[ezcol_1half] I TAKE MY CRACK, VERY
[ezcol_2third] [/ezcol_2third] [ezcol_1third_end] THE CAKE HAS VENTURED BEYOND CHEMISTRY, INTO THE REALM OF PHYSICS
[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
I'm determined to get a life during this Labour Day long weekend so let me quickly leave you with this. Best. Damn. "Salad". You'll. Ever. Have. Period. Period. HOW COULD IT BE? OH WAIT, IT'S THE PORK. It's a recipe I developed for Food52's column "Half Way to Dinner", and initially I didn't write any measurements down because I wasn't sure how open you guys would be towards a "ground pork salad". But it turned out, a few request for it came in and so I made it again the other night
[ezcol_1third] THIS IS WHAT I CALL, STUFFED ARTICHOKE" [/ezcol_1third][ezcol_2third_end] I've never understood salad. And by "salad", I mean it in the most traditional sense of plant-based lifeforms being tossed in vinegar-based dressings. I've never understood the idea of it, or the taste of it. It seems that all salads are ever "dressed" with, are the nonstop BS campaign and PR efforts, the pretence of hippie-wholeness and "feel-good" sentiments designed to talk us into laying down our appetites and picking up that cucumber. Excluding vegetarianism which is a whole other subject, the only peace I find in salad, is if we could all just admit to the blunt and clear motives of why anybody eats it. We only eat salad because we have to. Period. We eat salad because we don't want to be fat. We eat salad because we don't want to die prematurely. We eat salad because what, you think you have a choice? Underneath whatever self-hypnosis, there's only strictly medical purposes. And I think that if everyone could just quit dancing around it and just say that. People would actually eat more salad, because truth, is the most powerful persuasion. However, after moving back to Asia, that view is slightly, or at least in the progress of, changing. [/ezcol_2third_end][ezcol_1third] [/ezcol_1third][ezcol_1third] [/ezcol_1third][ezcol_1third_end] [/ezcol_1third_end] [ezcol_1third] During my trips to Vietnam, Thailand, Malaysia and
[ezcol_1third] DOES IT SOUND LIKE A GOOD TIME TO FLUFF IT? I have been told multiple times, by a number of highly credible professionals other than real doctors, that I present troubling signs of minor depression. Do I? I sleep. I sleep for a staggering number of hours each day and struggle every morning day for reasons not to add a couple more. But I wonder, perhaps even argue if a real depressed individual would be emotionally capable of the kind of trust and intimacy I share with my dog-hair-embroidered blanket? I also distract myself from my wild discontent in life with the soothing and gentle comfort
"CHANCES ARE, YOU'VE HAD SOME SORT OF PROMISCUOUS ENCOUNTER