SALMON POKE-D YOU. YOU SHOULD POKE BACK

Two weeks ago when I stood in front of the ordering-counter in the most celebrated poke (a Hawaiian appetizer mostly made with raw seafood and other seasonings) joint in Honolulu, I found myself deep, once again, in a familiar dilemma.  I could on one hand, dig through the baffling complicatedness for the source of the tuna without certainty on any given answers which would probably result in an ill-informed purchase anyways, or, I could entirely forgo the option of tuna as a food source just as I've been doing for quite awhile now.  After all, I hadn't tasted a bite of tuna, raw, cooked or canned for let's say

hypothetically wild salmon onigiri

I am not, by a screeching far cry, someone who could hypothetically reach a life with no regret. Contentment to me is an overrated product of philosophy, not of nature, and therefore more often than not, I find myself restlessly curating for a much-er life. I benched more tablewares in the cabinet than the actual number of guests I could ever gather to my hypothetically dinner party. My closet is for someone who apparently comes across great occurrences that call for more than one (ok, five) sequinned Flapper dress. I limited myself to only four vintage-designed bicycles (so far) which I imagine cruising so hipster-ly through Williamsburg where our hypothetical loft resides, just above the hypothetical farmer's market, where I buy hypothetical hydrangeas on weekends. Hey, I could go Paris on you but I want to keep it real. The other day, I crashed into a display of desires that evoked a whole new picture of hypothetical possibilities, a dashing sales-event of the uber-retro and adorable Airstream Trailers with skins so shiny I was blinded by its allure, parked dangerously close within our complex as if just the outrageously bloated price-tag wasn't enough to keep me

poorman’s lobster roll

Right.  I apologize for my "rare" unprofessionalism last time.  Can we start over?  I promise I'll keep it together this time because oh boy this faux-lobster roll is too delicious to miss out on.  But it's strange to compose this post because the day I cooked it, my doggy-Armageddon-day had not been realized, and staring back on the make-funny-"when life gives you shrimp, make lobster roll"-line that I drew up then to mock my general cheap-ass style, it now seems to actually speak to me on a philosophical level

Cured Roe aka Botargo

(简体)(繁體) My fabulous friend Sharon recently opened a fabulous wine bar in Taipei called Whinos, and I had the pleasure of visiting her awesome little space the last time I was around and needless to say, it was FABULOUS!  It is chic but warm, cool but inviting, intimate and private but bubbling with mingling chatters.  It was everything I look for in a little-spot-to-call-your-own that's tucked in a city corner, and I'm totally envious happy for her.  You know how sometimes you hold a little dream but not-you, instead a friend who obviously has more guts and awesomeness to pull it off before you did, and you couldn't help but feeling overwhelmed with envy best wishes for them?  That's how I feel.  My utter jealousy happiness for her total fabulous-ness. So please apply a grain of tolerance for me at the fact that when she asked me out of POLITENESS (knowing that I cook and all

Curry Laksa

(简体)(繁體) If you haven't heard of "Nyonya", chances are you have eaten it instead.  Yeah.  It may not have been as justly popularized as Thai or Vietnamese, but its low-key awesomeness is in every Southeast Asian restaurant.  The word itself means the union between Chinese and Malays, and the fushion cuisine thus born which is PURE MAGIC.  So then

×