A Question of Taste

My darlings, for a week, I've been focusing more on my eating habits, or rather, what types of food I'm actually consuming. I'm trying to go as organic as possible, with as much fresh ingredients as possible.

Of course, I've had a couple of sweets. Today, I munches on a few droplets of bittersweet chocolate chips and in the past several days, I've had Luna bars, but all in all, my diet consists of fruits, vegetables, the occasional seafood (like delicious mussels in a butter-white wine-garlic sauce), and never ever any red meat (and lots and lots of Greek yogurt).

I think it's so amazing to eat healthily. In the 21st century, Americans don't pay attention as much to what ingredient they are really digesting; they don't really know the beauty in fresh, leafy spinach or gleaming blackberries, and it's almost disheartening.


Additionally, they don't seem to understand the impact of portion control or the power of the homemade. Can you imagine the preservatives in pop tarts?  Or frozen dinners? I can't fathom how these items can be designed for human consumption.

Maybe I'll craft something from my kitchen tomorrow, just to show how amazing home food can be!

April is the cruelest month

Everyone always dotes on this month (partially because of the warm weather, a probable relieve from cooler seasons). However, we all know that for seniors, this month offers a special decree: the college admissions letter.

However, so much rests on this month beyond its first day. We nurture heartaches, celebrate successes and finally reach our ultimate, life-altering decision, the deciding factor regarding which college we will dedicate ourselves to for the next four years of our lives.

For the last couple of years, the same message has been ingrained in our heads: work hard, get into a good school. But the very traumatic element about this statement is that it does not offer any cushion; it is an absolute statement, a justification for working nights and rote memorization.

For me, April has been an absolute nightmare. It has left me on the edge with so many questions. What am I going to major in? What will be my profession? What programs interest me the most? But amidst this storm of thought, there is this daunting and constant thought that I couldn't get into or go to the right school for me.

I know, I must be the worst example possible for any student deciding. But somewhere between rejections and soaring costs, I'm really left with little options. You can imagine the sleepless nights I've had.

But perhaps I sound a bit melodramatic. After all, in the grand scheme of things, I am going to college, and I am still able to change my perspective on my chosen school. However, it's so difficult to imagine myself at such a place. It sounds so...middle America; I will be trapped in this suburban, middle-class environment with washed-out jeans, plastic flip-flops and baseball caps, descriptions very similar to where I live now. But I will have no gateway to any major cities or considerably fun weekend explorations. I fear the thought of suffocating to death in that autonomous sea of textbooks and hard data and thousands of students.  The very thought that I could have had afternoon teas and grand pianos- and France! further darkens the equation.

In hindsight, I think it'll be great learning experience. My cocoon is getting a little bit too small and I'm ready to expand and understand all aspects of the world...even if it involves face paint and white sneakers.

A part of me wants to stop being so damn philosophical about everything. Because it's a competitive world, I may not have time to express all of my "feelings". After graduate school, I will be a professional, I'll probably buy an expensive briefcase which I'll only tote for job interviews and wear black high heels. But I know this inherent part of myself will be treasured because it keeps me grounded and in perspective of the larger picture and it offers vividness, this essence of being alive. 

I just hope I can maneuver through the first year with positivity. I'm not sure what the future holds after that, but I'm eager to explore.

I CAN'T PROCRASTINATE ANYMORE

I have to study for AP Chemistry.

But the internet is so addicting...

Okay. I'm going to study now.

Chocolate Strawberry Layer Cake

Sometimes, when I'm too distracted and excitable to meditate, I cook. So far, though, I've only touched the baking realm; I'm taking it slow, transitioning from making desserts to more adventurous elements (roast lamb, homemade pasta) and ultimately, souffle. But I won't be expecting that for a very very long time.

The other day, I decided to test out a chocolate strawberry layer cake recipe. I think I'll stick to a denser batter and ganache instead of proper frosting next time.

Add 1 ¾ cups all-purpose flour, 2 cups granulated sugar, ¾ cups unsweetened cocoa powder, 1 ½ teaspoons baking powder, 1 ½ teaspoons baking soda, and 1 teaspoon fine grain sea salt into a large bowl.

 Combine.

For the wet ingredients, add 2 large eggs, 1 cup buttermilk, ½ cup vegetable oil, and 2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract. I prefer separate eggs into small ramekins first, a guarantee that no stray slivers of shell make it into the batter. Additionally, I prefer cracking eggs on a hard, even surface instead of on edges, which, in turn, makes the shell easier to break open.

Add the wet ingredients into the dry; I prefer using a whisk, but a spatula is more than appropriate. 

The consistency should not be excessively runny.

 Pour in a cup of boiling water; stir.

I preheated my oven to 350F and lined a round cake pan with parchment paper. Make sure to grease the sides. Separate the batter into three batches and bake for 17 minutes.

Combine 1 ½ sticks unsalted, melted butter, 1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder, ⅓ cup plus 2 tablespoons milk, 4 ½ cups sugar, ½ tablespoon pure vanilla extract and 2 teaspoons light corn syrup.

 To create a silkier complexion, I utilized a double boiler. 

Wash a few strawberries for an optional garnish

Because cooking is such a strenuous process (for me), I like to indulge in nutella.

I spread strawberry jam between the layers to intensify the strawberry persona. Drizzle the frosting.

Voila! C'est tout.

My darlings, as I am not a professional baker at all, I decided to test out the hardest recipe for me as of yet: layer cake. Upon cradling the cakes out of the oven, I realized that the batter was more moist than I initially believed, which benefits the palate but takes away from the general presentation. Next time, I must search for a more successful recipe.

The idea of being a feminist scares and intrigues me

I've not had lunch yet, which is rather devastating. Right now, I sitting on my new rug, finishing some homework, but because it is after April 1st, I feel open to discuss my ideas about college. Today, I received a letter from the University of Richmond congratulating my parents on my acceptance from the Office of Multicultural Affairs...as if I haven't already been white-washed.

I'd like to share a passage which I find particularly interesting: "I have no doubt that you have seen or heard about our beautiful campus. However, even more important is the detailed and caring attention Ruoxi will receive during his new journey at such a prestigious institution." I'd like to ask to what extent is the attention if University of Richmond addresses me as "his". I think I made my gender pretty clear in my UR application essay, when I discussed the importance of Vogue magazine. What part of "I am Woman. Hear me roar", a passage quoted from said essay, don't they understand?

And I dread to hear my dorm and bathroom situation.

This letter alone is enough proof for me to send a "I regret to inform you" letter. And, very much like Ron Weasely, I do not have an inkling towards spiders anyway.

I'm beginning to find public state schools overrated, also. Sadly, I would probably have to go to one of these schools. I can't discuss the idea of a NOVA II; the topic depresses me immensely.

Maybe I should become a feminist. But I'm not very akin to smoking clove cigarettes and not shaving. Perhaps I could bring something new to the community. Maybe I could introduce the importance of pink, and lace, and ballet slippers. I would feel very much delighted if they accepted me. But I'm not so sure about the I HATE MEN thing. I guess I'll be a neo-revolutionist.

This first April weekend

Bon soir, mes cheries!
Can I tell you how much I love 3-day weekends? I've been so busy, firstly with homework, secondly, as USHMM is hosting Parisian high school students for the weekend, with tour guiding as well as practicing my french. They seem as if they understand what I'm saying...but they may be laughing at my poor accent. C'est la vie.

I spent the majority of Saturday in DC, in the morning, facilitating classes and the evening welcoming the french students who had just flown in (imagine the jetlag!). Today,  I finished my homework (but is in no shape prepared for calculus free response questions on Tuesday). I think tomorrow should be much fun as we're showing the French kids around Monticello then heading to Busboys & Poets.

The students all have the stereotypical french names...Gauvain, Pierre, Etienne, etc, and they definitely do not look like Les Americains. It's refreshing to not witness the sight of baggy sweatpants. Les mecs wore sharp glasses and looked as if they had a penchant for tight jeans and thick scarves.


Some of the girls were about one ring away from being over-accessorized, but none crossed the line. All seemed ebullient, had terrific American accents, and thought cheerleaders (initially deemed "pom-pom girls") wore their uniforms to school everyday.

Overall, they aren't different from us. Except for the fact that they love drinking limoncello, etc and occasionally inhale a cigarette, but that's probably what American teenagers do anyway, just not in public. But they still consider the shops at Champs-Elysees expensive and enjoy home food such as mashed potatoes and chicken (and escargots, and frog legs).

Unfortunately, there were no berets in sight. And Edith Piaf is so overrated.

How immense the burden of the Second Semester Reputation has bestowed upon me!

I think the Second Semester Slump is displayed through my lack of concern for grades. It is definitely not normal for me to be simply "curious" of my grades in particular classes.

And definitely not normal that I haven't started on the homework due tomorrow. Or study, for that matter.

Talking about Rejection.

April 1st is just around the corner, but colleges and universities around the country are already posting online notifications. It's the time of the year where students from around the nation are either joyous or devastated.

I've had the opportunity to be on both ends of the spectrum. A rejection letter is painful, but a beautiful learning experience that I shall bring forth in all aspects of my life. An acceptance letter is a joyous occasion, but it makes me wonder how the rejected students must feel. Some could wonder how I, who may have not shown extensive enthusiasm towards the admissions process, could be accepted whereas they, who have done everything possible, who have wished and prayed and hoped and believed, was rejected. I wish to do everything in my power to comfort all these applicants because I know how it feels to want something so much yet be so distant.

Perhaps this outcome may be unfair. But an acceptance is not everything; it does not guarantee a life without worries or a successful future or even happiness. Know that those individuals who were offered an acceptance letter may not be any better; they are not of a higher rank nor do they have superhuman capabilities. We are all cut from the same cloth; we suffer from worries and stress and celebrate on occasions and break down from time to time; an acceptance letter does not make that any different.

Though it may not sound like it now, you will be okay. With the passage of time, any feelings of sadness or resentment will fade. That may take weeks, or possibly months, like it did for me, but soon this tide shall pass.

I'm reading Atonement

And I love it and I love the characters and the plot line and everything around me seems florid and whimsical even though I'm taking a calculus test tomorrow. I can't wait to envelope myself into the tragedy and I can't wait to finish it over the weekend and have time to digest what happens despite the fact that I have a bazillion other things planned but I will read it on the metro and snicker at the funny bits and cry at the sad bits and I won't even care if people look at me strangely because I'll stand up and say "Ladies and gentlemen, this is how you write a book!". And I won't even care if they think I'm psychotic, because sometimes I think I am.

I can't wait to stop caring about college and school and simply enjoy basking in the sun on a Saturday afternoon and sprawl out on my deck and gently turn the leaflets one-by-one with my neighbor's dog howling obnoxiously in the distance. I simply don't care because I have a good book.

I am working. I feel empowered.

Bonjour mon cherie! Today, I am working/ studying. But as you can see, I am on the internet, so I'm really not studying. I really hate this chapiter of chemistry.

Additionally, I've skimmed throgh some of Sylvia Plath's poems. They're pretty depressing, but I found one that I actually enjoy because it mirrors the way I feel about family reunions.


Family Reunion
by Sylvia Plath



Outside in the street I hear

A car door slam; voices coming near;

Incoherent scraps of talk

And high heels clicking up the walk;

The doorbell rends the noonday heat

With copper claws;

A second's pause.

The dull drums of my pulses beat

Against a silence wearing thin.

The door now opens from within.

Oh, hear the clash of people meeting ---

The laughter and the screams of greeting :



Fat always, and out of breath,

A greasy smack on every cheek

From Aunt Elizabeth;

There, that's the pink, pleased squeak

Of Cousin Jane, out spinster with

The faded eyes

And hands like nervous butterflies;

While rough as splintered wood

Across them all

Rasps the jarring baritone of Uncle Paul;

The youngest nephew gives a fretful whine

And drools at the reception line.



Like a diver on a lofty spar of land

Atop the flight of stairs I stand.

A whirlpool leers at me,

I cast off my identity

And make the fatal plunge.
 
Have a lovely & productive Sunday!