I know I know there must be a food-blogger authority staking-out behind a cyber-corner, waiting to ticket me just as soon as I violate the meter by hitting the "publish" button (just any second now
Drop down on a point back in time, all the way back in my 500-sqft studio in New York when I was joyfully smooching a pint of Ben'n Jerry's which I casually grabbed from the downstair 24hr-deli, and tell me that in the not-so-distant future, anytime-access to my beloved collection of ice cream-babies would be a thing of the past
Naaah, don't have to thank me for this. Glad to do it. Well
I've got a lotta nerve coming here telling you about a cocktail. Because if you ever had the pleasure of meeting me in real life, the first couple of things you'd pick up before too late is A). you didn't really find it a pleasure at all and, B). Uh-hum
It's May. The wild tree-sex month. There are "organic matters" in the air carrying a vicious assault on my eyes, nose and throat, bashing my brain into a piece of stiff, over-chewed gum. Who knew that these stationary stick-figures could get so violent and nasty in bed
We can at least all agree that it sucks to live under someone else's shadow right? It's a cruel life to carry if you know that you'll forever be on the edge of someone else's spotlight. Does anyone aspire to be Robin who always looks comparatively ridiculous in his spandex and at least one foot shorter than Batman? Whoever marries Prince Harry
If you hoard much. You know, unable to let go trunks of junks that's jamming your life, and aren't quite sure what the normal reaction is when you look down on a shampoo bottle where the shampoo is long gone (hi Jen) , or that your loved ones take great pleasure to be on a reality show as the world watches you being eaten away by your own shame. Yeah, hoarders. You keep everything. It's a disease and I'm your new BFF. Because I let go of possessions beautifully. I trash donate things with a clean swift cut-throat almost artful peeerfection (someone needs this cheetah-print denim more than I do). And I extend my virtue to touch those in need around me - may or may not be with consent - by trashing donating their shit for them, too. They're welcome. So naturally as a non-keeper I was hoping I could avoid this question. It emerged out of nowhere tickling my conscience after my very first batch of almond milk but I was too excited to respond to guilt. Then it came the second time (how coincidentally) after the second batch of almond milk as the phrase "world hunger" briefly wobbled across my
I stare at the blinking cursor on my screen and completely blank out. My mind is sucked dry from a trip to the veterinarian, and as my 13-year old Dumpling lays in the hospital with a tube down his throat and a three-day-hospital-stay ahead of him, the last thing I can gather my mind to gush about are these monotone desserts. But let not the frosted land of sugary world be soiled by real-life shit that come our way, because it isn't the desserts' fault, no. The almond tofu is innocent, and we're going to talk about them even with my mind absent. What the hell is "almond tofu" it sounds relentlessly unappetizing. Well, you'd be right if you are drawing references from the flavorless American lactose intolerant-aid almond milk, and not the worlds-away Chinese southern almond milk as I dedicated an entire post to. This fragrant and flavorful extraction is the base for many desserts in Chinese cuisine among which the most popular form is almond tofu. The name is extremely misleading as ingredient-wise and procedure-wise, it has NOTHING to do with tofu. It usually appears in two variations and I'm going to feature both for thoroughness-sake. But the value of this post