Poultry

DIRTY THAI FRIED RICE

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IF YOU DON’T DO IT, SOMEBODY WILL

EVEN though, for quite a while now, you and I have been sort of sitting inside a semi-private room, staring at each other and talking about what I ate yesterday… when it comes to predicting what you would actually like to eat, sadly, I’ve got very little clues.  As a matter of fact, for the sake of honesty and sanity, I spent a great deal of obsessive and compulsive effort not to think too much about that.  Instead I try to say, or at least most of the times, that hey look, if it hasn’t already, this is the kind of stuff that will make your world a much more exciting and tastier place.

I can’t say I’ve been completely frank… I was too afraid that this rom would look like a swimming pool inside a Pig’s soft parts, but on the other hand, striking the balance has proven to be tricky.  After all, convincing people to watch someone downing a tripe stew on TV, vs to make it themselves at home, is two completely different things.

But lately, I came across a recipe that, I believe, could be the great missing link.

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THE NEW YORK HALAL DRUNK FOOD

“CHANCES ARE, YOU’VE HAD SOME SORT OF PROMISCUOUS ENCOUNTER…  YOU JUST DON’T REMEMBER IS ALL”

You’re probably thinking, what in the world is this?  Or at least the 90% of you who has never traveled/lived in New York plus the 8% who has (completely made-up statistics..), but stuck disciplinarily to mother’s rule of never putting anything questionable from the street into your mouth, wouldn’t have the slightest clue what the hell this is.  But then… then there’s the rest of the 2% you.

Well, hello there, my friend.  You know you’ve been bad.

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MICKY-WHO? BETTER HOMEMADE CHICKEN NUGGETS

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“I
SUPERNOVA-SIZED MYSELF
FOR YOU.  IF THIS IS NOT LOVE…”

Oh you thought I was kidding about the what-my-ailing-dog-wouldn’t-eat-but-you-might series?

Uhem, no sir, no ma’am… I was dead serious.  You see, the following story is either gonna provide clarity or forever put you off from reading another word in this post, but I’m gonna say it anyways.  In the past weeks of my bumpy journey on coming up with nourishments that my heartbroken dog-son might be willing to sniff or perhaps take a bite, I found myself embarrassingly wanting… salivating really… over these supposedly “dog foods” that I kept for him in a tupperware…  And for awhile it took some considerable amount of trembling self-respect not to, until finally I decided silly was just silly.  That I shall eat them myself.

No, again, I’m not kidding.

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FAULTY HEARTS REMEDY

You know… this blog really wasn’t, even indirectly, meant to be depressing at all.  Angry?  Yes.  It’s kinda funny.  Depressing?  Is just depressing.  But what now?

I found myself murmuring these thoughts through the indifference of the keyboard, while I watched my dog sunken within a pile of blanket like a flaccid lump of meat, the very life in him crippled by the exhaustion of every hard-earned heartbeat.  His heart murmurs, the doctor said.  Why does it sounds like an expression you can put on a Mother’s Day card for God’s sake…  And what about an overgrown, sensitive big heart?  Fuck, could’ve gotten someone laid on a Thursday night even without game.  To shit with these expressions…

In reality, you can actually die of a broken heart.

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ALL DOGS WANT FOR X’MAS IS… CHICKAPEA

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Before I break this less amiable truth about myself amidst my holiday break with family, I first want to say that in spite of what I’m about to confess, please believe that I’m an otherwise OK human being deep, deep within.   I stare at leaves and generate deep thoughts.  I lovingly ignore children only because I’m afraid of what I might do to them.  And when presented with uncertainty, I always choose the recyclable bin to throw my ambiguously categorized trash… just in case.  Because I heart earth.  But…

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X’MAS MORNING SERIES: STUFFED GOOSE BEAST

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Every Who
Down in Who-ville
Liked Christmas goose a lot…

But the Grinch,
Who lived just behind the screen of Who-ville,
Did NOT!

The Grinch hated Christmas goose!  The whole goose without season!
Now, please ask him why.  For everyone quite guesses the reason.
It could be that the work looked a bit like fright.
It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all
May have been that his ego was two sizes too small.

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CHICKEN WINGS ON THE MISSION

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Sometime I amaze even myself on how I get inspirations for a post while being locked on top of this self-confined tower.  Well, not to deter you from visiting (especially you who owns a white horse) but it’s a tower sitting atop an oppressed world hidden inside a choking cloud of toxic smoke as far as the eyes can see, and guarded by, well not a dragon HA! I wish, but an army of creatures that to say mildly… nobody from your world is going to find it pleasurable to meet.   So I mostly sit inside this emotionally distraught and physically demolished little tower of mine, with my greasy hair, rattled temper and… my magic mirror.  Yeah, just like Beast’s who got it with me on Groupon.  You see, it’s hooked to this fantastical plate-looking thing just outside the window, oh and how marvellous that it even comes with a remote.  Like magic I tell you.

My life is but a little fairy tale.

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chicken in the swamp

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No lattice-top?  No pretty dashing colors of summer berries?  Not even the scarce possibility of a scoop of ice-cream on top (people will eat anything with an ice-cream on top these days)(how’s that heatwave going)?  Just when my latest favorite creation was traffic-vetoed because of its less-than-fashionable appearance (A’ight, it may look Susan Boyle but that rice can fucking sing!), I can’t believe I’m preparing to feature this visual question-mark…  If you have the urge to gush out, Oh Lord this poor woman dropped that labour of a pie in the kitchen sink!…  I assure I have not.  It’s this stubborn nerve of mine, you see.  I want to cook for traffic I really do.  I’m not playing cool.  But it’s this nerve for curiosity… this damn nerve…

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