The sky is falling.

I know I said that this would be about my own culinary experimentation, but sometimes, we all need a little inspiration.

Today was a difficult day.

And if I could, I would have cooked dinner, like I always do. Maybe some seafood linguine? Or Tyler Florence's recipe for "Hunter's Minestrone" that I've been meaning to try.

But it didn't work out that way.

My mom and I drove to my apartment in LA, separately but one after the other. We cleaned up, changed our clothes and I decided to take my mom to Ronin Izakaya on La Cienega Blvd for some fusion Japanese tapas. A pitcher of Sapporo draft beer, garlic edamame, ahi taco shimi, calamari fritters with jalapeno aioli, pork in light shoyu broth, and some oxtail braised in miso. She loved it.

We didn't talk about what happened and what's going to happen. Instead, we talked about how much my brother would love this place. How my 2nd aunt would probably not like Ronin. (She's the practical one = cheap + big portions) How my 1st aunt would probably love it. (She's the romantic one = cheese + wine) What makes LA different from NYC. Possible business ideas, including a fusion Korean tapas bar.

I asked her if she ever thinks about what my grandma would say if she were alive. A couple of days ago, my cousin had asked me the same thing. And for some reason, that imaginary conversation was more comforting than anything else I had heard all week. I was hoping it would do the same for my mom. My mom said that my grandma used to always say, "Even if the sky is falling, there's always a way out." (loosely translated) My grandma was a true survivor - the Japanese occupation, the Korean War, immigration to the States, her own marriage. So for my grandma, the sky always seemed to be falling, but she never lost sight of her faith, her passion for life and her will to live.

My mom is comforted, encouraged, inspired and motivated by my grandma's legacy, and I am thankful for that. And I know that this gut-wrenching knot in the pit of my stomach will eventually go away. And I know that one day (soon), I will be happier than sad, more humble than angry, more hopeful than defeated.

After some coffee at Peet's on Larchmont, I drove my mom back to her car. She tried to cheer me up by assuring me that she's so much stronger than I give her credit for. I wanted to believe her, but a part of me just wanted to drive right behind her all the way back to Orange County.