Meat

2:1 sliders

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I am sitting at my parent’s dinning room table in Taiwan, clicking anxiously on my mother’s laptop… scrambling to get this new post out.  I’m gonna quickly leave you with these little suckers I made before leaving Beijing, what I consider to be the ideal ratio of meat and cheese when it comes to cheese burgers (in this case mini-sized), as I call them, the 2:1 sliders.

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pork belly shiso yaki

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Before I met Beijing, there was another affair I had a brief, bitter-ending engagement with and his name was I believe, Hong Kong.  We spent an abusive 18 months together right after New York… ah New York.  It was such a transcendent love, great love, Mr. BIG-GREAT that anyone else who followed was predetermined to never live up.  Without the enlightenment of other perspectives, I couldn’t love a city with EVEN SMALLER living-square footage than New York… EVEN MORE CROWDED streets than ant-hills, EVEN UGLIER buildings than Taipei and many many EVEN-MORE-NESS to feel sorry for myself about.  Like I said, I had no perspective.  I had no idea that Hong Kong was already Aidan.

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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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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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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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breakfast burger

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Taiwanese like to fancy themselves as major eaters, extraordinaires among the yumness-community.  “Taiwanese food is da bomb!  Huh-huh-hah-hee!”.  “Too spicy for who??!  Huh-huh-hah-hee (…forget it, it’s an inside joke)!!”.  But the truth is, relative to all the many other cultures surrounding us, Taiwanese cuisine is… blaaaaaaaaand…  I don’t know what it was like 40 years ago if somebody wants to make that argument, but perhaps their mentality hasn’t caught up to reality that Taiwanese have grown quietly inside their small and cozy shell over recently years… into independent health-nuts.  WAKE UP and smell the SALT guys!  It isn’t for anti-bacterializing.  It’s to season your food? so it tastes like SOMETHING?  And WHAT THE HELL are you doing to that fat on top of your noodle soup?!  It’s there for a REASON!  Called YUMMO!  I can go on and on…

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power goddess pasta salad

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There’s something you need to know before you sit me down with anyone you carry a sensitive relationship with.  Your competitor/colleague, boss, lover to impress, ex-lover to instill remorse… people who may be concerned about you befriending a crazy bitch (raising my hand), parents, or worse, social bridges.  Because you can be positively certain that I can and WILL almost ALWAYS say the wrongest thing on the wrongest subject before I even get to my appetizer… digging cheerfully into the bread-basket before my antenna picks up the dense air molecule… (…did I say something?).  You should also know that Jason waited the entire three years to unfold me in front of his company event and it’s safe to say that he had seen better days.

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Loser double fennel potstickers

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Being competitive has never been part of my persona. It isn’t one of the virtues of being a quitter, which I like to use as the reason I was never good at sports and why until this very day, I still cannot technically swim (but I float professionally). It’s not that I’m not into winning but just that I don’t like to be proven losing. I’m a walking cliche. But recently I have been braving the turbulent water for the love of my new favorite website and the recipe contest they throw every two weeks.

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