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POST-HAWAII BLUE & COFFEE CRUSTED NUTS

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The danger is real.  There’s a paradise out there.

You can’t move two steps without hearing old-time tales of unsuspecting wanderers who passed by and never left, got sucked in by that boundless flickering of Pacific blues so wicked that they dared plunging into the terrifying anxiety of a slowed down life.  Made home, even a family, grew roots.  Their next generation, born-and-raised, has fascinating stories to tell about their unwavering connections to being the children of these captivating islands, seeding ideas inside visitors with a less affirmative mind such as myself who all, at one point or another, fondled the unthinkable… could I live here?  Oh you’ll see.  Just a split second of carelessness and you too would find yourself romancing the same idea.

Hawaii is that kind of hazard and I barely made it out in one piece.

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PRE-DEPARTURE MICROWAVE MADNESS

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Despite the level of embarrassment that I’m sure will hit me the moment I get back from Paradise (Tuesday!), I still decided to send this truth out there.  The truth that once in a while, on some particular full-moons and/or… the night before a long trip away from home, there’s absolutely no excuse for my primitive behavior.  And if that’s the kind of entertainment that delights you, here it goes.

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THE HOT TRIPLETS

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I’m shouting out to you in the middle of the Pacific Ocean!!  Warm waves… creamy white sands… waving palm trees… oh wait oops, are you cold there?  Don’t say I’m not nice.  Here, drink this, what I call the hot triplets.  Oh, and it goes with this, the sweet buttah sandwich.  Both are mutations from my favorites of Hong Kong’s popular “tea room” culture.  Maybe I’ll chat more about it when I get back but right now, I have more important things to get to…  See ya!

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(RE)MODEL BAKERY’S ENGLISH MUFFIN

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Oh I don’t feel bad telling you this… I don’t.  In just 2 days, I will be packing my bikinis, loading up the sunscreens and dragging my waxed legs across the Pacific to the realm where no toxic fume blackens my lungs and shameless line-cutter haunts my footsteps!  Aloha~ HAWAII, here I come!  Gimme a hug gimme a hug please!  Oooh I can almost taste the air of freedom… where real earth should feel like… where I don’t fantasize plotting the murder of anyone… of every day… of every minute… (Hear that?  The dude who spitted next to my feet in the restaurant dies-dies-dies so gruesomely it sounds like an unicorn-pony lullaby…).  Where I can be the non-mental me again you see?!!  Oh please do it now!!  Eject me out of China right now!  Cannonball me outta here!

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X’MAS MORNING JERK-SPICED PORCHETTA

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I recently took a class from Harvard called Science and Cooking.  I did it without ever taking an SAT exam or having an IQ above 140, all while wearing my slouchiest PJ and tucked in the comfort of my bed with a can of soda and a tub of gummy bears on the side, and burnt through 5 lectures straight in 1 week…  Oh God bless bootleg DVDS.  I was once again basted in the youthful hunger of my tender college years when hope was alive and the world was shiny…, as well as the exact reason why… I slept through half of it.  Dude, there’s something about the echo? bouncing off the lecture hall?… that’s 10x more potent than sleeping pills on the deepest cellular level and sends me into a baby-state coma.  But relax, I still overheard something in between my wee-wee breaks to share with you all.

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FAKE CHOCOLATE CAKE + REAL BANANA BUTTERCREAM

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Last few days were a nightmarish montage of my extended kitchen-agony.  Three whole days covered in a choking dust of flour with smudgy grease from a beastly amount of butter and sugary stickiness haunting my finger tips.  Electrical outlets being pushed to a near brink of melt-down and an unprepared dishwasher running past its adrenaline threshold into a disoriented state of ecstasy.  After three nights of stress-induced binge eating, two stone-tough should muscle groups and one extremely cranked neck which all ended in a final coma that took place in a dark and questionable foot-massage parlor, despite nature’s best effort to stop me, I said I’d make a cake.

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STAINED GLASS NOODLE

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Ahum… so.  I was totally going to unveil my-first-time-ever… ground-shaking… storm-wieldingSALIVA-BURSTING TWO-TIER CELEBRATION BAKE that’s, gonna, rock, your, world!

But I fucked it up.  Yep.  Just, you know, the typical shit that happens to all of us, the cake batter crashing… buttercream breaking… bananas being bananas and the entire cake wiggling in a funky move like it was the 80’s and finally steadied itself in a very unattractive slant.  I’m not sayin’ this with disrespect cuz I’m angry and all… but seriously, you bakers out there are fucking crazy.

Thus, brings us to this.

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