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STREAMLINING PASTA

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I wholeheartedly thank everyone for their warm regards for Bado.  She’d be ecstatic if she knew how much attention she could single handedly bring in.  I’ve always knew that she beats buttered biscuits.

…I’m thinking, grief in its pure form is quite harmless, to be handled as a cold that wants nothing more than to run its natural course.  Crying in the shower… sniffing her toys, whatever, sooner or later it always does.  But unfortunately it’s now mixed with a toxic dose of regrets, guilt and self-blame and becomes a gust of acid rain, dampening every opening of a smile and making the lightest garment feel heavy… and sploosh!, melts me to the ground with it without warning.  The cold fact that we’ve failed our baby girl, and the meaninglessness of how all our hearts and efforts meant the opposite, really…, really.  Hurts.

I’m sure it all makes no sense what I’m saying…  To shut my brain up and spare us both, I started making some pasta that night.

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EMPTY

bado

 

ON October 21th, 2013

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A SLICE OF OUR HEARTS HOLLOWED,
AND IS FOREVER EMPTY.

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In the memory of Bado
2004~2013

.

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SELL OUT

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I recently landed in a couple of situations where I had to articulate the idea of my blog, a sales-pitch so to speak.   The effort quickly brought brightened realizations to myself that whatever effort I made to explain the original vision or benchmark that I set out for when I started doing this, is now tainted with contradictions.  A derailment, so to speak.

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SALMON POKE-D YOU. YOU SHOULD POKE BACK

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Two weeks ago when I stood in front of the ordering-counter in the most celebrated poke (a Hawaiian appetizer mostly made with raw seafood and other seasonings) joint in Honolulu, I found myself deep, once again, in a familiar dilemma.  I could on one hand, dig through the baffling complicatedness for the source of the tuna without certainty on any given answers which would probably result in an ill-informed purchase anyways, or, I could entirely forgo the option of tuna as a food source just as I’ve been doing for quite awhile now.  After all, I hadn’t tasted a bite of tuna, raw, cooked or canned for let’s say… almost 3 years.

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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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