Saeng Il Pah Ti

That means "birthday party" in Korean.  Since the last post, the sun decided to peek its head from the blanket of clouds it was so comfortably sleeping under...and I believe it was only for my birthday.  What a great birthday present.

It all started with my students and co-workers on Thursday.  When I came to work, I was welcomed with two banners reading, "Feliz Cumpleanos" and "It's A Girl."  As the day progressed, V had the students make birthday cards for me (remind you: we teach adults), and there was a delicious cake prepared by R and V.  Then one of my students bought me an amazing M&Ms ice cream cake.

But this is about me finding San Diego, and I have to say that on Friday, I realized how much a year changes things.  We went to Min Sok Chon on Convoy Street in Kearney-Mesa neighborhood.  It is a Korean-style bar with different dishes and small karaoke rooms line the sides of the restaurant.  Z planned for us to all meet in a room.

We actually went there on the Tuesday prior to check things out and the server/hostess was soooooo nice to us.  "Oh, I can make your cocktail soju strong," "Oh, it's not a problem."  But on Friday, she was like Medusa.  She was rude enough to make one of my guests ask for another server.  I felt like I needed an elements chart and a TI-85 just to understand how happy hour worked.  "You can order one large cocktail soju and two bottles of regular soju or you can order eight bottles of regular soju and two beers and you can only order two bottles of soju per person that is currently in your party."  Then divide by the square root of evil and you have our server.

So my review of Min Sok Chon--BAD News: a little expensive, happy hour ends at 8 p.m., our server sucked.  GOOD news:  Good food, good Yakult cocktail soju, awesome karaoke equipment, no funny smell.  If I go back, I'll just sit in the restaurant area, and then when I'm good and liquored up, I'll move to the karaoke room.

Honestly, I was worried that no one would actually show up.  As I said in my first post, I felt like I had holed myself up in my apartment in OB and hadn't explored or even slightly invested time or energy into the people I've met here.  One of my friends said on my FB page, "It looks like you never left Korea!  Make some American friends."  Why?  Because all of my pictures are of my students and me.

But everyone I invited, excluding the people who live light years away, showed up.  I can't even begin to describe how I felt, and "special" doesn't seem to cut it.

Maybe I've judged San Diego too early.

On Saturday, EK and R stayed over at my house, and then EV and NMZ (Not My Z) came over.  I met EV in Tennessee way back in the day, before her prime and while I was living in mine.  She was quiet and shy and I didn't really know what to think of her.  We reunited in Korea when she was a bit older and for some odd reason, I was still the same age.  Despite the fact that she was one of my closest friends' ex, we became good friends.  She just got back from her second trip to Korea with NMZ, and she told me that I had inspired her to travel across the country.  How amazing.  I inspired another.

My actual birthday was Father's Day which causes most people to forget I was born.  But thanks to FB, I woke up with a gajillion messages--reminding me that I have met a lot of people on my journey through life.

So all-in-all, San Diego ain't too bad.

My next destination is Lucho Libre...I gotta go check out the fried cheese french fry tacos.  WHAT?!?!

Min Sok Chon
4620 Convoy Street 92111

What Month Is It?

I believe it's June.  In fact, I believe it is officially "late" June.  So why is it still overcast and cold?  I'm wearing a sweater today.  True, I AM wearing sandals, but a sweater nonetheless.  I know, people.  It's called "June Gloom."  But this is ridiculous.  I'm ready for summer and I want it NOW.


After re-reading my last post, I realized I said that there's just something about the South.  Is it like a bad break-up?  Am I still secretly in love with the South; therefore, I can't fall in love with San Diego?  Or is San Diego more like a friend who I hang out with and then later we're gonna realize that we were right for each other all along?  Is this my romantic comedy?

My Old Kentucky Home

It's been a long time since I have done anything at all.  I ride my bike to the library to borrow Six Feet Under DVDs.  I've made it through seasons 2 and 3 more quickly than I'd like to admit.  Sad, yes; entertaining?  Also yes.

Yesterday, I was able to go on to the Naval Base just 1.5 miles from my house--near the airport.  It was one of my jobs' (I have more than one which is "uniquely American" according to good ol' W.) graduation day.  It was freezing cold in the morning (probably around 60.  Not freezing exactly, but freezing none the less), but it turned out to be a great day.  The graduation speaker was the owner of Taylor Guitars.  His commencement speech was all about following your dream, but more importantly, knowing what your dream is.  A good speech, but not anything dramatically different from any other commencement speech.  But--BUT--BUT--he admitted he wasn't the best guitar player although he had a passion for building them.  He invited his friend to the ceremony to actually play the Liberty Tree guitar.  And the guitar struck my heart strings, and I became very homesick.

He played music that one would hear at the Grand Ol' Opry (he was traveling there this week), music that makes me feel comfortable.  There is just something about the Grand Ol' South that makes me want to smile.

While living abroad, the other expats might say something negative about the US and I could always let it go...It never really bothered me.  But the minute ANYONE said ANYTHING negative about the south, I would lose it.  I remember this one idiot I met in Hongdae with E.  She brought him to our table and was like, "This is Casper."  First of all, dumb name.  He sat down.  We began asking the usual expat questionnaire:

Me:    Where are you from?
Him:  Boston, what about you?
Me:    Kentucky.
Him:  Kentucky?!?!  Oh I bet your dad has 5 different wives and you live in a trailer park!  HAHhaha..
Me:   (Slamming beer onto table) GET THE F*** AWAY FROM ME, A**HOLE!

There was more to my response, but you get the drift.  Later he explained to me that he was just testing me...to see if I was cool.  Only people with low self-esteem test other people to see if they're cool.  Especially that way.

Maybe it's Father's Day.  Maybe it's the guitar pickin'.  Maybe it's the June Gloom.  But I am seriously missing my old Kentucky home.

Out and About

Believe it or not, I've done something other than eat out.

Just an update about what's been going on in my little San Diego.  On Wednesday, V and I were supposed to make a birthday cake for a co-worker.  We decided to go to her house because every time I walk in it: A) Smells spice-a-liciously amazing and B) I love her parents.  Obviously, I can't tell you where she lives cause that would just be stupid, but she doesn't live too far from me, but after holing myself in my apartment for so many months, anything outside of OB feels really far away.

When I arrived, we went to her backyard and looked at the amazing view as the sun was setting behind us. We talked about this and that.  We recently worked together to help another person.  Usually she and I blabber on and on about our boyfriends and Barbie dolls, but when something serious happens, it's time to get serious.  During this time and possibly due to the long weekend, I was already pooped by Wednesday.

We went inside when it got chilly and I asked her if she had a prom picture.  Little do people know, I love to see old yearbooks and prom pictures only for ammo to use against them in the future.  I'm evil like that, I know.

And although it was awesome to see her unsmiling face in all of those wonderful pictures (Daaaahhh-ri-uh...oh Daaaahhhh-ri-uh), I also got to see her mom and dad's old pictures from the homeland and other places.  Why is it that old pictures seem so much more amazing than the snapshots we take today?  It all looked so romantic or exciting.  Romantic in that nostalgic way not romantic in the kissy-kissy kind of way.

I got home a little past 10 and was ready to pass out.

Oh--and we didn't bake the cake.  Yeah, we're that cool.

Last night, I went over to a co-worker/friend's house.  I say this because I met her at work, but I believe she's become a friend.  She was having a wine/cheese thing for a few of us girls.  And it was so nice to see girls!  I had forgotten what it was like to have girl friends.

Now wait--before you get your panties in a wad--V is a girl.  And a friend.  But it was a group of girls giggling and gossiping about everything.  Things I know, things I don't know, and partially things I now wish I didn't know (2 girls...1 cup...oh, gross...).

A few months ago, my best friend, E, and I had a little falling out.  I don't know what spawned it exactly, but I wish it had never happened.  I miss her a lot, and I have to wonder are we just growing up?  And by growing up are we growing away?  I thought it would be so cool to live semi-close to each other again.  But measurable distance doesn't seem to be explaining the immeasurable gap emerging between us.

Hmmm...if you're reading this, E, you're still in my heart!

Is this thing on?

Overheard at Dinner

Just some quotes from the guy (A) sitting next to me talking to his friend (B) at the sushi bar:

A: "What month is it?"
B: "June."
A: "What year is it?"
B: "Uh....2010."

(Come on, folks.  If you don't know the year, then do you REALLY care what month it is?)

The same guy (A) talking to the Bartender (C):

A: "Soooo, did you look into that thing I asked you about this morning?"
C: "No, but-"
A: "But you really didn't try..."
C: "No, I called a couple of people, but they didn't have anything."

(Again, REALLY?  I'm no Sherlock Holmes, but you're really not fooling anyone.  If you want drugs in OB, all you really gotta do is ask for them outright.)

Country-Fried Girl

I admit it.  I've been to the other side of the world.  I've lived on the east coast of America, and now I'm living on the opposite edge of the States.  But I'm a Southern Girl.  I love grits (which is always plural).  I know the difference between sodas: Coke (any brown-colored soda), Sprite (any clear soda), and Mt. Dew (any yellow-colored soda).  Unsweetened tea is not an option, and a rocking chair or a swing is a front-porch fixture.

It was tough growing up in Western Kentucky as an adopted Asian girl.  I was the only Asian in my entire elementary and middle school.  I heard that there were some Asians older than me--the Filipino doctor in town happened to have two kids my sister's age.  I was called "Chinese" from Kindergarten until 2nd grade when the kids finally realized that I just wasn't going to go away.  My parents dressed me in my sister's hand-me-downs, yard sale clothes, and Wal-mart findings.  Although at the time I truly hated and resented it, I'm now able to realize that what my parents lacked financially, they made up for it in real love.  I heard kids tease their younger siblings, "Oh yeah?  Well, you were adopted!"  The younger sibling always retorting with, "NO I'M NOT!" like it was some strain of cooties that they had caught.

But it wasn't just what was on the outside.  I had the thickest Southern accent until 9th grade.  "Y'all" is still part of my vocabulary, and because I teach foreign students, I have to remind them that this isn't English used all over the US.  Maybe I should teach them all of the Southern vernacular.  They could get along well in all of the red states.

What does THIS have to do with San Diego, you ask?  THIS actually has to do with places all over the world:  the lack of good Southern comfort food.  I can find Mexican food just about anywhere in the US.  I can find Italian food anywhere (even Korea), but good country fried food?  A diamond in the rough.

And here I am at Perry's Cafe on Pacific Highway in Old Town.  I also have passed by this place coming home from work.  It's just under the overpass between the I-5N to the I-8W.  But it's better to get to it via Rosecrans for me.

It was Monday, Memorial Day, and there were people lined up just like it was Sunday after church at the Cracker Barrel.  We waded through the masses of people to put our name on the list.  The bustling white noise of the cafe exploded like a soundbite: mugs clanking, meat sizzling, conversations rumbling.  The list was on legal-sized yellow paper long.  But the Counter!!!  Oh, the counter is first come, first served.  And we got two seats at the far end it right in front of cooking line!  The food waiting in the window looked delectable and the dishes that passed by us were amazing.

The majority of the menu was frittatas and other egg dishes.  EGG!  In the same category as PORK for me--non-edible.  I scanned the menu in hopes of finding what I was looking for; my eyes passed over biscuits and gravy and I knew there was hope.  And there, lying amongst the words "egg," "frittata," "omelet" were the words "Country-Fried Steak."  What a joyous day!

With the Country-Fried Steak, I got the option of toast, English muffin, or muffin; hashbrowns, or home fries.  No GRITS?  Can't a Southern Girl get some grits in Southern Cali?

Needless to say, it was great.  I should've named this blog "Eating San Diego."  Cause that's what it seems like I've been doing.  I need to step out of the Southern haven on Pacific Highway and onto a scale.  But on the plus side, I rode my bike to get sushi tonight.

Perry's Cafe
4620 Pacific Highway, 92110
Old Town

Come and Knock on Our Door

On my way out to California, I told Z that one thing I want to do is find the place in the sand where Jack Tripper falls off his bike looking at girls. But the longer I live in SD, I'm starting to believe that that scene was filmed in LA. Depressing. Yes, I know I've talked a lot about Three's Company, but it was really all I knew about San Diego before I moved here.

I told myself a few weeks ago that I wouldn't drink beer until my birthday. Why, you ask? I don't know. I guess I sometimes play little games to challenge myself, to see who will win--me or me.

So, here's the background: I was a passenger in my car on the I-5 North. I was looking to my right wondering what neighborhood that was to my right. Was it Banker's Hill? Who knows? Not I. But a sign catches my eye "BEER HERE!" Ok, I'm sold. Next to the greatest sign ever made was the name of the bar: The Regal Beagle. And now you've got it.

Jack, Janet, Chrissy, Terri, and there was that one dumb girl who was only on it for a little while (I think she was Chrissy's cousin), lived in an apartment building. Whenever they'd go out, they would say, "I'm going down to the Regal Beagle..." I instantly told Z we had to go there THIS weekend. He was less than thrilled.

On Saturday, I got ready to go out and waited for Z to come home from work. When he arrived, he was even less thrilled about going out. It was really disappointing. Not only had I asked him on Tuesday, but I asked him Saturday morning before he went if he was SURE that he would go (and yes, he asSURED me he would go). Then when we talked on the phone at 2 p.m., I asked again. He agreed again. But here we were, at a stand-off about what was going to happen.

Grrr...This is onomatopoeia for how I felt.

In the end, after moving stuff to the garage and getting some things accomplished, I won. But not only did I win, I was right. This place was also great.

I tried to use Google to get the address of the place. I knew it was India Street, but I wasn't exactly sure how to get there. Google had nothing. There were a couple of results, but not an actual Google Maps result. I had to scroll halfway down the page to find a FB page.

We pulled up and instantly got a parking space. The area was pretty dead, but it's really like a block down the street from Shakespeare's Pub which seems pretty busy. When we walked in, the jukebox as playing and the place looked really new, but there was no one there! There was one table of people, and a couple of people sitting at the bar (which later I heard that they were the parents of one of the women that worked there). The place itself was nothing special, but I could tell that they had put a lot of thought into it, which in turn made it special.

I'm going to start to my right and go counter clockwise: There were about 8 tables just in front of the kitchen. Next to the kitchen was the awesomely delicious Mustard Bar stocked full of all different kinds of mustard. Mustard? Why mustard? you ask. You'll see.

The bar was along the back wall with 24 micro brewed beers on draft. And on the left wall was the door to the bathroom and the dartboard. I real dartboard with real darts. In Korea, we always played with plastic darts and a holey dartboard. Craptaculous. The dartboard's home next to the door to the restroom in a bar that serves 24 delicious beers--well, let's just say--doesn't seem like a good idea to me.

And on the wall to the left, in front of the dartboard was a great jukebox. A jukebox that played Vampire Weekend, Ben Folds, Bob Dylan, and although I hate them, Dave Matthews.

I opted for the Dead Guy Ale: Mai bock. It was delicious and light, flavorful, but not so much so. The self-proclaimed co-owner/beer drinker handed us a menu, and we saw the list of some of the most delicious sounding sausage (Ah-ha! The mustard bar all makes sense now). Now, here is where my life gets in the way of my blog: I don't eat SAUSAGE! Pork products are not my thing.

However, there was a Turkey Apricot sausage. Each sausage comes with homemade potato chips--yes, I said homemade--and two toppings for the sausage. I ordered cheddar cheese and sauerkraut on the side.

The sausage is made by T & H Meats in San Marcos. The guy is a "sausage meister." Hmm...I don't know if that's a title that I'd necessarily want to have, but he is also known as a "Meat Engineer." Sounds a little cleaner, a little more kid-friendly. (For more info, here's his website: http://www.tandhsausage.com/)

All in all, I feel like I stumbled upon a place that I would like to walk into again. It's all about falling into San Diego. It's nice to have a soft place to land.

3659 India Street, 92103

http://www.facebook.com/RegalBeagleSD?v=wall