The Galleria
The next morning we went to the Galleria, a mall in Glendale, mostly to eat an early lunch at Din Tai Fung. Din Tai Fung is a chain of Taiwanese dim sum restaurants. There’s one near our house in the Bay Area at the Westfield Valley Fair mall, but it’s always too busy to get a reservation. I think they have so many locations in LA that it’s easier to get in.
Nick was especially excited to go to the Galleria because he used to hang out with his friend Jesse there. As soon as we walked into the air-conditioned hallways, he waxed nostalgically,
“Coming to this mall always makes me think of Jesse.”
Driving on the freeway made him remember driving with his dad, and this mall made him remember coming here with Jesse. Places and objects carry memories of the past for everyone, but this phenomenon seemed especially charged for Nick. He got so much joy from ordinary activities because each one brought some meaty reflection. I don’t think I have the same relationship with the past that he does. Maybe, as he said, that’s why he’s in the arts. I think for me the past is more fleeting, and that’s part of the reason I decided to write this travel blog—so even if I can’t relive this moment by revisiting the Galleria, at least I can relive it in the words and text of the blog.
Din Tai Fung was great as always. I was kind of quiet during the meal for whatever reason. I guess I didn’t have a lot to say, or maybe I was stuck in my own thoughts, or maybe I was just focused on the meal—I’m not sure—but I ended up mostly listening to what Nick and Lizy had to say. So it goes.
After lunch, Nick wanted to walk around and show us the Americana, a semi-attached outdoor mall area. He thought we’d get a kick out of the fake consumerist town vibe, but Lizy was feeling tired and pregnant, so we decided to skip it. Nick looked a little dejected, especially since that was where he and Jesse always walked around, but he understood.
Conclusion
We drove back to the house and sat around on the couches digesting the big meal. After about an hour, Lizy and I began the drive home.
Along the way, we talked about what a nice house Nick’s friend had. Lizy had been snooping a little. Well, I shouldn’t say snooping—she wasn’t rude or anything, more like observing her surroundings. She couldn’t help imagining the people’s lives. How they cooked in the kitchen, seasoning with salt from their three different salt bowls, while the other put on the perfect record for dinner. The woman, Nick’s friend, was actually from Lizy’s hometown of Ottawa. She was in a way from her milieu, and now she was shaping culture as a Hollywood TV writer. And such a nice house she lived in.
The biggest takeaway for me was that we liked their mattress so much we decided to get the same Casper model. Sometimes when I go to sleep, the mattress reminds me of this trip—the time we visited Nick in LA. I think of Nick and I think of LA. I guess sometimes objects do hold my memories.