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| - First you must read through my preamble because it's a fascinating story of love , loss, and regret. About a month ago, I received an email from my very first boyfriend ever, we dated when I was 17 to 19 when we lived in Montreal. Recently, he googled me and found my blog. He is living in the U.K. now. He has a high falutin' London banker job and travels all over the world and was going to be in Toronto for a couple of days in May. Would I like to meet? YASSS! I am a time traveler and there was always this nagging, unresolved feeling when I reminisced about him, that there was some truth I had yet to discover. He was the one I lost my tender virginity to and ultimately the one who set the tone for the rest of my failed relationships. This bitch, even with therapy, has to sleep with one eye open at all times. It's exhausting, and that's why I like being single now that I'm old. Anyway, we went out during the 1980s, before there were cell phones or even answering machines. Boyfriend (BF we'll call him from now on) would go on "sabbaticals" during our boning tenure, and disappear for a few weeks every 2 or 3 months or so. In other words, we broke up 4 times, but never formally, and he would always come back with some hand written note declaring his love and commitment and I always would take him back, just like that annoying Einstein meme definition of insanity that says doing something over and over again and expecting a different result is all kinds of fucked up. But I still have his letters in a box under my bed. "I want to protect you from the perils of modern living" is what he said in his last letter to me, the one where I didn't take him back cuz fuck that shit. This is where the title of my blog "Art of Modern Living" comes from. Bitches need to protect themselves, is my motto.
Anyway, he was staying at the Shangrila and we met in his room, because I love jumping on hotel beds and cutting to the chase. I haven't seen him in 30 years and he was wearing a suit (weird!) and all his hair was white, but he looked the same, kind of like George Clooney's brother from another mother. If you squint. We drank two bottles of wine and he told me the story of his life which was mind blowing actually. He lived in Hong Kong in the 90s and met his future wife who he married after accidentally impregnated her, holy shit, that is actually noble in this day and age....but! she recently left him and moved to another country in a whole other continent and took their 8 year old child with her but left the oldest one with him. KInd of wackadoodle but I don't judge. She kept calling multiple times during our date or whatever you want to call it and he kept stepping out to defuse her screaming, I could even hear her squawking from another time zone. The whole thing was tawdry, so to answer your question that I know you are thinking: No, we did not bone.
We did go to the noodle bar downstairs though. We ordered pork buns to share and I ordered the house ramen and BF had the spring ramen. Pork buns were to die for! They were sweet and salty and soft and delicious and I have been dreaming about them ever since. My noodle bowl was salty, slurping pork fat heaven. I don't get why such bad reviews on here, like the pork belly was too fatty! The pork belly was too fatty, seriously? That's like saying George Clooney is too good looking. I actually laughed out loud at that and the particularly picky one about runny eggs being bad for pregnant woman, oh for gods sakes, that's such fear mongering modern smother mother bullshit ...the egg in the noodle bowl is supposed to drip and ooze like a surprise jizz explosion. The noodle bowl is a metaphor for life. Once you're finished sucking it all up, there's nothing left but a pool of broth. Some people will lift up the bowl and swallow the rest of life's precious liquid and the others will let the hipster waiter take it away, all that perfectly good broth, because they are too busy answering their goddamn phone for the millionth time.
BF, who travels all through Europe and Asia and lived in Hong Kong, said it was the best noodle bowl he's ever had. So that is the final word on that, Toronto ramen snobs. And by the way, he also said the reason he kept disappearing all those years ago, was because our relationship was "too intense." Whatever the fuck that means. He never answered the phone when I called him back in the days of primitive communication, ergo I never had the opportunity to yell at him like his crazy-ass fishwife. I was always soft and sweet and yes, salty even as a girl, just like the Momofuku pork bun. One thing I know for sure, he'll come back and there will be more noodles. And pork.
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