Question: best meal ever?
I love gnocchi. One of the best meals I have had was in Naples, Italy. It was there where I first tasted the fluffy, buttery morsels of potato heaven. Ever since, I have this craving for great gnocchi, and whenever I'm in a half decent Italian restaurant, I'm tempted to order it, trying to duplicate that meal. I have been to more famous, popular and fancier restaurants since, but it hasn't happened yet. Ironically, I don't remember the name of that restaurant. Or the neighborhood. Or whether it was the city of Naples for that matter.
Intellectually, I understand this phenomenon, Everything around that meal was serendipitous. I was on my first trip to Europe and Italy. The trip was a last minute, a spurt of the moment decision. I was traveling with one of my best friends from school. We just happened to run into two other friends out of the blue, five thousand miles and an ocean away from home. The restaurant was nondescript and unpretentious. The menu's English more "abstract" than functional. The selections were random. Of course the meal was magical.
I would never be able to find that little restaurant again. But I don't regret that. It gave me wonderful memories about a time in my life. My search for the great gnocchi is more of a yearning than a regret that I didn't stay there longer, take photos, or write down the address and the name. Isn't that the reason we continue to go to new restaurants, to recapture the magical feeling and create more memories? I realize this is much similar to a failed relationship. I should feel lucky that after the goodbye, all I have are the wonderful memories. For a long time, I was full of regret, but that is foolish. I should be grateful. The relationship is over just as I would never go back to that magical gnocchi again. What I have is the yearning for finding that special feeling again-that I truly loved someone and I was loved. I am the lucky one. I could be the one that left the relationship only remembering the shouting, the fights and the slammed doors. Just as I'm sure not everyone at that restaurant that night had as good of a time as I did, like my friend and his ex-girlfriend. So my search continues, for love and the love of gnocchi.
Question: do you know what holiday it is this weekend?
President's Day of course. Well maybe. Leading up it, this was known among my friends and family as the NBA All-Star Weekend. No, not the All-Star Game, but a whole weekend, rookie challenge, skills competition, three point shoot out, slam dunk contest, and of course, parties. A weekend when the stars of NBA baseketball, along with their entourage and anyone who want a piece of these stars, converge on the city of Angels. Or
Black Thanksgiving as David Aldridge or perhaps it was Michael Wilbon called it on CNN. He is catching a lot of flak for that.
However, 2100 miles east of Los Angeles, some people in Alabama are celebrating the President's Holiday honoring both George Washington and Thomas Jefferson's birthdays, so they say. They are doing so by reenacting the inauguration of another president Jefferson,
Jefferson Davis of the Confederacy, that is. The motivation for the inclusion of Thomas Jefferson in the south for this holiday is patently transparent. The President's day celebrates two of the greatest U.S. presidents, Washington and Lincoln, both born in February. Thomas Jefferson was born in April! But JEFFERSON DAVIS was inaugurated in February 22, 182. Although he died in 1826, Thomas Jefferson Day was not written into law until 1938. But nonetheless, the occasion seems a good enough reason to get dressed up like rebels, scream some treasonous slogans, and reinvent the history.
I found this quote particularly powerful, as one Son of Confederate Veterans asked, "“What is it in a man...that would cause him to deny his fellow man the pride and dignity of his heritage?” I don't know what heritage he is proud of. Last night, I watched the players (who are black) compete in the dunk contest. No, to claim that dunking or basketball in general has become the black heritage would be an insult to African Americans and to basketball. But dunking two, three basketballs at once is not the basketball of Dr James Naismith, who invented the sport in 1891. The contribution of Black players to the sport is undeniable, and watch players
soaring over the rim, twisting and gyrating, and finally punishing the rim, these are the distillation of their voice, their aspiration and their culture. To deny that NBA is not "black" is like to deny the Civil War had nothing to do with slavery.
I'm just glad that based on the ratings, the "Black Thanksgiving" has a lot more followers than Jefferson's Day.
"Every time I think I'm out...
they pull me back in." I thought I can sleep in on Sunday after two weeks of nights at the county hospital. No luck. Three pages at 7am woke me up, and 10 minutes later, I'm racing back for another day shift when the rest of SF sleep off its hangover. 13 shifts in 14 days and probably around 170 hours is a little rough. Oddly, I love working at the county hospital-it is my favorite site. I rather stay up all night, popping in a-lines and cordises (sp?), and double fisting pumps to infuse packed cells and FFP into half dead guys than almost anything else in the world. Yes, on some level we all dread the lack of resource or technology at such hospitals that depend on government founding and hampered by state regulations. Not to mention the lack of medical history from most of the patients. And there is the language barrier, Spanish, Chinese, Tagalog, Vietnamese, the list goes on. But in some ways, it is more rewarding taking care of under-served populations. I always do my best and they appreciate that (even if they can't tell me in words).
Compare to the 20 year old that had the million dollar ( or three) work up for chronic fatigue, who needs another diagnostic surgery to make a futile grab at an impossible diagnosis and wants to dictate her own anesthesia, give me a break. Or that 50 year old with an allergy list longer most people's medication list, dear lord. Sometimes, it is us doctors' fault. The problem of working at a research hospital is that the doctors study zebras, collect zebras, and so they see zebras everywhere. What, a test is negative, then it's only more interesting because the zebra is more elusive.
I think I have found my calling in the county hospital. Just let me take calls. Traumas, emergency, not to mention gyne diseaster saves, they float my boat. Now, if I could only learn to speak Spanish. I cannot describe the awesome feeling when I walk into a room, after been told that "we need to get a Cantonese interpreter," then proceed to make the patient magically start speaking Mandarin, calm the freaked out patient and the frantic nurses down, and sail into the OR. Done and done. Imagine the double threat of Chinese and Spanish working in this city, it more than compensates for my lack of English.
