Friday, May 28, 2004

Green Tomato Restaurant


Fri 04.30.2004

If you love entertainment, out on the town, and city nightlife, you'll love San Diego. She may seem shy next to her big-nipple sister, Los Angeles, but she's wild enough to me.

We don't usually go barhopping or clubbing but dining out is great enjoyment. From 99-cent Chinese food to $25+ a plate, we have tried a few, perhaps never enough, restaurants.

For my birthday, John had talked about all kinds of possibilities. It had to be Friday evening because for the next 2 days we planned to attend Adams Avenue Roots Festival all the way. As much as I'd love to go to Sevilla, Flamingo dance show on Saturday would be my choice over Tango on Friday nights. Dealing with parking at Gas Lamp Quarter was another challenge, which successfully kept us away since day one. I wondered what occasion would take us there for dinner. (We had lunch in Gas Lamp before.)

He also listed a few well-known restaurants in La Jolla for me to choose. Well, it's Friday night already. Were we really going to drive a long way to those "reservation highly recommended" places? To this day, my hubby still had not been acquainted the concept of making reservations.

We then started naming places we had thought about going but never made it. Gee, wasn't that tiring? I thought it was supposed to be his job to pick one. After all, I was the b-day girl. Anyway, we're like old couples, not many surprises.

Green Tomato came in the picture. It's right across street from Kensington Grill. The mossy green walls seemed to convey its modesty and the candlelight by the window beamed its elegance at passersby. I'd love to go but it's probably expensive -- I couldn't tell how many times I've said that to myself since opening. The on-line guide / restaurant review boosted our confidence that it would be a wonderful choice (within our "budget").

I did not realize behind the unassuming concrete layer there's an urban garden of mind. Oil paintings of flowers in soft lights welcomed a young couple. So did solitaire violin melody at the bar.

The hostess led us to a table for 2. I quickly glanced the interior and pleasantly acknowledged the uniformity of interior design. With untrained eyes, like mine, it's gracefully Victorian, perhaps French country.

We were probably the youngest among the patrons. I certainly didn't know Green Tomato was supported by "more matured audiences," pardon my pun. Our waitress wasn't eagle to suggest anything, only answering questions; she was, overall, courteous and performed her duties well.

There's no loud chatter, hustle bustle, or other music. Calm conversations and private laughter expressed the moods.

The violinist left the bar and stopped at each table to greet the guests.

"Hi, my name is John. I just want to say hello." We were delighted by his kind gesture.

"Have you been here before?"

We shook our heads.

"Oh, it's wonderful! You feel like you're in Europe. Everything is so delicious!"

I had never been to Europe. Inside Green Tomato, we were transported to old countries across the Atlantic.

We exchanged a bit of small talk with the violinist, asking how long he had been playing the in restaurant and what dishes had he tried.

Then he went over to the table next to us. The lady sitting there requested a Russian song, which I didn't recognize. It was beautiful.

As we studied the menu and wine list, we found matching (in-house) food or wine suggestions nicely presented. Not many restaurants we had been to accomplish that. What a shame it could be if one ordered a glass of unflattering wine to your dish? I love the thoughtfulness. After all, not everyone is connoisseur.

I ordered Seafood Pasta followed the on-line review and a glass of California Sauvignon Blanc. (Winery & vintage I can't remember but pretty sure it's from Sonoma County.) John had Rib Eye Steak and a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. We chatted about wine for a while. The cab he had wasn't the greatest of course. The food was excellent. We imaged what an awesome match it could be, had we had some Bordeaux. You do have to pay an arm and a leg for good wines in restaurants, no doubt about that.

Full as we were, desserts were out of the question. We strolled in Kensington for a few minutes then went home.

I forgot it was my birthday dinner. Inside Green Tomato, it's a different world. The occasion didn't seem important. In such relaxed surroundings, my attention was we -- a wonderful dining experience for 2 -- but not just myself being treated to a special feast.

Tuesday, May 25, 2004

Simple Is Good

Last night, either of us wanted to cook. Fortunately we had enough leftover from last weekend to bring to work for today's lunch, so we didn't need to labor in the kitchen.

On our neighborhood walk, we saw that guy from Phoenician Bakery wheeling around a small truck with breads then knocking on the door of one of the houses.

A boy in little league uniform answered the door. Their Beagle, too, followed the young master greeting the Bread Man with long howls and lots of tail wagging.

"Want any bread today?"

"Dad..."

"Ur, no bread today. Could you come back Friday?" A voice came out the living room.

With the door closed behind him, the Bread Man was ready to go on his usual route.

I had seen him many times but never bought anything.

"Today is the day," I thought.

"What bread do you have?" I dragged John to the mini mobile bakery.

"French bread, rolls, and Pita bread."

The paper sacks were rather slender, so I asked, "are these baguettes?"

"They are French bread. Yeah, like baguettes."

Well, we paid $2.50 for a loaf of something between a peasant loaf and a baguette. I supposed we didn't always have to define/label everything exactly. It was a nice loaf of French style bread and the main course of our dinner.

Melted cheese on sliced bread, California green olives (in herbed vinaigrette), and fresh pear-shape tomatoes filled us up. I poured a glass of Spanish red John insisted that he tasted strawberry flavor then I opened a bottle of Italian red that was described as chocolaty.

I imagined a Mediterranean affair with the simple foods we had. The Spanish wine was great though I didn't taste hints of strawberry. It had slight sweetness of caramel and vanilla. I was surprised how well it paired with tomatoes and olives. Who said reds couldn't go with salads? The Italian wine was equally pleasant. It struck me with similarities to Californian reds and yet no dominating berry flavors, instead, pear. Not chocolaty to me at all. I'm not sure what experts say about these 2 wines -- I might post reviews later. Whatever they are, we love them!

A very simple and satisfying meal, we ate and drank to hour hearts content.

Monday, May 24, 2004

No Time for Us


Last weekend's activities review:

Saturday we got up at 8:30, early for us, and "rushed" to Mission Gorge for Oak Canyon and Grassland hikes. It happened to be "Mission Trail Days" and very busy.

We had been waiting for this section to open for a while, so it's quite exciting to explore new territories. However, the beauty was destroyed by fires last October and we could only image what it might be like. Brushes and grass grew back next to charred remains. The nature had such amazing self-healing power, which always moved me so profoundly. I remember the first time we visited Mt St Helens National Monument and witnessed the transformation 20 years after the disaster.

So much to explore yet so little time. We also planned to make it to the precious one-hour lap swim time at 12:30pm. By 12 pm, we had to turn around and on the way returning to the parking lot, we saw a tiny snake with brown spots on its yellow belly and green back, which was the first time we had encountered with any no-legged reptile in the park.

We were supposed to do laundry this weekend but I just couldn't drag myself to do that. Instead we hung out at a Kensington coffee shop for a while. John really craved for Bordeaux then we drove all the way to Vintage Wines in Miramar for 4 bottles of reds. Grocery shopping came next.

By the time we got home, it's 7:30.

I had copied down a pork chop recipe from Bon Appetite, which I thought it was Bordeaux style. It turned out to be Burgundy. On top of that the potatoes we had at home went bad. Just great! I couldn't make the dinner as planned. But I'm always very resourceful. I decided to take the "stew-like" cooking technique from the Burgundy recipe and fixed up the chops with pearl onions, a Red Delicious Tamyra gave me on Friday, some Bordeaux wine, then paired with buttery wild rice pilaf.

The result was awesome though our dinner started nearly at 10 pm. John asked me what style of food that was? What would I know? He said it could be German. Whatever it was, I might not be able to re-create again. The chops didn't go with Bordeaux but better with Duck Pond Pinot Noir (Oregon) we had. I wondered if Burgundy would a better choice of wine? The only (red) Burgundy we had contained less smokiness than Oregon Pinot and more delicate. It could be the match.

Both of us got so tired that we didn't even have energy to watch TV.

+++

Sunday, main activity was to attend "Sicilian Festival" in Little Italy.

In the morning, John cooked up his famous pancake-omelet breakfast. Afterwards, he dropped me off at the laundromat and went to Hillcrest Farmer's Market for more fresh produce. Quite disappointingly, he bought only 2 unripe avocados and a bag of salad mix.

We arrived in the Sicilian Fest scene around 2 pm. John was hoping to find the octopus salad he enjoyed so much from last October's event. Sure enough, Zagarella's Restaurant set out a stand selling octopus salad, fried calamari, pasta, etc. We had one order of octopus and calamari each. Later, I had to try some homemade gnocchi in Alfredo sauce and ravioli (half moon shape) in marinara sauce from Buon Appetito (caf�). John bought a cannoli without hesitation. By this time, I was stuffed.

It's very hard to resist gelato once we saw someone eating it. Then we went to Cafe Zucchero (the dissert side) for some Italian ice cream.

Needless to say, I was in pain after the gelato. Why did I overeat like this?

The festival was nothing like Little Italy Festa in October. The cultural performances were great but the arts and crafts vendors were ordinary. We seriously came here for a late lunch (and too much of it). Honestly, Little Italy Festa was unparallel and Chalk La Strada simply can't be missed. For a Little Italy affair, come October. You didn't miss much in Sicilian Festival.

On our way back to the parking lot, I caught a glimpse of Star of India. It would be fun to take a look at that antique ship. We changed course and headed the harbor. We hadn't been toured around the Bay much, thus it's a good time for sight seeing.

The entire afternoon excursion was done in 3 hours. We made it back to Horton Plaza and got out at the last minute of our free 3-hour parking.

Caribbean jerked chicken was supposed to be John's contribution for the night. His sister had given us a bag of spices she brought back from a recent Belize diving trip. He planned to make it this weekend. The chicken should be marinated with those spices for 12 hours. Saturday night he re-read the instructions and found too time consuming than he had thought. He gave up the jerked chicken idea but we didn't further discuss what to do with already thawed poultry.

Again, it's up to me to save the day. I turned it into an herbed garlic chicken fettuccine dish. Not bad, eh?

Sunday night was always a stressful time. We had wine to relax but it didn't help much. Before bedtime, exhausted, we both realized that we should mail out some bills and pack lunch for Monday.

So much we had done and so much fun we had in two days. We didn't have time for us, to be intimate.

Nutrient Killer

A few months ago I saw on TV news that a study showed 95% of nutrients of a head of broccoli would be destroyed after being cooked in a microwave for 10 seconds. Well, I couldn't remember the exact figures. Perhaps, 90% in 30 seconds. Nevertheless, most of the nutrients vanish in a matter of seconds.

You might not care about broccoli but the study showed same striking effect on another vegetable, which I couldn't remember.

When we fall "victim" of modern life styles and conveniences, we lose ingredients that keep us healthy. I used to cook raw vegetables in a microwave thinking it's just like steaming, the best method to retain the nutrients. How wrong was I?

Now I even hesitate heating food in a microwave. But, what alternatives do I have. Eating out? I can't afford that. Bringing sandwiches and salads to work for lunch? All these years in US, I'm still a "hot" food person (temperature hot not spicy), sticking to my cultural background. No cold sandwich can really satisfy me. Between healthier approach and meeting the psychological needs, I choose to warm up food in microwave. Who knows? Those cooked vegetables may not have much nutrient left to destroy anyway.

My friend Tamyra told me she cooked vegetables, fresh or frozen, in the microwave for 4 or 5 minutes. I saw her cooking canned beans for 4 minutes and oatmeal, 5 minutes. She usually boiled greens, very southern. I thought to myself, "is there any nutrients left at all?" I didn't have the heart to share the piece of news with her. You just don't discuss stuff like that to someone who doesn't seem to be health-conscious. Then again, am I really better than her?

Monday, May 17, 2004

Tenth Anniversary


Mon 05.17.2004


I came to US of A in 1994 on this date. Gosh, how time flies!

Going to Pretty Woman in the theater feels like just last week but fact is more than a decade ago. I wonder if Ms. Julia feels the same way?

Months ago I arranged a physical exam on today to get off work for the whole day. Well, I didn't want to make it a big deal but it's nice to have some time reviewing how I spent my life thus far in this country.

Today is actually a continuation of our weekend too. We went to Ensenada, Baja California, Mexico for the weekend. And today John wanted to chill out. He didn't realize it was my anniversary.

After early morning doctor's visit, John took me to Caf� 222, downtown, that we heard so much about. Perhaps it's our luck. The waffle wasn't crispy golden brown and the pumpkin pancake featured in some gourmet magazine was simply not impressive.

We shopped for some wine and hang around until mid afternoon. It's hot enough to dip in the ocean. 3pm traffic isn't forgiving; we stuck on I-15 south for who-knows-how-long and had to alter the destination from Coronado to OB. We were determined to go to the beach.

For the first time, I tried boogie board. It's never too old to learn, right?

+++

Dr. B was so nice.

Since I was a new patient, she interviewed me for family health history and parenthood plans. I informed her of my heart palpitations. She told me a lot of young women had PVC but it's not dangerous. I inquired about possible panic attack diagnose and she gave me an answer similar to Dr. RF's. I know I shouldn't be thinking too much about it any more.

For the Pap smear, she was very gentle and thorough. She also checked for breast lumps and listened to my heartbeats. I didn't if this was a standard procedure but I felt receiving special attention. I haven't met a doctor so nice since I left Omaha.

She said she would need to lab results from Urgent Care. She personally checked in with me after the exam and let me know it hadn't been transmitted to her office. It's a small 2-minute gesture but I haven't known any doctor who'd do that. Most of the time, a nurse or assistant does that.

It's a very pleasant visit.

Wednesday, May 12, 2004

Burning Fingers


I'd been thinking about making mole (sauce) for a while. Even though I didn't have all the ingredients but John didn't call me "Queen of Improvisation" for nothing. Yes, I often make up stuff.

We had 2 fresh Poblano peppers, some Guajillo chiles (chilies), extra Mexican salsa from Villa Del Mar (taco shop), and a block of Tofu. Monday night, I decided to make Tofu Mole with whatever we had at home. Yeah, kind of fusion, you might call it, a genuine creation of my own. But it came with a price.

First step was to roast those Poblano peppers. I cut them open and took the seeds out. Minutes later the middle finger of my left hand started to feel stingy. Goodness, I had a tiny paper cut on that finger earlier in the office.

It's crazy. Fresh Poblano peppers are not even hot. I was never a fiery food fan. And my mole was going to be very mild.

Somehow the burning sensation spread to the index finger and the ring finger. I managed to simmer up all the stuff and some baking chocolate (unsweetened) for a funny pot of mole, then put my fingers on ice.

By bedtime, I had to rid of the ice and the burning feeling was still there. I tried aloe vera gel and burnt cream but they didn't work. Finally, I gave up messing around and went to bed with burning fingers.

I didn't know how long it took me to fall asleep. Thank heavens, I woke up the next day with "normal" fingers.


Note:

Poblano peppers, also called Pasilla peppers. Grocery stores in San Diego often label them Pasilla.

Monday, May 10, 2004

Iraq Bound


Our Sunday night had another turn. It's Mother's Day. We tried to call my mother-in-law a few times but she' out. We thought she probably had a nice day.

Finally when John reached her, she said, "Gotta go, Survivor's on!"

Well, it's the season finale and an hour special, total of 3 hours of a mother's time undisturbed, not even by a happy-mother's-day wish from her son.

She called back after the show's over. We had no idea the whole family went to Des Moines for cousin Leo's farewell party a day before. Uncle Ray flew in from Denver; both John's sisters were there too. In other words, on the eve of Mother's Day she went to see Leo.

In two weeks, Leo will be sent to San Diego for non-stop military training and in August, Iraq bound.

Although Leo will be in town, we won't be able to see him at all.

It was a lengthy conversation but John hung up before I had a chance to wish Joyce a Happy Mother's Day. Anyway, John was down. He told me even though Joyce didn't say it bluntly, she's 100% behind Bush and whatever Americans had been doing over there.

How do you argue with your mother about a cause you don't believe in? How do you challenge your mother on political stands?

In John's family, everyone keeps these topics to minimal so no one will hurt anyone's feelings or take any criticisms personally. We have Republicans, Democrats, Green Party supporters, and independents in the family. Perhaps quieter is better.

"This is not Vietnam," John said, "at least we knew we were at fault. It's not a popular war."

"Now Leo has to die for freeing Iraq?!" With all our hearts wishing he safe and sound, the thought of death haunted us.

He's only 24 years old, once a premature twin that survived the open warmer bed. A beautiful and strong young man knows his duty and is willing to sacrifice at all cost. He's Uncle Sam's man and has better believe in his Commander-in-Chief. Or, else???

Moment of Truth


I went to see Dr. RF this afternoon, knowing it's only going to be a 15-minute visit (at the most).

He's about my height, energetic, a man with fro-like curly gray hair and piercing eyes. The first thing I noticed was his Mickey Mouse tie. Perhaps it's a way to calm my nerves down. He also reminded me of the actor who played Dr. "Ass Man" in one episode of Seinfeld.

Earlier today I wrote up a list of questions to ask Dr. RF. He's quick to give me a review of my test results. Really, I found that out from his assistant. Nothing's wrong.

"What am I doing here?" His keen look humbled me, I must say.

I confirmed with him that he did hear a click sound in my heartbeat, thus suggested those tests. He told me it's perceivable that I might have MVP but it's too minor to be seen on the echocardiogram.

As for heart palpitations, people could have up to 1400 times (700 for upper & low chamber each) premature beats and to be considered normal. I had 28 / 108 that day. Most people don't feel these beats; somehow I do but it's not worth alarming.

Then I told him about the episode I had a few days later after I went to Urgent Care. He said the incident could be caused by panic attack. However, since it happened only once, it's probably nothing. I shouldn't be over-concerned or hyper-aware of my heartbeats and try not to take too much caffeine to instigate rapid heartbeats. Also, I shouldn't avoid exercise. (I didn't.)

He gave me the test reports to take to my regular doctor / primary physician. At least I received something out of this visit.

When I got home, another letter from the insurance company came in the mail. It's not the claims from the Cardiologist's office but more from the Urgent Care. I would be billed for another part of X-ray deal and the "physician's service."

$32 added to the tab. I didn't know why there were 2 separate charges for X-ray lab? The Urgent Care center billed the insurance company nearly $400 for my 10 minutes with the doctor on duty that day.

I had a taste of what it's like to have heart problems. If the disease doesn't kill you, the bills will.

Sunday, May 09, 2004

Live for the Weekend (2)


Late start today. Gotta do laundry this morning. By the time, we're done, it's 2pm already.

John watched NBA Playoff game, Lakers VS. Spurs, until the end of 3rd quarter. Then he wanted "exercise." We always do something on both weekend days.

Balboa Park serves a very good choice since it's close and not as hot as Mission Gorge. Yes, I'm talking about dirt-trail hikes. We went on the ones branched off Desert Garden. Soon we walked a short loop, probably not even half a mile. John and I then crossed Park Blvd to the Natural History Museum side of the park. We passed the Organ Pavilion and wandered into Automotive Museum side, which we didn't usually go.

By chance, we came across the Asian Pacific Islander Heritage Festival -- the last 2 performances. There wasn't much going on there: a few display booths of art and cultural information and 4 or 5 food stands. We were pretty hungry by then, so we paid $8 for a combo plate of not-very-good Filipino food. Honestly, the food was cold and not flavorful either.

4:30 pm. My hope for going shopping today grew dimmer. John gave me a gift certificate for my b-day and promised to take me to the mall. Well, it's our least favorite destination and low on weekend to-do list. I asked if we could go. He replied, "You have to walk a little faster. We can't be strolling..."

We had arguments over how fast I walk or hike many times. The fact is I can never walk as fast as he can even with the same rate of leg movement. My steps are much smaller than his. Often I have to run to catch up with him. Over the years, he grows to recognize that we have different abilities and he can choose to wait for me or I wait for him to explore areas I don't want / can't go.

Power-walk on concrete or tar pavements are harder for me actually. They lack the shock-absorbent ability soil/dirt trails have. Sometimes I just can't walk very fast but it's necessarily because I don't want to. I thought John understood that. His accusing me of "strolling" really ticked me off.

We then had quarrels over a trivial thing as such. He's restless and needed more exercise, which I understood completely.

In short, we settled everything in front of Trader Joe's. We had to get groceries for the week and no shopping for me (again).

Caramelized pearl onions, leftover rib eye steaks, and a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon each later, we were completely calm. (for dinner)

The truth was we were both CRANKY. Sunday blues took over us. Deep down, John and I didn't want to face another workweek, ha! We simply can't get enough of weekend fun.

In more than one occasions we talked about our life in San Diego really was "living for the weekend." And it's sad. Today we both agreed that as much as we loved Portland, we had a lot more fun in San Diego. Even so, we miss Portland dearly -- our friends and the people there.

John said San Diegans were sheep, being herd by the media & popular culture, but not thinking for themselves. It's not to say there're not independent thinkers among them but we just hadn't heard enough. Portlanders could be jerks sometimes but not to be fooled -- people we knew had their own voices.

It's a love-hate relationship with San Diego, I tell you...

Saturday, May 08, 2004

Live for the Weekend (1)


05.08.04

Last night we went to Divisionary Theater for M. Butterfly, a play I'd been dying to see for years.

The show started at 8 pm, so we went early and stopped by El Zarape for scallop tacos. It's perfect! There we were in the main street of University Heights (Park Blvd.), a modest looking neighborhood, enjoying best food in town with very reasonable prices and arts just around the corner.

This morning, the sun smiled broad and loudly. We knew it's going to be a beach day, a busy weekend of Mother's Day and PB Block party. We weren't going to be anywhere near PB, thus we went to Torry Pines. Picnics and umbrellas dominated the North Beach where we usually parked. We walked down to the main stretch, as always. Knowing the water temperature being about 65 degrees, I wasn't hesitating of going in, thanks to weekly swimming sessions. The water didn't seem that cold to me anymore.

We hung out a couple of hours -- mostly I splashed the water and John watched. His left foot got scratched and bled a little. Then we headed for La Jolla Cove while still wet because John really really wanted to snorkel this weekend. I chickened out since I've never done it before. Not to mention there were some big waves this afternoon. We learnt that no floating devices were allowed at the cove, so my hope for wearing a lifejacket in the water wouldn't work. I stayed close to the shore floating here and there but not far enough to see any fish. Water here was colder than Torry Pines.

After we were done, we decided to go to La Dolce Vita Ristorante (Italian restaurant) for dinner. Months ago we walked in La Dolce Vita by chance and were charmed by their crispy thing crust pizza. It's a good time to go back and try something else. Again, we ordered their seafood pizza then a vegetarian penne pasta dish. Well, the pizza was excellent but pasta just OK.

John said one of reasons he wanted to come to La Jolla was to take me to the French Pastry Shop. We went after diner but half an hour too late. John refused to give up and looked up in the phone book for another French pastry place near by. We found French Gourmet, a casual restaurant & bakery at north PB / south La Jolla. $10, an �clair, a chocolate mousse cake, a cookie, and a couple of coffee later we made wrong turns. Next thing we knew, we were sitting in PB block party traffic jam.

PB is a known party neighborhood. Each year, Block Party takes place on mains streets (like Garnet) with free music performances. Every neighborhood in San Diego has some kind of yearly event / festival for celebrating or promoting the community. Block Party is the yearly THING for PB. Not only the event locations, adjacent streets and residents, every direction you go, every 3 or 5 houses, you will see parties, people hanging out with beer at hand, dancing or chatting. Cars cruising by all have heavy bass blasting and you are unable to tell what music is playing but feel the vibrations of beats. This is the soul of PB.

We laid out city map in front of us but had no idea where exactly we were at. It took at least 10 minutes to cross a block and we couldn't see the street signs every well either. Finally, we turned and turned against traffic to a quiet street and really studied the map. We drove back to La Jolla, taking the long way home, which was much better than fighting the jam. I almost thought those 30~40 minutes sitting in party traffic would end our day in a bad note.

Those pastries were heavenly, which made up for the traffic headache. (And the $$$ we paid. They'd better be good, right?)

It's a day full of activities. We got home 8 or 9 hours being out. John wanted to watch a movie. The funny was he felt asleep before it even started. I finished In This World (2002), a movie about 2 young Afghan refugees journeyed from Shamshatoo camp near Peshawar, Pakistan, by land to London. One succeeded; anther died. Mesmerizing!


Note:

PB = Pacific Beach

La Dolce Vita Ristorante => http://www.ladolcevitaristorante.com

Some sources date "In This World" 2003.

Friday, May 07, 2004

M. Butterfly


Tonight!!!

I'm so looking forward to it. I did a research paper in college for a Film & Screenplay class. Since then I've been wanting to this play. Finally, 8 and a half years later, I wish is granted.

Later I'll post the screening notes.

Below is a copy of my original research paper. Not bad for a foreign student in her 3rd semester, eh?



The Butterfly Illusion


Since 1897, first introduced in Century Magazine, the story by John Luther Long, Madame Butterfly, has become one of the most told in this century. It soon was adapted by David Belasco to a successful Broadway play in 1900. Four years later, opera maestro Puccini turned it into worldwide-loved masterpiece Madama Butterfly. The 1988 Tony awarding-winning play, M. Butterfly, was created tactfully in combination of Madame/Madama Butterfly and a true story, which even was retold in 1993 in the big screen by the same writer, David Henry Hwang, in collaboration with filmmaker, David Cronenberg. What in this story captured these finest minds, one might wonder? Perhaps the romance, perhaps the exotic Oriental flavor. Again and again its beauty from printed page, on the stage, or through music as well as camera seizes our hearts and not to be forgotten as the name, butterfly, suggests.

If not from reality, no one would find such a story of a man's unawareness of the gender of his twenty-year mistress being actually male, convincing. The film M. Butterfly shares similar story line as well as plots with its origin, the stage play M. Butterfly; yet, each has its own way of narration and emphasis in its theme.

"From my point of view," says the playwright, David Henry Hwang, "the "impossible" story of a Frenchman duped by a Chinese man masquerading as a woman always seemed perfectly explicable; given the degree of misunderstanding between men and women and also between East and West." The playwright is also pleased that the political issue on cultural stereotype he intends to raise in the play is not eclipsed by the sexual controversy among the critics and the audience. As an Asian-American, the racial and political concerns seem to play a greater part than sexual confusion in Hwang's work.

(M. Butterfly, Act Three, Scene One, Courtroom)

Song (the Chinese man): The West thinks of itself as masculine--big guns, big industry, big money--so the East is feminine weak, delicate, poor...

You expect Oriental countries to be submit to your guns, and you expect Oriental women to be submissive to your men.

When being asked by the judge what this has to do with fooling the Frenchman, Gallimard, Song replies:

One, because when he finally met his fantasy woman, he wanted more than anything to believe that she was, in fact, a woman. And second, I am an Oriental. And being an Oriental, I could never be completely a man.

Such concerns are criticized by Terrence Rafferty as too much weight on the Song. The problem of the play (and the movie), according to the Rafferty, is that the audience gets the point right away and has to listen to tiresome restatement of it; in addition, Hwang does not get most out of the true story of Bernard Boursicot and Shi Pei Pu. The rhetoric of this play, indeed, is crude and direct. It is the playwright's point of view; through his character, Song's mouth (mainly in Act Three), he tries to state to the world that such an incident is merely one of thousands cultural misperception cases between the East and the West since late nineteen century on up to now. Perhaps it is too heavy an ideological debate. I would say, though in recent years Asian-Americans work very hard in fighting with stereotyping, no one ever proposed such a view to this question nor have anybody had analyzed the "mentality" of the West, and Hwang did it all. It needs not be faithful to the original story; it is not a biographical play, after all.

The play opens with Gallimard's self-mockery of being a national joke. The summary of this bizarre story is offered to the audience at this point. If anyone is interested in conventional third-person narration, one probably will feel this first-person discourse devises simply Gallimard's self-justification of his stupidity, and maybe a little lengthy and repeated. From how he loves the opera Madama Butterfly, he was not interested in girls hunting with peers in his teens, the minute he met Song he thought he met his own Butterfly, to how he realizes the image of Butterfly is only a fantasy, then he chooses to end his life the same way Cio-Cio-San (Madame Butterfly) does in the opera. Gallimard's self-discovery and self-analysis fill large proportion of the first two acts. He quests for his own sexuality by bringing his juvenile experiences; he owes his vision of the Oriental to the all time favorite opera. The path for searching his own mentality, a metaphor of the Weasterners', is long yet logical. Within drama, the playwright blends in reason. It is entertainment; it is also brainstorming. It is a play full of actions, and ,again, rhetoric.

In David Cronenberg's film, on the other hand, the political elements are reduced; in stead, the director focuses more on the relationship between the two protagonists. "I hate politics... and it's conceivable someone might accuse me of depoliticizing it," says the director in an interview. He later adds, "the relationship between Ren� (Gallimard) and Song is built on layers of unspoken complicity. I saw this not as the deception of one person by another but the deception of two people by themselves." Interestingly, the stripping scene of Song in the play is meant for Song to be sarcastic about Gallimard's fantasy. Song also forces Gallimard to admit he knows all the time that Song is a man. However, this self-revealing action in the movies turns out to be Song's heartbreaker: he sobs after Gallimard declares he never loved "him" (Song), after Gallimard calls him (Song) nothing like his Butterfly, which appears to be perceptible homosexual content.

A few critics believe this film and play as well on some level dealing with a repressed homosexual passion. In the play, Hwang lower the possibility by making Gallimard admit he only live in his own fantasy. In the film, Gallimard refuses to accept Song as a male, which seems to deny himself the possibility of being gay; Song, on the other hand, expects Gallimard to take real him. To, Cronenberg, it is not a matter of gay or straight. "Sexuality, for human, is an invention." And "there's no absolute sexuality any more."

From the two people met to Gallimard commits suicide in the prison, the film utilizes conventional third person narration in chronological order. The director puts his energy more in characters than the film form. Inspired by The Crying Game, he is very interested the possibility that a person can be both a man and a woman. Song is his creature though much different from he previous sci-fi work. Taking the advantage of cinematography, a delicate Chinese woman is born on the screen. Several main steam film reviews on Time, People and The New York Times either criticize that Cronenberg handles this matter awkwardly or point out John Lone, the Chinese-American who plays Song, doesn't show enough feminine voice or body figure. Personally, I love to say the director does a fine job in portraying Song, her/his graceful movement and slow speaking rate is exactly identical to those stewardesses in China Airline commercials. Not every woman owns a perfect voice or body figure. I am convinced.

Madame Butterfly, an important source of M. Butterfly, was born in late nineteen century. Interestingly, the very first one to write it, Long, an American, also got it from a true life story. But Puccini, with his opera, made this story worldwide known and loved. An American Navy officer, Pinkerton, while in Japan, married Cio-Cio-San (Butterfly) but he was not serious about their marriage. When he returned to United States, he completely forgot about his faithful Butterfly awaiting him. Notified that Butterfly gave him a son, Pinkerton came back to Japan with his new American wife. As Butterfly saw Ms. Pinkerton, she chose to give them her son and ended her life. Such "East meets West" material in those years was quite a fashion- -stories with exotic flavor. It is sort of a by-product of the expansion of the West to the East, argues Jean-Pierre Lehmann. Titles as Madame Chrysanth�me (1887), Out of the East (1895), and Exotics and Retrospectives (1898) were pretty popular. Whether if Puccini were attracted to the story because of exoticism, we are not told. The audience, even today, love to pay to see foreign settings.

The beautiful music, needless to say, lasts any opera; the story itself romanticizes our perception of pure music; alone with its poetic lyrics, Madame Butterfly becomes opera fans' favorite. Opera scholar Joseph Kerman believes that opera is not only music but also functions as drama. In this singing art, he points out: music gives life to a character; music subverts a character; music generates an action; music establishes a world. Madame Butterfly contains these characteristics if one examine carefully.

The beauty of this story, as Hwang put in M. Butterfly, is only from a Westerner's point of view. "Consider it this way," Song said to Gallimard when they first met:

What would you say if a blonde homecoming queen fell in love with a short Japanese businessman? He treats her cruelly, then goes home for three years, during which time she prays to his picture and turns down marriage from a young Kennedy. Then, when she learns he has remarried, she kills herself. Now, I believe you would consider this girl to be a deranged idiot, correct? But because it's an Oriental who kills herself for a Westerner--ah!--you find it beautiful.

"It is the music not the story," Song adds such a comment in the movie but not in the play.

The artistic achievement of the opera Madama Butterfly was never questioned; yet the ideology as Hwang raises in his play truly shakes every Western mind. Do we always need to apply such critical thinking in art appreciation? Hwang's assertion certainly is accepted by the critics and the audiences for a Tony Award and the popularity of this play answers clearly enough. However, Cronenberg's attempt to explore human nature from different perspective is not proved by the critics. M. Butterfly means to mock Madama Butterfly, though genius, do you think it "beautiful?"


References:

Corliss, R. (1993) Betrayal in Beijing, Time, 10-4-1993, 85
DiGaetani, J. L. (1989) M. Butterfly, An Interview with David Henry Hwang, The Drama Review, Fall 1989, 141~153
Greenfeld, H. (1980) Puccini (A Biography), New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons
Hornby, R. (1988) New Life on Broadway, Hudson Review, Autumn 1988, 512~514
Hwang, D. H. (1989) M. Butterfly, New York: Penguine Book
James, C. (1993) You Are What You Wear, The New York Times, 10-10-1993, 13, 16
Johnson, B. D. (1993) A Director's Odssession, Macleen's, 9-13-1993, 38~41
Kerman, J. (1988) Opera as Drama, Berkly: University of California Press
Lehmann, J. (1984) Image of the Oriental, Madam Butterfly/Madama Butterfly, New York: Riverturn Press Inc.
Maslin, J. (1993) Seduction and the Impossible Dream, The New York Times, 10-1-1993, c3
Moy, J. S. (1990) David Henry Hwang's M. Butterfly and Philip Kan Gotanda's Yankee Dawg You Die: Repositioning Chinese American Marginality on the American Stage, Theater Journal, March 1990, 48~56
Murphy, K. (1993) Scented Memories, Whiffs of Bad Faith, Film Comment, Nov/Dec 1993, 66, 67
Novak, R. (1993) Picks & Pans, People, 10-18-1993, 22~23
Rafferty, T. (1993) Blind Faith, The New Yoker, 10-11-1993, 123
National Video Corporation (1983), Madama Butterfly (videotape)

*** Written December 6, 1995 ***

Thursday, May 06, 2004

M Pit


Benefits Explanation letter from my insurance company came in the mail yesterday.

I dreaded to open it. The number probably would cause me another panic attack, ha. Well, for the Urgent Care deal, I'm responsible for about $350, 40% of the total bill. I couldn't imagine what it would be for the cardiologist bill.

That's the way it is. I can't just sit home, let the heart pound, but not to find out what's going on, can I?


M = money

Tuesday, May 04, 2004

Kids Say the XXXest Thing


Linda hung up the phone with twitching grin on her face. She couldn't help but "laying it out" to the entire office: "My daughter is too damn XXXX."

"Oh� what'd she do?" Ladies in the Admin Dept gathered around her cooing in warm and fuzzy tones.

"Faith asked me," she said, "Mom, there's MANaise. Is there WOMENaise?"

"O, that is sooooo XXXX!"

The girls giggled and giggled flushing in an April afternoon.


(This happened few days ago.)


P.S.

MANaise => She meant mayonnaise.

The word XXXX? You've guessed it. One of the most common English words and an American woman could probably use it hundreds of times a day.

Monday, May 03, 2004

Head on the Moon?


Called Viv, my beloved sister, last night. It's always a great comfort speaking with her. She could make the most serious thing or saddest situation funny. We joked a lot about others and ourselves.

Of course I told her the heart condition test results. Perhaps I should get a psychiatric evaluation, she suggested. We'll see what the cardiologist say when I visit him next week. If there's really nothing wrong with my heart, will he suggest me the same thing?

Considering Viv suffered from depression years ago, she's opted for any signs of mental imbalance. Today, single-parent families are more common than our generation. However, we grew up in an age of feeling embarrassed or being "pitied" by other kids because of our "broken" family. Her psychiatrist told her some of these experiences and feelings might have wounded us. We have had always taken pressure or unfairness so well that we don't know when or how to release frustrations. Thus, we are affected "inside."

Viv told me many ways to relax my mind and not to make my thoughts wander to the stress land. She also said exercise could only help me to a certain extent. The key was to really for me rid of stress of my mind from within. Perhaps, my mind temporarily is off focus of perturbing ideas during physical workout. We can't exercise 24 hours a day, can we? She had a point there.

I should let the whole thing go now and start bringing the happy me back.