Hello, my friends,
Will today’s edition of HMF be charming enough? I’m not at all sure — spring is here, the moss on the side of our building is verdant from the latest rain, I had a day off mid-week (it was more of a schedule adjustment, actually, because I’ll be driving the MākMō van to City of STEM on Saturday), the sumo tournament ended (Kiribayama won), and Michael is able to strap himself into his car seat because, you know, he’s 4! Also, I need your opinion:
Burger Me This
Ashley is tired of hearing about a pet peeve I have: Restaurants that ask how you’d like your burger cooked even though they make every burger well-done. Why bother asking, right? Ashley is totally unbothered by this phenomenon, but I find it annoying partially because it’s so common.
So, we were having lunch on Monday and we both ordered cheeseburgers — this was a $21 cheeseburger place, not some char-burger joint, so the waitress asked: “How’d you like your burgers?” “Medium” said Ashley. “Medium-rare” said I. You can guess where this story goes: Both burgers came out cooked all the way through.
At first, I didn’t want to raise a fuss. The burgers were pretty good, and Ashley didn’t care at all. But, I thought, I always tell Ashley about this and why should I get to rant if I’m never going to do anything about it. So the second time the waitress asked how things were going, I politely told her that my burger was well-done, not medium-rare. “No problem! We’ll make you another one!” She said, “You should get what you ordered.” Exactly!
A few minutes later, she brought back a brand-new burger. I bit into it and it was juicier! So far so good, but was it medium-rare? Nay, my friends, nay. ‘Twas well-done once again. I decided not to stress the cooks out and just finished my burger. But I’m curious, what would you do in my place?
A) Eat the gruel you’re served. You’re not a complainer.
B) Complain once, and let it go, like I did.
C) Keep sending it back until they make it right. They’ll think twice about asking “How would you like your burger cooked?” next time.
D) Keep complaining, and if they can’t make it right, ask for another dish, and make them pay for it. You’re a person that has high standards and unshakable principles.
I brought this up to a colleague later in the week and she suggested that next time they ask how I’d like my burger, I should counter with, “Are you able to make it medium-rare? Some places aren’t.” That way if they say yes, but bring me a well-done burger, I won’t feel like such a heel since I took the extra step to confirm.
Getting at Those Toxins
I’m a fan of bathing culture; wet saunas, dry saunas, onsens, k-spas, long showers, these things are all my jam. For me, it’s as much having a comfortable, contemplative time to myself as it is the physical sensations. I’m told there are also health benefits to saunas. I’m sure this is true, but I often wonder what they mean when people say that by sitting in the heat, you rid your body of toxins. What toxins exactly are they talking about? Are our bodies truly so full of toxins? If we sweat out enough of these toxins, will we live forever? Do the toxins also escape when I run on the treadmill (because I sure sweat a lot)? I have lots of questions.
Camping Thoughts
I went camping for the first time in my life just under a year ago, in May 2022, to Pyramid Lake. It was a solo trip, and exactly as wonderful as I expected it to be. But at 3am the night before I left, something happened that made me question whether I would be going at all. I was asleep on the couch in the living room, which was my spot when caring for Sophie at night, when I was awoken by a treacherous crash, and then silence. Centinela Blvd in West Los Angeles had the occasional crashes, so I wasn’t concerned until I looked out the window to check on my car and it was not there! Very, very odd.
I threw on some clothes and went downstairs and the first thing I saw, besides a small crowd of neighbors, was my car smashed into the wall across the street. The sidewalk chorus murmured as I walked toward my car in what was surely one of the most surreal scenes of my life. After examining my car (yup, totally destroyed), I asked the folks what happened and they pointed me to the gas station at the end of the block where an SUV was ominously parked. “There’s the guy that hit your car!” I was wearing flip-flops, shorts, and a t-shirt. My slippers slapped the street as I walked over to the dazed perpetrator of this night-time episode. He had been on his way home only a few blocks away and wasn’t sure what happened. He willingly gave me his information. I didn’t smell alcohol on his breath. The cops and the tow trucks came. It was a while before I could go back upstairs.
The next day, I took Ashley’s car up to Pyramid Lake and left this incident behind me for a couple of days. I’ve yearned to go camping again since last May and there may or may not be a newsletter next week because the whole family (and some dear friends) are going camping together! I don’t know how the experience will be with small kids, but I expect to have a great time!





