Author:mandy@ladyandpups

breakfast milk tea & honey pound cake

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I’m going to push my opinion-quota by saying that the US is the least tea-cultured among the other places I’ve lived in (Taiwan, Vancouver, Hong Kong… Beijing).  Americans aren’t particularly keen on tea, evidently as some may now defensively refer to Snapple’s along this line as a clownish counter-argument, and now… they shall stand to be mocked by public (no, it’s too late to take it back).

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the infinite kitchen sink hand pie

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Sometimes I get a little personal when I take a stroll through the expansive, razzle-dazzling and star-crusted cosmic jungle that is food-blogosphere.  I really don’t mean to compare I really don’t.  Wise man once said that… “Go… just do your own things” or something… you know but put in a MUCH more profound and scholarly terms.  But the thing is (and it’s a big thing) that I can’t help but feeling like Gimli the dwarf when self-put besides the others, whom I’d like to call the blogger-elves of the Woodland Realm (birds chirping pls) because I mean really, just REALLY, do people SERIOUSLY live like that?  Prancing with in-season-only, tree-ripen fruits and vegetables galore by the farm-stands and POOF! an effortless display of fairy-salad and angel-tarts on a oh-my-granny-just-left-me-this antique table.  Or picking WILD FLOWERS in pastel tea-dresses surrounded by rainbow and songs and THAT’S what she EATS on weekends!?  For REALZ?  I bet their body parts self-shave, too…

Yeah.  I’m jealous.

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rock’n potato roll

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There were many aspects in life turned unexpectedly different after moving to Beijing.  I didn’t expect that in any foreseeable lifetime, I’d accessorize a biking trip to the grocery with an industrial-grade gas-mask instead of a summer straw-hat.  I didn’t expect neither that instead of battles on sample sale weekends, I’d be fighting other choking victims online in a gas-mask-shortage-frenzy when the days get worse.  Yah I know there’s a general wisdom to be applied here somewhere… positive psychology and affirmations do-kid-yourself kinda BS or whatnot… but then comes the unexpected irony.

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steak’s anatomy

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You people… yes YOU, who can’t stop yapping about how the “grilling season” has begun.  Wooh omg~ let’s break out your Cadillac stainless steel monster-grill and park it so handsomely on your beautiful Martha Stewed deck, under that family peach tree looking out into your Ina-garden and get everybody all Bobby Flayed-up on your marbled rib-eye.  Whatever, yah-dah yah-dah ya-dah…  Yeah, you people.  Please.  Just.  Zip it.  SHUSH!

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like-crack-er ice cream brownie sandwich

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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…).  TWO ICE-CREAM POSTS IN A ROLL?!  BACK TO BACK!?  God I have some thick-skinned nerve occupying a parking spot on this competitive block in Blogger-hood!  Uh-hum… the official statement is that my sheer excitement after spotting a “cracker cheesecake sandwich” on Donna Hay via pinterest, has driven me to share it for the public-greater good regardless of my personal content-diversity agenda.  And we know that all official statements are largely based on truth and integrity.

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winter warmth ice cream

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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… I’d cover their ears (hush hush… bad people… bad people…) then tell you nicely to go kiss your own mad arse.  Hey, I was a young, naive and ignorant little shit who thought New York City wasn’t the center of the universe.  Can I please get it back if I apologize?

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creme brulee-d pork belly confit

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Naaah, don’t have to thank me for this.  Glad to do it.  Well… don’t hate me for it either.  If you are finding this angelically beautiful but appallingly offensive all at the same time, I can’t help you.  Just as the curtain of the swimsuit-season is about to go up in all its rudeness and the rim of jello hanging over your jeans is being increasingly disagreeable, I’m putting this on your HD retina-display screen.  I’m bad.  But again, gelatinous pork belly confit under a jacket of perforated crispy skin and a lace of amber-like caramelized sugar…  Pass?…  Nah, you’ll have to go to the beach fat.

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