HERE'S A GUEST POST OF MINE THAT APPEARED ON A CUP OF JO, AS ONE OF THEIR BREAKFAST SERIES. JUST IN CASE YOU'VE MISSED IT
[ezcol_1half] CAN'T-STOP-WON'T-STOP MESS-ON-A-PLATE, WITH FLAVOURS THAT WELD PERFECTLY INTO YOUR NEXT WEEK-NIGHT REGULARS [/ezcol_1half] [ezcol_1half_end] There are some women, whose problem is that they never believe they have what it takes to put together an IKEA coffee table. Then, there are those such as myself. Who hold unexplained and relentless faith in their own physical strength. Who ask, how hard can it be? Who practically built every single bed-bath-and-beyond in her apartment, with chapped unpolished nails and a can of diet coke. And who, sometimes, get cocky. If you ask me now, I would tell you I have absolutely no idea whatsoever, on why on earth did I think I had the same skills as a professional large-scale furniture builder/wood carpenter, which must be how I felt when I bought 3 colossally humongous, solid wood, antique courtyard doors that I thought I could turn into a dinning table with nothing but a mini screwdriver? Why
[ezcol_1half] (THEY CAN) TRANSFORM INTO SURPRISING DELICIOUSNESS OF ELEGANCE AND COMPLEXITY [/ezcol_1half] [ezcol_1half_end] THIS is the last post (for awhile at least) of the new week-long segment, The Shits I Eat When I'm By Myself. Jason is coming home tomorrow, and if you were any decent, none of us is ever going to speak of what happened here in the last few days
[ezcol_1third][/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third][/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third_end] AS HAPPY AS A CLAM It's veterinarian-day for me again, how about you? Whatever your day's like, appetize it with this spicy, herby, briny and juicy cockle salad (you heard right), from one of Fatty Crab's and Fatty Cue's Zak Pelaccio. It tastes like the ocean with an attitude, certainly one of my favourite, and most interesting and delicious treatment of shellfish yet. And I promise it will kick-open your palette, get you ready for whatever that's on your plate. Wish you a day as happy as a clam. [/ezcol_1third_end] [ezcol_2third][/ezcol_2third] [ezcol_1third_end] Serves: 4 as appetizer Adapted from Zak Pelaccio's Eat With Your Hands I like to use an assortment of cockles and clams for this dish. In this case, tiny cockles for their meats plus larger/prettier clams for their shells. You can choose whatever variety you like. The original recipe does not include the kaffir lime leaf, but I added it because I think it gave the dish a sharper edge. Use if you have it available (they freeze really well in the freezer). [amd-zlrecipe-recipe:7] [/ezcol_1third_end] [ezcol_1half][/ezcol_1half] [ezcol_1half_end][/ezcol_1half_end]
[ezcol_1half] IF YOU DON'T DO IT, SOMEBODY WILL [/ezcol_1half] [ezcol_1half_end] 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
[ezcol_1fifth] [/ezcol_1fifth] [ezcol_3fifth] IT WAS A CRADLE FOR UNDERAGE DRINKING AND SECOND-HAND SMOKE, AND WE LOVED IT LIKE MOTHER'S MILK [/ezcol_3fifth] [ezcol_1fifth_end] [/ezcol_1fifth_end] [ezcol_1half][/ezcol_1half] [ezcol_1half_end][/ezcol_1half_end] [ezcol_1half] TONIGHT is an event. I hear my parents, hastening by the front door, as I ready myself in my yellow-painted bedroom. There is festivity and jittering even in the motion of putting on my flower-printed socks. Somebody barges in and forces an extra jacket over my reluctant shoulder, my sweater itches, and my brother, as usual, looks as unapproachable as yesterday. But none of that dampens my excitement, because like I said, something big is going on tonight. I ride in a car pierced with noises which I realize later, are probably all of my own, but playing a game of fantasy Galaga with the blinking tail-lights from the front cars, is the only peaceful diplomatic relation I have with my temperamentally unpredictable sibling, which as usual, ends unfavourably for me shortly before destination
[ezcol_2third] [/ezcol_2third] [ezcol_1third_end] WE FOUND OUR WEAKENED FOOTSTEPS AT ITS TURQUOISE COLORED DOORWAY THE official statement is, that like all other celebratory spirits who paint golden eggs on Easter, play Frank Sinatra on X'mas and wash their faces with Buffalo wings on Superbowl, we the family of forever-festivity, ate tacos on Cinco de Mayo and danced to a whirlpool of margaritas this past Sunday. [/ezcol_1third_end][ezcol_2third] [/ezcol_2third] [ezcol_1third_end] But the truth, is actually far more exciting than that. Over the past long weekend, a siege of timely but inconvenient stomach-flu had, and still is, rendering me immobile. Timely, because someone, or something, has got to make me drop this bag of cookies immediately. Inconvenient however
"BOYS WILL BE BOYS?" What happens when you practice general lawlessness between a 6-pounds white prince who has, for his entire 14-years of life, consistently mistaken himself as a Magnificent Pit Bull, and a 26-pounds mutt boy who, constantly subjected to his ambiguous status in the house, has quietly developed some sort of combative inferiority-complex? Sibling rivalries? Boys will be boys? I don't think so