TO CLOSE FRIENDS, IN HEART, AND IN DISTANCE.
I guess it isn’t so out-of-place during the holiday season, but the other day, I started thinking about friendships.
Since the age of 17, I have been living in separations from all my best friends. Some, separated by lands, but most, by oceans. And even if when old ones came, or when new ones were made, soon after, was another almost destined departure. After a certain number of years, I got used to the danger of not having any, and the jealousy for those who do.
So this year, when the question of “edible gift” came, I started thinking about what I’d wish I could give. If you are one of those lucky humans who enjoys close proximity of friendships, I think you should tell them, “I’m so glad I’m not too far away to give you this”. Whole mini brie and jam wrapped in flaky, buttery pie-pastry. Just like and therefore perfect for those whom this is made for, it doesn’t travel far. It’s time and temperature-sensitive. It’s warm, sweet, gooey and most importantly, immediate.
To close friends, in heart, and in distance. Happy holidays.Continue Reading
I know that you know how it feels, to be nagged by your tireless other half on executing tasks that the difficulty of which, he/she has absolutely no idea of. This is no doubt an important subject that touches the very fabric of the marriage establishment, a possible and perhaps convincing argument made by the anti-commitment party, as one of the many fears that they don’t want to be trapped with. But for the rest of us, I’d like to say I, I know how you feel… To elaborate on such subject more personally, I’m once again, reminded that there’s a crucial member behind Lady and Pups whose profile, you may not have been properly introduced.
Jason, this is everybody. Everybody, Jason my husband.
Jason my husband, who thinks it would be tremendously cool, you know as a side-hobby of this nocturnal creature, to invest every possible weekend-mornings on the driving-range together on his visions to become… the couple who golfs. Jason my husband, who thinks it would be only fitting as our retirement blueprints, for me to finally open and run a restaurant/his personal whisky bar, and simultaneously, without saying of course, raise a whole ranch of organic kettles on the side. Jason who doesn’t cook, but for the life of him, cannot understand why this house doesn’t serve freshly baked bar nuts. Jason who thinks, since I already bake cookies and make pies, why not start producing, from scratch…
… our very own sausages.
THE KIND THAT WOULD TURN MY KITCHEN INTO DEXTER’S WET DREAM,
AND ME, THE THINGS HE STUFFS INTO PLASTIC BAGS.
THIS COULD VERY WELL BE, THE ONLY SENSIBLE THING THAT SHOWS UP HERE FOR THIS ENTIRE WEEK…
Jason is going away for this entire week. This isn’t the first time it happens, nor is it a rare occurrence. But what you’ll feel differently about this week, not including this particular post, is going to be somewhat of a breakthrough. Thing is, if you had any presumptions about me, as someone who likes to cook and carries out every meal big or small, with a sense of class and dignity, for the next 7 days, you’ll find your theory… horrifiedly misguided. Pretty scallion-oil chicken rolls on a pedestal? Gourmet popcorns to accompany DVD-binging? Pffff~ pleeease… you’re too cute.
The fault, is mine. For I haven’t exactly been honest about what goes on in here, when there’s absolutely nobody watching. Truth is, like comedians being freakishly quiet off stage, cooking for me, is a hobby that erodes with the absence of audiences. Truth is, what I “cook” for myself and myself only, is inexcusably, for lack of better words, horrendous. So here I am. I don’t know where I found such commitment, but I’ve sternly decided that we (as, you and me) have entered a phase in our relationship, where “truth” is required for the hope of a sustainable future together…
Do not be mistaken that these are products of desperations. You’d hurt my feelings. They are all – and it takes great courage to admit – “foods” that I sickeningly and hopelessly, love to eat. Regardless the fact that you may find them only socially excusable, if I was a college student who just spent the the last $20 on
alcohol school supplies. Some of them may be accompanied with a “recipe”, as others may, thankfully, not. But whatever you will take away from this, I hope that they at the very least, entertains you.
So enjoy this one before “The Shit” hits the fan, the last proper dinner I made before the “audience” decided to leave me to rot in the land of culinary-ruin, creamy and nutty miso carbonara with tiny sausage meatballs. For this could very well be the only sensible thing that shows up here for this entire week.
A “SOURDOUGH STARTER”… HOLD THAT THOUGHT, LET ME TAKE AN ADVIL
IF a consistent, punctual biological clock is the indicator of good health and well-being, surprisingly as evidence suggests, I may live much longer than I expected.
On a daily basis, for past 2 decades, my body insists on living breathing sleeping and eating, in a strict and firm accordance with… the Parisian time-zone. They say that your body is always trying to tell you things that you may not realize about yourself. To that, I have no argument. Then on a monthly basis, the beautiful reminder that I am, again, one-month-less away from entering menopause, always comes reassuringly and dependably… 10 days late. Punctual in her own ways, she loves suspense and once in awhile, watching me peeing on sticks. But here comes the part where I’m most proud of, a yearly reoccurrence, the kind that only wild animals who are most in tune with nature will demonstrate…
The pre-winter hair-shedding and my October flu.
OK, fine, maybe that sounded a little over-dramatic. Maybe I just count the hairs on my pillow more nowadays as a sign of mid-life crisis, and instead of a full-blown flu, it’s more like a passive-aggressive, trickling but ever-flowing stream of runny nose. The kind that is incompetent of granting me a whole week of in-bed movie-marathon, but at the same time, makes damn-well-sure that I look, walk and feel like a days-old, soggy unglazed donut. So this year, in response to a seasonal time like this, a new behavioural pattern has emerged. I bake breads.READ MOREContinue Reading
CHOCOLATE CUPCAKE, HARDLY ANY NEWS.
BUT A PROMINENTLY SALTY AND SWEET BUTTERCREAM, REALLY GETS ME EXCITED
THERE are good, convenient reasons why, I’ve never made cupcakes before.
There are things best left unknown, things that, let’s just say, won’t help you enjoy your favourite foods by knowing. Like the day I peed myself a little when I first poured in all that heavy cream, running as thick as blood, into making my most beloved Hokkaido “milk” toast two years ago. Oh mommy, it wasn’t milk… it wasn’t milk… And the same reasons that my fingers and soul trembled when, for the first time, I soiled my naive perception of a brioche dough with a rudely awakening amount of reality-butter. That stormy night, the brioche was soft, but innocence was dead… And then so many times after that, the freedom for ice cream was terrorized… and the guiltless-ness of salads wilted away… Let’s not even go there, where now every time when I gaze upon the starry sheen of a melty crispy and chewy chocolate chips cookie, the rim of fat around my waist reverberates in echo of the truth behind its sublimity… As a cook, I thought I wanted the truth.
I couldn’t handle the truth.
For someone who’s technically unemployed, I don’t know if this would violate the definition of such word but actually, for the past 2 weeks, I’ve been enjoying some sort of a “holiday”. Well… a holiday on house-arrest if you will, but nonetheless, a holiday. Despite the… minor inconvenience that we’re currently bound to the last place on earth that we’d like to spend more time in, Jason had decided to take the longest vacation-days he’s ever taken in his entire work-life, ever, an entire 14 blissful days to spend on doing something that we’ve practically elevated to an art-from… that is to do ab-so-lute-ly… nothing.READ MOREContinue Reading