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As Promised – A Better Brioche

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I should’ve known.  I shouldn’t still be surprised after all these years.  OOOF COURSE!  What other secret weapons do professional bakers hold against us besides their senseless guilt towards adding a couple sticks more of butter into everything?  It turns out I too, can bake an obscenely rich, absurdly moist and stringy brioche at home if I just blindfold my conscience, steady my shaking hands, and let go of ALLLL THAT BUTTER into the mixer while shaking off the image of cellulite-on-the-beach in my head.  Steady now, Mandy.  Steady now.  The road to greatness isn’t without sacrifice…

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Scallion Oil Chicken

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Lately Jason’s been GRILLED at work like a turkey on Thanksgiving, and soon gonna be off on a business trip for 2 days.  As an imaginary modern woman I loath at myself for saying it, but this can only mean one thing.  I AM SO~ooo~OOO BOOOOOORED (twisting and moaning….).  I HAVE things to do.  I do!  Like a whole line of queued-up posts waiting to be translated.  Like chirping chicklets urging to be fed…”chirp chirp chirp…”  Arrgh… I can’t even raise the slightest will to lift a finger.  Or make some long overdue calls to friends who probably thought I fell off a cliff for some time now.  Wait, who am I KIDDING?  I DON’T have friends in BJ…  Or do a Lord of The Ring marathon in my pj with my favorite junk foods!  Only I have done that like 3 times over.  The excitement to watch Gandalf say, “Yooou shall nooot PASS!” can only last so many time…  How about Little Merm… FXXX!  That’s pathetic!  Damn it!  How do unemployed women kill their time?

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Octopus 8/2

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HuuuuuGE~!  And, no.  I couldn’t help it.  I know I’m supposed to be nurturing baby tartlets, or summer fruitcakes, or at least an icy cocktail because that’s just the kind of things people like to lust over this time of the year.  Not some giant 8-legged sea monster that they rather watch strangling the Empire State Building, than laying dead in their kitchen sink.  But, no.  I.  Just.  COULDN’T.  Help it.  Have you ever tasted a great octopus?  If pure culinary bliss doesn’t do the trick, let me appeal to sentiments.  This beauty instantly brings me back to my fond memories of that wonderful and sunny day in Nice, when Jason found a specialty food shop that gave us the most succulent marinated octopus to snack with on the way strolling back to the hotel.  And I thought to myself, “Nevermind craving this back home because I would NEVER find a quality, freshly octopus… ”  Well… hello there~.

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I-Think-It’s-Asian Porchetta Sandwich

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Jason took a bite and asked me with his very “lardy” mouth, “Why is this Asian?”  Well… I suppose because… “The marinade.”  I answered affirmatively with secretly not-so-affirmative doubts.  I mean can I call it “Asian” because the pork marinade is mainly FISH SAUCE, and that there’s GINGER in the aioli, and that the chili is inspired by a HUNAN dish?  Yes.  Yes, I think I can.  So bear with me.  If there’s any dispute over how I name my articles, please do so kindly remember that I AM a self-proclaimed confused individual.  OR IF I’m just being self-consciously hypersensitive…  In that case, forget what I said and carry on.

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Don’t-Do-It-In-Provence Aïoli

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Word on the street has it for some time, that Tony has wrapped his last episode of No Reservations, and filming what is said to be his last season of The layover.  Roughly 1 month ago, the cold-blooded confirmation came in his blog that he is indeed parting with the shows that have come to be a great part of my culinary adventure for the past 9 years.  …Abandonment is what comes to mind.  How dare you leave us with our nights to be spent with Sam B. or Andrew Zimmer’s clotted blood… or fermented ball sacks… or whatever.

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Fancy a Meat Pie?

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What I have hea is a rawther nice British meat pie (This is OBVIOUSLY accent, not typos… don’t be an arse about tit).  Eva since I overcame my fear in baking (sort of…), I admit that I’ve gone a bit bonkers!  What to pie next?  What to pie next?  Out of all the brilliant recipes out thea, this one has somehow stick.  For one it looks bloody delicious, absolutely pukka!  And second I believe it’s pure fate.  First I saw it on the tele when they were talking about British street foods, and then a magazine featuring the exact same thing LIT’erally fell on my lap.  Two makes it a sign.

…Is it as difficault to read as it tis to write in a Brit accent….?  I have new found respect for Lindsay Lohan.  Oooh sod it!  I give up…

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Best Thing Out of a Can

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I’m back from my 11 days trip to Hong Kong and Taiwan and find myself dealing with something that I assume everyone’s familiar with. The fridge is and should be vacant or otherwise nurturing some… organic, furry things.  Oooonly-a-few-days-expired dairies usually get tossed in the trash after reason finally overthrows desperation (hopefully).  Remaining options hover between the 24hr McHot-line or Mr. Cup Noodles.  Don’t get me wrong.  They are both great contributions to mankind and deserve a standing ovation, but guilt is calling for something homemade.

Boy do I have a solution for this.  One of my absolutely favorite pasta and it makes in no time.

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Forgive Me I Have Pie-d…

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The only equivalent comparison in life to this would be: In our last two years in New York when we were practically cast out of Manhattan by elitism (FINE, high rents) and moved to… Jersey City where there was a most pathetic looking, hicks-Ahoy karaoke bar right around the block. With more conviction than I withheld on my wedding day I said to Jason, “IF we EVER raised even the SLIGHTEST idea of walking into this place, it is THE moment that we’ve been “Jersified” and must pack up and move back in the city immediately!” We survived Jersey and never did walk into that karaoke bar. But instead THIS happened here. My cue that says I have been in YET another dump for far too long that – I – made – a – PIE!!!

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