Lost in Fresno: Friend or Pho?

I miss Pho 21 in Clear Lake. Wednesday nights, B.G, C.D, and I would get together and have Thai Tea, Spring rolls, Chicken Pho and fried bananas with Ice Cream. That was our thing on Wednesdays. We were sure the little Vietnamese restaurant had other great items but our usual culinary fare was just so good we didn't dare try something else and be disappointed. The staff knew us well and always let us sit at the same table.

Inevitably, in Fresno, I tried to recreate home by trying to find the same thing. I checked in the yellow pages and was pleased to find several Pho places listed. I made it my hobby to find Pho 21-esque Pho again in Fresno. It was not an easy task.

The first place I tried served spinach or bok choy instead of thai basil. Needless to say, I never went back there again. The next couple of places were good but not something was missing. Finally, I found a place that made my kind of Pho. It was a little different but it tasted good and I figured it will tie me over until I got a chance to search again or go home to Houston. Unfortanately, I ate there maybe 3 times before the place went out of business. At that point I was quite disheartened. It seemed like I would never find what I was looking for.

About six months later, a new resturant opened up in the old one's place. The new place labeled themselves as serving "asian fusion" cuisine. As much as the notion of "fusion" anything appeals to me, I was more than a little skeptical about what that would mean for the Pho. Do I dare? Should I risk being disappointed again?

And, yes, of course, the glutton, pun not intended, for punishment that I am, I dove into the experience. Yup, the only high-risk sport I'm good at: extreme dining. Fortunately, this time, I was not disappointed! The thai basil was exquisite, the broth divine, and the sriracha sauce was just as I remembered it. It was as close to culinary nirvana as one could possibly come! Okay, I exagerrate. Let's just say it was really good.

I suddenly felt complete again! Rediscovering Pho again was so inspiring that I decided to finally make it from scratch. On. My. Own. Five recipes off of google, three asian stores, and one Whole Foods excursion later, I had the perfect bowl of Chicken Pho. And it was heavenly!

It's funny how happy I was about that. I only discovered vietnamese food in 2006 or so and for some reason, Pho had now been added to my arsenal of comfort food. Yes, indeed, when basmati rice, dosas, sambar, and chicken curry are not comforting enough, bring in the Pho! That's how we do! Some days, when I feel like I have not a friend in the world, my Pho and Netflix get me through the night.

The last Wednesday my friends and I shared at Pho 21 was bittersweet. I had just found out about the job in Fresno and B.G. and C.D. were trying to dissuade me from leaving. They were happy for me but sad that they wouldn't see me again for quite sometime. C.D was sure California was going to fall into the ocean in 2012 and B.G. had heard horrible things about the "armpit" of California; not to mention the non-stop earthquakes. B.G, for good measure, gave me going away gift basket that contained Dramamine, amongst other things, for the inevitable shaky ground I would find myself on. .

As we sat eating at our usual table, I noticed how different it was from our other Wednesdays. It was all very solemn...like it was my funeral. B.G , as she sipped the last of the Pho broth from her melamine spoon, stated very forebodingly, "Lis' you're going to miss this." Sheesh, how's that for last rites? Was I dying and going to California? This could be heaven or this could be hell?? Was Hotel California by the Eagles my funeral dirge??

Melodramatic metaphors aside, B.G was right. I do miss it. I miss it all. Even my own made-from-scratch-perfect-ingredients chicken Pho can't make up for the friends I used to share it with or the times and places I have left behind. It is, however, a reminder of those good times I have experienced, good people I have met, and those wonderful places I have been.

My Pho is not only a delicious, harmonious medley of textures, aromas, and tastes in a bowl, but has also come to symbolize, for me, memories and happiness that transcend time and space. Nourishment not only for the body but the mind as well.

Ha! Chicken Pho for the soul. Indeed!

Lost in Fresno: End of the Trail

When I first moved to Fresno, I used to go to Woodward Park every day after work. There are many trails there but the one I was looking for lead to the San Joaquin River. You could hardly call it a river now, what was left was barely a small creek in the summer but, at least, it was still there. And, as I water person, I needed to see it.

I didn't know how long the trail was, however, I tried every day to walk earlier and faster so that I could beat the sun to the horizon. Everyday, I had to turn around before it got dark. There are no lights on the trail and, on one of those days, I returned in utter darkness to my lonely car in the parking lot. Half shaking and afraid of what might happen to me I nearly ran to my car that evening, dropping my keys once or twice trying to get inside. I thought, as I sat in my car hyperventilating, if something had happened, no one would ever know, no one would inquire until I didn't show up to work the next day. So, that was the last of the twilight hikes.

Finally, one Sunday, I went on the trail in the morning to give myself plenty of time. I told myself that this was it. I was going to find that river if it was the last thing I do! So I walked, and walked. Up and down the hills, round the curves, over two bridges...I hadn't brought water or my cell phone. As the number of people on the trail dwindled, I felt alone and tired. Yet, I couldn't stop. I was pushed by a force beyond my control. Finally I came to a path that wound down the side of a hill. I was sure this was it. As I rounded that final curve, I noticed a stop sign where the trail intersected with a road. I had reached the end of the trail. I did not see the river.

Needless to say, I was beyond disappointed. The search for the river seemed like a metaphor for the journey of my life. I was always searching for something that I can never seem to find. So much time and energy wasted, so much fear and darkness faced, and still no reward at the end.
If anything, it was another crossroads. As I walked back, I felt like I had lost. I always thought that there was a silver lining behind every cloud, every trial and tribulation, every journey, no matter how difficult. I realized I was wrong.

Of course, for a few days I couldn't bear to get on that trail again. However, I took another route which I had seen people head down. There was a bench there and, that particular day, there was an old lady sitting on the bench with her dog. I looked at the sign at the trailhead trying to figure out if it was going to show me a map of some sort. The old lady smiled at me, "Looking for the river, hon?" I nodded. "Just follow them folks". I thanked her and smiled at the dog and followed a couple headed in the same direction. In about five minutes, I was sitting on the river bank. It was almost too easy.

A few weeks ago, I came to the end of another "trail" in my own life. I should say trial but I didn't see it as that at the time. I had to really judge myself, however, and where I was headed. I came to realize that trails teach us about possibility and how fragile that is. Hope keeps us searching and teaches that we should never give up. What I realize is that though this trail has ended, it is not the only one there is. Also, I don't have to face it on my own, that there are people to help me, and others I can journey with. The next trail may be better, and easier.

By the way, the first trail at the park that disappointed me? Well, I went back on it eventually and I think the park service actually extended it to the other side of the road. So, it doesn't end at that stop sign anymore. However, the new "end" doesn't really appeal to me so I haven't taken that fork again. It's just as well, I think. Trails are not about endings but journeys. And as difficult as they have been sometimes, I don't know what our lives would be without them. Many times the journey, rather than the destination, is the very thing we are seeking.

Fall 2008

I was right: Fall 2008 kicked my ass. It kicked it good and it's still not over. Three more weeks and then the week of finals. Aaaargh. It makes me wonder why I decided to go back to school again. I must be a total glutton for punishment. On the other hand, it keeps me busy. It prevents my brain from atrophying. That's always a good thing, I think. However, I don't have much time for anything else. What I'm noticing these days is that I want to write and I don't have time. When I do have time, I don't want to write. How weird is that? Oh well, for now, nature's magic has been my solace these days....

In the summer, I hate Fresno. It's hot as hell and the heat is so oppressive. And, sooner or later, I ask the question, "Why the hell did I move here?" 3 months later, I get my answer: Fall. Fall in Fresno. Glorious Fall. And all is well again. If you ever plan to visit Fresno, November is the perfect time to do it. The trees have donned their fall attire and look glorious. Reds, Oranges, and Yellows fill nature's palette and when the wind blows you're caught in swirl of colorful of leaves. Your car is dappled in the colorful windfall and the parking lots are blanketed in the falling foliage. Nature paints her way into winter with the finesse of a master....

Doubt

I'm really rethinking my whole move to Fresno. Why did I come here? I thought I loved it but, now, I'm not so sure. I am lonely. I miss my family and my friends. Initially, I thought moving here would be a great way for me to assert my independence. I wanted to show everyone that I could do it. I could live by myself in a place I had never been before. However, I don't think I had completely thought about the consequences.
I've never liked being confined. I don't like to be boxed in and I would travel 1800 miles away from everything I ever knew just so I could assert my freedom. I think that to a certain extent, I was too comfortable at home and that was enough to trigger my cross-country migration. Was it wrong? What's wrong with being comfortable?
I'm in search of something. I can't stay in one place long enough before I go looking for it again. I thought my search was over now that I was here but after the last couple of weeks, I'm not so sure. I feel really sad and very disappointed. I think as long as I search, I will never be happy. But, if what I am searching for is happiness, what then?
A hopeless entry, dear reader. I apologize. The last last thing you needed to see was the stream-of-consciousness ramblings of lost soul.
But, there is light at the other end. All hope is not lost. Tomorrow can always be better than today and I hold onto that thought as day slips into night and I slip into sleep.