bonnie tsui


May 25, 2003
Mix of Food, Talk is Recipe for Lasting Friendship

Every month, three of my closest girlfriends and I get together for a food reunion. Esther, Anna, Mara, and I have known each other since junior high school on Long Island, where we talked over lunches we'd all brought from home.

Over the years, those meals graduated to coffee talks and wee-hour diner stops (a night at the local all-ages club wasn't complete unless it was topped off by a heaping plate of greasy cheese fries).

Food became the reliable excuse that brought us together as we grew up. A slice of pizza filled the lunch hour away from school, licking ice cream cones on the boardwalk made summer the barefoot season. A dollar and 25 cents never went as far as it did then. Sharing food was woven into the social fabric of our friendship. The revelatory moment came during adolescence; Esther and I, after an afternoon of shopping, stopped for soup and salads at a neighborhood restaurant. We had officially become our mothers: adults whose social lives revolved around food, once a boring chore to us as children, suddenly prime-time entertainment. (Gleefully, we've never looked back.)

Though we were scattered up and down the East Coast during college, our lingering chats and chews from time to time made those years seem less of a separation. In Boston, Anna and I rendezvoused for boozy nights at the Wonder Bar in Allston. When I went to Providence to visit Mara, we did our catching up over coffee and a stroll on campus. And when I returned home to New York, Esther and I headed to Tom's Restaurant on the corner of West 112th and Broadway for hot grilled-cheese sandwiches and milkshakes. I remember tables being sticky with ketchup, rows of booths, a crowded lunch counter—and the simple pleasure of having a close friend listen to what I had to say.

The four of us finally emerged in the food-loving metropolis of New York. The working-girl life offered a fresh challenge: in the urbanization of our daily existence, scheduling was the only way we could see each other. Once again, the joys of food filled the connection gap.

Every meeting now is a culinary odyssey of sorts, an opportunity to share something: Fusion Brazilian-Japanese maki rolls with yellowtail and yuzu, Peruvian ceviche spicy with aji amarillo peppers, roast pork buns in Chinatown, forbiddingly rich pistachio profiteroles and sharp cheddar fondue at Artisanal, a French bistro with its very own cheese sommelier. We journeyed recently to the East Village to satisfy a hankering for Italian home cooking (fresh handmade tagliatelle tossed with garlicky shrimp and cherry tomatoes). At the urging of the headwaiter, we ended the meal with a fiery, incredibly alcoholic round of limoncello - a libation adventure that had Mara downing most of my glass and everyone else's so as not to offend the restaurant owners.

Lately, at Anna's new house, we've been moving toward being master chefs. Summer is in full swing—the season for reunions of every sort—so we celebrate with corn on the cob, cheeseburgers, and steaming hot dogs fresh from the grill. Anna is the first of our group to be married and living in her own house, and while we take full advantage of her kitchen, she's taken to asking us for advice on cooking (the joke being that she's less practiced than we'd all like her to be).

Our last get-together turned into a tutorial on the finer points of chopping, dicing, mincing, and slicing for a colorful vegetable stir-fry brimming with cashews, broccoli, tofu, celery, red peppers, garbanzo beans, and snow peas, as well as much-needed practice eating a delectable pint of mocha almond-fudge ice cream. Next up: the bigger challenge of creating a Korean feast of kimchi, bulgoki, and bi bim bap.

Our reunions don't revolve around only eating. Past alternatives have included attending the world-famous hot-dog eating contest at Coney Island and watching a round of "Iron Chef" on the Food Network. Conversation is always the main dish. Our series of dinners has been punctuated by landmark occasions: Anna's marriage last year; Esther landing her dream job; Mara's acceptance into a top-notch graduate program; my debut television appearance. Each meal is inevitably peppered with ups and downs, good news and bad. But each serves as an affirmation, underlining all that is vital in our lives.

Despite the impossible permutations of busy schedules, the girls and I always make time to revel in our monthly meal, whether it's cool Greek salads, creamy deviled eggs, or steak frites. It's the way we've always made our essential connections. We don't need much: just a pint of chocolate ice cream or a warm chocolate cake—and four forks or spoons.


in this publication

March 23, 2008
Artful Renewal in Chinatown

October 7, 2007
Beyond Breakfast: A Hip, Hearty New York Brunch Scene

September 30, 2007
Hotel lets guests shadow its sommelier

July 8, 2007
This Frontier Region Knows Good Eating

May 13, 2007
San Francisco Hospitality is in the Deft Details

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