Sweets

filthy rich miso caramel ice cream

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Have I mentioned how unapologetically cheap I am?  Right… to elaborate we must understand that “cheap” is a strictly relative term and I am saying that strictly relatively-speaking, I am incredibly cheap.  I negotiated a 30% raise in my daily allowance in the past decade which is to say that I am spending only 30% above the average of college-quality life.  I gloated over the booking of a 69 euro/night ” beach hotel” in the mediterranean to Jason who, to say the least, did not share the same sentiments and boy, you should see their pool.  I almost always buy non-organics only and after almost 5 years away from the states, I really really miss sinking my face in a pint of Ben’n Jerry’s that’s going $8/pint in this part of the world.  Yes, I am saying technically I could afford better than the above.  I’m in China for God’s sakes.

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peach mascarpone pot pie + ginger molasses cookie lid

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Had I anticipated enough courage to pick up the topic of peach and mascarpone again this summer, I probably wouldn’t have cashed that sob-story so early.  After that horrendous disaster of a pie, if that pile of slumpy menace could still be called that…, I was determined to quit peach forever, total rehab.  After all, they quit me first.  You see, that’s the other side of the story.  Years ago, peaches decided to join the alliance of fruits that were waging an allergy campaign against me by inducing itchy mouth every time I tried to reach out a friendly lick.  As I was addicted to rejection, every summer since was a struggling anniversary of our separation.  Even after more than a decade… that day when I picked them out of the mascarpone-puddle-of-death and ate them, the peaches still made damn well sure that I was reminded.  I saved them from the fate of the eternal dumpster and they repaid me with crawly esophagus… lil fuckers.

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sunshine. flower. tea. granita

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Truth is, I was a tiny bit amused by the flock of defenders, friendly or hostile, who rushed to my incidental black tea cake to affirm America’s tea presence.  To the flag-swinging crusaders, amused at how unreceptive people are to a relative comparison and because the upset words validated just as much as saying… Asians eat burgers.  Lots of it at that, too.  Doesn’t translate to Asia having as much burger-culture as America.  And the rest tea-lovers – who were nice enough to comment (thank you!) and certainly more gracious of a human being than I ever was, who simply wanted to inform this blunt-mouthed cook that there’s a growing tea-culture in America (thanks again!) – made me feel a bit undeserved because I would totally, upmost whole-heartedly agree with you if not because of the fact that… I was too busy drinking coffee to notice.

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likely pairing dark chocolate & gouda cookie

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The agony of making creative effort in the kitchen is, more often than not (and don’t tell me otherwise), we fall into the tormenting limbo between imagination and reality and sometimes the plunge feels eternally lasting.  My current episode has been ruthlessly stretching into its 9th day-anniversary, on-going, in cold blood.  Do feel bad because here it comes…

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breakfast milk tea & honey pound cake

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I’m going to push my opinion-quota by saying that the US is the least tea-cultured among the other places I’ve lived in (Taiwan, Vancouver, Hong Kong… Beijing).  Americans aren’t particularly keen on tea, evidently as some may now defensively refer to Snapple’s along this line as a clownish counter-argument, and now… they shall stand to be mocked by public (no, it’s too late to take it back).

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like-crack-er ice cream brownie sandwich

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I know I know there must be a food-blogger authority staking-out behind a cyber-corner, waiting to ticket me just as soon as I violate the meter by hitting the “publish” button (just any second now…).  TWO ICE-CREAM POSTS IN A ROLL?!  BACK TO BACK!?  God I have some thick-skinned nerve occupying a parking spot on this competitive block in Blogger-hood!  Uh-hum… the official statement is that my sheer excitement after spotting a “cracker cheesecake sandwich” on Donna Hay via pinterest, has driven me to share it for the public-greater good regardless of my personal content-diversity agenda.  And we know that all official statements are largely based on truth and integrity.

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winter warmth ice cream

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Drop down on a point back in time, all the way back in my 500-sqft studio in New York when I was joyfully smooching a pint of Ben’n Jerry’s which I casually grabbed from the downstair 24hr-deli, and tell me that in the not-so-distant future, anytime-access to my beloved collection of ice cream-babies would be a thing of the past… I’d cover their ears (hush hush… bad people… bad people…) then tell you nicely to go kiss your own mad arse.  Hey, I was a young, naive and ignorant little shit who thought New York City wasn’t the center of the universe.  Can I please get it back if I apologize?

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almond byproduct tart

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If you hoard much.  You know, unable to let go trunks of junks that’s jamming your life, and aren’t quite sure what the normal reaction is when you look down on a shampoo bottle where the shampoo is long gone (hi Jen) , or that your loved ones take great pleasure to be on a reality show as the world watches you being eaten away by your own shame.  Yeah, hoarders.  You keep everything.  It’s a disease and I’m your new BFF.  Because I let go of possessions beautifully.  I trash donate things with a clean swift cut-throat almost artful peeerfection (someone needs this cheetah-print denim more than I do).  And I extend my virtue to touch those in need around me – may or may not be with consent – by trashing donating their shit for them, too.  They’re welcome.

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