One of my favorite foods to eat in Vietnam, cua rang me—crabs sautéed in tamarind—is a humble yet glorious dish prized for its freshness and balance of flavor. It’s best eaten with the hands and a chilled lager (or three), followed by a hearty serving of French bread, which is broken off the community loaf and use to mop the vibrant, sweet sauce. A fond memory of childhood summers is weekend trips to the Gulf Coast, where in addition to playing in the murky brown water, I’d help my parents
I guess technically this entry should’ve been titled “Eating Napa,” but there’s going to be a little bit of SF in it, too–namely the airport. Did you know the San Francisco International Airport (SFO) is working towards becoming accessible for blind travelers by using localization technology? These days, technology has granted so many visually impaired people more independence. When I travel alone, I depend on guidance and assistance from airport employees, but indoo.rs will take travel to another level for those with vision loss. Until then, let’s get back to
I visited the Bay area last year to host a fun, interactive dinner on behalf of the Guide Dogs for the Blind. During my trip, I got to walk with a guide dog and play with the puppies—catch my GDB adventures in Blind Life episode 9. As always, my not-so-secret agenda with all travels is to EAT. Because the GDB is located in San Raffael, a township to where I’ve never been, I was looking forward to trying something new. The hubs and I asked our favorite food friend from
Last time I was in the Bay area, I visited the Guide Dogs for the Blind campus in San Rafael. The GDB is a beautiful campus located in northern California. The hubs strapped a GoPro camera to my head as I got a crash course on how to work with a guide dog. Watch how I did in Blind Life episode 9.
I turned 36 Saturday. I still consider 36 mid-thirties, but the hubs likes to annoy me and say I’m in my upper thirties now. When I was young, 36 sounded so grown-up. Now that I’m actually a grown-up, I don’t feel much like an adult at all. Example: I still shudder when someone refers to me or my girlfriends as women. “You mean us girls?” I’d say. At family weddings, I’ll ask, “Where’s the kids table?” because I still classify myself separately from the adults/parents. Age is often a state
Back in January, I wrote a post about what to cook and eat on a ski/snowboard trip—basically foods that were easy to prepare, provided ample sustenance, and could warm you from the outside in. It’s May now, and summer is officially a few weeks away. In Houston, where temperatures have reached the lower nineties on occasion, summer’s already here. This means it’s camp time!
April 30, 2015, marks the 40th anniversary of the Fall of Saigon. I was not alive then, but the figment of it swirled around my life nonetheless, mostly in the form of a movie and a book.
Without asking a sighted person, how does a blind individual differentiate between a $1 bill and a $100? How does a visually impaired person read their prescription labels? No, this is not one of those Singaporean logic problems that recently took the world by storm. They’re common questions I and other visually impaired people get whenever we meet sighted people who are curious about how we go about our mundane everyday tasks. I say, thank God for technology. Technology is a big part of our lives, and perhaps those of
**This post was originally published on NMO Diaries and has been slightly edited for this blog. Many who have watched me on “MasterChef” or listened to me speak or follow me on social media often wonder what’s my secret to life. Unfortunately, like any other human being (except for maybe the Dalai Lama), I have no key to the universe. I don’t know what the hell is going on half the time, and the other half, I spend wondering how I’m going to make it through the hour, day, week,
Having first learned to cook as a college student with very limited funds, I’ve had my fair share of crappy cutting boards. Moreover, as a novice cook, I did not know how to take care of these cutting boards, thereby contributing to their crappiness. My first cutting board was wooden, and although I knew not to run it through the dishwasher—oh wait, my first college apartment didn’t have a dishwasher—I had no idea wooden boards needed to be oiled to keep from splitting. So for a long time, I used