Biography

(This story is NSFW)

People always ask me what my ethnicity is... it's always a mouthful for me. I look mostly Asian, I guess. Sometimes people like to judge what you are, and it's a familiar feeling sometimes, because either you can relate or not.

I was born in the year of 1990, to a half-Vietnamese/half-Chinese Mother and half-Korean/half-German Father, in a small Army base in Ft. Hood, Killeen, Texas. What does that even make me?

I often say, "I'm a DOG, woof woof." I'm a mutt. It's funny to me.

I have an exceptional memory. It's a blessing and a curse. I remember all of the good times, and I also remember all of the bad times. Allow me to share my work experiences through a descriptive, storytelling narrative.

Chapter 1: Rice Garden

My first job was working at Rice Garden inside of Hen House, (a shitty grocery store) off 64th St. up north, KC. Kansas City, Missouri. Right off I-29 NB.

The year was 2006, I was a certified "Rice Scooper" at the ripe age of 16 years old. I remember my Mother asking the manager if they needed some help. They didn't, but they did. They were always busy and packed at the time, it was a bad time to ask, after we just got dinner there. The line would wrap among aisles decidedly by the masses. The end of the line would form differently sometimes, so you had to go with the flow. So, I filled an application and got it! Landed my first job! Also, I was referred by Jimmy Tran. That also helped.

I often reflect on my very first job. I was blessed, it was such an easy job for me. I learned quick here. Working 4 - 8pm weekdays, and 10am - 8pm on weekends. I had it in the bag. It was the perfect after school job, in my opinion, because school got out at 2:40 - 2:50pm and it was plenty of time to: eat at iron wok, drive back home, take a shit, shave, shower, take a 20-min power nap, and take a slow ride to work. And, still show up 5 - 10 minutes early.

I only worked here for two years, but I have learned a lot from this experience. Of course I had to do well in my job, which is serving and portioning the food to all of the hungry patrons eagerly lined up to try some of Rice Garden's fresh food served lovingly into a styrofoam box. I had to deal with the customers up front. It was the fuckin' shit back then, the food was so fucking good. This stuff sold itself, I can see why it was so popular. The manager knew what he was doing. Mo Lun Chi, I spoke to him in Cantonese sometimes. Everyone else called him, "Alan."

Alan told me exactly what to do, and I did it. I got pretty good at it. "Hello, how are you today? Would you like a 1-, 2-, or 3-combo plate? Single, Double, Triple?" It was a simpler time back then. "Rice or Chow Mein? Both? I got you." We loaded it up, there's no shame here. We wanted people to love our food. They came back for it every time. Free samples whenever we're bored. How can you say "no" to a lil bite of "Orange Sesame Chicken," on a toothpick, on a silver platter? (Which was our second best seller. Close competitor to first, actually. Serving it out like hot cakes. The constant demand kept it fresh, always).

American-Chinese food at it's finest, we had the works: Crab Rangoons, Eggrolls, Egg Drop Soup, Hot 'N' Sour Soup, Mushroom Chicken, Mixed Vegetables, White Rice/Brown
Rice/Fried Rice/Lo Mein/Taiwanese Rice Noodles, General Tso's Chicken, Orange Sesame Chicken, Beef 'N' Broccoli, Kong Bao Chicken, two specialty meats, Mongolian Chicken, Mongolian Pork, Peanut Chicken, Fried Shrimp (At an extra charge, and seasonal), and at the end, the hot sauces: Teriyaki/Sweet 'N' Sour Sauce. The "Mongolian" dishes used primarily the scraps from yesterday's BBQ'd chicken/pork, so, there was no waste here. It was still good, anyways. Why waste a beautiful thing? Sometimes these dishes would be so popular, we would use fresh chicken/pork, just to make more. The Manager would soak raw ginger in the cold sauces, it marinated for that extra subtle warming feeling, and proudly advertised "NO MSG" because people were scared of it back then (2006 - 2009 timeframe). We didn't need it, but it would've brought this food to another level. Unimaginable Umami Heaven/Hell (UUH/H for short). Rice Garden WITH MSG. I can't even imagine.

The two specialty items, which I loved to serve, were: Barbecued Chicken (with teriyaki sauce, either slathered on top, or on the side. It's your choice. Or both, if you really knew what's up) and Barbecued Pork.  There was an upcharge to ordering a specialty item. Only 50 cents per serving, it was worth it.

This pork was sacred to most people, including myself at the time, and it was definitely the biggest seller. Hands DOWN, Number One. 

It took about 45 min - 1 hour for a batch to be done, depending on size, and many would prefer the "burnt pieces," including myself. When it came out piping hot out of the industrial sized, thick fire oven, people saw and smelled it, and we knew exactly what they wanted. They wanted their fair share of it, which we sold in two different sized containers, Small or Large. No in-between here, either you wanted your daily dose, or you wanted to indulge yourself with this. No judgment here. We slathered the pork juices on all of it, it was necessary. This place batched up every hour, on the hour. Fresh batches always completing at 4pm, 5pm, 6pm, 7pm, we didn't do 8pm, unless the unruly arrived. That was our cutting/closing time. Kinda predicting how business would be, but the Chefs mostly got it right all the time. Otherwise, the masses would be waiting... hovering for the pork. We didn't want them to get impatient with us.

Anytime anyone orders one of these two dishes, or both, we had a large, circular, thick, cutting board with a big-ass Chinese knife ready to chop, chop, chop it up. Long tongs were provided. That's how we handled the meats. Everyone had their own style and preferences, and mine is: I liked to hit it hard to make sure every piece is separated without thought. I liked to make a loud BANG sound every time I did it. Cut it at a slight angle so it looks a lil better. Serving it perfectly over the box, using the big-ass knife as a platter. I remember regularly getting hungry just serving the food here. Everything was proper. This is where I have learned self control.

Chapter 1.1: The Mexican Chefs

People often ask me where I've learned my Spanish. I love to speak it. I would say that it was here. En la Cocina con todos Mexicanos. These Mexican workers in the back had never learned a lick of English. How could you blame them? What do you expect? They were good at what they did. Real good. There would be some cooks that would cycle through, you know the service industry, but there were these two anchor Chefs (is what I am going to call them, because they absolutely deserve it) that always stayed. Swaz and Freddie.

Swaz, I'll never forget this GARGANTUAN of a Man, who hailed proudly from Mexico, but prefers to stay quiet most of the time. He stands about 6'10" and towers everyone. I don't know if that's his real height, but I'm pretty sure it is. He has a heart just as big. His skin was pale, and he shaved the sides of his head. He didn't have any front teeth, as if someone had curb stomped him earlier in his life, which affected his speaking. He always ate a lot, his go-to meal was the barbecued chicken, white rice, sauteed vegetables and always fresh jalapeños. Extra everything. Double, sometimes triple, or nothing. I've only seen this gentleman wearing a white/red "Rice Garden" polo/hat combination, black pants, black shoes. Nothing else. 

When I got good at my normal job, I got bored of it. I went back and bullshitted with the Chefs. Swaz was my good friend, he taught me the most back there. I looked up to him a lot, and had mad respect for his hard working personality. He was relentless.

He showed me how to cook, help prep, batch sauces, prepare dishes, fold crab rangoons, marinate the pork, fuckin' everything you needed to know back there. A special corn starch slurry which cut their cooking time by fractions. Not only did he teach me how to cook, he taught me how to be efficient at it. 

One time I was cookin' up a big wok of fried rice, (after cooking multiple entrees, and fried rice/lo mein were the last ones to cook in order to complete our line) and my wrists were getting slower. I got tired. It was grueling work, and I shouldn't even have been back there in the first place. Swaz taught me how to hold the two utensils (one circular utensil gripped on my left hand, and one large triangular wok-scraper in my dominant hand, in order to get the maximum amount of effort... with very little work done by you). I was holding these things wrong and just doing it wrong. I changed my motion to emulate his. This one single tip saved me from carpel tunnel, God damnit. The technique was flawless. You see the hot fire dancing under the wok, the "wok hei" blasting on this big-ass wok. It got HOT back there.  You have to move quick.

You have to balance this thing, this big-ass wok filled with potential fried rice ingredients, that probably weighs 45 - 60 lbs (depending on how many batches you were batching) on the side of a circular metal rail, and sling the rice at the end. Gripping the handle with a dry towel. Sesame oil and green onions to finish. This was proper American-Chinese food, and I loved it. This was back-breaking, manual work. Swaz pumped out dishes effortlessly, by memory. You didn't even have to tell him what to do, this man was a machine. He observed through a small window up front to see what was needed before we would call it. More often than not, I would call it... and it would instantly pop up in the window. That is service.

One day, Swaz decided to make a dish I have never heard of before. I will call it, the Unforgettable Molé. Now, don't tell me you don't like molé because you had it one time somewhere, and it wasn't that good. Every molé is different, I have learned. But, I am fortunate enough to know that this was my very first one.

He did it proper, he brought in authentic dried chilés, whatever his preference was. And, I remember whole ancho, guajillo, and he used a couple others. That was his base. He grinded it up in a blender for an absurdly long amount of time. I remember it being long and loud. In fact, his molé took all day (8+ hours) to finally finish.

I should've paid more attention that day, I didn't even know what I was getting myself into.

I remember taking the first bite, that first flavourful punch. I honestly couldn't believe how fucking good it was. The molé, fully infused into the chicken through time. It was perfectly tender, an unforgettable bite every time. Served with rice, a special rice. I don't know which one it was. It wasn't the rice we used for our customers. 

During the wintertime, I would see Freddie and Swaz walking in the snow along the way to work. I would give them rides often, picking them up. I drove a white 1990 Nissan Maxima at the time. We were going to the same place anyways, and it was along the way, right off 64th St. They lived in what was called "Camden Passage" back in the day, so walking to the grocery store was about a 20 - 25 min walk. I've seen them running to work sometimes if they were running late. I would drop them off after work, staying a bit later, but I would also help. I drank cervezas at their crib a couple times before. A 17-year-old kid was enjoying cervezas with the hardest working people I have ever seen in my life. The apartment was crammed, with about a dozen of them in there. 

Freddie also taught me how to cook. I would always have questions and he always knew the answer. He was about 2" shorter than me. He had dark brown skin and a gold tooth. Almost equal amount of strength as Swaz, but just shorter. His Ingles was a bit better, he would be the messenger sometimes. They both would often show me pictures of their familia in Mexico on their Nokia cell phones. The constant reminder.

They both were working to support their families in Mexico, you gotta respect the grind. America just paid more, so can you judge them? They weren't even getting paid that much. I later found out both are illegal, and it never even popped up in my mind that they were. I was naive back then, you see?

Then one day, they were gone. Both of them, Freddie and Swaz.

They just left. Not by choice, I would imagine. Deported without notice, and the Manager fired. I never got to see any of them again. Not even a good-bye. From then, Rice Garden was employed by people from Wyandotte County, and they ran that place to the ground. I was there for some of it, but I'm glad I left. It was never the same. Seeing that transition was heartbreaking to me.

I was the only one who knew how to cook all of the dishes, but not even remotely as good as Swaz and Freddie. Seriously, when I left... the two people who pretended to know how to cook, botched everything. RIP Rice Garden...

Chapter 1.5: Lifeguard

For some reason, after I left Rice Garden, I did a lifeguarding job during the summer of '09. I don't even know why I did it, it wasn't even that fun. I did it for 2 months, and I was assigned to the Autumn Ridge Pool, because they needed it apparently. I was a good/bad lifeguard. I kept the pool clean, but smoked cigarettes in the parking lot. I saved one lil kid that was nearby their parents that wasn't even paying attention. 

I was ready to leave.

Chapter 2: The Military

I'm a full-blooded American who served 6 years active in the USAF. I got to enjoy my last summer as a civilian, in 2009, and did Basic Training in San Antonio, TX on August 4th. I remember it was still hot, and my squadron was a PJ/Special Flights. My job was not that, so I had no clue why I was punished, but I am grateful for it. Flight 653, 331 TRS. I still have the shirt, even in the plastic bag when I first got it. I survived the Texas heat here, the flag was black at times, but mostly red. This only determined how much water you needed to drink.

I was stationed in Adana, Turkey (~16 months), and Cheyenne, Wyoming (4+ years).

Adana is the 5th largest City in Turkiye and located just 50 miles west of the Syrian border. I had a blast over there. I worked very hard and partied just as hard, that's what it's like serving overseas. I remember the hours being brutal here. BBQ and BEERS after our shift, and repeat. I once worked a 36-hour shift in one go, due to some... eh, let's say: complications.

Cheyenne, Wyoming has it's pros and cons much like every other city. It got cold here, 8,000 ft. in elevation, you had to love it or hate it. It was beautiful there, but I have never met my shy Ann over there. I had a loving, supporting girlfriend whom lived with me at the time, but later left me. I don't blame her. We've spent years together, and it was mostly good. I've learned from mistakes here, is what I can say now.

Chapter 2.1: The People who joined the Military; Adana, Turkey

I've met great people and have the pleasure of calling them friends from all walks of life from everywhere in the US and even the Virgin Islands, Puerto Rico, and those sorts. This was probably the best part in serving in the Military, the genuine connections you make.

My first supervisor was from the swamps of Louisiana. He was a proud Coonass, he used it as a term of endearment (which I have later learned it can be a very bad slur for other people in Louisiana, which I never knew and said it and "got in trouble". Well, woops.)

My first boss taught me how to cook Jambalaya and how to make roux. I didn't even know what that was back then, but it's some of the best stuff you can do in cooking. Serious game changer for me.

When I first arrived, nobody even knew I was coming. (FUCK ME, RIGHT?>) I got my orders late and left that immediate weekend. Going from Wichita Falls, TX to Dallas, TX; to Istanbul, Turkiye on a commercial flight, and then to Adana, showing up at about Midnight in early February. I got lucky, it was the Super Bowl that was airing at the time. I borrowed a phone card from a nearby officer in the airport, and called the command post which directed me to my supervisor, who had a couple of beers in him and was watching the big game. It was 2AM at this point, and I'm glad I have contact. He told me to wait there, and I waited about 40 - 45 minutes before him and his buddy showed up in a BIG SUV with subwoofers, to snatch me up. Hall.

I have been up for 30+ hours at this point, I was so excited to be there. An unknown country to a 19 year old me. We got back to base, Incirlik AB, and I drank two beers while watching the big game, before I passed out. We had to be up early in the morning.

I met a lot of good people here in Turkey. Unforgettable relationships formed through tough circumstances sometimes. I remember working 12 hour shifts every day, 7 days a week for two months straight when I first arrived. The Training Period. We needed certified workers, fast. It was almost an emergency. I remember getting scheduled to work every single maintenance available, and we were behind. I put my grind in here, and did something I never thought I would be good at: mechanical tool control.

I was a maintenance worker at heart, and I started from the bottom. Eventually working myself up to a Staff Sergeant, which was my goal in the first place.

Chapter 2.2: Cheyenne, Wyoming

After getting used to the workflow in Incirlik AB, Turkey. It was 100 - 120 degrees F, with ~ 90%+ humidity. It was hot there. The Turkish sun cooked the protective shelters where I worked at. I took a month of leave before I dove into Cheyenne, WY which was 60 degrees with no humidity at the time. This was mid-late summertime in Cheyenne, and I was freezing. Very windy. The transition was rough. July 1st, 2011. I was 20-and a half-years ol'. I almost got in trouble for "underaged drinking" here. A warning was pronounced, but I had to be patient here.

I immediately got stuck in a Support section here, and learned "programs" that I was somewhat familiar with, because we were there to support Maintenance, the badass section. We mostly checked out tools through our "Tool Accountability System" and it was the best tools money can buy. Snap-On everything, top to bottom, on every shelf and toolkit, composite tool kit, or "CTK" for short. I worked with other supply folks, and previous maintenance people who couldn't hack it in the section.

"You can't fly without supply." says SSgt Parker, whom I've became good friends with working with.

Chapter 2.3: Honor Guard

I remember seeing this Honor Guard coin. "We put the FUN in FUNERAL," a coin embossed, in gold-silver laced. A heavy coin. Black/Air Force Blue. Coffin in the middle of one side, "90th ABW" ensigned. It was FUN, I had fun, in my opinion.

The coldest I've ever been in my life was in this God-damned-forsaken place. Douglas, WY wearing my ceremonial blues, we went up there for a Navy Captain's funeral, active duty. Mid-December. Fuck.

We had a mini white van transport us, I remember running back into this white van, after we did our 21-gun salute, 3 shots by 7 gunners. Do the math. I was one of them. In Unison.

We executed it perfectly, it couldn't have went better, given the fuckin' depressing weather that fucked everything.

It was -40 degrees Farenheight, with the elevation and wind added, it was -62 degree Fahrenheit with wind chill. I hate wind chill, mane. It was REAL COLD.

We ended up cramming back into the van and went right back home, eventually warming up. I'll never forget how cold I got, here.

IF you were leading the troop through the funerals, a flag will have to be presented to the next of kin. It was Congressionally Madated. 

I remember saying those last words after our ceremony, and we had to "present the flag" to the next of kin. It was uniformal throughout the services, I later learned. "On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Air Force (Or whatever branch you served in), and a grateful nation. Please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honourable and faithful service."

We would hand it over, ceremoniously. And, a slow salute. One that's deserved. It's not your normal salute.

Chapter 3: The Sushi World

After the Military, I decided to come back home because I missed it. I moved in with my Uncle in the South Plaza, and it proved to be my favourite location I've ever lived. Right behind the Peanut.

A dear friend of mine needed help at a sushi restaurant off 79th and Stateline, Jun's Sushi. One of the best in the City, I later learned.

Chinese Owners, Amy and Gau knew what they were doing. On Tuesdays, they will have regulars fill up the sushi bar and Gau, or another special chef, will provide a nice Omakase. I knew this place was truly special. I learned how to become a server at this location. I became part of the Service Industry.

Prime Sushi had Korean owners at the time when I applied, 2016. Jasmine and Steve, a devout Christian couple, who split their time running the restaurant. Steve was lunch/days, inventory, business management, plumber, dish washer, sushi chef, electrician, and janitor. Jasmine ran dinners, when it was busier. She ruled with an iron fist here. Not afraid to yell at you if are playing on your phone or eating food in the back. I served/bartended/managed this restaurant for 3 years. 2016 - 2019.

I remember going through training here at Prime Sushi, given to me by the manager at the time. Danny X, who eventually became a good friend. His level-headed management style and hospitality is why I will always respect him.

Prime Sushi benefits from its prime location. Tucked in South Plaza, it's right beside the city's oldest dive bar, and one of my favourite locations in this world, The Peanut. The original one right off 51st and Main. (Don't let people tell you the one off 10th and Broadway is the original, because it's not!)

Chapter 3.1: Bartender

After I broke out of my shell and became efficient at serving, I did not ever expect becoming a bartender. I was scared at first... there's so many drinks that exist out there, and I don't know what to do. It's a whole different world in the bartending realm.

This attitude changed very quickly when I stepped behind the bar. I had to put on a show.

I was (and still am) a self-taught bartender. I have read a few different books that taught me how to play this role, but experience was the best teacher.

The first order of business: Does this bar have fresh citrus? It may not seem like much, but it's actually the necessity of proper bars worldwide. Does this bar have fresh squeezed lemon and lime juice batched up with labels attached? Only the best do. And if they don't provide this essential service, it's a bar not worth visiting. 

The book taught me, that if a bar did not press and produce their own citrus juices, that it's not even worthwhile to visit. Go somewhere else, immediately! It's the bare necessities, and I agree wholeheartedly. Having simple fresh squeezed lemon/lime/orange makes a world of a difference in cocktails. The fresher, the better. 

If you decide to use fake lemon or lime juice, your cocktail isn't going to be worth $14 (or $2). People are going to get mad, and decide to not come back because the drink sucked.

At this curious point of my life, I would frequent the Monarch Bar on Monday nights, and always sat in the corner to read. The lighting and location was perfect. I would observe from what would be my inspiring bartender. I would always order the same thing, "The Pendergast."

He did it proper. It's simple, but it's technique. You gently pour whisky into a mixing glass with the clearest ice you can get your hands on. It took a certain amount of time, just jiggling the jigger properly, because it had to take that long to make that drink. 

Taking a sip of Dom's drink, The Pendergast... it's the reason why I keep comin' back. It's that good. I became a weekday regular at the Monarch Bar in KC. I always had such a great time there, I remember running into so many friends here. And, learning from the best through observation.

One night, a friend of mine (who was in the service industry as well) visited me. She ordered food and drinks and provided great company during that shift. She noticed my attempt to stir a drink in a cocktail glass. She stopped me, and asked if I wanted to know how to stir a barspoon. I was humbled. I actually didn't know how to stir a drink. She showed me how to stir the drink properly. The spoon was all the way on the bottom, facing in, stirring rapidly in a circular motion, while not making a sound. Clockwise on the rim, using the spiral handle of the spoon as a tool for movement around the glass. This ensures that a proper whiskey will not be bruised by the ice, especially the way I stirred before I knew this technique existed.

Jun's Sushi

Prime Sushi

Server/Bartender/Manager

Service Industry

Chapter 4: Behind the Line

After I quit Prime Sushi, I became a server very shortly for Black Dirt, located right down the block from the same street.  The Chef inspired me and reignited my passion for food. I decided to dive into the "back of house."

Chapter 5 The Automotive Scene

3 years, corporate job: Supply Chain/Logistics, Data Analysis. Receiving Warehouse Clerk, promoted to Buyer, and eventually handled every purchasing account.

Chapter 6: Now what?

To be continued... (5/27/2024)

(Under Construction...)
Thank you for your patience. :)