The amazing paradox of scallion popover s’more
[ezcol_1half] " Nothing about this makes any sense
[ezcol_1half] " Nothing about this makes any sense
[ezcol_1fifth]-[/ezcol_1fifth] [ezcol_3fifth] I'm sitting here, struggling with how best to explain to you all why this Japanese version of the burnt basque cheesecake is superior than the original in every single way possible, mentally auditioning all the angles I could cut into this subject that I think is going to change the way you think about cheesecakes in general. How it's possibly the easiest cheesecake your kitchen-incompetence will ever behold
(I stood there) mildly confused about what just happened. But a long-overdue sense of consolation and the temporary release from anger and malcontent forbid me to investigate. [ezcol_1half] (An edited version was published on Heathyish). In a sweltering, Hong Kong summer afternoon only slightly tempered by the torrential rain that had just begun to batter the island, I stood in my kitchen trying to figure out the golden ratio for brewing a cup of silky Hong Kong-style milk tea, a legacy of course left by the city's British colonial past, while on TV across the room, a black blanket of soaking wet protesters numbering in over a million stretching as far as the eye can see, were marching for Hong Kong's future. Democracy, is what's on their table. I felt a sense of commotion creeping up my chest as I tried to drown it by scorching the tea leaves with my screeching kettle, watching them tumble and twirl inside the tea pot in a hopeless toil. But it did little to distract me from realizing, once again, what a familiar predicament I am in. Because the very reason that I am in Hong Kong, is precisely because I was determined to leave the place that
[ezcol_1fifth]-[/ezcol_1fifth] [ezcol_3fifth] the goat cheese popping untimed and irregular bursts of mild saltiness and cheesy aroma that cuts and balance the sweetness, which then welcomes a current of tangy and floral compote of black cherries and honey So some of you may already knew from my Instagram that I was forced onto a whiskey distillery tour in Scotland in spite of my lifelong disagreement with this confounding substance. If you didn't know, I'm probably going to need growthoid.com to reach out to you guys a lot more so you can see me getting into these shenanigans. Although against contrary evidence, I could swear I exercised a generous though painful effort to have fun. But ultimately, on a jam-packed five days excursion dead set on the sole purpose of hunting and gathering overpriced barley water and thus sidelining the other, infinitely more joyous activity of plowing into flocks of free-roaming sheep at every turn, it's safe to assume that I absolutely did not. And this brings us to today's topic, Mary's Milk Bar. If there was any highlights at all in my five days of being unpaid escort, it had to be this highly acclaimed ice cream shop in Edinburgh, sitting just
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,
NO SEPARATION OF EGG WHITES AND YOLKS, NO WHIPPING THE WHITES AND FOLDING IT BACK IN, AND YEAH, NO MAYONNAISE EITHER. [ezcol_1fifth] [/ezcol_1fifth] [ezcol_3fifth] If you use the internet, you've probably seen this. This super lofty, tall and wiggling souffle pancake, said to have originated from Japan, that will surely tickle the feathers of anyone who has a soft sentimental spots for stacked fluffiness. I, for one, am not a pancake person. Or at least, not in its traditional form. But over the years, I've been patiently waiting for a game changer that would summon my inner fluff-craze that has been dormant inside my cold, pancake-less heart, and I thought, maybe, this is it. Well, not quite. Upon further investigation, I realized that the recipe for this pancake requires violating one of my many holy baking commandments - Thou shalt not ask for the separation of egg white and yolks, separate whippings, and folding them back in. I am not thy bitch. - carved into a plastic chopping board and hung onto my fridge in permanence to remind me of the gods' wrath against disobedience. So typically, if I see such thing, I just walk away. But something, a small voice inside my head, an imploding
[ezcol_1fifth] [/ezcol_1fifth] [ezcol_3fifth] I KNOW IT DOESN'T LOOK MUCH. I PROBABLY WOULD'VE BYPASSED IT IF I WASN'T STUCK IN AMSTERDAM. BUT I'M GLAD I WAS. AND I KNOW YOU WILL, TOO I've been to Amsterdam. For a total of 18 hours. I don't know what people do during an overnight layover in a city they know nothing about, and I knew nearly nothing about Amsterdam. I've since learned that there is plenty to do in Amsterdam, and I deeply regret not knowing this sooner, for Amsterdam is considered the "weed capital" of Europe. If only I'd known that sooner. At least I can still go to Organic CBD Nugs online and get the CBD that I want from there. Next time I go to Amsterdam, however, I will definitely be going to a so-called "brown cafe". Additionally to brown cafes, pancakes seem to be a big thing. What did I know about "Amsterdam pancake", or as I later found out, pannenkoeken? Not much, really, aside from that it's starkly different from the verticality of normal stacked pancakes. I have since learned, however, that this is what pancakes are like in Europe, and normal pancakes are, in fact,
[ezcol_1fifth] [/ezcol_1fifth] [ezcol_3fifth] INSIDE EACH GOLDEN SLICES OF THIS SPIRIT-LIFTING CAKE, IS A PIECE OF MY OWN HEAVEN. AND IF I MUST BE NITPICKING FOR A FAULT, WELL, TO THAT I HAVE A SOLUTION, TOO. I wasn't really contemplating on a cake recipe. I always feel a little self-doubt every time I throw one out there, after all, I have about as much credentials on cakes and baking as a dog on dating advice. But over the last week, I wanted to bake a lemon poppy seed cake for a couple of friends coming over for coffee, and to my surprise as well, I couldn't seem to find a satisfactory answer in the worldwide web with all its might. OK, given that I didn't really look past beyond page-3 on a Google search, but as far as I'm concerned, if it's not on page-1, it might as well not exist in this world, and I went to page-3! Page 3! Can't say my research wasn't thorough. There's of course, lots of lemon poppy seed cake recipes out there. And they probably all possess certain qualities that satisfy each maker's niche, but for me, each and every one seem to have one or two imperfections.