Sweets

Great Pineapple Jam

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Has anyone ever wondered why pineapples are so left out in the community of preservatives?  Neither have I.  I mean I love pineapples.  LOVE pineapples.  But it never occurred to me that it should be offered immortality in a glass jar among berries and other things.  Until a couple of years ago on a trip back to Taipei, I spotted a relatively new artisanal jam company in the most unlikely places – a bookstore.

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Red Velvet Ebelskivers

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(Chinese versions coming soon)

The logic goes that after a feeding-frenzy Malaysia binge-party, that my head and soul should be filled with just Malaysian recipes extravaganza.  And THAT IS CORRECT.  Believe me, it is.  But as sorting through and editing 1,018 pixtures while coordinating everything with the exact location on Google map has proven to be bit more time-consuming than I expected, I’m experiencing a little bit of bloggers-obsessive-anxiety-disorder as I realize that Bloggy has been starving without a new post for almost a week now (yes, I count).

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Gelato for Breakfast

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(Chinese versions coming soon)

If anyone holds secret addiction for trashy tabloid magazine, uheh… which of course I’m not talking about myself because I only read Time and Nat Geo, or Economist and… world-hunger-stuff like that with SUBSTANCE… obviously……. Then they’d known what a friend of a friend whose sister’s cousin had told me that apparently this guy Tom Cruise Whatever and his wife ex-wife Katie Something… got divorced with help from his ex-ex-wife Nicole blah blah. So I heard. Again NOT that I care, but apparently it was over some dispute in their insanely fashionable (polka-dots! Just a wild guess…) Suri’s upbringing that I SO do not know the details of, but one of which I vaguely remember being that… he lets her eats ice-cream for dinner?

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As Promised – A Better Brioche

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I should’ve known.  I shouldn’t still be surprised after all these years.  OOOF COURSE!  What other secret weapons do professional bakers hold against us besides their senseless guilt towards adding a couple sticks more of butter into everything?  It turns out I too, can bake an obscenely rich, absurdly moist and stringy brioche at home if I just blindfold my conscience, steady my shaking hands, and let go of ALLLL THAT BUTTER into the mixer while shaking off the image of cellulite-on-the-beach in my head.  Steady now, Mandy.  Steady now.  The road to greatness isn’t without sacrifice…

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Forgive Me I Have Pie-d…

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The only equivalent comparison in life to this would be:  In our last two years in New York when we were practically cast out of Manhattan by elitism (FINE, high rents) and moved to… Jersey City where there was a most pathetic looking, hicks-Ahoy karaoke bar right around the block.  With more conviction than I withheld on my wedding day I said to Jason, “IF we EVER raised even the SLIGHTEST idea of walking into this place, it is THE moment that we’ve been “Jersified” and must pack up and move back in the city immediately!”  We survived Jersey and never did walk into that karaoke bar.  But instead THIS happened here.  My cue that says I have been in YET another dump for far too long that – I – made – a – PIE!!!

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