i used to hate going to Chinatown when i was a kid. to me, Chinatown was nothing more than dirty streets and funky-smelling basement-level supermarkets…you know, the kind your parents dragged you into to help them pick out gnarled ginger roots from a cardboard box. and don’t forget the bucket of live eels or the river turtle aching to escape its styrofoam prison.

when eating at restaurants, i found the lack of ice water appalling. what am i supposed to do? chug scalding tea? the lazy susan frustrated me to no end and the food–though just as good as it is now or ever was–failed to spark my interest further than the distance from bowl to mouth. in fact, i considered eating in Chinatown a chore.

past self, i scoff at you.