Dr.X

I have found my fashion soul mate crush and she comes in the form of a slightly older than middle aged Asian woman. She is the most consistent and most intriguingly fabulous native I have ever come to observe in Hong Kong.  I have come to call her "Dr.X". 

It's not everyday I come across Dr.X.  Sometimes, I take a different bus line. Sometimes, I'm late and the bus she's usually on has already come and gone.  Sometimes, she eludes me by sitting on a different level of the bus than I.  When I do get the pleasure of a Dr.X encounter, like I said, it's always incredibly consistent.  Number one: it never fails that she is devouring her morning newspaper like she doesn't even know that there's a passenger next to her.  Number two: she is always ALWAYS wearing the following: a hat that will rock your socks off, something that covers her arms all the way just past the wrist, something covering her shoulders, and boots.  More often than not, her attire for the day is a sassy, frilly, dress.  I've seen her wear pants....once.

This woman is no kook.  Some of you may look at her outfits and think otherwise, but A) her stop is always Queen Mary's Hospital and I'm pretty sure she's a neurosurgeon, B) she never fails to pair her ensembles with a fashionable parasol, which is always needed for unexpected showers here in Hong Kong C) never fails to wear rain boots, once again, rain happens real quick 'round these parts and D) she carries herself like she doesn't give a f*#%. That's how I know she's awesome. 

Spring is coming up, I can't wait to see what the Dr.X collection will bring me.  

Sunday Funday #CheungChauIsland

Be mine

Valentines day has never really registered on my calendar as a real day to take notice of.  I'm perpetually single, which I don't mind, and have no real reason to either celebrate or bash a holiday dedicated to romantic love.

I guess if you were to twist my arm I'd be all, "ugh I've had two really lame Valentine's days out of the x number of days I've been alive, therefore, have taken a vow to be bitter at this day until the end of time."    

One was in seventh grade when the school goth made it his mission to make me his valentine and left me super creepy black cross bracelets accompanied with equally odd love pictures at my desk. Even as a seventh grader, my standards were quite high.  I felt he could have at least used his minimally developed vocabulary to write a sentence of explanation, but alas, I was left to interpret them as I wished and I was pissed about it. What the hell am I supposed to do with an anatomically correct depiction of an eyeball, next to a heart, next to a finger pointing at me? You're in seventh grade! Use your words! (Like I said high expectations)

Since I was in seventh grade, I also I hadn't realized the tenacity of hope guys retain in chasing girls if their hopes and dreams of snatching said girl aren't completely obliterated immediately. I was too nice and didn't want to hurt his feelings, so instead of ripping his black on black heart out, I skipped gently around the issue in my painfully naive neon flowered shirts (apparently his timing was just off. I'm looking at my wardrobe and seeing nothing but noire). Thus, ensued my first real stalking experience in which principals, teachers and parents all had to get involved.  I've since developed soul crushing rejection tactics....

...which brings me to my next valentines day gone bad.  I was 24 when it happened but the strength of regret I feel when recalling that night makes it feel like it was yesterday.  Now that I'm writing it, I can't really go through with a thorough purging of details, let's just say it was the first (and only) time I've ever made an incredibly nice, undeserving grown man cry and contemplate throwing himself, suit and all, into a nearby swimming pool.  It is the single most cringe worthy, guilt inducing memory I have in my brain. 

Bygones are bygones, so on and so on, this Valentine's day found me happily munching on a 9 course Spanish meal prepared in the private kitchen of Comilonas.  That's right, I paid lots of money to have someone else cook for me in their kitchen.  (Essentially)  I didn't really get many pictures of the event because I wasn't planning on blogging about it, but it was pretty cool.  There were about fifteen of us all gathered around a beautifully dark polished oak table for a good ol Valentine's day dinner.  The meal itself was course after course of Spanish tapas, topped off with a portion of black rice paella, and the most delicious dessert: a gutted out half orange smothered in ice cream, served with an espresso mixed with cognac.  There was soft Spanish music playing in the back ground throughout the meal and of course, we drank tons of Spanish wine. 

 What a perfect way to bash love.

Giddy Up: Ringing in the Year of the Horse

Chinese New Years, for native Hong Kongers, is by far the biggest and most celebrated event of the year.  Two weeks are designated to welcoming in the year of the horse (and Spring) and saying good riddance to that filthy serpent the snake, or as I like to call it, 2013.  

Along with bursts of colorful lanterns hanging about, the city also plays host to a smattering of covered tables that serve as alters to demonstrate sacrifice and honor to the tenants of the spirit world.  They are adorned with incense, platters of fruits, vegetables and sometimes fully roasted pigs.  DO NOT make the mistake of snagging an orange at snack time, this is not a community offering type situation. The gods WILL serve their vengeance via a terrifying four foot wrinkly, yet spry, Chinese woman.  *shudder* 

Families take time away from their busy schedules to gorge themselves on feasts of dim sum.  Little red pockets stashed with hundred dollar bills are distributed from elders and married couples for good luck.  Lion dances are performed throughout the city.  The official start to a new year commences with the explosion of millions of dollars of fireworks to the backdrop of Hong Kong over Victoria Harbor.  

Although a very big deal to the native population, Chinese New Years is a great opportunity for foreigners to have a solid four days to do as they please.  For many of my friends it meant a golden opportunity for traveling beyond the island, for me it just meant four days of glorious resting, eating, and enjoying many of Hong Kong's various attractions. 

During the next two weeks I'll be greeted by everyone from my door man to my vegetable dealer with a warm and sincere,"Kung Hei Fat Choi" (Happy New Year) which is accompanied with a slight bow, hands clasped together, shaking gently.  My vegetable guy will attempt to teach me to say: "May all your wishes of your heart and your head come true," and "I wish you all the best in happiness and health" in Cantonese.  I will say it back to them once, in the moment, and then it will fall out of my brain and land on the pile of tomatoes never to return to my oh-so-limited Canotonese vocabulary. 

Here is an example of a few offerings Hong Kongers typically leave for their ancestors.  It's quite a large display, which is more typical to see in a temple. Each household has their own ways of giving sacrifice, but mostly one sees lots of oranges, apples, and incense at the foot of people's apartment entryways. 

The Victoria Park flower market is an example of the spring celebration side of Chinese New Year.  These huge flower markets are set up in a few select locations and are buzzing with commerce from dusk to dawn.  The flowers signify renewal, fresh growth, new life. 

 Hoards and hoards of people waiting to cross the road to get into TST to see Hong Kong blow up millions of dollars in fireworks.  Worth it.

Luckily, I was dubbed partner in crime to this chick, Stephanie (who was also the host of my Thanksgiving, and fashion show birthday celebrations and swell person all around).  We attended a fabulous New Years spectacle on the rooftop of some friends of ours.   

It. was. magical. 

Don't tell the Eiffel Tower, but this was waaaaaaaaay bigger than the Bastille celebration in Paris. 

*our little secret*

 A celebration is not a celebration without a bottle *or fifteen* of bubbly.

I don't know about you, but I'm ready to saddle up for all the adventures the year of the horse has to offer. 

Cheers, and giddy up.

Bao Down B*tc!e$

Bao wow wow yippy yo yippy yay y

I can't help but sing this song y'all, I found my new favorite fast food and I am in LOVE.  Have you ever had a slider?  Yes?  Well, Baos are like the Cantonese version of a slider, but oh so much more delicious.

Burgers do hit a spot in this American heart, but they're also pretty boring.  True, there are a few higher class variations on your standard tasteless beef, dry bun, and individually wrapped cheese product combinations.  But they aren't enough to counter act your boring couch, your boring bag of potato chips, and your eight millionth football game of the season blaring on the TV.

Bao, on the other hand, is making a girl weak in the knees over here with the combination of tender, succulent pig belly, fresh crisp cucumber and cilantro, crunchy peanut toppings, a kick of spicy chili peppers, all wrapped up in a pillowy, almost sweet, steamed bun.  Since it's also one of the latest trending foods here in Hong Kong, people whipped up a few creative variations of their own.  For example:  tonight I had the kimchi bulgogi bao.  Holy frijoles- if you've ever been to Korea or had real Kimchi, you know it's fermented spicy cabbageness is oddly, yet acceptably addictive.  Have it slapped on a chunk of spiced grilled beef, bean sprouts, wrapped up in the steamed bun, and it's like a Korean Noraebang in your mouth.  Loud flavor and crazy fun.  There are also other fun creations I sadly did not get to try which involve chicken and fish.  A la prochaine!   

The Kimchi Bulgogi

The original

Top it off with some yummmmmmmmy sauce

mmmmmmSriracha mayo mmmmm

The 27 Club

Thank God I'm not a famous musician y'all or this would probably be my last year of existence, for this year, I have made it to 27.  27 has already started and will hopefully continue with a bang. 

 So, what have I accomplished in the 27 years in the wonderful world of Suz?  Well, I'm super behind on the whole securing a house and having a solid upward transitioning career thing.  While I'm having a crack at my life, I also did not get the memo that I should get hitched and reproduce sometime soon.  If done right, I think both are amazing gifts from heaven, don't get me wrong I'm not bashing either phenomena.  Sometimes, it baffles me that most societal processional norms have completely just flown like a cuckoo over my nest head without missing a beat.  Where did that metaphor come from?  Somewhere in the depths of the abyss that is my brain.

For example, while I lived in Paris, never was I ever like,"this is a bad idea living life like this.  I should stop enjoying it so much and go have babies" and in NYC I never felt the urge to be all, "hey Wall Street sounds like fun, maybe I should pick up a day job there" it's only now in Asia that I'm sort of thinking," maybe I should pick up another degree in something?"  

Anyways, you guys know, I feel like I've lived alot of lives over here.  I try not to reveal this too often and definitely not in the presence of hottie mchottersons, but there are definitely nights I feel much older than I am.  BUT there isn't a minute of it I would ever return for something else.

OK I am totally OFF my philosophical birthday soapbox.  Let's party       

Birthday lunch@ Artichoke Canteen.  The view was from the 10th floor patio that overlooked an electric blue ocean and lovely green Lamma Island.  The menu was completely veg, so I ordered the cheeseburger.  Literally, it was a fat ass patty of really delicious cheese.  I covered everything in Tabasco per usual, and had an espresso to wash it down.  It was so smooth it had no after taste, and that's how you know it's quality. YUM  

Coincidentally, my birthday fell on fashion week Hong Kong and a friend of mine had tickets.  The style of the show was super clean and the bass was loud.  It brought me back to the Parisian scene in an instant.  I am in love with the walk, slightly intimidated of the cats. 

On my way to stardom.  Obvs. once again, camera phone not incredible.  Forgive the photos.

It was such a rare, beautifully clear night that there was no other option than the star ferry for my next destination in TST at a bar I had been dying to try out for an eternity: Butler.  Known for its incredibly intimate atmosphere, it only seats 20 people at a time.  Its also staffed with thoroughly knowledgeable Japenese bar tenders who are  dressed to the nines in white tuxes.

Butler did not fail to deliver on it's preceded reputation of greatness.  There is something so inspiring about watching someone do what they truly are passionate about and this barman was not only passionate, but teetering on the edge of scientist with his mixing, whirling, twisting and spritzing.  I should have tipped him just for the entertainment I received watching him prepare our drinks.  You could order anything off the menu like it was any other day, but they encourage just putting your cocktail order in the hands of the master.  All you have to know is what type of liquor you like, and then he goes to town on a personalized refreshment.  I didn't regret it.  Not once, not twice, not four times.    

With my first drink I let my birthday be known and demanded something funky and fresh.  Love indeed will always be funky, and always be fresh.

Chilled silver chalice anyone? 

Oooo la la!

You guys know I had to try the old fashioned right?  This one was pretty properly made with little spurts of flavor hiding behind and underneath the blocks of ice.  I could mix it with my little silver spoon for a more amped up bitters and sugar flavor, or just drink as was. I chose to stir.  My favorite part of the making of this drink was when the bar tender squeezed an orange peel near the old fashioned.  Fancy no?    

With such a good start, I don't see how 27 could go wrong...well...obviously I'm being optimistic, because let's be real, there are so many tragedies I could potentially step into at any point in life, not just 27, but I'm getting ahead of myself.  I mean, there are days when I forget traffic goes the opposite direction here and have definitely almost been smashed by multiple vehicles just in one day.  This is a dog eat dog city people, you have got to watch where you are going at all times.  Happy Birthday to me!!  

**Oh and one more birthday celebration before I go:  I have an incredibly crotchety old man of a student at work that probably drinks metamucil instead of chocolate milk.  I work so hard to get him to smile every day and the rejection is straight up painful.  For his warm up I made him write me a birthday note, and what he wrote kind of made me tear up: 

Holiday High - Puffin on Paris

I am finally back to work after an almost three week break, and coming down from a serious holiday high.  I feel as if it were all a dream as Christmas and New Years found me wrapped in my love's arms once again, France.  Originally, I didn't have vacation until January, but an offer too good to turn down popped up from my mom to go to France and be my dad's surprise Christmas present.  It took some maneuvering and a lot of effort on both my and my company's part, but the change was made and my return trip to the land of unpasteurized cheese and red wine was set in motion.

After a long night's celebration of goodbyes and Merry Christmas-ing in Hong Kong, I hopped on a ten hour flight to Moscow, switched planes, and landed in Paris around nine at night. I immediately felt that all was right in the world walking off that plane and into the cold, fresh, unpolluted, night air.  My adrenaline was pumping so hard from the excitement it completely masked the effects of not having slept at all the previous night or the ride over.  

 All my traveling efforts were well rewarded when I got to see the look of utter shock on my dad's face as he came to the realization that it was me walking towards him, not some directionless crazed lunatic.  His body reacted much faster than his brain could filter as his arms shot up into the air and his vocal chords starting yelling my name.  He surprised even himself by this reaction, he later confessed.  His smile was the biggest I've ever seen it as he dumbfoundedly asked me what I could possibly be doing in Paris, as if it were only by coincidence that we happened to run into each other at the Charles De Gaulle airport.   It's one of the best memories I will ever have of him - I can already tell.           

My parents and I hopped on a bullet train to Brittany where we spent the following week in a haze of merriment with wine soaked, five course, four hour meals, lazy afternoons, aperitifs by the fire, and the general lapping up of affection from my family on my part.  (Can you tell I'm the baby yet?)  It was difficult, at first, to go from the hustle and bustle of metropolitan Hong Kong to the calm, rustic, tranquility of the French countryside.  I quickly adjusted to its simplicity and it even inspired me to spruce up my doodling skills. There were also long, refreshing, sea side walks where we battled against the cold wind and rain. Countless coffees and chocolat chaud were consumed to counteract the damp Brittany chill.  Most of the nearby villages were closed for winter so you can image how fortunate it is that we all like each other as a family, since we were our only source of entertainment.  .

After a week of rejuvenating family time, I felt as if my depleted heart and soul were charged to full capacity.  It was time to take the family party to Paris to shake up the scene with a few Fat Tire Bikes.  Both my mom and my dad were anxious to take a day bike tour of Paris as neither of them were able to when I actually worked for Fat Tire in 2010/11.  I was just as excited to show them a small portion of what my life consisted of for two years.  Right off the bat, I came to realize that getting my dad around 1) English speakers and 2) a bike, was like releasing a six year old into a candy store with an unlimited budget and sampling capabilities.  He was swerving in and out of bikers, asking as many questions to the tour guide as possible, and just being an lovably embarrassing tourist in general.  My mom and I rode together in the back as my dad flitted about and played the social butterfly.

Sadly, my parents left a week before I did - and I truly do mean sadly.  It had been a year since I had seen either of them after I left their Houston home (after crashing on their couch for eight months) to teach English in South Korea.  The older I get and more 'real world experience' I gain, the more I reflect back on how unique my parents are and how much I truly cherish my childhood.  Although I am far from being a "baby girl" now, I'll definitely always be their baby girl.  (sorry bros - it's special.)  Besides, let's be real for a minute, it's always good to know at least two people in the world think you are unconditionally amazing/talented/beautiful/thebestpersonwhowalkedthefaceoftheEarthever.  

That being said, I had a ball with my remaining friends and time in Paris.  A lot of my time was spent exactly how I wanted: wandering with my head in the clouds, drinking coffee, wandering some more and people watching.  I rung in the New Year at the Fat Tire office in the midst of a dance party, champagne, charcuterie, fois grois, suits, ties, fur, glitter and of course, hundreds of dirty bikes, Segways and helmets.

The atmosphere was jovial and utterly carefree.  I attempted to pull an Irish goodbye, but on the way home ran into a new friend from the office party.  He completely saved me from a night of desperate attempts at flagging down an impossible-to-get NYE taxi by securing me a velo, which I rode across town with my floor length red hot dress tucked into my waist high control top tights.

We continued the party until six in the morning in the cave of a local gay bar in the Marais.  I danced like a mad woman and probably offended plenty of dignified men who were completely uninterested in anything I had to offer by flailing my limbs around in their space to the pulsing music.  YOLO.  Finally, when the sun was peaking up over the Seine I dragged myself home, head ringing from the impossibly loud Madonna/Britney Spears, eyes blurry from too much champagne and lust for la vie Parisienne.

The best part about having walked home at six in the morning in Paris were the cobblestones.  They were still glistening from being freshly washed and swept by the green street sweeping monsters and reflected the early pink glow of the sunrise. The city itself was cold and quiet while everyone was tucked into their own, or someone else's, bed to sleep off the night before.  I was beyond tipsy and at this point my floor length red dress was in a knot at my waist. Caked on sweat and mussed up dance hair had obliterated any chance of looking sober or acting cool. In a fleeting moment of clarity I tipped my head back to the sky and whispered a little thank you to the universe and prayed for one more life in Paris.

......which didn't end up landing in my lap before my incredibly exhausting 30 hour journey back to Hong Kong.  Ten of those hours were spent medically knocked out the Moscow airport floor surrounded by ridiculous Russians in track suits. Five of those were spent praying to the Gods of flight because I was entirely certain my plane was going to crash.  All were spent already missing vacation.  WOMP WOMP.

Suckas. Thought you were getting a romantic ending.