On July 3, 2011, I anxiously awaited my letter from Hogwarts. I had been preparing for this fateful day for years. I had already procured my coveted rosewood wand from a website promising “one-of-a-kind” custom wands and a shining black robe that was admittedly a bit too small, having purchased it years ago for my fourth grade Ginny Weasley Halloween costume. But on my 11th birthday, the time for my Hogwarts letter had finally arrived. To my bitter disappointment, that letter wasn’t in the mail on my birthday, but I didn’t lose hope. They must have made a mistake, I thought. It wasn’t until September 1 when I dreamed sadly of the train leaving the station on Platform 9 ¾ and accepted my mundane Muggle existence. I wasn’t alone. Countless kids experienced heartbreak when the heavy, yellowing envelope didn’t appear like magic on their doorsteps come their 11th birthdays. For many, the “Harry Potter” world stretched far beyond the pages of the books and enchanted kids of all ages to believe in the hidden Hogwarts castle, nestled in the rolling hills of the Scottish highlands. I grew up in a generation where it was rare to meet someone who hadn’t read the “Harry Potter” books or at least seen the movies. I, like many of my friends, experienced the joy of this magical literary world in my elementary school years and spent much of my youth seeking out similar magical adventures in other fantasy series like “Divergent,” “The Hunger Games,” “Percy Jackson” and “Twilight.” The fantasy series was the core of my early reading career and dominated the young adult literary community at the turn of the century. This literary culture shaped my experiences growing up in the 2000s, but its roots trace back to the ’90s — to a changing American culture that opened doors for more fantastical novels like “Harry Potter.” The first in the seven-book series, “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” (or “Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone,” as the most devoted “Harry Potter” fans know it was originally called), was released in 1997. The story behind its release is legendary: the idea came to J.K. Rowling during a train ride to London’s King’s Cross and over the next five years, she wrote this soon-to-be wildly popular series on scraps of paper and in long-form writing. When she tried to get it published, however, she was turned down again and again. Publishers told her no one would be interested in reading books about a magical make-believe world. After finally finding a receptive publisher, Rowling’s fantasy series took the world by storm, and it was immediately clear that the doubtful publishers could not have been more wrong. The books were so wildly popular that in 1998, before books three through seven had even been published, Rowling sold the film rights for the first four “Harry Potter” books to Warners Bros for almost 2 billion dollars. Evidently, the public was ready for a new wave of fantasy novel mania. For many of us, their initial hesitation seems unthinkable. The idea that such a cherished series of books, one that shaped much of my life growing up, might not exist today if Rowling had heeded the initial negative feedback and abandoned the idea, quite honestly terrifies me. Why did a book series that has now generated over 7.7 billion dollars in revenue and captured the hearts of people of all ages worldwide inspire so little confidence in publishers in the late 1990s? In truth, fantasy novels were less than popular in the ’90s. Books about real life prevailed over fantasy novels, and most people lost interest in stories not rooted in reality. Discussion of fantasy books brought to mind older books like “The Chronicles of Narnia” (published between 1950 and 1956) and “Lord of the Rings” (published between 1954 and 1955), but few contemporary varieties found their way to the top of reading lists. These books had seen their glory days, but by the 1990s they were simply viewed as old-fashioned. In short, the fantasy novel genre remained mostly stagnant over the course of the ’90s. Meanwhile, American culture flourished and happiness levels were at an all-time high. After the fall of the Berlin wall, life felt electric, like anything was possible. Maybe this is a clue as to why fantasy novels had fallen so out of style. Fantasy novels provide an escape from the mundane world, a way to detach from reality. The most successful fantasy books are an immersive experience where, for a short time, the real world fades away, and an illusion of magic and adventure takes over. Maybe in the early ’90s people felt no desire to depart from reality. Why should they, when they had a unique culture of music, TV and arts at the tips of their fingers in the real world? We can only speculate. Nevertheless, as the decade drew to a close, anxieties surrounding the beginning of the 21st century took hold. With an explosion of technological innovations came fears about what uncertainties the future held. The world was changing, and for many, this fact fostered unease. This could explain why “Harry Potter” blew up the way it did. People were scared, and they needed an escape. The series was already genius to begin with, but the receptive minds of people in the late ’90s, young and old alike, offered the perfect conditions for an explosion of popularity that no one could have foreseen. After “Harry Potter,” people were hooked. No one could get enough of the enticing escape into a fantasy world, hence the skyrocketing demand for fantasy novels in the early 2000s. Within the next ten years, writers caught on to the trends, and countless fantasy books graced the shelves, ready to be devoured by the eager public. The turn of the century kicked off a new literary era defined by the fantasy series, and its effects are still felt. Every few years, like clockwork, a new story joins the long line of fantasy powerhouses. This development transcended the realm of books, influencing other media forms in recent years as well. Most recently, the TV show “Game of Thrones” swept the United States up into the latest craze. The show had people of all ages staying up into the late hours of the night, putting their lives on hold to blow through eight seasons of thrill and uncertainty. Evidently, the escape from reality remains a welcome comfort in people’s lives. WARNER BROS. PICTURES ‘Harry Potter’ and the late ’90s fantasy series craze EMMA DOETTLING Daily Arts Writer B-SIDE: BOOKS This literary culture shaped my experiences growing up in the 2000s, but its roots trace back to the ’90s — to a changing American culture that opened doors for more fantastical novels like “Harry Potter.” It might be on a somewhat warmer winter day, with the miraculous force of the bright, warm winter sun, that you question the concept of home at perhaps the most unlikeliest of places: the intersection of Main and Liberty Streets — the heart of the fine dining restaurant scene in Ann Arbor. Regional cooking, especially for those not native to Ann Arbor, may very well serve as the baseline, idyllic conception of home. A non-fussy yuxiang eggplant could be the hallmark comforter for those displaced from Flushing, New York or cities such as Chengdu within Sichuan province proper. The simple pupusa might make you pine for the comfort and hospitality of an El Salvadorian cafe most common across pupuserias abundant at Pico Boulevard of Los Angeles. Regional cooking, while not entirely well represented across Ann Arbor, are commonplace enough to satisfy your cravings for what you’ve been missing while you are away from home. But there is a case to be made for the variety of restaurants that might not reflect the cooking endemic to a specific region. These restaurants may not blast radioactive amounts of Scoville units that miracuously bring balance to their dishes. They may not serve waterfalls of intestine soup that can only be described as “dank of the highest quality.” Some of these establishments might be ones which you simply dismiss as “fusion.” Pacific Rim by Kana is among the latter of these restaurants — one that captivates some with its Pan-Asian theme while disgusting others who abhor the amalgamation of different, supposedly sacred, regional cuisines. Residents of the ’90s may remember that Pacific Rim was once a Korean restaurant called Kana, well known for its signature strong ginger tea and dak bokkeum — a spicy Korean braised chicken dish analogous to the warming, comforting powers of a chicken paprikash. Kana, named after the Korean word meaning “to go” or “are you going,” was once a small stand near the U-M Medical Campus before moving to their current location at Liberty Street. Owners Byung Dok and Kun Hi Ko ultimately passed their restaurant to their son Y.B. Ko, who partnered with now chef-owner Duc Tang to reinvent Kana into Pacific Rim. The reinvention of Kana into Pacific Rim was a transformation from that of a Korean diner- esque eatery into that of fine dining. “Pan-Asian” consists primarily of East and Southeast Asian dishes prepared and plated with French techniques. Tang’s dishes superficially resemble popular dishes of the ’90s and 2000s — though the influences from and ties to Kana are unmistakable. A cursory glance at Pacific Rim’s Japanese-style sablefish immediately identifies one of the dish’s roots — sablefish, or black cod, was popularized by Nobu Matsuhisa during the ’90s, a variation of a Japanese marinating technique utilizing sake lees. A sablefish is an ugly fish unrelated to the cod that is commonly found in braised Korean or Japanese dishes. Sablefish is quite similar to the Chilean sea bass; both share an incredibly soft, tender yet flaky meat that seems to be near impossible to overcook. Thankfully, unlike the Chilean sea bass that has been overfished due to the popularity of that one Jurassic Park scene, sablefish is a sustainable alternative, though still relatively pricey. Ordering Pacific Rim’s sablefish will get you a sweet, heavily browned piece of moist fish — the bare whispers of bitterness from some portions of the over-caramelized skin provides a much needed relief from the sweet-savory marinade that coats the gushing flakes of sablefish. The light tang provided by the tamarind within the soy glaze provides an excellent foil to what could otherwise be a stolidly sweet and savory dish. Nobu’s dishes are well-known to be showstoppers due to his Nikkei Peruvian roots — and Tang’s version of the sablefish might very well be a sexy black-tie version of a ’90s classic. But when you order the sablefish, the fish is complemented with a coiled pile of japchae — glassy Korean noodles stir-fried with a medley of napa cabbage and shiitake mushrooms. You’ll find that unlike many renditions of japchae you may find across Ann Arbor’s Korean restaurants, the japchae served alongside your sablefish is neither soggy nor mushy. Your vermicelli noodles possess the al-dente bite coveted by Italians and Italian Americans — yet possesses a vivacious spring. You’ll find that napa cabbage and the noodles provide a necessary textural contrast to your fish. The japchae tells as poignant of a story as the fish. The fish might provide you the context of Tang’s worldly experiences and skills, but the japchae proves Tang as a worthy successor to Kana’s rich history as one of Ann Arbor’s local providers of Korean cuisine. Tang doesn’t fixate himself on the label of authenticity: his coconut-curry soup defies judgment as the soup lends itself equal characteristic of a hearty American root/squash soup as it does to a somewhat muddled Thai green curry. Is it heartwarming because of the innate resonance of consuming winter squashes and root vegetables during the winter, or because of the dry whispers of a herbal curry paste slivering past the impassive squash/sweet potato puree? It’s hard to tell, but you find yourself ignoring it — the soup is heartwarming. You have two choices to round out your meal: a well-executed chocolate lava cake that is warm and fluffy on its exterior as it is piping hot and luscious in its interior. The coconut ice cream provides a nutty quality to your overall experience while the macerated cherries provide exciting tartness to an otherwise somewhat monotonously sweet dish. Eating Tang’s chocolate lava cake is a reminder of how innovative and genius the dish was in the ’90s — a delicious trio of string players whose performance is best seen live as opposed to experiencing the dreadful butchered renditions found at every chain restaurant and diner littering the Midwest. But the ginger tea — unaltered from the drink found at the original Kana — might provide a lingering conclusion to your meal compared to the lava cake. Pungent through the spicy tartness of the ginger, the inclusion of the apples and jujubes brings a fruitiness that ever so gently tempers the ginger. A drink such as this is the perfect nasal-busting beverage for the wintery outdoors. Drinking the tea passed down to Pacific Rim from its predecessor Kana is as much a nostalgic conclusion to your meal as it is a curative drink that prepares you for the cold weather outside. The hospitality of Kana fills you in one last time before you have to leave. Is it possible that Pacific Rim’s dishes might not speak to your conceptions of home after you finish dining? Perhaps not; your past life experiences may vastly differ from mine or Tang’s. But it’s decidedly Ann Arbor. Welcome home. Pacific Rim by Kana is located at 114 W Liberty St. BRENDON CHO Daily Food Columnist On Pacific Rim’s roots in Asian cuisine, the ’90s ALLISON ENGKVIST/DAILY B-SIDE: FOOD NOTEBOOK B-SIDE: FOOD NOTEBOOK Regional cooking, while not entirely well represented across Ann Arbor, are commonplace enough to satisfy your cravings for what you’ve been missing while you are away from home. But there is a case to be made for the variety of restaurants that might not reflect the cooking endemic to a specific region. The reinvention of Kana into Pacific Rim was a transformation from that of a Korean diner-esque eatery into that of fine dining. “Pan-Asian” consists primarily of East and Southeast Asian dishes prepared and plated with French techniques. Tang’s dishes superficially resemble popular dishes of the ’90s and 2000s — though the influences from and ties to Kana are unmistakable. B-SIDE: FOOD B-SIDE: FOOD 6B —Thursday, Febrauary 27, 2020 b-side The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com