It’s not everyday that I’m bringing my big camera to the grocery store. In fact, I’ve lived in New York City for almost a decade and never had the impulse to snap a photo of the Brooklyn Bridge or the Statue of Liberty. I find myself taking photographs to document experiences, not filling a mandatory checklist of sights to see or brag about the places I’ve been to. I’m not saying this is neither good, bad or even intentional; it just works out that way.
So, there I was at the Hawaii market — which is actually a Vietnamese market — in the San Gabriel Valley in Los Angeles with my parents taking pictures of packaged items in the frozen foods section. You see, I’ve been going through a dry spell with my photography during this cold, dreaded New York wintertime. It gets dark as soon as I leave work and there hasn’t been a weekend bike ride in months. This week, however, I’m on the other coast, visiting family and friends and eating really, really well. Although Los Angeles has been carrying a constant threat of rain, it’s been a pleasure to walk around in shorts and sandals, and with my camera strap around my neck for a change.
Earlier today, my parents announced they were going to San Gabriel to buy a specific type of fish called the “Glass Carp.” My parents were the type of foodies who’d drive 35 miles out of the way to buy a fish. This carp is similar to a Bangladeshi fish called the “rui” which is hard to find in the states, and only then in frozen block form flown in by plane. For lunch, mom made an amazing rack of goat (yes, goats, like lamb, also have racks apparently!). I asked her where she got the meat.
“Well, we bought a goat before we left for our vacation last month.”
“Why did you buy an entire goat when you’re about to go on vacation?” I asked.
“Because I wanted some goat,” she replied.
I decided to tag along. I had been sitting at home eating 18 courses over the last 24 hours and really needed the exercise. We visited a couple of Vietnamese fish markets that I had never been to and saw all sorts of wild and exotic things. And the prices made me want to cry. $2.99 for a pound of shrimp; 79 cents for a large bunch of spinach (I’m paying $1.89 at home); 79 cents for a head of cauliflower, to which my father protested that the place next door was 10 cents cheaper (!!!).
Outside the market, I saw a boba tea truck. It was a warm, pleasant afternoon and a glass of frozen taro milk tea was calling my name. Because it was so cheap (only $1.25), I decided to buy a second glass — this one with tapioca balls (I wasn’t a fan) for my parents to try. First, they were surprised that this so called “tea” was cold. “Are you sure this is a tea?” my father asked. Then, as he took a sip, he had a tapioca ball slide through the giant purple straw straight down into his throat. A look of horror appeared as if I had just fed him liquid monkey brains.
He quickly shoved the glass back to me. “Give the rest to your brother,” he said.
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