A Shameless Devour Confessed…

2:08pm
I have a confession. Well, it’s not much of a confession to those I’m close to. I am amongst the carnivore variety these days. For some it evoked a “Hooray! Now we can go anywhere to eat!” and for others it’s “Really?…Why?” I won’t go too much into ‘why’ of it other than it was recommended by my Chinese doc back in December. It was a horrific thing for me to even fathom. But slowly I had fish then chicken…and then more chicken. Once my body had had a taste of this avian variety, I could not get enough of it.

Last week, I felt very lethargic and had no energy to do anything. I’d teach a class and felt spent. By the end of the week, I knew something was wrong when it didn’t go away and decided to see my Chinese doctor. He said I had the “flu”. Some things have no translation and “flu” is best word for whatever it is he’s diagnosed me with.

This week, I suddenly had a craving for steak. I wanted bloody red meat. If you had told me this just a month ago, I would have been completely repulsed by the idea…and have been ever since I’ve been vegetarian. This is definitely one of those times where I even surprised myself.

Today, I decided to do it. I went to Gelson’s where I knew there would be good quality meat and befriended a butcher named Ramon. He happened to be putting out packaged meat while I was at the section and I started to sheepishly ask him which cuts were most tender. He said that all the meats here are very tender, organic and of high quality. He’s tried all of them. And, he’s worked there for 17 years. Now that’s my kinda butcher: knowledgeable and passionate about his trade. So I decided to confess to him: “I’ve been a vegetarian for 6 years and just recently started eating meat again. It’s probably been 10 years since I’ve had a steak. Can you recommend something?” He stood like Captain America with his chest puffed out, fists on his hips and said “I’ve got the perfect steak for you!”…he didn’t really stand like that, but looking back he might as well have. He asked me what price range I was looking at and I said it didn’t matter…I mean, if this is going to my FIRST STEAK IN 10 YEARS, it better be fucking good. So he confidently told me that he was going to cut something for me and assured me that I’d enjoy it very much. He adjourned to the back and returned with a USDA Prime Beef Rib Spencer Steak at 26.99/lb. There’s no context for me to put any of this information in, but the color of the steak was nice and red and it was a nice size. He told me to cook it in a pan: a little cooking oil, 3-minutes on each side, covered (the fat will help cook it). He also generously sent me home with rub for Spencer.

As soon as I got home, I gently took the plastic wrap off of Spencer and started to put the rub on. I wore my mala and started singing the Triyambacam mantra to Spencer and blessed him and thanked him for his life so that I could be nourished. I also hoped that in return, by ingesting Spencer, I could help raise his spirit up. I gently laid Spencer down in the pan and covered him for 3-minutes on each side.

Spencer...fresh from the butcher

Spencer got a special rub and rub down while I chanted and blessed him

The time had come. I placed Spencer down on my finest China, sat down at the kitchen table, cut a piece off and ate it. YESSS! This is what my body needs. The combination of juices, texture, and seasoning was a celebratory explosion of fireworks for my taste buds and the feel-good electrical impulses in my brain. Each bite was a celebration. The glass of California red wine and arugula salad I fixed for myself was a waste of time. The loaf of rustic bread, still hot from having just come out of the oven was only a good compliment because of its ability to soak up the pale red juice that flowed onto my plate from each cut.

Cooked to perfection

Devoured...each bite is an explosion of celebratory fireworks

Never would I have thought of appreciating a butcher so much. To all the butchers out there who are passionate about delivering good quality, I commend you. My Spencer steak was just under half a pound at $12.69. I chuckled once I had finished my meal and realized the last two digits of the price and felt it as being appropriate for such an experience. (Yes, that was my sorry attempt at ending this with a sexual joke)

For GIRLS ONLY (…and curious boys)

I didn’t go to practice yesterday or this morning. I’m on what’s called in Ashtanga, my “woman’s holiday” aka my menstruation cycle. So it’s advised that women do not practice while on their period. I’ve known some women to be upset that they needed to take a few days off of practice. I on the other hand, have always welcomed this short reprieve. We’re bleeding for God’s sake!…AND we’re working, running a business, grocery shopping, cooking, and taking care of the family…all while hemorraging. We need this time to rest and take it easy. To reserve our energy.

My Chinese doctor in LA firmly and sternly told me also to not practice yoga while on my period. He gives orders without really telling you why. I gathered up enough courage to ask “Why?” one time and he says, “You’ll get bad skin again. You want bad skin??!?” (It was what he was treating me for)

So when the Ashtanga system and my Chinese doctor both say to not practice while on my period, I listen. The two have not failed me yet. And as with honoring our full moon and new moon days, I want to honor the apana–the downward energy that is flowing through me. So instead, I do my 4 purifications pranayama and meditation. If my body feels like it needs to move a bit, a do a little stretching. But nothing strenuous.

I like being in touch and connected with my body. My cycle runs approximately every 28 days and changes with the seasons. So as the days get warmer towards summer, my cycle follows the full moon. And as the days get colder, my cycle falls with the new moon. Kinda cool, huh?

Chinese Healer – How’s Your Urine? Part II

The 2 women who were there when Mom and I arrived, now leave and it’s time for me to see the doc. He’s sitting at the end of a couch also bundled up like his wife and his legs are propped up on an ottoman and wrapped in what seemed like several layers of blankets. My mom and I sit down on the couch adjacent to him.

Now, let me preface this visit with the fact that I asked my mom to come with me just in case I couldn’t completely understand the Chinese doc. I speak Cantonese fairly well but more complicated words or phrases stump me and being that this is something medical, I knew I’d need her.

And indeed I did. The first thing he asks me is about my urine and my period. I now some new Chinese vocabulary. He checks the pulse on my right wrist and then my left. He says that there’s bacteria in my urine and when there’s bacteria in the urine, it shows up on the skin and makes the complexion bad. He starts to inquire about my diet and my mom tells him I’m vegetarian. He’s a no-nonsense type of guy and when he hears that I’m vegetarian and am ‘not even eating fish’ he looks a bit outraged and says I need to put meat back in my diet…at least fish. He says that I have a poor complexion and need more nutrients in my diet and need to start including meat in my diet; at least some fish. Mom is delighted to hear this…it has taken her the last 2 years to accept that I’m not eating meat. I stopped eating meat 6 years ago…yes, even chicken.

He jots down his prescription for me in Chinese and tells us to go to the herb store down the street. Now it’s Mom’s turn to see him. She asks him about the pain in her lower back. He takes her pulse and tells her she has bad digestion. She’s been battling with acid reflux this year and has had variable stomach issues all year. He strictly tells her to stop taking her stomach medicine because it makes your bone brittle and instructs her to stop eating any rice noodles, preserved or pickled vegetables, soups, and no raw vegetables and fruit.  He’s very stern with her and says, “Do you want to get well?!??” And Mom says, “of course I do!” Then you better listen…” and continues to repeat what she cannot eat for the next 2 months. I’ve never seen anyone talk to my mom like that. Not that she needed to be but he put my mama in her place! He writes his prescription for her, hands her the slip of paper and tells us to finish our medicine and come back to see him when we’re done.

Stay tuned for Part III…our adventure at the Chinese ‘pharmacy’ and buying my pot.

Chinese Healer – Yay for being Chinese! Part I

This past Tuesday was one of those days that made me thankful for my Chinese heritage. I’ve been battling with a weird “acne” condition on my face all year and am not quite sure what it is. It’s not your usual breakout and seems to be more along the lines of some sort of inflammation than your typical “adult acne”…which is what the dermatologist told me this past February and prescribed some topical ointment that didn’t do anything for it other than dry out my skin AND make it appear more oily. Then I thought it was eczema, of which I got some ointment for but still…did not take care of the craters showing up. And then I was told it was a hormonal problem and should take birth control pills for it.

Fed up, I felt like it was time to take control and take a different route…seeing a Chinese healer. Thankfully, my mother told me of Uncle Bing’s Chinese doc. Uncle Bing has been a family friend since I was a baby and his daughter Natalie, is one of my best friends since childhood, was my first pen pal, and also was my maid-of-honor. Uncle Bing had frustratingly seen doctor after doctor and when he still did not feel better he went and saw the Chinese doc. After one visit and some herbal medicine, he was all better. This gave me hope.

So Mom rang up Uncle Bing and found out that the Chinese doc only sees patients out of his home in Monterey Park on weekdays from 9-12 and then from 3-6 and he only charges $10. Apparently he used to have a private practice, got sick, and now only practices out of his home as his seva (service).

Mom and I met at the house and in a typical SoCal suburban neighborhood. We walk up to the door and she rings the doorbell. Through the screen door we hear a man say, “Come in!” My mom and I walk in and the house inside is freezing. The temperature inside the house is colder than it is outside. I see an older man sitting in the living room speaking to 2 women. A lady dressed in a turtleneck and 4 layers of fleece walks towards us and told us to take a seat. We sit down at the only available seating which was at the kitchen table. She sits across from us as if the 3 of us have always sat together like this; she picks up a wide bowl of bright green soup, takes a slurp, burps, and continues slurping.

Thankfully, she speaks Cantonese and I’m able to understand the exchange her and my mom begin to have and find out that she’s the doc’s wife. My mom curiously asks what she’s eating and tells her it looks good. The lady says it tastes horrible; it’s 10 different vegetables, boiled and blended, and she eats a bowl of it everyday. It looked deceptively good…like yummy Brazilian green sauce. She asks Mom how long she’s lived in the U.S. I guess she deemed my mom as being American when she asked my mom if she had heard of cashmere and wondered if it was warm. They go on to talk about cashmere undergarments. I sat there in amusement and thought about how quickly Chinese people make themselves so comfortable with one another after having just met for 5-minutes. It’s endearing and also makes me feel ‘at home’. There’s something about speaking a different language and being amongst those that are also of the same culture…there’s just an understanding even without words.