Exhaling Life

One of my recent obsessions has been a pot of perfectly cooked rice, an obsession I had to put on hold once Los Angeles began suffering through extreme heat. While I love my rice cooker, there is something undeniably foodgasmic about rice made in a thick clay or stone pot . Add pork, mushrooms, bean sprouts, mu (Korean radish), shiso, or whatever vegetables you desire, and you have the perfect one-pot meal. Many rice pots welcome gochujang or sesame oil at the table. This one does not need either. Served with ssamjang and lettuce This Shiso Pork Belly Rice is one of my recent favorites. Pork belly does more than give the dish meat. As its fat renders at the bottom of the pot, that richness works its way into the rice above it. Shiso plays a different role here than it would scattered fresh over a finished dish. Cooked with the rice, its assertive herbal character softens and perfumes the grains rather than announcing itself from the first bite. Napa cabbage brings a little sweetness...

My first real memory of fashion begins with boots. I was still in elementary school, before my family immigrated to the United States, when my mom had a winter suit custom-made for me: dark red, two pieces, a blazer paired with a pleated mini skirt. Then came the styling decision that mattered most to me, a pair of red knee-high boots. For a little girl, the look was rather fashion-forward, and I adored it. I wore those boots practically everywhere, long after the suit had ceased to be the point. I have insisted on boots ever since, with a fairly consistent personal rule: the longer, the better. at Donum Estate, Sonoma, California There was, as it turns out, some fashion logic behind my childhood obsession. Boots have always carried more weight than most shoes, literally and symbolically. Born from utility, riding, military dress, and protection, they became increasingly expressive as women’s fashion changed, particularly in the 1960s, when rising hemlines gave tall boots new authority...

It has been difficult to watch as the alleged Cornell University gang rape saga unfolds. I am not minimizing what allegedly happened. As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse and domestic violence as an adult, I do not take what allegedly happened lightly. What happened to Jane Doe, I know she will never be able to escape—physically, mentally, or emotionally. I know her thoughts must take her to the darkest and cruelest moments, moments that at times must feel as though they will never end. I have learned to accept those moments myself, the shame and rage turning so rapidly that eventually they become numbness, until something triggers them again. I have also learned that the numbness is when it becomes dangerous, when the conflict that keeps us “feeling” is subdued and settles into an acceptance: I am damaged. Forever. So I know it is difficult—nearly impossible for some of us, and for legitimate reasons—to leave our emotions out of what allegedly happened beginning on October 19, 202...

For a while, I restrained myself from using salt and pepper in my cooking, partly because I had come to think of them as the two most overused seasonings, capable of keeping a dish from becoming more interesting than the obvious. At one point, I even wondered whether I had developed a sensitivity to salt; the slightest over-seasoning began tasting bitter to me. Salty filets at Michael Mina at Bellagio and Delilah at Wynn Las Vegas last year did little to repair the relationship. Trust me, an overly salted filet at an upscale restaurant is its own particular trauma, quite different from realizing the horrible flavor of McDonald’s new limited-edition Spicy Chicken McNuggets. I never abandoned salt entirely. I continued using it to enhance other spices and ingredients, but deliberately salty flavors, even those built around soy sauce, became increasingly rare in my kitchen. Ceramic bowl was wheel-thrown and glazed by me. Until recently. No Rice, No Deal Stir-Fry Bowl is deliberately veg...

Are you bothered by the question? More than two decades ago, a dear friend, Andrea, ten years my senior, confided that she believed feminists had destroyed our lives. Back then, work-life balance did not exist. Back then, I was asked to terminate an employee simply because she was pregnant. at Laguna Art Museum I didn't. I also didn't exactly refuse. I told the company that it was more than welcome to terminate her, but as her direct manager, I saw no performance-related reason to end her employment and therefore would not sign her separation papers. If executive management wanted to terminate her, I would accept its decision. I simply would not lend my name to it. She was not terminated. I didn't refuse to sign because I was advocating for her rights. I refused because there was no reason to terminate her. I had terminated other employees for poor performance; pregnancy was not poor performance. And the order hadn't come from a man. It came from my boss, who was a woma...

This morning, my mind froze as I read about an alleged gang rape involving eight Cornell University students that occurred nearly two years ago, in 2024. Most of us learned the details only after Jane Doe filed a civil lawsuit on September 14, 2026, in New York State Supreme Court, New York County, against Matthew Ingalls, Johnathan Newell, Winston Lee, Gillio Lopes, Diego Sarabia, Scott Norris, and Scott Kretzschmar, alleging that the seven men raped her while they were students at Cornell University. The alleged assault occurred during the night of October 19 into the morning of October 20, 2024. Jane Doe later reported the incident to Cornell University Police. Cornell separately conducted its own disciplinary investigation, followed by hearings under its Title IX process, while Cornell University Police conducted the criminal investigation that was referred to the Tompkins County District Attorney’s Office. at LACMA No criminal charges followed. The District Attorney’s Office did n...

There is something inherently sexy about gloves, perhaps because they understand what fashion occasionally forgets: concealment can be far more provocative than exposure. For centuries, gloves signaled propriety, status, and restraint, placing a thin barrier between the hand and everyone it might touch. The irony is exquisite. Cover something ordinarily left bare and suddenly its unveiling becomes intimate. Hollywood certainly understood the assignment. An opera glove beside a bare shoulder did not temper the seduction; it sharpened it, turning the slow removal of something as innocuous as a glove into theater. Photo by Hans on Unsplash That delicious tension between restraint and revelation is what makes gloves such compelling style makers. Satin whispers old-Hollywood glamour. Supple leather carries a certain authority. A flash of color beneath an otherwise serious coat can do more for an outfit than another strategically purchased handbag ever will. And when Autumn finally begins i...