Julia with Kona, who she got a year ago.

One day, I got home from school to find a message on the machine from my journalism teacher. She told me that the school paper had decided to publish an article of mine, and that this was the first time that they had ever published something from a freshman. I started screaming, “Yippee! Oh my God!” and running around the room. My dog, Kona, came over, and I grabbed her front paws and danced with her, laughing and skipping around the room. We were the only ones in the house, and we were having our own party.

Kona’s always there when I need her. Even though she’s not a human best friend, Kona is still very special to me.

My sister and I wanted a dog ever since we were little kids. My dad’s allergic to dogs, and my mom joked that if we got a dog, then my dad would have to sleep in the garage. I knew that the chances of getting a dog were very slim.

Eventually, my family learned about a breed called Wheaten Terriers, that are hypoallergenic and don’t shed very much. After tons of research, we contacted a breeder and got our first dog, Sundae, when I was in sixth grade.

Sundae was sweet and funny. She would carefully eat treats out of my hand because she didn’t want to accidentally nip me. She loved to chase squirrels, and she ate almost anything— cheese, eggs, broccoli, quesadillas, you name it.

After about a week of having Sundae, my parents decided to spay her because my parents didn’t want to deal with taking care of multiple puppies. They took her for the operation and came home with devastating news. The surgeon had discovered that Sundae had cancer.

How could this happen to us? We had waited so long for a dog.

Sundae went through rounds of chemotherapy and surgery to get rid of two tumors. When a year passed without a tumor, we thought everything was fine. But then my dad discovered another lump.

We tried treatments again, but it didn’t work. I cried many times when I thought about losing her. Despite the pain, Sundae was the bravest dog I’ve ever seen. She never seemed sad, even though she wasn’t feeling good. She was still sweet and gentle as ever, despite her sickness.

When my parents told me that we had to put Sundae to sleep, I hugged my dog and cried for about an hour. I felt like Sundae was my best friend, even though we had had her for only a year and a half. Sundae would listen to me when I was upset. When I fought with my parents or had problems with my sister, I liked talking to Sundae because she was a good listener. She seemed to get what I said. How could she go, just like that?

When my parents pulled out of the driveway with Sundae in the car to take her to the vet, my sister and I stood on the porch and cried. We baked blueberry muffins to try to cheer us up, but I still felt empty inside.

A few months later, when my mom asked me if we wanted to get another dog, I said no. I was still hurting, and I was afraid that if we got another dog, then we would be disloyal to Sundae.

“Mom, I think she’s going to be mad at us,” I said.

“Think of it like this,” my mom replied. “We will be getting a cousin of hers. That will make her happy. She would be glad that she helped all of us learn to love a dog.”

I was upset about the idea, but I still loved dogs, and I decided to look with my family at an adoption website for Wheaten Terriers. They all looked really cute. After seeing the website, I felt that it might be OK to get another dog. I realized that I loved Sundae, but these dogs needed good homes too. It took a year to find a dog on the website that was from California, since the dogs are from all across the country.

We got Kona when I was in eighth grade. Kona was 10 months old and still a puppy. She was bubbly and full of life and constantly on the move. At first, it was hard to get used to having another dog in the house. I felt like Sundae was watching from above and was mad at us, despite what my mom had said. It was even hard to get used to saying her name. All of us have called Kona “Sundae” accidentally.

I think that time helped with getting used to Kona. I would spend time with her when my family and I went out on weekends to parks and on walks, and whenever I got home from school, she would come rushing to the gate, barking and jumping around with her tail wagging a million miles a minute. I feel loved whenever I walk in the door.

Julia with her first dog, Sundae.

Now we’ve had Kona for a little over a year. What is so special about both of them is the friendships I had. Sundae was strong when she was sick. Sometimes when I’m upset, I try to be strong like her. She inspires me to be brave. Kona is always energetic and happy, and if I am in a bad mood, like after I get in a fight with my parents or after a hard day at school, I can take her out in the backyard and watch her run around in circles, picking up her back legs and doing a bunny hop. It makes me laugh, and temporarily forget what’s troubling me.

I think that dogs really understand emotions. This year, I didn’t get a part in the school musical and I was really upset, so I lay my head down on Kona’s back. She looked at me with her big brown eyes, and I felt like she understood me. One time I was happy because I had gotten a good grade on a test, and I was excited when I walked in the room. Kona took a toy and grabbed it, shaking her head and swinging it around while leaping on and off of the couch.

One day, my friend sent me an e-mail telling me that she had just gotten a dog and had to put it to sleep two weeks later. She was very upset. She said that her parents were hesitant about getting another dog, but that she really wanted another one. I sent her an e-mail back. I explained that when Sundae was put to sleep, I never thought that I would want another dog, but that Kona helped me see that getting another dog can help. “It makes you see that having a dog is such a joy and it really makes you a better person,” I wrote. “Not getting another dog because we lost the previous one would have been a huge mistake for my family and me.”

My friend never wrote back, but I like to think that I helped her and her parents. If I hadn’t gotten Kona, I’d be missing out on one of the greatest things life has to offer—a dog. I still think about Sundae at times, and I imagine her watching over all of us. But now I have another friend to talk to, laugh with and spend time with.

Teresa's foster family was proud to watch her graduate from Sierra Vista High School. They are, from left, her foster father Armando Gonzalez, Teresa, her foster mother Rosa Gonzalez, and her foster sister, Diana Medina. Photo by Thomas Hoevel, 17, Don Bosco Technical Institute

Editors’ note: As L.A. Youth approaches the seventh anniversary of our Foster Youth Writing Project, we’re publishing this story from our archives to highlight the importance of support in foster youths’ lives. Click here to read other stories by foster youth.

Before I entered the foster care system, I thought that I would walk in the same footsteps as my cousins. I would live in poverty and probably get pregnant at the age of 15 or be addicted to drugs. But everything changed when I met my foster parents. I experienced the support of a caring family and learned about college.

At the age of 11, I moved into my foster parents’ home with two of my five siblings. It was my third foster home in one year. I thought, “Oh man, here we go again. I need to start all over again, new school, new friends and a new family.” I was nervous, but as soon as we moved in, my foster dad made jokes. I saw that my brothers David and Ray were laughing and I relaxed.

Their house was beautiful and I had my own room. My foster dad helped my brothers unpack and my foster mother helped me unpack,which is something my previous foster mothers did not do. This made me feel welcome. While my foster mother and I unpacked my clothes, she talked about her family and asked me questions about my family and what things I liked to do. It was important for me to live with a married couple because my parents never married, and it was something I wished they had done. I guess I thought that if they were married, there could have been more stability and maybe we could have been a closer family.

Before we went into foster care, my siblings and I had been living with my grandmother. How come we didn’t live with my parents? Well, let me inform you. My mother was a druggie and my father was an alcoholic. What more do I have to say? My grandmother was our legal guardian, but she was EVIL! I grew up fearing her presence, even her name! She would beat us horribly, with spoons, cords, basically whatever object she spotted first. We had bruises every day.
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When I was 10, I told my attorney and immediately my siblings and I were taken away from my grandmother and placed in separate foster homes. My first two foster homes were nice, but they didn’t feel like home and I didn’t like being away from my siblings. When I moved in with my new foster parents, I was happy because I was going to live with my brothers again, and my three younger siblings were living a block away.

My life began changing in a positive way as soon as I moved in. My foster dad told me that my only responsibility was my education. I had been getting Ds in almost every subject. I liked school, but when I didn’t understand something, I would easily give up. No one in my other foster homes helped me with my homework. My foster dad would sit with me every night to help me. After a few months, I became interested in school and became one of the top students in my class.

My social worker decided to put me in therapy because I had been having nightmares about my grandmother killing me. There were nights when I couldn’t sleep because I feared going back to live with her. In therapy I opened up. I needed to let go of my fear of my grandmother. I needed to talk to someone about how lonely it felt without all my siblings living with me. I needed to talk about feeling like an outcast because I didn’t have a “normal life.” I was worried about getting picked on or being the girl that students gossip about if they found out I was a “foster kid.” My therapist was a great help. I learned how to express my feelings, and she made me feel safe because she would tell me that my grandmother was not going to harm me anymore. I had no contact with my grandmother and soon enough I stopped fearing her.

My foster parents’ daughter, Diana, became a big part of my life. She lived nearby and taught at my elementary school, where I was in sixth grade. On weekends I would go to dinner and the movies with her and her friends and spend the night at her house. She would introduce me as her little sister. She got me interested in college. She would talk about her experience living in a residence hall, and how she met so many new people. She always told me that college was the best four years of her life. Diana became my idol and I loved her as my sister.

Things finally felt normal

My life felt stable for the first time since I entered foster care. I saw my siblings daily. My foster family was caring. I was doing well in therapy and in school.

But after a year, things changed. When I first entered the foster care system I was too young to understand that it was possible for my siblings and I to be separated forever. At that moment I was happy that we were away from my grandmother. But in seventh grade, my siblings Miguel, Morena and Isabel—who had been living a block away—moved an hour away to a foster home in Victorville because it turned out that their foster mom had been physically abusing them. I was surprised and hurt by the news. I had grown to love my siblings’ foster mother as much as they did. She would hug them frequently and call them names like “sweetie,” “honey” and sometimes “my little babies.”

Then one day a few months later my brother David stabbed his teacher with a pencil, so he was placed in a hospital. David had Attention Deficit Disorder, but I never understood his sickness until my foster father explained it to me. He told me that David was not always able to control his behavior. He said David was not a bad person, that he just had a problem and that he needed help. I was thankful that David was getting help, but at night I would cry myself to sleep because I knew that David felt lonely sleeping at the hospital. I felt bad that he had to be in the hospital with kids he didn’t even know and who were probably worse than him. I wished that it were me in the hospital instead of him so he wouldn’t have to go through such an awful experience. After six months, David came out of the hospital and was placed in a different foster home.

When we had lived with my grandmother, I used to cook for, clean and bathe my siblings. When I was in school I would worry if they were OK. When I was at home I would worry about them getting fed or just being happy. I had been the mother figure, so it was hard when my siblings moved away. My older brother Ray and I saw David and my younger siblings twice a month for two hours at our foster care agency. When I missed them a lot I would call or write them letters. I would tell them how Ray and me were doing and how I was doing in school. I always said I missed them and loved them.

Since Ray was the only one living with me, we became closer. We would hang out at school and after school we would play baseball with friends. Ray was my distraction. He was good at making me laugh. He would mock people on the television. He would also play Barbies with me so I wouldn’t have to play by myself. Sometimes I would forget that I lived in a foster home. My foster parents treated me as more than just a foster kid. They introduced me as their daughter, they never said something like “this is the girl we take care of.” They felt like my real parents and Ray felt like my only sibling.

But as I began high school, Ray began hanging out with the wrong crowd. He was not happy living with our foster parents. He thought they were too strict. He wanted to hang out with friends; he didn’t like that he couldn’t go out after seven o’clock. He began ditching school and smoking marijuana. My foster parents told him that if he didn’t start behaving, he was going to move into a group home, but Ray did not listen. He thought they were just saying that to scare him. When we least expected it, Ray got arrested for ditching and possession of marijuana. My foster parents decided they couldn’t handle him and put him in a group home.

To make my freshman year worse, I found out that my sisters Morena and Isabel were getting adopted by a military family and moving to Germany. When I got off the phone, my foster mother knew something was wrong. I didn’t want to talk about it, but she repeated “tell me, tell me.” So I told her. She made me feel better by saying that it would still be possible to keep in touch with them even though they were far away. For the next few weeks, I cried constantly, but my foster parents were there for me. They said getting adopted was better for my sisters because they would be in a stable home. Sometimes I would be in my room crying and my foster dad would sit with me and talk. He would help me forget by changing the subject and talking about college. He would tell me that even though my sisters got adopted, they are still my sisters. In the end they moved to Texas instead of Germany. I was relieved.

My younger brother Miguel also got adopted by a different family and moved to Utah. It was hard for me to accept that my siblings got adopted. I knew that we were all going to have separate lives. I lost the hope that one day we would all become a whole family again.

Our losses brought us closer together

Later that year, my foster sister Diana went through a divorce and became depressed. I spent every weekend with her and we became really close. We would talk and I would tell her I knew how she felt. Losing her husband was like losing my brothers and sisters. As we talked, it became easier for her to accept it. I saw how she was able to move on. She learned that she could live on her own, that she was a strong person and that she could be happy without a husband. That was her toughest experience, but because of her strength and independence, she survived. That experience taught me a lot. I learned that if you believe in yourself, you can get on your feet again even if you have fallen hard. I realized that I shouldn’t focus on the problems that my family had or being in foster care, but on how I could improve my life by staying out of trouble and going to college and having a career.

My foster family believes in me. They have always told me that I am a smart young lady. They tell me that I am strong and they admire me for all my accomplishments. In June, I graduated from high school with honors and am now attending Whittier College. I am majoring in Spanish and education to become a Spanish teacher. I want to become better than my grandmother and prove to her that I’m not a “worthless girl,” like she once said I was.

When I have time, I will spend weekends with my foster family. They say I can come home anytime. I still talk to my siblings. David just started high school and loves it. My sisters are starting junior high, and Ray has his own apartment and is attending junior college. My brother Miguel is the one I have least contact with. I get emotional when I speak with him because I forget that he is not a baby anymore. He reminds me that they are all growing up and I was not there every day to see that.

We have all found stability and families that love us. I guess I would say that we are all lucky. We have our biological family and the families we live with now.

I used to think that family was only your brothers and sisters, mom and dad. But now I know that your family is the people who are there for you in good times and bad times. I never thought that when I moved into my third foster home, I was going to gain a family and find hope for the future.

King’s set began with the stage lights flickering wildly as the band began playing, each note being cheered on by the jubilant crowd waiting for the King of the Blues to take the stage. The bandleader made the crowd dance until B.B. decided to join his peers onstage. An entourage of four people walked him to the center of the stage where a chair, an amp, and Lucille (his guitar) awaited him.  The crowd gave him a standing ovation with the first note he struck. I cried because of how powerful his music was and I noticed that I wasn’t the only one. The couple next to me was tearing up as well.

The concert was a mixture of storytelling and performance. Every story spoke of the life of an artist who has faced challenges over the years such as aging, like when he performed “See That My Grave Is Kept Clean.” He also sang about his many travels as a blues artist with the song, “Blues Man.”

During his 90- minute set, the cheers swelled so much that it was difficult to hear the band. I couldn’t believe that an 84-year-old could still play music with the same passion as a young man. His rendition of Big Bill Broonzy’s “Key to the Highway” was beautiful. I closed my eyes during the song so I could listen to the guitar.

In a world full of amateurs and wannabe’s, 40-plus years of being a bluesman sure puts King in the position of a wise teacher. Each note that rang out from his beloved Lucille showed his prowess as the King of Blues. Each guitar lick was struck with such ferocity, people in the crowd would cheer, “You go B.B., make Lucille cry!”

On his last song, “The Thrill is Gone,” B.B. was joined on vocals by most of the crowd, ending the show on a high note. As B.B. announced it was the end of the show at 10:30 p.m., sighs came from the audience. He laughed and said, “’till next time everyone.”

The nights only downside was I missed Buddy Guy‘s opening performance because of the terrible traffic and the Bowl’s horrible parking. I had been excited to hear his music because of its unique Chicago-style blues but was still happy about the show.

As B.B. walked his way towards the exit, the bandleader continued to direct the remaining musicians. When King got near the exit he tilted his hat, nodded his head toward the crowd and went on his way. It was a humbling moment. A man who has spent his entire life performing for fans waiting to be amazed by his guitar, ended the show by a simple, courteous bow. The Thrill will never be gone for B.B. King, for his fans, and for me. This was the best concert I have ever been to.

The color guard practiced with the band, adding their colorful flair. Photos by Kaitlyn Tsai, 16, Walnut HS

Monday morning in August, two weeks before school starts. First day of band camp. Open my eyes. Groan. Check the time. 7:40. Wonder how I slept through my 7:20 alarm. Get out of bed faster than Michael Phelps on Red Bull. Grab comfortable sneakers, water, sunscreen and, of course, a hat.

Twenty minutes and two gobbled breakfast rolls later, I walk into the band room. It’s this chaotic mess of music stands, chairs and friends catching up. I go around saying hi to everybody. I’m still a little grumpy from getting up so early but the sight of friends cheers me up. The chatter dies down as a student hands us our drill charts, which show us where to move for each count of the field show. Each page has a set of formations and choreographed moves that we have to perform. Before we even step on the field, my brain runs through just how long band camp really is. Play music. Correct horrible intonation. Teach freshmen. Memorize music. Learn drill. Memorize drill. Get way better at it. Compete. Win. The prospect of starting another show is as daunting as it is exciting.

Every summer for one or two weeks, 200 kids from my school (Walnut High) come together at band camp to learn a field show and rehearse and rehearse and rehearse. We have a reputation to uphold as one of the bigger and better bands in the state (we won third at state championships last year). At its best a field show is a work of art.  Take a 200-piece marching band and have them play three or four difficult songs. Now have them do it while marching in different formations. The music, steps, instrument direction and placement all have to be synchronized. Add in a color guard that throws, twists and spins sabers and flags. Throw in performance theatricals such as poses or chants, and you have some idea of the difficulty of a field show.

Camp is only the first step in the process of rehearsing the field show. Rehearsing eats up Wednesdays after school and weekends during the fall competition season, which lasts until Thanksgiving. We wear blue military cadet-style uniforms that were modeled after West Point. Once we put on the uniform, it becomes show time. It seems kind of silly to spend so many hours for a 12-minute show. But on the field I feel transformed, like I’m part of something bigger.

9 a.m. After attendance, the band moves to the field to practice marching. We usually start with some basics to get the muscles moving. We have our own marching instructor who is different from our band director. He has us do crazy exercises, like group stretches, basic turns and slides (when your lower body marches in one direction while the upper body is turned in another). I realize that we’re a big band, and because of that our field shows look a lot cooler. With more people, we can perform more complex formations and take up more space on the field.

10:30 a.m. Next we work on the formations to the field show. For every measure of music, some part of the band is moving so that we’re almost never standing in the same spot for more than four beats. Done right, the formations look amazing, always forming a spiral, shape or diagonal.

Learning the field show can be tedious, because if even one marcher makes a single mistake or takes a step that’s not in sync, the whole band has to start over. When that happens we grumble a bit but go back to our spots. Better to mess up now and fix it than make a mistake in front of an audience.

The band gets ready to practice a formation.

Marching is a difficult process. Getting 200 people to raise and hit their feet on the ground at the same time is pretty complex. Toes have to be pointed up, and the step sizes have to be the same. But there is also the matter of showmanship. There’s a command called “Attention” where everyone holds their instrument and looks straight ahead. Sometimes my arms get sore after a day of doing this. But one move out of place could mean the difference between first and second at competitions.

Our most memorable practices are when we take our instruments on the field and go over the show for what feels like a million times. We play and march, and despite how easy this sounds, it is incredibly difficult. Usually we have the whole band spread out over the field and we go over each set. We memorize our places using our drill charts and the yard lines on the football field. We aren’t allowed to look at our feet because it’s considered bad showmanship. Another sign of sloppiness is the angle of the instrument. The trumpet has to be parallel to the ground. We are taught to look straight ahead and to use our peripheral vision to watch out for other people. We even have our own traffic laws. People marching backwards or sideways usually have the right of way, but sometimes accidents happen.

Noon Most of us are hot and tired from marching in the heat and are hungry for lunch. The lucky ones have their parents drop off KFC or McDonald’s, while others just eat sandwiches. I usually eat lunch with the trumpets. We talk about school or girls. Mostly girls though.

1 p.m. The band gets back together in the multi-purpose room to learn the music we’ll be marching to. This year the band’s doing selections from Mary Poppins.

3 p.m. Each section divides up to work on the music. This is usually my favorite part of the day because the trumpets get to bond together as a section. We’re always joking around. One running gag is that our trumpet section is the most racially diverse of all the sections, not in terms of human race, but because we have brass and silver trumpets, as well as my black trumpet. There is pressure to do well because the sound of a single trumpet off key or playing a wrong note can cut through the whole band. We rehearse for a couple hours then the band comes together to play the music. Everyone is put on the spot at one time or another. I get a dry throat when that happens, usually out of nervousness. It’s an instinctive reaction from my middle school days when I was last chair and the teacher scared me.

5 p.m. We go back to the football field to learn more drill. It’s tough concentrating at the end of the day, but it’s rewarding seeing how much we learned over the course of the day and eventually the week.

We’re usually dismissed around 6 or 7. After 11 hours of band camp, my arms are numb and I’m surprised they haven’t fallen off yet. I just want to go home and eat. There are times when I think I could be doing something else, but when I imagine the applause and the smiles that our show will bring to people’s faces, it brings a smile to my face too. I also do it to improve as a musician, and because it pushes the limits of my endurance.

Even though I go to sleep sore and tired, I feel as if I accomplished something that was bigger than myself and am proud of myself for having that level of dedication. The payoff doesn’t come until our first performance during the first football game. The crowd goes wild and cheers loudly, and the adrenaline mixes with a sense of accomplishment that we all did the show together. After a couple more football games it moves into competition season and from there championships. It makes me proud to say “Hey, I was part of that.”

I remember the first time I went to Jack n’ Jill’s, my favorite restaurant at the moment, and ordered PBC (peanut butter cup) pancakes. They were three large buttermilk pancakes with gooey, peanut butter cup pieces mixed in and butter and syrup on the side. It was like eating a slice of heaven!

Unfortunately, PBC pancakes are off the menu now (yes, I couldn’t believe it either), but the restaurant has plenty of other options to fill any hunger craving of mine. Jack n’ Jill’s has typical American food (burgers, sandwiches and salads), but it also has unique foods, like crepes (a thin pancake).

One reason Jack n’ Jill’s is my favorite restaurant is because its atmosphere makes me feel right at home. The booths and tables are comfy and the decorations are unique and fun (in the Beverly Hills restaurant, plates, baskets, and bowls are nailed to the walls).

The waiters are friendly, too. One time, a couple of friends and I were looking at our school yearbook when our waitress came over to take our order, noticed the yearbook, and asked if we knew her brother, who was a senior. We looked up his picture and said we had seen him around, and then we all started talking about the school. I appreciated that she made an attempt to be welcoming, rather than just ask for our order and walk away.

If you’re in the mood for something savory, try one of the delicious crepes. I recommend the Evangeline crepe, which is stuffed with artichoke hearts, tomatoes, chicken and cheese with a basil cream sauce. If you want a dessert crepe, I would go with the chocolate banana cream crepe. I love chocolate and bananas, and it was so sweet and yummy.

However, if you feel like breakfast food, their eggs are delicious as well. I like the Sunset omelette, which has asparagus, mushrooms, spinach, onions, tomatoes and jack cheese. All of their eggs and omelettes come with two sides. I usually get blueberry mini-muffins and home-style potatoes. Breakfast is served until 5 p.m. at the Beverly Hills location and all day at the Santa Monica location.

If you’re craving a sandwich or burger, I suggest the chicken pesto panini, fried chicken sliders (sliders are like mini burgers) or roasted turkey and brie croissant. But it doesn’t stop with just meat; Jack n’ Jill’s has vegetarian sandwiches too, like the veggie wrap and veggie burger.

I usually go to Jack n’ Jill’s with friends after school, but sometimes I go with my family for a Sunday brunch. It’s not too loud, so you can hear what the people across from you are saying—which is nice!

The prices range from $9 to $14 for an entrée and $6 to $11 for a crepe. Breakfast items are $8 to $12.

I think the best part of the restaurant, though, is when they give you Tootsie Pops with your check!

342 N. Beverly Dr.
Beverly Hills, CA 90210
(310) 247-4500

510 Santa Monica Blvd.
Santa Monica, CA 90401
(310) 656-1501

www.eatatjacknjills.com

Reviewed by YeJean Kim, 16, Arcadia HS

Sometimes you just want to splurge, and Fogo De Chao is a good place to do it. A Brazilian barbeque restaurant in Beverly Hills, it has great food, good atmosphere and, best of all, all the meat you can eat.

My family and I went there to celebrate my younger brother’s birthday. My dad had heard about the restaurant. As we are a meat-worshipping family, and had eaten Brazilian BBQ before and loved it, everyone wanted to go. We would probably go more often if it weren’t so expensive. The price for one person to eat dinner is $56.50.

When we pulled up to the restaurant, the first thing that drew my eye was a huge waterfall wall that frames the entrance. It was really luxurious and exotic looking, and so is the inside. There are funky-shaped lights on the ceiling and the light is dimmed, so it gives off a mysterious vibe. Everything is clean and fancy looking, but overall there is a fun atmosphere, making it that much better for a celebration. I thought the place would be filled with stern-faced staff and uptight rich people, but I was totally wrong. There were people in dresses and button downs, but some people were wearing jeans and T-shirts. One family, in the middle of what looked like a reunion, was wearing matching hats and T-shirts. They were happy and lively, and so was everyone else. Endless meat can do that to people.

Fogo de Chao specializes in Brazilian barbeque, which is when different cuts of meat are grilled using a special technique. The waiters walk around with the grilled meat speared on stakes and offer it to you. They cut it right from the stake then you are supposed to spear it with a small fork they give you and put it on your plate. Fogo de Chao, like most Brazilian barbeque restaurants, gives you a card painted red on one side and green on the other side. Green means yes I want meat, while red means taking a break or done. It may sound odd to people who have never eaten that way before, but it actually adds to the fun. Sometimes I would be too full at the moment and so I would flip the card, but everyone else would want more and so they would un-flip it, and the waiter would accidentally interpret my oh-please-no-more-meat-because-I-am-about-to-bust hand motions to be a more-meat-please hand motion.

Ah, the meat. There are 15 cuts to choose from and not just beef either, there is also chicken and pork. But that night there were eight main ones in rotation. All of them were delicious, but the most loved meat at our table was picanha, or rump cover. The picanha was juicy and cooked perfectly. But that doesn’t mean the filet mignon, or anything else, was bad. Everything was well cooked and tender. The meat tasted like meat, not that over-salted mess that can happen when grilling.

The service was attentive without being stifling. The great sides they give make eating at Fogo de Chao even better. The cheese bread was airy and crisp, the mashed potatoes were fluffy, the polenta was crispy, and the fried bananas were sweet and tender. The salad bar also features cold foods like smoked salmon, mozzarella cheese and pasta salad.

After eating as much as humanly possible, my family and I finally stumbled out. It was great eating at Foco de Chao because of the relaxed atmosphere and abundant food, but is not cheap, making it more of a special occasion restaurant. So if prom or a birthday comes around, think of Foco de Chao as a good bet.

133 N La Cienega Blvd
Beverly Hills, CA 90211-2206
(310) 289-7755

www.fogodechao.com

Reviewed by Sydney Chou, 14, Sonora HS

Indian food has always been very unusual to me. In elementary school, my friend would bring Indian “french fries,” which were basically yellow potatoes, for lunch. My friends and I called them French fries because they kind of tasted like them. Whenever she brought the potatoes, we will all be excited because they tasted delicious. A couple months ago, my uncle suggested that we eat at The India Restaurant in Artesia, which specializes in tandoor (clay oven) dishes and curries. It was so good that I have gone back a few more times and tried different dishes on the menu.

In contrast to Japanese curries, Indian curries have hotter, more flavorful spices, while the Japanese ones are sweeter. My favorite is the karahi chicken curry, which on the menu is referred to as “a recipe from the mountain.” The meat is so moist that when I bite into it, flavorful juice spills into my mouth.

The lamb vindaloo, cooked with tomatoes and potatoes, is a combination of sweet and hot spices. Vindaloo is a traditionally spicy dish. I order it mild but it is still pretty hot, though not as hot as the karahi chicken. It is also a bit sweeter than most of the other curries I tasted there. The lamb is great and almost tastes like beef and the vindaloo (which is the sauce with the spices) gives the meat tons of flavor.

The chicken tikka is white meat marinated with spices and herbs and then put into the special tandoor. When it comes out of the kitchen, the meat is covered with different peppers and a variety of vegetables on a sizzling platter. All the curry dishes taste excellent with the long grain rice and the chicken tikka tastes good even without it.

At The India Restaurant, “mild” is moderately hot, giving the curry dishes a nice kick. I would definitely recommend The India Restaurant to others. Most of the dishes are less than $20 and the portions are generous. It changed my view on Indian food—it’s not just yellow potatoes, so-called “french fries,” there is a lot more to it. Now, I think Indian food is interesting and wish to try more.

17824 Pioneer Blvd.
Artesia, CA 90701
(562) 860-5621

www.theindiarestaurant.net

Reviewed by Leslie Ho, 17, Walnut HS

JJ Bakery & Cafe in City of Industry is unlike the restaurants that most people think of when it comes to Chinese food, because the food hasn’t been Americanized. It is located in a new plaza off of Highway 60. I go there often with friends and family because of the casual atmosphere and inexpensive food. Most of the dishes are $5 to $10, and the fragrant jasmine tea is free.

JJ Cafe does not put heavy emphasis on decor. The walls are mostly bare, and the space is cluttered with dark wooden tables and chairs, but the restaurant gives me a comfortable, down-to-earth feel. The vibrant, chatty atmosphere actually encourages me to talk more with friends and family.

Do not be afraid if you can’t speak Chinese, because the menu is printed in both English and Chinese, and the servers will still understand you. They are not big on customer interaction because most traditional Chinese diners prefer to be left alone in restaurants, but they will come back to check in on you.

The food is different from what you’ll get from Chinese takeout or Panda Express. Certain foods may seem strange like the pan fried daikon (a mild flavored Asian turnip) cake, simmered pig ears and braised pork feet noodle soup, but don’t be afraid to try them because they are all delicious. They do have fried rice dishes, but I encourage you to try the unfamiliar foods because in authentic Chinese restaurants, fried rice is usually ordered only if you’re still hungry after finishing the main meal.

JJ offers a lot of Taiwanese food. The restaurant is famous for the ultimate Taiwanese comfort food, minced-pork-rice. It is a bowl of rice and sliced pork belly that has been slow braised in soy sauce.  The slices of pork belly are soft and full of flavor. The meat-flavored soy sauce soaks into the rice, and transforms even that plain bowl into an extraordinary meal. Each bite tastes decadent, and at $1.95 for a generously-sized bowl, the pork-rice is considered a steal. I always order a bowl to take home. The cafe also offers it as a combo meal with a bowl of soup and vegetable dish of your choice for $6.95. I like that at JJ Cafe, I can have a well-rounded meal that tastes homemade with the money that it takes to order a meal at some fast food places.

The desert menu is limited to semi-sweet Asian soups, though it is not a problem because the bakery is just a few feet away from the dining area. It is a must to bring at least one of the breads or slices of cake back home. The most common item is different types of savory buns with various fillings like taro, curry or shredded dried pork.

All in all, the food is good and the prices are reasonable. I can’t wait until I have an excuse to go again.

18558 Gale Ave. #168
City of Industry, CA 91748
(626) 965-1388

www.jjbakeryusa.com/ for other locations.

Illustration by Jennie Nguyen, L.A. Youth archives

A judge struck down Proposition 8 Wednesday, ruling that gays and lesbians have a constitutional right to marry. U.S. District Judge Vaughn Walker said Prop 8, which banned same-sex marriage in California, violates constitutional rights to equal protection and due process. Prop 8 was passed by voters in 2008 after the state Supreme Court legalized gay marriage. The ruling doesn’t mean that gay marriages can immediately take place because the judge gave the other side time to file an appeal. We asked our teen staff how they felt about the judge’s decision.

I want nothing more and nothing less than equal rights for everybody. While I disapprove of the institution of marriage, I don’t believe the legal benefits it affords should be restricted to a certain group of people based solely on personal moral and religious grounds. Furthermore, I don’t understand why everybody is offended that Judge Walker overturned voters’ passage of Prop 8. How much respect can we have for the American voter, when time and time again he has blundered? The voter is not infallible. Seven million votes backed by flawed ideology are just that: seven million mistakes.
Dario Guerrero, 17, California Academy of Math and Science (Carson)

The controversy over gay rights relates directly to the struggles of other previously ignored minority groups, like equal rights for African-American and women’s rights. It is unconstitutional and immoral to deny rights to a certain group of people. Gay marriage does not prevent gays from being gay and embracing their sexuality; rather, banning marriage for same-sex couples spreads homophobia and restricts the gay community from what they are entitled to do. Though this repeal does not guarantee marriage for same-sex couples yet in California, it is righting a wrong that should never have been legally passed.
Amy Fan, 16, Temple City HS

Photo by Nasim Alidadi, 16, Los Angeles Center for Enriched Studies

Have you ever been spit on by a shark? Or seen a fish that changes gender? How about a slug the size of a cat? As a volunteer at the Santa Monica Pier Aquarium, I have the opportunity to see and talk about animals like these every day.

I started volunteering at the aquarium the summer after ninth grade. My friend Emily and I had visited it earlier in the year. We were led around the aquarium by smiley volunteers, who taught us fun facts about jellyfish and ocean tide patterns. We noticed that some of the volunteers were teens, and we thought it would be a different way to spend our summer, instead of going to academic summer programs.

The aquarium takes up one room underneath the carousel at the Santa Monica pier. There are six tanks, each with a different theme, including Rocky Reef, Moon Jellyfish and Under the Pier tanks.

Before we could start, we had to be interviewed and attend two-hour training sessions every night for two weeks. We had to learn facts about the animals so we could answer questions from visitors. The binder they gave us was intimidating: more than 60 pages of volunteer policy and scientific facts about algae, and all of the various ocean habitats (rocky shores, kelp forest, open ocean, etc.) Before we could start volunteering, we had to fill out a take-home test about all the information and watch eight PowerPoint presentations about the information in the binder, before we could start volunteering. I started to think that maybe this wouldn’t be so much fun after all.

But one of the last nights, the public programs managers Tara and Scott started to teach us stuff that was a lot more fun than what we had been learning before, because it was not just about tide, but it was specific facts about animals we had seen. For example, sea cucumbers spit out their guts when something tries to attack them. Sea stars (what people call starfish even though they’re not actually fish) have an eye on the tip of each arm, that can’t really “see” but can detect the difference between light and dark. We even learned that sea hares (a type of sea slug) are hermaphrodites, which means that they are both male and female! I thought back to my biology class in ninth grade, and if my teacher had taught us facts like these, I would have enjoyed the class a lot more.

On my first day of volunteering, I was nervous to have to deal with all of the visitors to the aquarium. I sat behind the touch tanks and tried to come up with the courage to talk to some of the kids who were looking at starfish. I wanted to say and show them things that they would find interesting. The other volunteers had taught us tips for talking with people, such as smiling and saying hello, speaking clearly, and if someone asks a question, to not just give them the answer, but to tell them more about the animals.

“Hey, have you ever touched a leather sea star?” I asked a little boy, pointing to one of the most unusual species we have in the touch tanks. The boy looked at it with wide eyes, and then ripped it off the side of the tank (definitely violating the “No Picking Up the Animals” rule). I told him politely to put it down, trying to convince him that picking them up like that tears off their tube feet, which helps them attach to the rocks. He looked at me blankly for a few seconds, put it down, and eventually walked away. I realized that the tips hadn’t helped much, but that I’d get the hang of it and get more confidence by experience.

I managed to keep up conversations with the visitors, once I learned to speak more confidently and clearly. With foreign visitors, I learned to listen slowly to what they were saying, and to use gestures to help them understand the animals. I also tried to be polite but firm when kids picked up the touch tank animals, asking them to not pick up the animals because they can get hurt (but instead touch them with two fingers). One time, a little girl followed me around the aquarium for about an hour, asking every question imaginable, most of which I could answer, which made me feel accomplished.

Starfish and sea slugs are some of Chelsea's favorite animals at the Santa Monica Pier Aquarium.Photo by Chelsea McNay, 17, L.A.C.E.S.

My favorite tank to supervise is the shark tank, not only because I know the most about the swell and horn sharks (Did you know that when horn sharks eat too many sea urchins, their horns can turn purple?) but also because I like seeing people’s reactions to the sharks. Some people cringe and stand far away from the tank, and others are fascinated, leaning up close to see their tongues and dark eyes. During feeding time on Tuesdays and Sundays, the sharks wake up and start to swim quickly around the tank, because they smell the food. The swell sharks, which get their name from their ability to swell up with water, start spitting out of the tank, occasionally hitting visitors. We say that it’s good luck if you get spit on!

When I first started volunteering, I was scared I would never be able to memorize all of the information required to teach visitors about the animals, but after a while, I found that the “fun facts” we learned were actually fun and easy to learn. I’ve spent the last 3 summers volunteering and I’ll miss it when I go off to college in the fall.

(Front to back) Leslie’s brother, Leslie, her aunt, mom and uncle take a break from hiking to the temple.

When summer rolls around, all I can think about is Taiwan. Taiwan calls to me, and I am miserable every summer that I can’t go. Even though I was born and raised in America, I try to visit every two or three years.

I feel strongly connected to Taiwan because I am the first generation in my family to be born in the United States, and all my roots are back in Taiwan.

When my mother’s side of the family comes to pick us up from the airport, they always drive us to the nearest breakfast stand to have our first meal together in one or two years. All of Taipei comes out to breakfast stands in the morning. Although I am half-asleep because of the 15-hour time difference, I still notice that all around us are families eating together. There are fathers in business suits slurping steaming bowls of soy milk next to their children in their school uniforms.

There is an openness that makes me feel like I belong, even though I did not grow up there. On my last trip two years ago, I was visiting an old coal mining town, and I passed by a coal cart covered with small tubes of bamboo. On the bamboo tubes, people had written their wishes in black Sharpie for everyone to see. In America, I was told to keep my birthday and coin-toss wishes secret or else they won’t come true. However, in Taiwan, everyone shares them because they all want the same thing. The two most common that I saw were to lose weight and to get into a prestigious university. I felt touched seeing that, because it meant that that many other people were struggling with the same things that I was, and we all wanted one another to know that.

All it takes is for us to say that we are Taiwanese who have come from America for anyone from taxi drivers to store clerks to start gushing “Welcome back!” and “So you’re finally home.” Even though I still sometimes mangle my Mandarin and I can barely read Chinese, I have never felt like I did not belong, all because everyone else is too friendly to care.

However, what I like best is that even though Taiwan is a modern, developed country, it takes only a 40-minute car ride from the city center of Taipei to get to the rain forest. My aunts and uncles love taking me hiking on the weekends. There are paths for the city families that go to escape for the weekend, so that you don’t have to be experienced to be able to enjoy the sights. Even grandparents often turn out for these weekend trips. Spending a day in Taiwan’s forest-covered mountains is one of the two things that I have to do when I go.

The last time I went back to Taiwan, we went on a short day hike with my mother’s family. There were steps cut into the slippery, mossy rocks. As we climbed, we were surrounded by trees and tall bamboo. All I could see was green. I have gone hiking around Los Angeles before, but the land is dry, and the plants that do grow are scraggly and look withered. It is beautiful but in a lonely, uninviting way.

But on the trails in Taiwan, I feel differently. Even though the path was narrow and it was sometimes scary to look down and see nothing but trees and plants, I kept going. It didn’t matter that my muscles were sore because I was much more concerned with staring at the paradise around me. The mountain seemed even more wild and natural when halfway through our hike, a man hunting boars ran past us with several lean, fierce hunting dogs.

After two hours we reached our destination: a little clearing by a stream. As my uncle boiled water for our packs of instant noodle, we sipped warm tea from a thermos and chatted. My mom told my brother and I how she had spent her childhood exploring places like this. By taking us on that hiking trip, my family was sharing with my brother and me their own childhood experiences. As we slurped up our noodles, we listened and laughed while my aunts and uncles told us stories of what had happened since the last time we had visited. They told us about past hiking trips, and hilarious arguments that somehow involved the whole family. The memory of that hike sticks out to me because I felt so complete and happy. I had my family with me, and the plants, trees and stream is what I have always pictured as what nature should be.

The second of the two most important things for me to do in Taiwan is to visit a night market and eat myself silly on the famous street food. Night markets are kind of like open-air malls filled with stands selling new clothes, electronics and DVDs, and delicious street food. They can take up whole sections of the street and are free. They open to the public at about 7 or 8 every night, just about when parents are back from work and children are off from school, and last until midnight.

Although some of the food may seem strange or even gross to Americans, it is perfectly normal to me and other Taiwanese people. I pass places grilling whole squid and other seafood, selling chewy chicken-butt kabobs, barbequed pig feet, and pork blood-and-sticky-rice cakes that are steamed and covered with peanut powder and sweet chili sauce. They are all incredibly delicious, but I am looking for tastiest treat of all: oyster omelettes.

They are omelettes with small, thumb-nail sized juicy oysters, covered in a layer of gelatinous corn starch, a layer of Taiwanese bok choy (Chinese cabbage) and smothered in sweet chili sauce. It is extremely flavorful, and the oysters and the gelatin layer add a much loved texture that is called, you gotta believe me, “Q” in Chinese: which means chewy, but with a nice bite.

When I spot a stand selling oyster omelettes, I jostle into place with the crowd standing around the cook as he prepares the omelettes on a large, circular stove. The crowd is big, and for a good reason. The smell from the stove makes me drool and my stomach rumble even though I’ve already chowed down on sausages and stinky tofu. I sit on a plastic stool and wait impatiently for my plate to arrive. It is hot and the small ceiling fan does not help at all, and the place looks like a cheap, dirty kitchen filled with people. However, when the food arrives, and I take my first bite and taste the chili sauce and the oysters, and that all important “Q” texture, it does not matter anymore.

The omelette is enough to power me through a shopping spree through the night market. People don’t come to night markets to buy old or used things; everything is new and cheap. One U.S. dollar is worth about 32 Taiwan dollars, so what is already cheap for the locals is even cheaper for me. What makes it fun is that even though there is a price tag, you can haggle with the store keeper to lower the prices. At the right stands, with the right people to drive bargains, I end up with seven pairs of jeans, countless tank tops and shirts, shoes, two bags, and three belts. I am set for clothes until the next time I come back. It may seem like overkill, but stores in the U.S. don’t sell clothes in that distinctive cute, sweet Asian style. Not only that, but the clothes are incredibly cheap.

I usually stay in Taiwan for three weeks, because I have schoolwork to do during the rest of the summer. My family always makes a big fuss about taking us to the airport and seeing us off before our flight. My stomach feels tight throughout the ride, because I know it will be another two years until my next visit.

On the 12-hour flight back to Los Angeles, I am torn. I am leaving the place that feels like home in my heart, for the place that I officially call home. It takes about one or two weeks for me to get used to being back in Los Angeles, but in Taiwan I jump right into life. When I wake up in the morning, there are no breakfast stands that are conveniently around the corner. I do not hear the familiar buzz of cicadas when I walk around. There are malls and food courts instead of the crowded, lively night markets. Staying in Taiwan is like having a  three-week long dream, and when I come home it is like waking up to a more boring reality.

This summer, I can only dream about going back because my brother is stuck with summer school. Next summer, after I graduate from high school, I plan to join a volunteer program funded by the Taiwanese government for overseas Taiwanese to come back and do volunteer projects. Not only will I have fun in Taiwan, but I will be able to give back the kindness and hospitality that the people there have given to me.