Extra-browns Browned Butter

Not double, not triple, but ten, twenty-times of (salty) browned bits. You've never known browned butter this way.  You'll never want to know it any other way. [ezcol_1third] The other day, two hours after midnight while I was peeling through the dense jungle of Amazon's available silicone microwave popcorn makers to be exact, something hit me like a lightening slitting down a tree. Browned butter. A glorious thing, absolutely.  But what is wrong with browned butter?  No, no, let me rephrase.  What is missing with browned butter?  It's a beautiful thing that is butter made even more beautiful by letting the remaining traces of milk - an inevitable remnant from the process of making butter from cream - slowly caramelize into speckles of browned bits that, I want to argue, is the unsung hero that truly gives browned butter its celebrated nuttiness and deep, rich aroma. So here I ask again, as attractive as is, what is missing with browned butter? [/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third] I say, not enough browned bits. Yes, think about it!  Think about how sick browned butter could be if it is accompanied by not double, not triple, but ten, twenty-times the amount of browned bits that separates browned butter from being a component to a stand-alone,

SWEET POTATO TAPIOCA GNOCCHI, GLUTEN-FREE

[ezcol_1third] SOFT BUT PLEASANTLY CHEWY, THAT IT FROLICS IN BETWEEN EVERY BITE WITH THE UPMOST PLAYFUL RESISTANCE [/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third][/ezcol_1third] [ezcol_1third_end][/ezcol_1third_end] [ezdiv id="" class="ezcol-four-sixth" style=""] Light.  Airy.  Delicate.  Cloud-like. See, surely these are rules best to dictate cotton candies and runway models. But, in my opinion, not for gnocchi. I know, I know.  Who am I - an Asian who grew up in North America - to judge gnocchi, an inarguably Italian prerogative guarded by some very defensive if not hostile Italian grandmothers.  To some, if I am ever entitled to an opinion then it should only be on chop suey or somethin', certainly not this heritage pasta sacredly given by the ancient Roman Gods.  Hey, I know!  I agree!, or at least I used to, which was why I never complained every time I was served with a plate of texture-less and borderline-mushy "clouds", in Rome or Nice and etcetera might I add, and nodded in compliance like a team-player.  "Yes, Mandy.  These mashy semisolids are intentional and authentic.  Now shut up and eat them.  Gollum Gollum".  I truly tried. You see, close-minded it may seem, but I come from a place where any flour-involved, savory carbohydrates have to have, a chew. Whether it's hand-pulled xi'an noodles, the delicate wrappers of dim sum dumplings, or

Tough Crowd Longan Cake

(简体)(繁體) I'm always puzzled where people get their optimism from. I have this friend. She's a walking team of cheerleaders in a single unit, comes with flowers and sunshine with balloons and all that stuff. If you feel like a worthless piece of sxxt, I'd have you call her so you can feel like a brand new piece of chocolate nougat instead. Or a cat like a tiger and a chicken like a peacock

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