Orange: A Sensory Anchor and Return to Form

A meal should be satisfying. A color should be satisfying.

It's been over a year since I started this literary expedition, and I'm still refining and defining the form of this newsletter. November of last year seemed a rather odd time to start something new, as bears tend to hibernate in the winter and emerge in spring. So why try something new in autumn? Why not just waste away on Netflix and watch the nights get longer as the days get shorter?

The subtropical climate of Hong Kong has something to do with it, I believe. When it's summer, it's so blazingly hot and sticky that you can't even think straight at night. But once the temperatures cool and the humidity doesn't stick to your clothes every time you walk out the door, you can start thinking clearly about what you want to do next.

Return to form for me is more a return to sanity, return to the senses, a clearing of the brain fog so that you have the clarity to know what you need to nourish yourself. It might sound strange, but I think the color I find most nourishing is orange.

Both a color and a fruit, it spans for me the months from June all the way to late November, right before that jolly man hits the radio waves. On one end, at the beginning of summer, you have Memorial Day and the temperatures shoot up, and you want those orange slices full of vitamins and juice that you need on a grassy soccer field. It becomes a Saturday type of ritual with snacks at halftime with the kids on that field.

On the other end, you have Halloween and jack-o'-lanterns and that final transition from green to red to yellow, a blaze of color before all the leaves fall off for the season. Is it sad? Is it more a faded glory of a desert sunset, something you need to go away before you can appreciate it coming back again?

It's nourishing for me because there's this deep satisfaction in seeing all the different hues of this color during these months, reminding myself: oh yeah, I should probably take more vitamin C, perhaps eat my carrots for eye health.

Colors are very much reminders for us—like a kanban system—to remind us where we're at and where we're trying to get to. Are we closer? Are we further away? Maybe we aren't even in the right vicinity of where we need to be and need to change course entirely.

Like I said before, when I don't know what to do, I stick to the classics. Classics are nourishment, and the most nourishing place near me—when I definitely don't have the ambition to clean dishes or chop vegetables or defrost anything really—is this humble Japanese curry place called Campers.

Campers is the type of place that every time you bring a friend or family member, they say, "Yeah, it was solid." It's actually quite simple food: just vegetables with meat in a thin sauce (sometimes it's a sweet curry, sometimes teriyaki, sometimes a wasabi-flavored sauce) and rice. It's solid and it's there for you, like how you know you'll feel satisfied after a Japanese onsen.

For any food to be nourishing, it needs to hit Michael Pollan’s rules for eating: "Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants." And I can guarantee you that this Campers curry I had just now follows all three.

Now the fourth rule, which I've liberally added, is that it needs to be repeatable. Repeatability in this age means it's affordable, for you can't just have one nourishing meal once a month and call it a nutritious diet. You need to have it frequently enough so that you get the benefits.

What is NOT repeatable? An Eleven Madison Park tasting menu at $600 USD per head that you have to book months in advance. Eleven Madison Park might have real food, and it's not too much, and it's mostly plants, but unless you're in the upper 0.01%, that's out of my budget.

At 65 HKD ($8.40 USD) per meal, it's hard to argue with the economics of getting Campers all the time—which I absolutely do, especially on the weeks I don't meal prep and just want something quick. I swear this is not a paid advertisement for the restaurant, but I can't rave about it enough.

But say you don't live in Tin Hau—what can you do to curry up on a cold winter day?

What you can do is make this Thai curry with kabocha pumpkins. Kabocha pumpkin is a Japanese variety that's more abundant in my part of the world compared to those giant ones you get at pumpkin patch picking. It has a creamy, tender texture when you steam it, and just by itself it's naturally sweet, which is great for me because I have a natural sweet tooth.

Nearby in my neighborhood is a Thai grocery stand, and only her stall sells pre-packaged, individually sized packs of turmeric, lemongrass, kaffir lime leaves, and bird's eye chilis—so all you need is a can of coconut milk to make your dinner. As much as I'm a fan of Costco and its bulk sizing, there's absolutely a market for individually packaged, one-meal sets, as so eloquently put by Bowen Yang here.

No one needs seven pumpkins when you just need one.

The recipe is pretty straightforward—toast your spices, add your pumpkin, then submerge it in coconut milk and bring it to a boil with all the other aromatics like lemongrass and lime leaves. Just a note though: for me it's straightforward, but if you feel like you need more instruction, feel free to email me back and I can try to write one out for the next issue.

When you go to the grocery store, do you notice which eggs to buy other than the price? Orange yolk eggs are supposed to be better for you because they're an indication of the hen's diet. As Perplexity puts it: "Orange yolks come from hens whose diets are rich in carotenoids, natural plant pigments found in foods like alfalfa, marigold petals, pumpkin, carrots, and leafy greens. When hens forage freely on grass, insects, and varied plant materials, they consume more carotenoids, which deepen the yolk color to a rich orange hue."

So that means orange things are good for you because they're eating their natural diet of foliage and carotenoids. If they eat better, we eat better, because in some sense we eat what they eat.

Orange isn't just a color or a fruit or a pumpkin. It's a signal—in egg yolks, in autumn leaves, in kabocha flesh—that tells us something has been nourished properly, has eaten what it should eat, has lived how it should live. Maybe that's why I started this newsletter in November, when Hong Kong finally turns breathable again and the orange light stretches across the harbor. It's the season when everything orange reminds us: this is what real nourishment looks like.

What's your orange—that sensory anchor that brings you back to yourself when the seasons change? And where do you find it when you need it most?

It's been a full year of gochujang pasta experiments, Sisqo praise breaks, and finding abundance in desolation. To celebrate this journey from zero to newsletter, I'm sending out a small thank-you package to readers who've made this year of writing worthwhile.

Inside your package: custom Backyard Izakaya coasters (for those drinks we share while reading), stickers, and a few other surprises that embody our little corner of the internet.

Here's the thing: This is the last week to claim yours. Submit your info by November 1st at 11:59 PM (HKT) to be part of this free giveaway.

This is completely free—my way of saying thanks for reading my thoughts on everything from Mongolian dinosaurs to Japanese food craftsmen techniques. Limited quantities available, US + Hong Kong shipping only for now (international friends, I'm working on something for you too).

Once you submit your info, I'll get your anniversary package out within 2-3 weeks. After November 1st, this form closes and that's it—no extensions, because I need to get these packed and shipped before the holiday postal madness begins.

Don't overthink it. Just fill out the form below. Deadline: November 1st.

Savoring this moment with you,

Kevin L