The budget was $15k. We laughed about it, but he was serious. Eventually, they found the bag: a deep, earthy red. The kind of red that doesn't announce itself, it just is. Right. It ended up closer to $17K, but Eddie didn't flinch.
I'll admit I wasn't sure I personally understood it, spending that kind of money on a handbag. But he explained it with a clarity that I've been thinking about ever since. "I love gifting my wife," he said. "Spending time finding the right thing. No matter the price, almost, prioritizing her and putting in some effort to show her that I listen and I choose her."
He chose her. That's the line that stayed with me.
The context makes it funnier and sweeter in equal measure. The Knicks won Game 4 over the Cavs last week and, he revealed with the delivery of a man who has fully accepted his fate, she locked him out of the house. He was grinning when he said it. This wasn't an apology bag or a reconciliation gesture; it was a love language. Her love language. She has boots, he told me. "Her putting on her boots in the bedroom, that's love for me." They've apparently worked out a system. The Finals are coming. The bag felt like the right time.
We walked after, past Baohaus on our way through the city. His restaurant, his house, the place where the whole story started. It's the East Village hangout where foodies, stoners, and students come to stuff their faces with delicious Taiwanese street food late into the night. He noticed one of his staff members looking anxious and paused to quietly explain what might be going on with him, reading the situation, naming it with care. It was an offhand moment, the kind you don't perform for a journalist. It told me everything.
Eddie is one of those people you can't help but like. Not because he's performing likability — the opposite, actually. He's energetic without being exhausting, funny without needing to be, sharp about the world and genuinely warm about the people in it. He built a food show, opened restaurants, wrote books, and still has the emotional bandwidth to notice when one of his guys is having a rough morning.
His new novel, Come Undone, arrives June 16th. From the bestselling author of Fresh Off the Boat comes a subversively funny and surprisingly moving rom-com about a haunted manchild's twisted search for love. The protagonist, Hubie, hosts a traveling food show, works with his best friends, and samples the best the world has to offer, but treats his romantic partners as courses on a tasting menu with one rule: three months and it's over. It's autofiction wearing its influences openly, the literary mode that suits Eddie best: personal, digressive, mercilessly honest about the mess of being a person who wants connection and keeps finding new ways to complicate it.
It tracks. The man I spent an afternoon with is someone who has clearly done the work of figuring out what love actually requires: effort, attention, and specificity. Knowing that your wife's astrologist said warm and earthy. Knowing that boots are the language. Knowing that a $17k red bag, chosen carefully on a Saturday at The RealReal, is not extravagance. It's a sentence in an ongoing conversation.
By the end of the walk, it felt less like an interview and more like two people who'd probably end up doing this again. I'm definitely stopping by Baohaus soon. And I have a feeling the Knicks aren't done making things interesting in that household.
Come Undone by Eddie Huang is out June 16 via One World/Penguin Random House.














