer to him as "老豆" ("old bean", a slang term for dad in Cantonese). :)
White rice steaming, almost done. Sweet green peas
fried in onions. Shrimp braised in sesame
oil and garlic. And my own loneliness.
What more could I, a young man, want.
Indeed, the rice was in the cooker, the snap peas and onions were ready to be fried, and the shrimp were waiting in a bowl.
Sweet Green Peas Fried in Onions
Unfortunately, regular peas are not my favorite food. Of all my childhood picky foods, peas were not ones that I ever got over. Instead, interestingly, I enjoy snap peas and snow peas, and I thought they sounded just as delicious fried with onions. It was all terribly easy. I diced the onions and fried them with some minced garlic in vegetable oil, to keep the flavors clear. I seasoned it with sea salt and coarse ground pepper, then I tossed in the snap peas on a high heat. When they were still crunchy, I plated them.
Shrimp Braised in Sesame Oil and Garlic
I bought some fresh shrimp, peeled them, and placed them in a bowl, mixing them with salt, pepper, sesame oil, and a little corn starch. In a hot pan with some sesame oil, I quickly fried garlic and sliced rounds of serrano and hot finger chili peppers, one each. I had to be careful, because sesame oil smokes easily, but I needed it to still be hot enough to cook the shrimp. Once the "bhuna" is done, I tossed in the shrimp, letting them fry, while adjusting the heat to keep it from smoking. I added in a bit of water and and a splash of fish soy sauce, basting the shrimp. Eventually, the corn starch formed a thicker and flavorful sauce. I topped the shrimp with some spring onion. Yum!
I wished the grocer had some red serranos, but none were to be found. They would have given great color to the dish, but that hot finger chili pepper had me sweating. That made me laugh because it reminded me of how much my dad sweats while eating spicy food. My mom embarrasses him by dabbing his head with a napkin when it happens in public. If I make it again, I'll probably choose a green serrano to go with the red one.
All that was left was my own loneliness.
The peas and onions were incredibly sweet, a great companion to the salty and fragrant shrimp. Normally, I do brown rice to be healthy, but the poem's line on white rice steaming triggered my memories of my own upbringing, so I made an exception. The clean taste of white rice goes well with the simplicity of the meal's flavors, so I would definitely do it again, as brown rice is often nutty and the texture is different. A great, soul-pleasing meal.
What more could I, a young man, want.
The food and the poem under the cut.
Eating Alone by Li-Young Lee
I've pulled the last of the year's young onions.
The garden is bare now. The ground is cold,
brown and old. What is left of the day flames
in the maples at the corner of my
eye. I turn, a cardinal vanishes.
By the cellar door, I wash the onions,
then drink from the icy metal spigot.
Once, years back, I walked beside my father
among the windfall pears. I can't recall
our words. We may have strolled in silence. But
I still see him bend that way-left hand braced
on knee, creaky-to lift and hold to my
eye a rotten pear. In it, a hornet
spun crazily, glazed in slow, glistening juice.
It was my father I saw this morning
waving to me from the trees. I almost
called to him, until I came close enough
to see the shovel, leaning where I had
left it, in the flickering, deep green shade.
White rice steaming, almost done. Sweet green peas
fried in onions. Shrimp braised in sesame
oil and garlic. And my own loneliness.
What more could I, a young man, want.
The poem is simple, steeped in serenity, and with just a touch of the melancholy of aging and relationships. Thankfully, my father has not passed away and is still doing well. Our relationship was distanced during my childhood, as he was often very serious, and things were especially tumultuous during my adolescence, though I always knew he loved me. But when I got older, our relationship became a lot deeper and more meaningful and I genuinely cherish all the time I get to spend with him. I feel that we are on the same page more and more, even if we disagree about any topic of discussion. He's also mellowed out considerably as he's aged, which has helped, and humor between us comes naturally. I always refer to him as "老豆" ("old bean", a slang term for dad in Cantonese). :)
White rice steaming, almost done. Sweet green peas
fried in onions. Shrimp braised in sesame
oil and garlic. And my own loneliness.
What more could I, a young man, want.
Indeed, the rice was in the cooker, the snap peas and onions were ready to be fried, and the shrimp were waiting in a bowl.
Sweet Green Peas Fried in Onions
Unfortunately, regular peas are not my favorite food. Of all my childhood picky foods, peas were not ones that I ever got over. Instead, interestingly, I enjoy snap peas and snow peas, and I thought they sounded just as delicious fried with onions. It was all terribly easy. I diced the onions and fried them with some minced garlic in vegetable oil, to keep the flavors clear. I seasoned it with sea salt and coarse ground pepper, then I tossed in the snap peas on a high heat. When they were still crunchy, I plated them.
Shrimp Braised in Sesame Oil and Garlic
I bought some fresh shrimp, peeled them, and placed them in a bowl, mixing them with salt, pepper, sesame oil, and a little corn starch. In a hot pan with some sesame oil, I quickly fried garlic and sliced rounds of serrano and hot finger chili peppers, one each. I had to be careful, because sesame oil smokes easily, but I needed it to still be hot enough to cook the shrimp. Once the "bhuna" is done, I tossed in the shrimp, letting them fry, while adjusting the heat to keep it from smoking. I added in a bit of water and and a splash of fish soy sauce, basting the shrimp. Eventually, the corn starch formed a thicker and flavorful sauce. I topped the shrimp with some spring onion. Yum!
I wished the grocer had some red serranos, but none were to be found. They would have given great color to the dish, but that hot finger chili pepper had me sweating. That made me laugh because it reminded me of how much my dad sweats while eating spicy food. My mom embarrasses him by dabbing his head with a napkin when it happens in public. If I make it again, I'll probably choose a green serrano to go with the red one.
All that was left was my own loneliness.
The peas and onions were incredibly sweet, a great companion to the salty and fragrant shrimp. Normally, I do brown rice to be healthy, but the poem's line on white rice steaming triggered my memories of my own upbringing, so I made an exception. The clean taste of white rice goes well with the simplicity of the meal's flavors, so I would definitely do it again, as brown rice is often nutty and the texture is different. A great, soul-pleasing meal.
What more could I, a young man, want.