WHEN I think back to the night before I boarded a one-way flight to New York from California five years ago, I think of sukiyaki.
This Japanese dish of beef and vegetables, tucked into their pot in a tidy pinwheel, was a fixture of my childhood. We ate it a few times a month, not necessarily to mark a special occasion, but it always felt like a feast. That last, anxious dinner before I left home to fly away into a new life, the sukiyaki, at least, was sure and familiar.
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