Oral Fixations

Chinabloggin' - Shanghai - 6-26-07

2007-12-09T16:07:00.000-08:00

Arrival in Shanghai Pudong Airport at around 5:30 PM, local time. On the bus and out by 8PM local. Extremely tired. We have our first introduction to our tour guide, Emma, and a nighttime guided tour of Shanghai's freeways by night.

Shanghai, it seems, is organized in to 3 concentric rings. The poorest areas, populated by factory workers and other blue collar types are in outer shanghai. The innermost downtown section is also the richest and most exclusive. A river bisects Shanghai as well, further dividing it into the east side and West side.

Our first meal here is at the Yuan Guang Hotel, and as it is a late night refueling, we are served a smattering of local dim sum. I am struck by the calibre of the restaurants here, and that there is a waiter at our beck and call, waiting silently in a corner for whatever we may need. I forget to take pictures of the food, as I'm way too tired.

After a brief emergency turnaround (Mom left her bag in the restaurant), we arrive at our hotel and I get my first taste of China's 5-star accomodations. Small, yet comfortable modern beds, and sitdown toilets -- not what I was expecting, given everyone's hype and hoopla about going places and having to squat their way to excretory victory. I'm so tired, I'm asleep in minutes and sleep through Dad's snoring. I do shower, however, and shave. The air conditioning is exquisite after being in the muggy summer heat.

Chinablogging, Part 1

2007-06-29T07:14:00.000-07:00

Currently writing this from my hotel room in Beijing, where they've graciously provided free internet access. It's 10:15 Beijing time, wrapping up day three of my 12-day tour of Shanghai, Beijing, Guilin, and Xian. Lots of stuff to write about. And the food! :)

Shawerma

2007-06-08T10:00:00.000-07:00

One of the sad realities of living in San Francisco is that the cost of your average lunch is almost always in double digit territory. You can find places that will deliver a solid meal for under $10, but they're usually burrito joints, pizza places, or cheap/ghetto Chinese restaurants. The restaurant that serves a high quality non-burrito, non-pizza, non-Chinese lunch for under ten dollars is something of a rarity these days. A place that does this well without cutting corners is a rare gem.

This is my story about a neighborhood market-slash-deli with a French name, stocked with British and Austrian chocolates, and specializing in Middle Eastern wraps. I went to Le Petit Marchet for lunch yesterday, and this is definitely going on my shortlist of must-eat places in the city.

LPM occupies a stretch of Polk Street that is dominated by shops, bars, and other eateries. Across the street is the scandal-ridden Quickly pearl milk teahouse, the East Coast West Delicatessen, and a sit-down Moroccan place/hookah bar. Hahn's Hibachi is right next door, but the real gem, hidden in plain sight, is the shawerma advertised on their bright yellow awning in flowing cursive script, tucked away in a glorious mess of primary colors.

FOOD:

Had the Lamb shawerma (spicy). Slices of lamb served on crisp, thin lavash roll, wrapped with fresh hummus, baba ganoush, tabouli and salata. The spicy version includes a dash of red sauce as well. Flavours were well balanced, and the lamb was not very gamey - balanced flavours, not too spicy, but just enough to perk up the meat a little bit. What really got me was the way they toasted the shawerma -- the lavash roll skin came out perfectly crisp and light.

Team it up with either a fountain drink or a Mango Lassi from the refrigerated section, and you've got a great meal for less than $10.

SEATING:
There are two small 2-seaters tables outside in the covered sidewalk area, as well as four 2-seaters inside the store itself. Push together for small groups, or take it to go.

FACILITIES/CLEANLINESS: This market is absolutely pristine. I'd have no qualms taking anyone here, germaphobes included.

(Review Crossposted on yelp.com)

Real Life Conversations #2

2007-05-20T09:53:00.001-07:00

My friend J (not J from RLC #1) was in a serious car accident several years back. For years, he has been visiting dentists, orthodontists, and oral surgeons to rebuild his mouth and smile. Earlier this year, he got his braces off and got some implants to replace some of his missing anterior teeth. This is me and him, talking about it earlier today:

Me: one last question
J: sure
Me: how did the implants go?
J: they went well
Me: look good"?
J: i am certifiably sexy fine
Me: awesome
J: if the sexy if gone from some place let me know
J: cuz i bring the sexy back
J: wherever i go
J: hahah
J: i smile a lot more
J: much more confortably
J: self confidence is definitely up there
J: amazing what a nice smile will do
J: i love taking pictures
J: haha -- it's like i just got a boob job
J: except i'm a guy

Real-Life Conversations #1

2006-09-13T22:43:00.000-07:00

Further proof that dental school has taken over our lives:

J: I think
J: over-dating is overrated
J: for me
J: like practicing for a practical too much
J: bc after awhile
J: you just remember all the mistakes you made on the previous teeth
J: and keep expecting to make them again
J: when all one really needs to do
J: is approach each new tooth as just htat...a new tooth
J: how's that for an analogy?
Me: oh my god.
Me: I must publish it to my blog. NOW.

Things I've Learned in Dental School #1

2006-09-13T09:19:00.000-07:00

CityCarShare is convenient, but I don’t drive enough to make it worth my while.

Owning a Moleskine notebook doesn’t mean that you’ll actually use it.

The urinals in the men’s room on the clinic floor are disturbingly tall. I haven’t had to pee tiptoed since I was 6 years old.

How to Find a Good Sushi Restaurant

2006-06-21T12:30:00.000-07:00

I can't take credit for this post. My older brother found this on Sushi Otaku's blog, which is pretty self explanatory: How to Find a Good Sushi Restaurant.

One thing I didn't know from before:

The tamago (egg) nigiri is a bellwether of things to come. I asked my brother about this, and he agreed. "When Charlie Trotter first started out in Chicago," he explained, "he was interviewing for some position with another chef. The guy said to him, 'Let's see if you can cook. Make me an omelette.' So apparently the egg is really hard to get right." The humble egg, it seems, is a prime indicator of a sushi chef's skill in both Japanese and French cuisine, just like stir-fried beef is for Cantonese cooking, and Kung Pao Chicken for any Chinese restaurant claiming a Szechuan/Hunan heritage.

Ume-maki ... what's the point? Nearly every sushi aficionado always talked about the fish, the fish, and the fish. If you're going to pay $4 for two pieces of nigiri, you'd better believe I'm going for the hamachi tuna. According to one of the comments of this blog, the Japanese plum is taken as a sort of traditional dessert, or wrap-up to a meal. I'll have to try it one of these days, after polishing off a whole fish.

There are some follow-up comments posted by some dude called 'Brian' (no relation to me) in the aforementioned blog that I simply don't agree with, one in particular:

A Japanese itamae is indicative of a good sushi restaurant. I think i'll have to call upon all my first order logic skills to dispatch this one. **ahem** The presence of a Japanese itamae is neither a necessary nor sufficient condition for a good sushi restaurant. I've had terrible sushi served to me by itamaes of all races, shapes, and sizes. And I've had great sushi made by non-japanese chefs. Perhaps this is less of an issue with other cuisines, I don't know. To paraphrase Anthony Bourdain, chances are, that awesome 3-star risotto you're eating has been prepared by some anonymous Salvadorean laborer hunkering over a hot stove in a 98-degree kitchen.

At any rate, I'll have more on sushi in the next few days. I'm down in LA again, and that means I'll try to make a stop at my favorite place in Orange County: Sushi Wasabe.

Although, I might have to stop at Uoko sometime, based on this review.

Wherein FBS attempts to avoid Southwest Airlines bum-rush, fails

2006-06-17T00:08:00.000-07:00

Finals ended a week ago. I'm flying home to LA at 9AM on June 17th.

I usually fly Southwest Airlines whenever I fly home. If it weren't for a lingering stash of in-flight drink coupons and my feeble attempt to get one last free flight with my Southwest Airlines Credit Card, I'd be flying Jetblue all the time, every time. Southwest Airlines treats you like cattle, gives you peanuts for the inflight meal, and provides no real in-flight entertainment. I can only read so much Skymall and Spirit Magazine before I want to gouge my eyes out and vomit all over my shoes. The biggest issue I have with Southwest, though, is that the first-come-first-serve seating system ends up being a total zoo.

Anyone who has ever flown with Southwest knows that passengers are separated into three boarding groups (A, B, and C), and that there is no assigned seating. The A-group has traditionally been populated by go-getters, people with their shit together, and very lucky bastards. They get first dibs on seats, get to stash their luggage anywhere they want, and pretty much don't have to worry about anything.

The B group is the moderate-stress group. You want to be first in line in the B-group so the net effect is that you still get first dibs on seats. If you're in the middle of the pack or towards the end of B-group, you're searching for a dwindling supply of acceptable open seats. You get a bit more choice too: do you sit next to the hottie on aisle 9A, or next to Mrs. Trunchbull in 14B?

C-group boarders are pretty much hosed. Choices are limited: do you sit next to the hottie on aisle 9A, or next to Mrs. Trunchbull in 14B? Well, sorry buddy, you get neither. You get to enjoy the presence of screaming baby #29 near the front of the plane. Oh, and I'm sorry sir, but there's no more overhead space and we'll have to check in your luggage below. But that's full of martini glasses and fine china. Tough luck, big shot. Beggars can't be choosers.

Here's my little secret though: I usually log in at the stroke of midnight to print out my boarding pass the night before (technically the day of). I've been doing this for years now, and I've always been in boarding group A. Let me tell you, it makes the whole day so much better. You don't need to worry about rushing to the airport early to get to the front of the B-line because you're guaranted to be one of the first 40 or so people to choose seats. You can stash your luggage wherever you like. However, it has recently come to my attention that I'll have to switch my choice of carrier soon.

Get this:

It's 12:01 A.M. I log into my Southwest Airlines online reservation system, fill out a few web forms, and click on "show and print my boarding pass." Half a second later, it shows up on my screen.

I'm in boarding group B.

What the hell just happened here? Do you know what this means?

That means in the space of one minute, forty people -- possibly more -- managed to log into Southwest Airlines' website, check in, and print out their boarding passes before I did. How many people know about this trick? And how long before I log in the same time, do everything right, and still get slotted into boarding group C?

So, it seems that if I want to keep ahead of the curve, I should start flying Jetblue from now on. I will be landing at a closer airport (Long Beach), get a bag of actual snack food (chips and pretzels), watch TV, enjoy fresh airplane scent (aka newer planes), AND have guaranteed assigned seating. I can even change my seating choices at the airport.

But tell me this: what the hell am I going to do with $24 worth of Southwest drink coupons?

In which Marc Jacobs incites drunken political rantings

2006-06-04T22:52:00.000-07:00

((Note: Names changed in this story.))

The very first day it opened, the Marc Jacobs store on the corner of Fillmore and Sacramento featured twenty-five mannequins in their storefront window, all dressed in t-shirts and red, white, and blue briefs. They stood behind an enormous American flag with the letters on their shirts spelling out “MARC JACOBS SAN FRANCISCO”.

And then, a tiny little sign down at their feet: “Although we don’t like our president, we still love our country!”

It was something you could only pull off in a place like San Francisco, or Berkeley. For weeks, the storefront – once an upscale designer furniture store – was covered in black plywood sheets, frustrating curious passers-by. What was going on in there? Who’s moving into that space? And why is everything blocked off? And when the covers came off, there it was: outlandishly bad taste that suddenly became hip and stylish. You couldn’t do that with Dockers.

Weeks passed. And then a few nights ago, I was walking back from the fundraising celebration bash with a couple fellow students,we passed by the store again. This time, the flag was taken down. And the mannequins stood behind letters six feet tall that said “WORST PRESIDENT EVER”.

I got a good laugh out of it, but Mark didn’t think so. “That’s treason!,” he said. “This is really pissing me off. I gotta go bomb this place or something.”

Treason? Are you kidding me? Hasn’t he ever heard of Benedict Arnold, Hans Max Haupt, Julius and Ethel Rosenberg? How about the CIA officers who were double agents, selling secrets and exposing their colleagues to the KGB? That pissed me off, and I had to say something.

“Are you kidding me? That’s patriotic dissent. Are you saying that if you disagree with the president or just give your opinion you’re a traitor? Dude, if no one ever spoke out against anyone in power, you wouldn’t even have this country – hell, you wouldn’t even have democracy. That's what the founding fathers did.”

It didn't take much to hear the contempt in his voice. “Yeah, well, once you start collecting a paycheck, you’ll be a Republican.”

I had heard this line before -- the last resort of an ideologue full of himself, attempting to write me off as too young and idealistic. I thought to myself, What the fuck. He's my age, maybe a year younger. Who the fuck is this guy? It pissed me off before, and it pissed me off again. I wasn't going to take this lying down, especially from a drunk, self-centered asshole like himself.

“Fuck you!" I said. "I’ve collected paychecks before, man. And I’m STILL a Democrat.”

“Well, once you start collecting a DENTIST-sized paycheck, you’ll be a Republican.”

I started to get REALLY pissed off, but the calmer half of me told me not to pursue it further. So, I laughed it off. It was probably the best thing to do; I think if we had continued along that path, it would've lead to a pretty nasty fistfight.

Still, that brief, alcohol-fueled conversation helped me realize that most people really don’t want democracy. They want dominion. They want strength and power. They want egalitarianism so long as it levels the playing field so that they can boost themselves to new heights. You have to seriously question the purported democratic ideals of someone who wants to shut up everyone who disagrees with him, without discussing the issues like rational, mature adults.

Seriously, did this guy ever think about what or where his tax money goes to? Or how the government is run? Did someone sleep through fifth-grade civics class?

Fosamax

2006-06-01T21:43:00.000-07:00

I love it when I hear about something in class months before that same topic hits the mainstream public consciousness. What can I say? I'm a big nerd. Otherwise, I wouldn't be in dental school to begin with.

In this week's edition of Oral Fixations, I bring to you the New York Times' coverage of the link between Bisphosphonates (e.g., Fosamax) and Mandibular Osteonecrosis.

The most frustrating thing about this article is that it leaves the most pressing questions unresolved. Midway into the article, you find this paragraph:

Doctors say worried patients hearing about the ailment are starting to besiege them. The patients want to know whether they should stop taking the drugs. They want to know whether they should shun invasive dental procedures, like tooth extractions and implants, which appear to set off the condition. They want to know whether osteonecrosis of the jaw can be treated and, if so, how likely it is that a person will recover.

They never answer this question. But in their defense, there really isn't a definitive answer right now. The link between osteonecrosis and biphosphonates has only been under scrutiny for a few years. So for now, we're being taught in school to cover our asses and be thorough in our health history interviews. The last thing we want is to pull a tooth and watch their entire jaw melt away.

My Super Sweet 16

2006-05-24T21:51:00.000-07:00

The other day I was unwinding from a long day at school. Ever had one of those days where you're too tired to do much else except turn on the television and watch whatever channel the television was last set to? The channel was MTV; the show: My Super Sweet 16. After 10 minutes of this stuff, I turned to my roommate and said, "John, if any of my kids ever turn out that way I hereby give you permission to break into my house in the middle of the night and beat me to death with a pool cue."

I'm serious.

God, I hate that show.

No, really. Do NOT try this at home.

2006-05-07T09:50:00.000-07:00

An interesting story in the New York Times about the plight of Britons left high and dry by the hugely underfunded state-run dental programmes.

In a Dentist Shortage, British Do it Themselves

End of April Links o' Plenty

2006-04-27T16:47:00.000-07:00

Sure, tomorrow is the Microbiology Midterm, but that doesn't mean I can't slack off like a maniac and post a long-overdue update on my blog.

You really need to get your little fingers clicking over into Pimp My Snack territory, where amateur foodies attempt to recreate their favorite snacks, only in unimaginable proportions! Among them:
- Giant Cadbury Creme Egg
- the monstrous King Rolo
- Giant M&M (with optional bling)
- a Bourbon Biscuit of Inestimable Delight
- the Quasi-Snickers Bar of Insulin-Shock Enormity
- and the World's Biggest Snowball.

This weekend is the San Francisco Beerfest ... too bad it's all sold out.

I'm going to Yoshi's this weekend to hang out with some old college friends. Top-caliber jazz and Japanese food... what could be better?

Pirate Baby's Cabana Battle Street Fight 2006 has finally been released!!! No, it's not a videogame. Rather, a short film styled like an old beat 'em up. Can you find all the pop culture, videogame, and movie references? So far, I've foundStreet Fighter 2, The Big Lebowski, MegaMan, Devil May Cry, Predator, Lord of the Flies, Christopher Walken ... WARNING: Some unpleasant imagery, esp in the Zombie Mothers' Maternity Ward

I wish I was as creative and artistically talented as this guy: come see the creatures in Andrew Bell's head at his website, The Creatures In My Head. I am currently digging his Pac-Man wallpaper.

Mission to Manila - Initial Thoughts

2006-04-01T19:08:00.000-08:00

After a seven day trip to the Philippines, I returned to San Francisco on Sunday afternoon. Our team of 33 students and faculty spent 2 days travelling, 4 days doing dental work in 90 degree weather, and 2 days on the beach at Boracay. In the course of 4 days we saw to close to 1200 patients.

I was a little overwhelmed at first. I saw things we will never see in our daily lives in the States. In fact, I saw things that I had never seen even at the Long Beach Children’s Clinic. People were coming in with teeth broken down to the roots and gum disease so severe that the only thing holding their teeth in place was a solid bridge of super-mineralized tartar coating the inner surfaces of their teeth. Eight-year old children came in with their first molars broken down so badly that the pulps had become scarred and engorged, poking out from the remnants of the enamel crowns like toadstools on the forest floor. Such a shame -- those molars come in at age six and are supposed to last you for the rest of your life.

But there’s only so much cringing you can indulge in before you turn on the switch and start running in doctor mode. Within 45 minutes of arriving at the work site in Malolos, I was performing 4 quadrants of scaling and root planing on a 35 year old man. He had severe calculus buildup and advanced gum disease. He was my first live patient (not counting the fellow students I had practiced on already).

Over the next four days, I had performed scalings and root planings, injections, fillings, and extractions, all under the supervision of the American and Filipino doctors. Most of the things I did I had learned already on mannequins or practiced on fellow students, so much of it came naturally. Then as quickly as we came, we were back in the airport, this time to take a local flight to Caticlan and a boat ride to Boracay. We had two days to rest our tired backs, and drink banana daquiris on the beach. Then it was back to the States, with little to show on the outside except sun-burnt skin and a few souvenirs.

I brought back the most important things in my head and heart. There are the practical things, of course: my “first patient jitters” have disappeared; I learned to administer local anesthesia; I’ve already extracted teeth, most of them molars.

Most importantly, I was able to make a few new friends as well. Throughout the trip, there was a rare camaraderie that is seldom maintained among strangers working closely together in an intense environment. For the thirty of us thrown together by mission and circumstance, seven days was enough to turn strangers into acquaintances, acquaintances into friends, and friends into even better ones.

And for that, I am glad.

Back from Boracay

2006-03-28T23:32:00.000-08:00

Arrived back in SF on sunday afternoon. I'm still gathering my thoughts. What we did there, the things I saw... I'll be thinking about this for the next few weeks.

And no, no debauchery. Well, maybe just a little bit of peril. Banana daquiris and Mai Tais on the beach in the company of friends consumed under the equator's bright sun are pretty hard to beat.

2 more days!

2006-03-16T11:44:00.000-08:00

1.5 days left of finals. Two more days until I leave for the Philippines!

No, not for partying and generalized debauchery; this is for humanity. It's a dental service mission trip organized through the school.

Although now that I think of it, it'll feel a little bit like Galahad in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

Galahad: Why did you take me away from there?
Lancelot: It was too perilous.
G: Well, maybe just a little bit of peril?
L: No, too perilous.

Whoof.

2006-02-27T23:53:00.000-08:00

Real life is catching up to me now. We just finished 3 weeks of nonstop tests, projects, and practicals.

I've got a few posts in the works that i'm editing; not much I have to say at this point.

Gimli Gloin

2006-02-05T15:54:00.000-08:00

The stout little man before me was the spitting image of an Ironforge dwarf. He stood five feet tall, his face bedecked with a bushy black beard, thick eyebrows, and a pale, bulbous nose. But with his eyes opened wide and his mouth slightly agape, he looked a little frightened, as if Gimli Gloin had been torn from the pages of J.R.R. Tolkien and unceremoniously dumped onto the streets of the Mission District on a rowdy Friday night. His left hand clutched a pathetic handful of plastic flowers close to his chest, most likely pinched from the planters of neighboring stores.

There had been eight of us dental students in suits and dresses, all standing on the sidewalk. What had started out as a straightforward cab ride back to student housing had turned into a slight detour down into the Mission for some late night nourishment (and possibly one more drink). Now we were trying to figure out how to fit everyone into one cab. “Only four,” the cabbie said. “No five!”

I took Kimi’s arm and guided her to the last remaining seat. “You go first. We’ll meet up with the rest of you at housing.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yeah, we’ll get another cab, no sweat.” With that, the roof light winked out and the car pulled away from the curb.

That’s when I turned around and saw him.

“Would you like to buy a flower?” Gimli asked. He spoke so softly that I could barely hear him, but I knew what he wanted by the way he offered me a sickly sprig of green and white plastic.

I raised my hand and smiled, “No thanks.” And then I turned away to hail another cab.

“No! Please!”

I turned around. His shoulders had slumped slightly, and he looked ready to cry.

“Please… sir – I really need you to buy a flower,” he pleaded. “I don’t have any money, and I just want something to eat tonight. I’m a veteran, I’m disabled…” Gimli’s voice faltered slightly as he mumbled something about what he used to do for a living and only being on the street for a few weeks. Throughout his whole story, he looked at me straight in the eye.

It takes a certain level of resolve to swallow your pride and sell flowers on the streets of San Francisco. But at least you can think, I’m working, I’m out here selling stuff. It may not be much but at least I’m doing something.

But to transition from that point to begging and pleading, you can’t just swallow your pride anymore… there’s something inside of you that has to die. And when you kill that part of yourself repeatedly, day by day, it changes you. It can break you. Call it pride, call it dignity – all I know is that it’s something I’m not willing to give up.

I opened my wallet and pressed a five dollar bill into his hand. “Hey,” I said. “There’s a burrito place down the street that’s pretty good.”

“Oh, thank you – thank you –”

“Hey, it’s all right, it’s all right,” I said. “We all have it rough sometimes. Hope your night goes better once you get something good to eat.” And then I shook his hand. A taxi pulled up to the sidewalk and my friends started piling in. “I gotta go. Goodnight.”

I squeezed myself into the back seat and looked out the window as the car pulled away from the curb.

The last I saw of Gimli Gloin, he was walking down the street in the direction of El Toro Taqueria, plastic flowers still in hand. But now they hung by his side and he stood a little straighter than before. He strode with purpose.

I never got his name.