[ezcol_1half] I'm stalling on this post, about our trip to Japan, or more accurately, Osaka, Kyoto and Kurokawa. This happens sometimes, either when the trip itself was too brief, or in this case, even with a sufficient duration to ponder, I find the place
IT HITS JUST THE RIGHT SPOT, ONE OF THE FEW LEFT IN OUR HYPER-STIMULATED MINDS THESE DAYS, WHERE IT STILL ACCEPTS OR EVEN CRAVES PURITY [ezcol_1half] As we know that there are plenty for the taking, but this is perhaps - as far as I know and hopefully true - Jason's most obsessed of all perverse Japanese creations, the menchi katsu. Menchi, meaning "minced", and katsu, is anything "breaded and fried". It exists in many different forms and spirits, each and one of them equally bizarre to the conventional wisdoms of the west, but one in particular, the menchi katsu sando / fried ground pork patty sandwich, will send many scratching their heads inside a Japanese convenience store. That is because its pure genius can only be realized upon one fateful encounter - one that reflects truly on its seemly simple but in fact, delicate preparations, and the childish yet complex satisfaction it plays on your tastebuds - which, unfortunately, can be a rare occurrence outside of Japan. Actually, outside of Japan, this idea sounds more desperate than anything else. Why do we want to fry a disk of ground pork - by the way, an almost comically massive disk of ground pork - then leave it with nothing else, and I
[ezcol_2third][/ezcol_2third] [ezcol_1third_end] LIFE IS A GREAT ADVENTURE
[ezcol_1third] IF LIKE ME, YOU'RE TURKEY-LESS OR DUCK-LESS, DON'T LET THAT STOP'YA GRAB YOUR NEAREST LIMBS OF ANY SORTS AND GO TO TOWN! [/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_2third_end][/ezcol_2third_end] [ezcol_1third] [/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third][/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third_end][/ezcol_1third_end] [ezcol_1half] Life is going through some dramatic, if not crazy, changes. And I'm mastering the art of adaptation. I know I threw a bomb out last post without any proper context, and perhaps have gotten some friends worried. I thank you all for the comfort, support, and unrelenting kindness that you gave this stranger who talks on the screen. It is a compassion that I may even lack in comparison, embarrassingly, and such realization has helped pulling myself away from my emotional blackhole in a strange way, shown me perspectives. If that makes any sense. Still a bunch of gibberish, I know. I promise I will explain everything next week. Meanwhile, holy shit, Thanksgiving was last week? Where have I been
[ezcol_1half] COULD THIS WORK? THAT WOULD BE YOUR LAST THOUGHT, BEFORE THIS BOWL OF MAGIC POTION SUCKS YOU INTO AN UNSTOPPABLE WHIRLPOOL OF HAPPINESS. [/ezcol_1half] [ezcol_1half_end] Sorry I have been absent. Boy, do I have a good reason. Recently, I believe, we've all been experiencing a kind of peculiar surrealism in life. I don't know about you, but for multiples times during the span of my day, I found myself staring at the mundane occurrences of my perceived reality - the sound of cars brushing through the street
[ezcol_1third][/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third] WE CAN ALL USE A LITTLE BETTER It can be depressing today, either for political or personal reasons (for me, both). So let's not talk. Let's just all, perhaps, realize something about ourselves and others today with, if you can, kindness and faith. I saw this recipe on a Bon Appetite's special baking issue, and it has proven to be much superior than my previous Yorkshire pudding recipes. Mainly, because it allows me to completely forgo the "resting stage" that I had emphasized so strongly before, and that is because this batter is mixed with simmering milk which has prevented the gluten from forming by partially cooking the flour. No more resting. This batter can go straight from being mixed to being baked, into the glorious, optimistic, better puffs that they are. I can we can all use a little better today. [/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third_end][/ezcol_1third_end] [ezcol_1third][/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third][/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third_end][/ezcol_1third_end] [ezcol_1half][/ezcol_1half] [ezcol_1half_end][/ezcol_1half_end] [ezcol_1half][/ezcol_1half] [ezcol_1half_end][/ezcol_1half_end] [ezcol_1half][/ezcol_1half] [ezcol_1half_end][amd-zlrecipe-recipe:131][/ezcol_1half_end]
WE ARE GOING TO DISCREETLY PAN-FRY THESE IN AN INDECENT AMOUNT OF BUTTER, UNTIL THEY ARE PRACTICALLY SOAKED ON THE INSIDES, AND DELICIOUSLY CRISPY AND GOLDEN ON THE OUTSIDES. YOU KNOW, THE BUTTER-EXUDING CRUNCH? [ezcol_1half] Have you seen Ben Stiller's movie, While We're Young? Well, if you haven't, there's no need to really. Given that it has its moments here and there, all in all, it's not entirely spectacular. But the reason that I'm bringing it up is because - well, equally as unspectacular and unrelating to the majority demographic - I'm kind of in the same pickle. I'm 36 years old, and very early on in life, I have made a very conscious decision not to have children. I'm happy married, stable, as far as I know, reproductively unchallenged and relatively speaking, mentally healthy, and I consider myself an affectionate if not responsible dog-parent. So as I said, the decision is a very deliberate one and the reasons for which, well lets just say, don't quite belong in this post. Uh, ok whatever, might you add, but where's my fucking pickle? Well, this is where the movie might be more articulate, not to say much more entertaining, in illustrating my quandary. Thing is, most of our friends,
Yellow bowl from Dishes Only. [ezcol_2third] [/ezcol_2third] [ezcol_1third_end] WE ARE GONNA TURN POPCORN INTO GRITS [/ezcol_1third_end] [ezcol_1half] One sleepless night in Hong kong, I sat in darkness as my face was dimly illuminated with fascinations and lights extruding from an iPad, where David Chang and Daniel Patterson were performing the magic of turning popcorns into polenta. Popcorns. This lowly snack that nobody deems worthy as anything but an afterthought on movie nights, or an amusement as we watch them being tumbled in disgusting, clownish rainbow food-dyes, in their hands, became this creamy and velvety substance. That moment, I suddenly became interested in the word polenta again. I tried cooking real polenta before